#-bad touch. and about that orange poem. and about how he doesn’t know touch. how violence is easier. even if it feels bad.

[bardicbird]

a little siffrin comic about touch, violence, and oranges

[tenta-cute]

Dumb Little Harringrove Thing 4/∞

Hell hath no fury like a Billy Hargrove creatively constipated. Or, well, maybe not fury—not anymore—but definitely some firm annoyance.

The abandoned poem lies scattered over the pages of his notebook, reviewed so many times it’s a miracle his favorite pen still has any ink left. Old habits keep prompting him to find something to drink—some mediocre rum or maybe a shitty beer for old times’ sake—but it’s been years since he had last enjoyed a drink without someone nearby to keep him company.

Some habits are not worth returning to.

He makes tea instead.

Bathed in the warmth of the setting California sun, his little nest looks like something out of a fairy tale; warm and cozy, soft in the way that Billy would’ve never associated with himself, and yet here he is. The smell of orange and cinnamon swirls in the air.

He burrows deeper into his cardigan, chasing warmth provided by high-quality cashmere. It’s a bit silly to be wearing such a thing in Cali, where winters are sunny and mild, but he always feels a bit cold these days. When he was a kid, he used to run hot in more ways than one, shirt unbuttoned all the way to the navel even in fucking December in Indiana, but then the Shadow happened and here Billy is, not even thirty and already down a spleen and one kidney, with busted circulation and nerve damage that sometimes keeps him up at night. Wrapped in bulky sweaters. Doing yoga instead of lifting weights. Drinking cinnamon tea instead of alcohol.

...It’s not that bad. Better than the alternative in which he’s rotting in a tiny wooden box, that’s for sure.

Now armed with a cup of hot tea, Billy looks at the coffee table, where his work remains temporarily abandoned.

When he had first started to write it was as a form of self-therapy—half-assedly picked from the list suggested by Owens, chosen purely by virtue of being less girly than, say, knitting or scrapbooking—but somehow it turned out that Billy Hargrove has a knack for something other than fist fighting and being a disappointment. Words that he would never say out loud turned out to be easy to put on paper, flat and disconnected from the emotions they bring, thus significantly less threatening.

Billy filled the first notebook before he re-learned how to walk.

Fast forward ten years and he now gives people business cards with the word Writer right under his name.

Sometimes he still has to sit down and ponder how the fuck it happened. William Hargrove, former playboy and general menace, current writer with two moderately successful tomes of poetry to his name and a small but dedicated fan base that does shit like write him letters about how touched they were by his words and how much they related to his struggles, what the fuck. (He tries not to cry when he reads stories from people who are just like him.)

Billy sits down, drinks some tea, and picks up his notebook. He winces immediately.

He always feels guilty when writing about Max.

They don’t hate each other anymore, but their relationship is still strained and built on old hurt that new understanding never quite scrubbed clean. There was a time when everyone expected them to start over, rebuild themselves from scratch in the context of a real brother and a real sister, and they tried. They tried for years, until they realized that the best they can do is polite amity and decided to leave it at that.

Sometimes Billy wonders if its because in his heart he had enough space for only one sister, and the gap was filled almost immediately by Jane. Sometimes he wonders if he hurt Max by allowing someone else—a stranger—to take the place that was prepared for her.

Maybe he should write about Jane instead.

Billy drinks his tea and re-reads the poem for the hundredth time, as if he doesn’t know every single line by heart by now. The more he reads, the more he feels words slipping out of control, as if his thoughts are drifting away. Leading him somewhere else, somewhere he doesn’t care to go right now.

“Fuck that,” Billy announces to the empty room and drops the notebook back on the coffee table. He’s been trying to avoid the elephant in the room for hours now, but there’s no point in pretending he can write anything while in this kind of shitty mindset.

He doesn’t deal well with loneliness, is the thing.

Billy brings the empty cup to the kitchen, washes it, dries it off with a towel, and puts it back on the shelf—an old routine, one too useful to bother uprooting from his brain. Neil is quietly rotting in his shitty little house back in Hawkins, destined to die alone in the small-town prison he tried to condemn his son to. Billy can pick and choose which rules he wants to obey now. He can keep the useful ones and ditch everything else.

The little post-it note he’s looking for is stuck to the fridge with the horrible plastic magnet shaped like a slice of radioactively yellow pizza—a small piece of Argyle’s brilliant idea of a housewarming gift, that is a pack full of weed and pizza-themed memorabilia.

Billy consults the note a couple times as he dials the unfamiliar number. Counts the beeps. Waits.

“Hello?”

Billy sighs. His shoulders relax at the sound of familiar—albeit unpleasantly tinny—voice in the receiver. “Hey. It’s me.”

“Hey, you,” says Steve, and it’s like all the miles and miles stretching out between them are suddenly gone.

Steve sounds tired—the kind of tired that even enthusiasm can’t quite mask. It’s late in New York. He should go to sleep soon.

But Billy is a selfish bastard.

“How’s work?”

Steve groans.

“Somehow both very shitty and very rewarding? The team is awful—getting them to do anything is like, a major achievement. No idea where the hell my dad found that project manager. Fucker is worse than Keith from Family Video.” Steve laughs tiredly. Billy basks in the warmth.

“Yeah?” he asks, almost breathlessly. “Tell me about him.”

It’s not that he’s particularly invested in Steve’s job. Steve’s job is fucking boring, some paper-pushing, meeting-organizing, numbers-watching thing that Mr. Harrington had eagerly pulled out of his Burberry-clad ass. Steve doesn’t really hate it—at least not the way he expected to hate it back when he was a teenager and the prospect of working for his dad was just a looming threat—but it’s still a brain-dead office job without much potential for personal growth.

Such is life. You don’t always get what you want. You don’t always get what you deserve.

At least it pays well—more than it should, really, not that Billy is complaining.

Steve talks about some guy named Cliff who sounds like a complete prick, one of those older guys who are too close to retirement to give a fuck, too comfortable in their belief they are irreplaceable, too confident in their outdated ways to listen to some kid young enough to still have all his hair. Billy closes his eyes, tries to tune out the tinny static. Pretends that Steve is right next to him, leaning against the wall with a cup of his gross yerba that smells and tastes like wet cigarettes.

“But I’ve somehow managed to whip them into shape,” Steve is saying, a little more lively now. A little satisfied. “Maybe this branch won’t collapse the second I skip town.”

“When are you coming back?”

Yeah, yeah, Billy is clingy and pathetic. Sue him.

“On Thursday,” Steve says firmly, and from the unyielding tone of his voice Billy can kinda tell that he must’ve waged at least one office war for this. “Abigail wants me to stay till the end of the week and fly home Saturday morning, but fuck that. I’m not a miracle worker.”

Their conversation briefly strays towards Abigail, who apparently still believes that Steve is one of those ambitious and bloodthirsty young sharks instead of a glorified office worker he actually is, and as such keeps trying to help him bump up his position in a rat race he is not at all interested in participating in.

Abigail is a bit dense.

“Okay, enough about my shitty job,” Steve says. “How’s the poem going?”

Billy scrunches up his nose. Ugh.

“It’s not going.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Yeeeeah,” Billy drawls, toying with the coiled phone cord. “I think I might have to… Dunno, either scrap it or sit on it for a couple days. When it comes to Max there’s something I can’t get out of my system.” He yanks at the cord a couple times, watching it stretch and bounce back, stretch and bounce back. “It’s like I’m constantly chasing after closure I’m never gonna get—don’t tell me to just talk to her.”

He can hear Steve’s mouth shut with a click on the other end of the line.

Yes, Billy should talk to Max. Yes, Billy knows that. No, Billy is not going to talk to Max. Even the usual hour-long catch up sessions they do whenever a holiday demands a customary phone call end up sapping all the strength from his body, and they rarely go beyond the safety of small talk. Maybe it would be different if they could talk face to face, but Max and Lucas live in fucking Canada where there’s even more snow than in Indiana, so there’s no way in hell Billy is ever going there. Cold temperatures make him—nah. If he could, he would move to fucking Africa. Either way, he can’t ask Max to leave her perfect little life abroad just to come all the way to California so they can talk.

It’s fine. They’re fine the way they are. No point rocking the boat.

“Billy? Baaaaabe?”

Billy coughs. “Yeah,” he mutters, “Yeah, sorry, just… You know. Max.”

“I know,” Steve says. “Anyway. What else are you up to?”

“Not much. This morning I spent three hours on the phone talking Jane through an oil change.”

“How did that go?”

“She’s getting the hang of it,” Billy says, and tries not to sound as overwhelmingly fond as he feels. “Would’ve probably went faster if we didn’t spend at least one of those three hours talking about fashion.”

He waits for Steve’s affronted squawk and is not disappointed.

“Why is she talking to you about fashion? You used to have an honest to God mullet!”

Billy grins at the absolute indignation in Steve’s voice. “Yeah, and you fucking loved it, asshole,” he drawls.

“Yeah, no. It was like a rat’s nest. Gross,” Steve argues, as if he’s not completely obsessed with Billy’s curls, no matter their shape or style.

“She’s a rebel, baby. Of course she’s gonna talk to the guy who wears a leather jacket and knows the importance of waterproof eyeliner,” Billy purrs into the phone. “If she talked to you… Man, you’d probably try to put her in pastels.”

“I don’t think this is as strong an argument as you think it is,” Steve says slowly after a brief moment of nearly audible cog-turning. “I put you in pastels and you look stunning.”

Billy idly picks at the sleeve of his cardigan.

It’s yellowish beige. Like sand on the beach.

“Fuck off and go to sleep, Harrington,” he mutters, lips curling faintly at the sound of Steve’s victorious laughter. “I’m serious. It’s late. Go to sleep.”

“Jesus, I really should, huh? I have a conference in the morning, because, you know, Abigail fucking hates me. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Sure. In the evening, okay?” Billy glances at the coffee table, where the abandoned notebook somehow manages to look outright accusatory. “I gotta drop by Brianna’s office. Get a fresh perspective and shit.”

He’s pretty sure that Brianna is just gonna tell him what everyone else is telling him—that he needs to talk to Max—but Steve won’t be back home for two more days and Billy’s already had enough loneliness to last him an extra lifetime or two. So he’s gonna talk to Brianna and maybe even offer to write some blurbs for her, even if Billy really fucking hates writing blurbs. They make him feel like a used car salesman.

“Alright—“Whatever Steve wanted to say next drowns in a massive yawn.

“Bed time,” Billy says pointedly.

“Yeah, yeah. G’night, babe.”

They’re too old to play the you hang up, no, you hang up game, so Billy just grins and makes an exaggerated kissing noise, a saucy mwah that makes Steve cackle.

The line goes dead.

The apartment is still empty, but. Warmer.

[sergeantsporks]

Sunrise

(Blurb set in the Camila is Hunter’s Mom Now series)

“Alllllright my little literature litter, we’re going to start today’s lesson by writing a poem. It can be any style—haiku, limerick, free verse, whatever you want—and it can be about anything you want!” Mrs. McKeon clapped her hands. “Write about love, write about your home, write about cheese! Any subject goes. Try to keep them school appropriate, though.”

Hunter tapped his pencil against the desk. Write a poem.

Sometimes he wished Mrs. McKeon would just give them a worksheet to fill out instead of all the “write something imaginative!” work she gave them. It would be easier that way.

Jade was already scribbling furiously, counting out syllables to herself.

“Hey,” he whispered, “What are you writing about?”

“The neighborhood cat. I named him Charles. What about you?”

“I don’t know. I’m not good at flowery literature, you know that. I was hoping you’d have an idea?”

“Just write about something you saw today. It doesn’t have to be super deep or complicated, we’re just getting our creative juices flowing. Free verse is basically just writing a paragraph, so if you don’t want to think of rhymes or syllables, that’s your best bet.”

What did I see today?

Hunter set the pencil to his paper.

I was up for the sunrise today. The sun was hidden behind buildings, but the clouds were pink and orange, with undertones of greyish blue where the light didn’t touch. The clouds weren’t soft and fluffy, they streaked across the sky. Messy. Harsh. Vibrant, like fire in the sky. Full of life. I couldn’t see the sun. And I knew that when the sun came out, the clouds would lose their color. They’d turn white, overshadowed by the visible sun. But given distance from the sun, they could shine on their own. They could be beautiful and vibrant and unique. Unapologetically splashed across the sky. Even without seeing the sun, you could see the effect it had on the clouds. And I thought that if you just showed those clouds to someone who’d never seen the sun, they’d say “how beautiful.” They would never know that the beautiful clouds are the way they are because of a scorching ball of flame that burns everything it touches. They would never know that the beautiful clouds will lose their color and become wisps of nothing in the sky when the sun appears. But in their distance from the sun, the clouds would be beautiful, in their pinks and oranges, in the gold that tinged the edges when the sun rose ever-so-much closer. The nights here are quiet, and the trees are green. And the sunrises show a beautiful scene.

“Oh, that’s lovely, Hunter.”

Hunter jumped at Mrs. McKeon’s voice. He hadn’t even realized that she’d come up behind him. “Really?”

“Yes, I love your description of the clouds. I used to get up early every morning to watch the sun rise. Wonderful work.” She moved on to read Jade’s poem, and Hunter felt warm inside.

Alright.

Maybe poetry isn’t so bad.

[firstfullmoon]

what are some quotes that are so visceral they feel like a gut punch to you?

“A man's heart is a wretched, wretched thing. It isn't like a mother's womb. It won't bleed. It won't stretch to make room for you.”

— Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns

“At the trial of God, we will ask: why did you allow all this? And the answer will be an echo: why did you allow all this?”

— Ilya Kaminsky, “A City Like a Guillotine Shivers on Its Way to the Neck”

“I want someone to tell me what to wear in the morning. I want someone to tell me what to wear every morning. I want someone to tell me what to eat, what to like, what to hate, what to rage about, what to listen to, what band to like, what to buy tickets for, what to joke about, what not to joke about. I want someone to tell me what to believe in, who to vote for, and who to love, and how to tell them. I just think I want someone to tell me how to live my life, Father, because so far I think I’ve been getting it wrong.”

— Phoebe Waller-Bridge, from Fleabag

“Les femmes de notre famille, nous sommes engluées dans la colère J’ai été en colère contre ma mère Tout comme tu es en colère contre moi Et tout comme ma mère fut en colère contre sa mère Il faut casser le fil.”

(The women in our family are all stuck in anger I have been angry at my mother As you are angry with me And as my mother was angry at her mother The thread must be broken.)

— Wajdi Mouawad, Incendies

“I know what I want: an ugly, clean woman with large breasts, who tells me: what’s all this about making things up? I won’t have any dramas, come here immediately!—And she gives me a warm bath, dresses me in a white linen nightdress, braids my hair and puts me to bed, very cross, saying: well what do you want? you run wild, eating at odd times, you could get sick, stop making up tragedies, you think you’re such a big deal, drink this mug of hot broth. She lifts my head up with her hand, covers me with a big sheet, brushes a few strands of hair off my forehead, already white and fresh, and tells me before I fall asleep warmly: you’ll see how in no time your face is going to fill out, forget those harebrained ideas and be a good girl. Someone who takes me in like a humble dog, who opens the door for me, brushes me, feeds me, loves me severely like a dog, that’s all I want, like a dog, a child.”

“I can feel myself holding a child, thought Joana. Sleep, my child, sleep, I tell you. The child is warm and I am sad. But it is the sadness of happiness, this appeasement and sufficiency that leave the face placid, faraway. And when my child touches me he doesn’t rob me of my thoughts as others do. But later, when I give him milk with these fragile, beautiful breasts, my child will grow from my force and crush me with his life. He will distance himself from me and I will be the useless old mother. I won’t feel cheated. But defeated merely and I will say: I don’t know a thing, I am able to give birth to a child and I don’t know a thing. God will receive my humility and will say: I was able to give birth to the universe and I don’t know a thing.”

— Clarice Lispector, Near to the Wild Heart

“I know that my phrases are crude, I write them with too much love, and that love makes up for their faults, but too much love is bad for the work.”

“I’m restless and harsh and despairing. Although I do have love inside me. I just don’t know how to use love. Sometimes it tears at my flesh.”

“But when winter comes I give and give and give. The excess of me starts to hurt and when I’m excessive I have to give of myself.”

— Clarice Lispector, Água Viva

“And that was what I felt when reading your book: that solitude.” “Imagine the solitude of the person who wrote it.”

— Clarice Lispector, from an interview

“suppose the body did this to us, made us afraid of love—”

— Louise Glück, “Crater Lake”

“When I put my hands on your body, on your flesh, I feel the history of that body. Not just the beginning of its forming in that distant lake, but all the way beyond its ending. I feel the warmth and texture and simultaneously I see the flesh unwrap from the layers of fat and disappear. I see the fat disappear from the muscle. I see the muscle disappearing from around the organs and detaching itself from the bones. I see the organs gradually fade into transparency, leaving a gleaming skeleton, gleaming like ivory that slowly resolves until it becomes dust. I am consumed in the sense of your weight, the way your flesh occupies momentary space, the fullness of it beneath my palms. I am amazed at how perfectly your body fits to the curves of my hands. If I could attach our blood vessels so we could become each other I would. If I could attach our blood vessels in order to anchor you to the earth, to this present time, I would. If I could open up your body and slip inside your skin and look out your eyes and forever have my lips fused with yours, I would. It makes me weep to feel the history of your flesh beneath my hands in a time of so much loss. It makes me weep to feel the movement of your flesh beneath my palms as you twist and turn over to one side to create a series of gestures, to reach up around my neck, to draw me nearer. All these memories will be lost in time like tears in the rain.”

— David Wojnarowicz, from The Half-Life

“A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort.”

— Gillian Flynn, Sharp Objects

“and cain said, There’s an idea I can’t get out of my head, What’s that, said abraham, There must have been innocent people in sodom and in the other cities that were burned, If so, the lord would have kept the promise he made to make to save their lives, What about the children, said cain, surely the children were innocent, Oh my god, murmured abraham and his voice was like a groan, Yes, your god perhaps, but not theirs.”

— José Saramago, Cain

“I’d like to jet-ski / straight out of this life because right now I am / way attached to real things like for instance / people how they are all so tender how they / love to just go walk around and someof them are / wearing pink now and it hurts me and they / bathe their dogs”

— Heather Christle, “This Is Not The Body I Asked For”

“The idea of deserving love. And then watching love being given to people who did nothing to deserve it.”

— Anaïs Nin, from her journal

“And he cries and cries, cries for everything he has been, for everything he might have been, for every old hurt, for every old happiness, cries for the shame and joy of finally getting to be a child, with all of a child’s whims and wants and insecurities, for the privilege of behaving badly and being forgiven, for the luxury of tendernesses, of fondnesses, of being served a meal and being made to eat it, for the ability, at last, at last, of believing a parent’s reassurances, of believing that to someone he is special despite all his mistakes and hatefulness, because of all his mistakes and hatefulness.”

— Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life

“The veals are the children of cows, are calves. They are locked in boxes the size of themselves. A body-box, like a coffin, but alive, like a home. The children, the veal, they stand very still because tenderness depends of how little the world touches you. To stay tender, the weight of your life cannot lean on your bones.”

“Sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you've been ruined.”

— Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous

“I know we’ve just met but I feel like maybe / you’d feed me and tuck me into your big bed / and only touch me as you covered me with the comforter.”

— Kim Addonizio, “Party”

“The body has no thoughts. The body soaks up love like a paper towel

and is still dry.”

— Kim Addonizio, “Body And Soul”

“I don’t know how God can bear / seeing everything at once: the falling bodies, the monuments and burnings, / the lovers pacing the floors of how many locked hearts.”

— Kim Addonizio, “The Numbers”

“I keep wishing for you, keep shutting up my eyes and looking toward the sky, asking with all my might for you, and yet you do not come. I thought of you, until the world grew rounder than it sometimes is, and I broke several dishes.”

— Emily Dickinson, from a letter to Minnie Holland

“The unknowness of my needs frightens me. I do not know how huge they are, or how high they are, I only know that they are not being met.”

— Jeanette Winterson, Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit

“I used to be a hopeless romantic. I am still a hopeless romantic. I used to believe that love was the highest value. I still believe that love is the highest value. I don’t expect to be happy. I don’t imagine that I will find love, whatever that means, or that if I do find it, it will make me happy. I don’t think of love as the answer or the solution. I think of love as a force of nature - as strong as the sun, as necessary, as impersonal, as gigantic, as impossible, as scorching as it is warming, as drought-making as it is life-giving. And when it burns out, the planet dies.”

“As for myself, I am splintered by great waves. I am coloured glass from a church window long since shattered. I find pieces of myself everywhere, and I cut myself handling them.”

— Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping

“I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED GENOCIDE TO STOP I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED AFFIRMATIVE ACTION AND REACTION I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED MUSIC OUT THE WINDOWS I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED NOBODY THIRST AND NOBODY NOBODY COLD I SAID I LOVED YOU AND I WANTED I WANTED JUSTICE UNDER MY NOSE”

— June Jordan, “Intifada Incantation: Poem 38 for b.b.L.”

“Maybe when I wake up in the middle of the night I should go downstairs dump the refrigerator contents on the floor and stand there in the middle of the spilled milk and the wasted butter spread beneath my dirty feet writing poems writing poems maybe I just need to love myself myself and anyway I’m working on it”

— June Jordan, “Free Flight”

“It’s not that I gave away my keys. / The problem is nobody wants to steal me or my / house.”

— June Jordan, “Onesided Dialog”

“What reconciles me to my own death more than anything else is the image of a place: a place where your bones and mine are buried, thrown, uncovered, together. They are strewn there pell-mell. One of your ribs leans against my skull. A metacarpal of my left hand lies inside your pelvis. (Against my broken ribs your breast like a flower.) The hundred bones of our feet are scattered like gravel. It is strange that this image of our proximity, concerning as it does mere phosphate of calcium, should bestow a sense of peace. Yet it does. With you I can imagine a place where to be phosphate of calcium is enough.”

— John Berger, And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief As Photos

“I wept and wept. I had come to believe that if I really wanted something badly enough, the very act of my wanting it was an assurance that I would not get it.”

— Audre Lorde, from “Zami: A New Spelling of my Name”

“You kiss the back of my legs and I want to cry. / Only the sun has come this close, only the sun.”

— Shauna Barbosa, “GPS”

“It has to be perfect. It has to be irreproachable in every way. (...) To make up for it. To make up for the fact that it’s me.”

— Suzanne Rivecca

“I hope it’s love. I’m trying really hard to make it love. I said no more severity. I said it severely and slept through all my appointments. I clawed my way into the light but the light is just as scary. I’d rather quit. I’d rather be sad.”

— Richard Siken, Self-Portrait Against Red Wallpaper

“We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero's shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.”

— Richard Siken, “Snow And Dirty Rain”

“Love, for you, / is larger than the usual romantic love. It's like a religion. It's / terrifying. No one / will ever want to sleep with you.”

— Richard Siken, “Litany In Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out”

“The hardest thing still remains. It remains the hardest, to bear all the tenderness and only to gaze on.”

— Ilse Achinger, “Mirrorstory”

“i killed a plant once because i gave it too much water. lord, i worry that love is violence.”

— José Olivarez, “Getting Ready to Say I Love You to My Dad, It Rains”

“Mother says there are locked rooms inside all women; kitchen of lust, bedroom of grief, bathroom of apathy. Sometimes the men - they come with keys, and sometimes, the men - they come with hammers.”

— Warsan Shire, “The House”

“I’ll take care of you. / It’s rotten work. / Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

— Euripides, Orestes, tr. Anne Carson

“We have this deep sadness between us and it spells so habitual I can’t tell it from love.”

— Anne Carson, The Beauty of the Husband

“There is no question I am someone starving. There is no question I am making this journey to find out what that appetite is.”

— Anne Carson, Plainwater: Essays

“I wish I could peel all my sadness in one long strip off my skin & toss it in a bucket. No one would have to carry it. It would just sit there & be punished. It would just sit there & think about everything it’s done.”

— Chen Chen, “Elegy For My Sadness”

“There is too much or not enough room in my stomach for everything we will do to each other.“

— Adriana Cloud, “Bento Body”

[bibliosophist]

Soft as Bread, Sweet as Honey: Chapter 2

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 |

When the alarm rings the two of you spring apart like charged magnets, faces tomato red. You’re sure he can hear your heart pounding even over the trilling of your phone. You can’t believe you forgot where you were. How long had the two of you been like that? Had anybody seen you? 

Beel laughs sheepishly, running a hand through his already messy hair and standing up in one smooth movement. “I guess we’d better get to class, huh?” he says, reaching a hand down to help you up. You quickly rearrange your skirt and tuck your container of mostly uneaten salad back in your bookbag. You roll on to your knees before letting him pull you the rest of the way up. His hand is warm around yours, and you don’t notice that your fingers are shaking until he lets them go.

You have an English class after lunch-- Demonology in Medieval Literature, and he walks you there. You don’t talk on the way, but when you reach the door of your classroom he turns to face you. “I... I guess I’ll see you in Xavier’s class.” He leans forward and very quickly places a kiss on the top of your head before turning away and walking down the corridor. It isn’t until you’re seated at your desk that you realize he has a class right now too, Sports Management, you think, on the other side of campus. It’ll be a miracle if he isn’t late.

You can’t concentrate on anything Professor Malory says. Satan raises an eyebrow in your direction when you can’t answer the professor’s question about themes of spiritual warfare in The Faerie Queene. He’s well aware that you have an answer for that. A well researched answer, with citations. Knows it’s in your bookbag, because the two of you spent a good portion of your Sunday afternoon reading and rereading the poem, discussing that very topic. You avoid meeting his eyes.

Though you and Satan share your next class and usually walk there together, you take off alone as soon as the lesson ends, desperate for him not to catch you in the hallway. You can’t think of an excuse for your lack of attention that doesn’t include the memory of his brother’s hand slipping into your underwear playing in your head over and over again. Thankfully, your genetics class is in a different building, and you hope that the walk will give you some time to clear your head before you see Beel again.

You’re not sure how you feel. Excited? Embarrassed? Vaguely nauseous? Yes to all of the above, actually. You wouldn’t- couldn’t- deny that you had greatly enjoyed your moment with the demon. The feeling of his warm hand on your skin and the taste of his lip in your mouth had left you feeling more than a little tipsy. Just thinking about what could have happened had your alarm not sounded brought the blood rising to your cheeks again. You shook your head like a dog with water in its ears. You couldn’t think about that right now, not when you knew you would be seeing him in just a few minutes. You had to keep your head clear and your thoughts focused. Get through the day, and then you could have a panic attack in the privacy of your room.

When you reach your classroom you’re very conscious of the thin sheen of sweat that has developed over your forehead. Clearly, you haven’t been able to calm yourself down as much as you’d hoped to. You wipe it away with the back of your hand as discreetly as you can, making a beeline for an empty table at the back of the room. Several other students have already arrived and are in the process of settling in, but none of them are Beel. 

You can’t help but feel both relieved and disappointed as you unpack your bag, pulling out your laptop and waking it up. You’ve just opened your lecture notes when, out of the corner of your eye, you catch a shock of brilliantly orange hair coming through the doorway. You lift your eyes from your computer screen, and they meet his across the room. A smile crosses his face and, to your mingled terror and excitement, he begins to make his way towards the empty chair beside you. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until Sybil slides smoothly into the seat next to you, causing you to squeak in surprise. You just catch the disappointed look on Beel’s face as you turn to face your project partner. She’s already deep into a speech on how you’re going to frame the introduction to your paper, and you desperately hope that she’s transcribed her instructions somewhere, because your heart is beating too loudly to hear them. You notice again how beautiful she is, eyes lit up with determination. You groan internally, knowing she’s going to push you on this project just as hard as Lucifer himself would.

***

When Professor Xavier dismisses you, the boys beat you to the door. You know that there’s no hope of walking back to the House alone. You have no idea how to talk to Beel one on one right now, let alone in front of one of his most perceptive brothers.

“(Y/N),” Satan says when you reach them, “Are you alright? You’ve been... quiet this afternoon.”

“Fine,” you say, as the three of you navigate through the building and out across the campus green, “I just have a really bad headache.”

Beside his brother, Beel grumbles low in his chest. “Probably because you barely touched your lunch. Let’s stop for a snack on the way home,” he rubs his stomach, “I could use one, too. I’m starving.”

You don’t have time to respond as Asmo comes striding over from the music building to meet your group. “Hi hi!” he sings, voice tinkling like a bell in your ear as he matches your pace, looping his arm around yours. “What are we talking about?”

“Stopping for food,” Beel answers, glancing down at your intertwined arms, the corners of his mouth tightening.

“Ooh, I could go for some gelato,” Asmo replies. From Beel’s other side you hear Satan snort.

“We should get something more substantial than dessert. Mammon and Belphie are cooking duty tonight. You know Mammon will blow it off, and Belphie will sleep through it.” To your surprise, Beel doesn’t jump to defend his twin. You all know that Satan is right.

“Mmm,” Asmo hums, “That’s true. We’ll starve to death if we don’t stop somewhere. What are you in the mood for, (Y/N?)”

You swear you can feel your insides freeze as they wait for your answer. The last thing you want to do is talk about what you want to eat. You glance up at Beel without meaning to.

“How about that burger place?” he says.

Asmo makes a tsking sound. “I didn’t ask you, you big lug. You’d eat burgers all day, every day if you could.”

“Well, yeah,” he replies, casually stretching his arms up and locking his hands behind his head, “but I thought Yuki might like some familiar, human food.” He looks down at you, “they have other stuff there too, if you don’t feel like a burger.”

Your stomach rumbles at the mention of burgers, and you blush. “We don’t have to go there just for me,” you say. “How about that pizza place you guys like?”

“No, let’s do the burger place,” Asmo says, “I just remembered that they have those sinful peach milkshakes. You’ll split one with me, right (Y/N)?” he asks, beaming at you in a way that only Asmo can.

You know that you can’t say no now without it being weird, so you smile back and nod.

“Great, I’ll text the others.”

[spencers-renaissance]

let him be soft (and let him be mine) p.1

Summary: After Derek pulls another self-sacrificing stunt at the culmination of their most recent case, Spencer runs out of their apartment as he desperately grapples with how it makes him feel.

or; Derek's self-sacrificing tendencies meet Spencer's abandonment issues. It gets messy before it gets better.

Tags: hurt/comfort, crying, abandonment issues, injured!derek, hurt!spencer, miscommunication, angst with a happy ending, fluff, protective!derek

TW: abadonment issues, allusions to grief/loss, some religious imagery (a catholic church and a priest have a small role in the plot)

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.4k Total Word Count: 4.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Emily's Edit 1 2 3

Colab Alert! Emily (@criminalmindsvibez) and I have worked together on a project based on this poem. Her edits and my fic go hand in hand, so go and check hers out! She will be posting part 2 and 3 of her edit tomorrow and Friday respectively, and I'll be posting part 2 of this fic on Friday, too!! It's been so fun to work together, so please go and reblog her beautiful edit <3

The Poem:

Please, let him be soft.

I know you made him       with gunmetal bones      and wolf’s teeth. I know you made him to be      a warrior      a soldier      a hero.

But even gunmetal can warp and even wolf’s teeth can dull and I do not want to see him break the way old and worn and overused things do.

I do not want to see him go up in flames      the way all heroes end up martyrs.

I know that you will tell me  that the world needs him. The world needs his heart      and his faith      and his courage      and his strength      and his bones and his teeth and his blood and his voice and his– The world needs anything he will give them.

Damn the world,      and damn you too. Damn anyone that ever asked anything of him,      damn anyone that ever took anything from him,            damn anyone that ever prayed to his name. You know that he will give them everything      until there is nothing left of him          but the imprint of dust               where his feet once trod. You know that he will bear the world like Atlas     until his shoulders collapse          and his knees buckle               and he is crushed by all he used to carry.

Dear God,  you have already made an Atlas. You have already made an Achilles and an Icarus and a Hercules.  You have already made so many heroes, and you can make another again.  You can have your pick of heroes.

So please, I beg you– he is all that I have,  and you have so many heroes and the world has so many more.  Let him be soft,  and let him be mine.

—Please, let him be happy ( j.p. )

The Fic:

Spencer offers Derek a weak smile as they sink into their seats on the jet. It’s all he can really manage, considering the emotional exhaustion the case had brought on, fatigue settling deep into his bones as he relaxes into the comfortable fabric of his chair. He keeps his eyes closed to avoid Derek’s anxious, imploring gaze for as long as possible, but he can’t help them opening on instinct as soon as the plane takes off the ground, and his stomach does its familiar vault at the increasing G forces.

“Baby?” Derek asks softly, as soon as he sees Spencer’s eyes flutter open. “What’s wrong?”

Spencer sighs, turning his head to face the evening sunset for a brief moment before looking back to his boyfriend. “I’m just tired, Der,” he lies, throwing in what he hopes is a reassuring smile to try and seal the deal.

It seems to work, some of the anxiety relaxing from his face — though, Spencer notes, the slightly pained expression remains — as he reaches across the table in between them to take Spencer’s hand. He complies, placing his hand in Derek’s and allowing himself to relish in the comfort of his warm, protective hold despite how he’s feeling.

“I’m sorry, Spence. We’ll get dinner from that Thai place and head straight to bed when we get home, yeah? You’ll feel better then.”

Spencer can’t help the flare of anger in his chest at that — so strong he has to shut his eyes tightly against it for a second. How can Derek not realise what’s wrong? How can he sit opposite him, bruised, cracked ribs and all, and not understand that everything is not at all ‘eat Thai food in bed’ okay?

He forces his eyes open again. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

Derek squeezes his hand once before letting go and thankfully, finally, dropping the subject. The sunset is a pretty blend of pinks and oranges as they fly down from New Jersey towards home, but Spencer doesn’t focus on the aesthetics of the sky. Not when that awful, tiny voice keeps whispering in the back of his head: how many sunsets does Derek have left?

⭐️

It might have been a lie, but the tired excuse seems to work. Derek doesn’t try to make conversation with him on the drive to DC, instead settling for reassuring touches that Spencer finds himself pressing back into despite himself.

He dives straight for the shower once they get back to their apartment, vaguely hearing Derek on the phone placing their standard Thai order as he sheds his restrictive suit and steps into the shower, immediately relaxing as the hot water cascades down his back. All of a sudden, the weight of the case catches up to him and he lets himself cry. Afterall, his desperate, grief-filled sobs can’t be heard over the water and he can blame his sore, red eyes on the shampoo.

When his tears eventually dry up and he exits the warm bathroom into the air-conditioned apartment, Derek’s sat on the edge of their bed fiddling with his phone next to an outfit of Spencer’s favourite loungewear neatly laid out. He always does it and it always makes Spencer smile, but this time his heart just clenches painfully and he has to fight back the hot tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

“Hey, baby,” Derek says, voice concerned at the sight of his visibly upset boyfriend. His wince as he gets off the bed to come over to Spencer is the final straw, though, and he can’t help the violent, choked sob that forces its way past his lips, his body heaving with the myriad of emotions running rampant. “Spencer?”

He ignores him as he drops his towel and hurriedly pulls on the clothes Derek set out for him, tears spilling down his cheeks one after the other, indicating no sign of slowing down anytime soon.

“Spencer? Baby?” he pleads desperately as Spencer continues to ignore him. “I know you’re tired, but this isn’t like you. Why—”

“No!” he cries, turning to face him. “It’s not like me! Because even though I feel like this after every case I’m usually so good at holding it in! But I can’t do it anymore, Derek. I can’t keep feeling like this.”

“Baby, talk to me,” Derek begs. “We can work this out, we’ll figure this out together, but I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

All of a sudden, it’s too much. Standing there in their bedroom facing his injured, self-sacrificing, perfect boyfriend as emotion and fear choke the life out of him is killing him, and all he can do is grab his phone, hastily pull on a pair of shoes, and run out of the apartment.

If it wasn’t for his bruised ribs — Christ, if it wasn’t for Derek being shot not four hours earlier — Spencer never would have outrun him, but as it stands, he escapes the apartment building with only Derek’s pleading cries following him.

He runs through the streets of DC, half-blind from unshed tears, until he sees a bus coming down the road, and before he can overthink it, he’s boarding, paying, and taking a seat right at the back. The streets outside blur as the bus accelerates down the street and the tears he’d been holding back since he left the apartment, spill over, joining the countless tear tracks already decorating his cheeks.

Soon he’s not seeing the vibrant streets of the Adams Morgan district anymore, his brain replaying the shoot-out that ended the case instead. They’d finally cornered their suspect in a dilapidated barn in the middle of nowhere, and Spencer had honestly thought that their attempts to talk him down were working, when he’d suddenly pointed his gun straight at JJ. Derek had easily predicted his next move and wasted no time in pushing her out the way, diving straight into the bullet’s trajectory, shot in the middle of his vest.

Hotch had taken care of the unsub and Spencer had gone straight to Derek’s side, his heart in his mouth as fear overrode rationality with ease. He’d been fine: checked out by an ambulance on site and prescribed some moderate painkillers and a few days rest until his ribs healed up, but Spencer had struggled to see it so positively.

Anger flares up in his chest again at the memory of Derek’s blatant disregard for his own well-being. JJ’s a trained and experienced agent: she could have shot the unsub before he even took the shot if Derek hadn’t pushed her aside, and even if she hadn’t, why was it better for Derek to take the bullet than JJ?

As much as he tries not to take it personally, part of him can’t really help but feel hurt. What if the bullet had missed the vest? What if Derek was really shot? He could have so easily died — in an alternate universe, Spencer is mourning the tragic loss of his boyfriend right now. Does he really not care that all this heroic self-sacrifice could leave Spencer a grieving widow one day?

He feels selfish. The world needs Derek: it needs his heart and his courage and his fierce sense of justice, it needs him to fight for the underdog, it needs him to stop at nothing to apprehend the bad guy, it needs anything he can give them.

But in this moment, Spencer doesn’t care anymore. He doesn’t care about what the world needs. He cares about what Dr Spencer Reid, book nerd and genius prodigy of Nevada needs, and that’s his boyfriend, alive, next to him.

The bus passes a church and Spencer immediately presses the button, getting off at the next stop and retracing the road until he’s standing in front of the beautiful architecture of a Catholic Church. Peace and quiet is exactly what he needs right now, so he takes a deep breath and walks through the heavy wooden doors into the building.

The smell Spencer associates with the churches he’d visit in his childhood when William would dress them up and parade them around a church as the perfect little family for as long as Diana’s meds lasted hits him as soon as he crosses the threshold, and something about it feels comforting. He walks through the small foyer and into the main congregation hall, thankful that no service is taking place. There’s a woman in a pew at the front with her head bowed, but otherwise it’s completely empty, and it emboldens him enough to slip into the back row.

He lets himself zone out, taking in the stained glass windows and the elaborate arcades as well as the ornate statues and decorations around the nave as his mind finally drifts from the torture of his thoughts.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice asks, snapping him out of his trance. He looks over to see a priest standing just to his right, a kind look on his face.

“Uh— yes,” Spencer replies, a little flustered. “Very. An old friend of mine did a PhD in the history of church architecture years ago, but even his high praise doesn’t do it justice in person.”

“Not a regular church-goer, I take it?” the priest asks, smiling warmly.

“Not sure the church would be happy to have me,” he says drily, “on the account that I live with my boyfriend.”

The priest’s face saddens at that. “Would you mind if I sat?”

“As long as you don’t try and convert me.”

He laughs at that, taking a seat next to Spencer. “That’s not my job anyway,” he reassures him. “God takes care of that side of things.”

Spencer nods once, before looking down at his fidgeting fingers.

“What’s led a non-Christian to a Catholic Church on a random Tuesday evening, then?” the priest asks warmly.

“Oh… I’m not sure you’d want to hear about it,” Spencer says awkwardly, blushing a bit at the thought of discussing his relationship troubles with a priest.

“Try me.”

Spencer takes a deep breath. After all, he desperately wants to talk about this with someone, and who better than a completely impartial person whose opinion doesn’t matter anyway?

“I work for the FBI,” he starts, “I have done for nearly a decade now. It’s where I met my boyfriend, actually; we work for the Behavioural Analysis Unit. I love the job, it’s given me pretty much everything I have, really, but… but I don’t know how much longer I can do it.” He takes a shaky breath in to try and abate the tears again, but when the priest lays a warm hand over his own, he can’t hold them back anymore.

“Derek— Derek is so strong. He’s fierce and he’s powerful and he’s a hero, and I used to be so proud of him for that, I still am, but now… all it does is scare me. Today he took a bullet for another team member, he pushed her out of the way and it landed in his own vest. He’s fine, but this isn’t the first time he’s done something like this. He’s run into burning buildings, driven bombs across cities to stop them from blowing up in a populated area, thrown himself into the line of fire to save others countless times, but one day… he won’t be so lucky.

“One day, it’s going to catch up to him, and he’s going to be killed by his own calling. He’s so selfless that he’s truly going to give everything to the job until it kills him… and where does that leave me?” He looks up and meets the priest’s kind, empathetic gaze for the first time, comforted by the reassurance he finds there.

“I never really had a family. My father walked out when I was ten and left me with my sick and confused mother, knowing that she couldn’t take care of me, knowing that he was leaving his child to take care of his mother for the next eight years. When I found the BAU, I found a family, and I found Derek. I love my whole team, but when it comes down to it, he’s all I really have left.

“If he stays in this job, I’m going to end up alone. There will never be another person for me, not after Derek. When people sit in this very building and pray for justice,” Spencer says tearily, “God answers that prayer with Derek Morgan. And those prayers, those pleas for mercy are going to take him away from me one day.”

The priest sits quietly for a moment, thinking, maybe praying, as he bows his head. “Child, God makes heroes for a reason. I know he’s so proud of Derek, that he cherishes all the lives he’s saved, but I also know that God cherishes Derek’s life, and yours, too. Derek sounds like the kind of person who loves with his whole heart, and I suspect that he loves you deeply. The Bible teaches us the importance of kind and honest communication, as well as the value in understanding the people you love, and I think you know that your only shot at a happy ending here is to tell Derek all that you’ve told me.”

Spencer’s always rejected the idea of telling Derek how much it breaks his heart to see him running at danger head on because he can’t think of any possible resolution they could come to — it’s not like he can simply turn off his self-sacrificing tendencies — but he doesn’t really see any other way out now.

He looks up at the priest. “Yeah,” he sighs. “I’m not sure I have any other choice.”

“I’ll leave you to your peace and quiet,” he says as he gets up to leave, “but please never think that God doesn’t want to know you because of your loving relationship with Derek. He loves you both so much.”

Spencer smiles, feeling a little bit lighter after getting everything off his chest. “Thank you.”

As he watches the priest walk out of the nave and into what Spencer suspects is the Sanctuary, he hears something that simultaneously warms his heart and twists his stomach in anxiety.

Derek, calling his name.

I hope you enjoyed part one of this fic - please go and check out Emily's edit here!

PART TWO

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @doctorenby @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @jellejareau @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoopc@marsjareau @garcias-bitch (taglist form)

[dcforts]

spn fanfic masterpost

MISC (most recent first)

some other time

Why didn’t he say it some other time?

window (poem)

just another tragedy greater than our hearts

movie nights

Cas likes movie nights.

priority | ao3

The world is empty, he almost lost Cas again. The world his full, Cas loves him.

rules

Dean has an extensive number of rules.

something more | ao3

Dean never wants to go to hunter gatherings.

like today | ao3

Dean is not too bothered. Outside the weather is bad, but the place it’s nearby, the job seems easy and they can be home in time for dinner. And if they hit the traffic, well, Cas will be there. They will be fine.

alt 15.20

Sam snorted, too engrossed in his phone to argue. “I think it’s time, Dean. You’re ready to hang it up,” he joked.

heaven | ao3

The reaper they send looks at him with compassion. It’s not anyone he knows. “Welcome, Dean,” she says, “Are you ready to move on?”

15.18 coda

Dean doesn’t get used to it.

seedlings | ao3

Castiel is standing in Robert Singer’s kitchen.

foosball

They’ve got a foosball table now.

ring for an angel | ao3

The blue neon sign on top of the short building says Feathers in a friendly font and has a pair of little wings and a halo to blink with it.

dw. is saved (18/09/20)

It’s a night like any other when Jack asks Cas if he can tell the story of how he rescued Dean from Hell.

bobby's house

Dean wakes up from his nap on Bobby’s couch.

time

It’s not exactly a memory, but a memory of a dream.

lebanon | ao3

Sometimes, when he is at the bunker and things are quiet, Castiel goes out and ventures in town.

help | ao3

Dean keeps busy in the bunker; Cas helps.

take heart, dear one | ao3

The journey was long, music filled and a little snore filled and it involved a lot of gas stations and sketchy diners and a stop to buy three pairs of ridiculous rubber flip flops but at the end the bungalow turned out to actually be on a beach, so at least the booking site hadn’t lied about that.

#DEANCASSUMMERPROMPTS21

week 1: summer soltice

The huge neon sign on the door said Summer Solstice in yellow and orange and was decorated with palms and flamingos. It was flashy and intimidating.

week 2: drive in cinema

Cas appears out of nowhere in the passenger seat, making Dean jump out of his skin and spill soda all over himself.

week 3: i can still recall our last summer

Dean said it was too hot. He’d said it fifty times already since they left the bunker this morning and they were not even halfway through the journey.

week 4: selfie together

Three days to impact (moving out with Cas and a bunch of hunter nerds settling into the bunker to set up the Network), and Dean was still elbow deep in messy drawers, sorting through his stuff in one of the research rooms.

week 5: holidays [holiday fic part 1/3]

Sam dropped it on him right before they left for their holiday.

week 6: water guns [holiday fic part 2/3]

As soon as he looked at Alex he knew she was thinking the same thing, given her eyes, wide and bright and a mischievous smile on her lips. “Ambush?” she said.

week 7: long summer nights [holiday fic part 3/3]

It was four a.m. and Dean was awake. 

#SPNADVENTCALENDAR2020

day 1: advent calendar

Dean couldn’t believe that he was going to be late. Of all the times it could happen, it had to be on that day, on that snowy February night of his first date with Cas.

day 2 + 3: childhood memories + motel rooms

One minute Dean is soaping up in the shower - under what could be described more as a lukewarm leak than an actual shower spray - and the next the whole thing dies on him.

day 4: cooking and baking

Now, Bobby Singer didn’t always exactly enjoy having Sam and Dean around – he was used to living alone and he liked his routine; they got loud when they bickered and he always had to make sure they were clean and fed and far from the stuff he had laying around that they weren’t supposed to touch.

day 5 + 6: carols + christmas curse | ao3

Cas shows up on the third day with the french hens and the turtle doves and the partridge in tow.

day 7: phone calls and late night texts

The first time his phone rings, they are at the diner. When Cas makes no move to grab it from his pocket, Claire stops talking about her classes for a moment to ask, “Isn’t that your phone?”

day 8: “there’s no need for mistletoe”

“Are you guys decent?” comes Sam’s voice from the other side of their door. “Yes,” is Cas’ reply, at the same time Dean says, “No.”

day 9: wishes

Dean wakes with a start. Even in the dark, his eyes find Castiel immediately - a solemn, imposing figure at the edge of his bed.

day 10: the gingerbread man

Sam sits across from him with an amused grin plastered on his face. “Jack said he wants to be the gingerbread man for Christmas this year,” he says.

day 11: sharing is caring

“Do we know anyone around here?” asks Cas from the passenger seat and Dean closes his eyes and sighs. “Yeah,” he says  disheartened, “We know Garth.”

day 12 + 16: the one with the dancing + family

A Winchester treat package, Christmas edition.

day 13: poinsettia

It started as soon as Cas joined them at the diner and slipped into the booth next to Dean liked he usually did.

day 14: christmas lights

The last question she asks is the one Claire wanted to avoid at all costs. “Are you coming back to see the lights?”

day 15: of snow and scarves

Dean flung open the door on the parking lot outside their motel room. “Alright you two, get inside now. It’s freezing,” he called, briskly.

day 19: photographs

It gets – a little out of control, but Dean doesn’t realize it, not until Sam comes around one time and he’s scrolling through his phone, saying, “Dude, how many pictures of Miracle have you got?”

#SPNSTAYATHOMECHALLENGE april-june 2020

monday 1: feather

“What the-?”, shouted Dean stopping short on the garage door.

monday 2: gentlemen + thief

“We are the best, aren’t we?” There’s the night and there’s them, engine roaring, compass pointing towards home.

monday 4: bet | ao3

Four times Eileen thought Dean and Castiel were more than friends and one time Sam (finally) saw it too.

monday 5: motel

The police scanner informs them that there’s another victim when it’s three p.m., they’ve just checked in at the motel and they haven’t eaten since breakfast.

monday 6: jealous

Nora had set Castiel up on a blind date with a really nice guy once.

monday 7: thunderstorm

One moment they are speeding up on the empty road with the windows rolled down and the sun shining on the side mirrors and the next is as if someone threw a blanket over the sky.

monday 8: hope

There they are, under the blazing sun in an abandoned parking lot. Castiel has to leave.

monday 9: undercover

Something went wrong. Dean’s got his back against a wall and a knife at his throat and the girl that’s holding it seems like she knows exactly how to use it.

monday 10: paradise

Every other week Dean drives up to North Cove and finds himself on the doorsteps of the little cottage James Novak rented for Kelly Kline.

[sleekervae]

The Neighbour [2.1]

Masterlist

A/N: OH MY GOD I LIVE!!!! Also, spoiler ahead for The Bastards graphic novel; not so much plot-wise but there are a few lines from the book. Indented paragraph is credited to Emerson Barrett and XoBillie.

“I have loved you from the moment you first smiled at me,

Giddy, mischievous, not ever looking for trouble yet somehow

Trouble has a way of always finding you.”

Remington stared wistfully at the view from Eva’s balcony, knowing how self-conscious she was when he watched her as she read a piece. In his lap sat Pluto, satisfied to have his ears stroked while he took his afternoon nap. 

He couldn’t explain it, but somehow Remington found he was always transported to a new dimension when he heard Eva’s poetry. It was so soft and delicate, he could appreciate it the same way one does the petals of the first flowers of spring. Everything about her writing was so soothing, now a familiar notion that he never wanted to let go of.

“You’ve ignited a fire in my belly with embers sparking and popping

Under the intense pressure of your dark eyes 

And the bubbling pearls of your laugh.

I loved you when I first ran into your open arms and marvelled

“My God, you feel just like home”

And with a few simple touches the open sores on my skin 

Recede and heal, and their pain is a faint memory in comparison

To the electricity your fingertips carry. 

I loved you when we were flying over the streets,

Vibrant yellow, orange and purple coating my eyes and

Painting you into Monet’s Twilight, Venice.

You’re a renaissance masterpiece that has been imprinted

Into the soft folds of my brain...”

Eva set her book down having finished the incomplete piece, watching her boyfriend with a dazed smile on his face as the echo of her prose sunk in. She simpered to herself with giddy.

“You know, I always have mixed feelings about reading you my poetry,” she said.

“Why’s that?” Remington asked, “It’s very good,”

“I know that. And you know that,” she smirked, “And I know that you know that I’m low-key inflating your ego with this shit,” 

Remington chuckled, reaching out across the small table to take her smaller hand in his, “Would it put you at ease if I told you my ego is too far gone?”

Eva rolled her eyes and snapped her notebook shut, “Maybe I should start writing poems about the things you do I find annoying?”

“You say that like it’s bad,” Remington shrugged, giddy when she shook her head in dismay at his teasing. 

Pluto continued to lie motionless in Remington’s lap, assuming the sphinx position as he had his ears rubbed. However, the tabby’s eyes sprung open when a guttural vibration shook through the small wooden table, disturbing the peaceful afternoon. 

Eva glanced at the familiar glare of ‘Blocked Caller ID’ appearing, refraining from showing little disdain as she declined the call. Remington however was curious; for the past few months he’d seen Eva decline calls like that over and over again. The first few times he figured it was telemarketers, or scam calls. However, he noticed how they came frequently in the weeks; more prominent on Wednesdays and Thursdays. 

“Who is that?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Eva shrugged, “It’s blocked for a reason,”

“But if you blocked the caller... then you have to know who it is so you could block them,” he reasoned, “Right?”

Eva responded in silence, taking her phone and quickly tucking it beneath her thigh. Remington stared at her pointedly. 

“Eva, you get these calls nearly every day,” he said, “If it’s something bad... you know you can trust me with anything,”

“I know...” Eva nodded slowly, exhaling, “It’s my mom,”

Eva had been exceptionally non-forth coming when it came to her life back in Seattle, only remembering hearing about her friends and family once or twice. He respected her privacy, though he couldn’t help but be a tad curious. She fit the overall profile as someone who was running away from her problems.

“You blocked your mom?” he asked, somewhat in disbelief though from what he understood of their relationship he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Eva nodded, “Yep. Either she can’t take a hint or she’s way more stubborn than I am,”

Remington looked across the street to his own house, the gentle breeze billowing through the sheer curtain in the living room he remembered his mom helping him and Emerson pick out. 

“Why don’t you speak to her?”

“Why don’t you speak to your dad?”

“I told you already,” 

Pluto then leapt off of Remington’s lap and landed on the table, crossing over to his owner and staring at her with his big, soulful eyes. Eva smiled and gently scratched his ears.

“She showed up to my graduation, which would have been fine... but she showed up with her new husband and a kid,” she admitted.

Remington raised his eyebrows, “Her own kid?”

“Yeah. She got married to her co-pilot and they have a ten-year-old son together. She abandoned our family and started a new one,” Eva shook her head, “I guess being married to a chem teacher wasn’t as exciting for her,”

“What did your dad do?” he asked.

“That’s the best part. He knew about it and chose not to tell me. I just couldn’t believe it,” she replied, “But the fact that she just... she disappeared for years and then showed up again with a new family -- at my college graduation! How could I possibly celebrate after seeing that?”

“And you haven’t spoken to her since?” he asked tentatively.

“No. The way I saw it, she walked out of my life with no qualms. So... I walked out of hers. And it doesn’t matter how much she phones me; I don’t have time for disingenuine people,”

Remington reached over to take her hand that was resting on the table, stroking gently over the bumps of her knuckles, “Did you... did you meet her son?”

It was then Eva looked truly bummed out, “I think that’s the part I regret most. I mean -- he’s a kid. It’s not his fault his mom is a flake,” 

Remington nodded, “Do you still love your mom?” 

“I don’t know,” Eva shrugged, “Call me a coward, but avoidance is just easier to deal with,”

“You’re not a coward,” Remington assured, “I get it. But... speaking from experience, you can only avoid your issues for so long. As hard as it may be, you might want to address these problems sooner rather than later. I promise you won’t regret it,” 

“Rem --”

“She’s your mom. And obviously the fact that she’s still blowing up your phone should tell you something,”

Eva sat quietly, letting his words sink in. She knew Remington was right; knowing what she knew about him she also knew that he wasn’t just talking out of his ass. She appreciated that he understood where she was coming from, she just wished that his solution could be as easy as it sounded.

“I will call her back... eventually. My dad wants me to come home for Christmas, I guess I have to,” she chuckled sheepishly, warranting a sympathetic smile on his part, “Just... not today,”

“That’s okay,” Remington said, gently squeezing her hand, “It’s all gonna’ work out, Eva,”

“You can’t promise that,” she pointed out.

He shrugged, “Let’s not call it a promise, then. Let’s call is a whim,” 

July had faded into August, as did pandemic fatigue. The streets were becoming busier, the business’ were seeing more intake in revenue, and people were slowly coming back out to try and enjoy was little of a summer was left.

And while most people were doing their best to social distance and keep safe, the cases continued to grow. Safe in the confines of the house, Eva sat at the table and read over the final print draft of the band’s graphic novel. Eva was blown away, completely immersed from the plot line to the artwork. She was supposed to be working with Emerson on his latest project, yet afforded herself a small break. 

Across from her, Emerson was reading through Eva’s Tumblr blog, blown away at the amount of work she had posted since mid-June. Every prose and line was so vivid, painting a clear picture of her emotions. On the one hand, he couldn't help but be a little uncomfortable, knowing the sensual poems he was reading was about his older brother. On the other hand, everything was so poised and punctual -- he figured he may borrow some stuff to try on Shy some time. 

Eva turned to a new page littered with more text than it was visuals, but on the edge of the left page was a stunning, very accurate sketch of Remington. His hair looked so different in the form of a basic sketch, yet those eyes, that face still captured all the majesty and curiosity within. She was unable to help that her fingers glossed over the lines that made up his torso with all his tattoos visible, tracing down the length of his arm to the vanity beside him and back up again. The cold paper singed her fingertips as she read the prose beside the sketch, a small smile creeping onto her lips with every word that echoed in her brain.

“...Emerson thought that if hell and heaven had a bastard son, that it would be Remington. His brother had an angelic-looking face with big almond-shaped eyes. His eyes were brown but could shift into black, and melt into the iris. It was a look that Emerson though the angel of hell would be proud of. But then, in the right light, those dark eyes changed and came to glimmer like the purest of gold - a look angels would swarm for. Apart from the eyes, his face was the feature of him that seemed to never change no matter how brutal this world was to him...” 

Eva had to give credit to Emerson for his writing, capturing his brother in such a way that she herself would have. And like the flip of a switch, the memory of Remington’s eyes flashed through her mind, shining of gold and beauty the way the words had echoed to her. 

In another blink his eyes turned into the eerie shadow of black, flashing a look he’d throw her way when his lust for her consumed him. In one paragraph, Remington had been portrayed as a killer from hell, offering flowers to his peers instead of knives.

Though, all romanticism was put aside as Eva read the paragraph again, noting the last line she had skimmed over quickly:

“...his face was the feature of him that seemed to never change no matter how brutal this world was to him. The rest of him was not...”

There as no denying how cruel the world had been to Remington and his brothers, though the more she pondered the more she realized she had never seen the type of dejection in his face the way Emerson had described. He always appeared -- not happy, per say -- but content with his life. 

Emerson looked up from his tablet, noticing the way Eva’s eyes were glued to her own reading, her hand placed protectively over the sketch of Remington. 

“You okay, Eva?” he asked. 

She glanced at the youngest brother, shaken by the break in silence. But she smiled reassuringly and flipped the page, despite not having finished reading the last. 

“Oh, yeah,” she nodded, “It’s absolutely beautiful. I did make note of a couple grammatical errors... I hope you don’t mind,”

“It’s fine,” he grinned, “Deadline for rewrites is on Friday,”

“If you'd like, I could go through the rest for you. I’m in between articles right now,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. Promise I won’t post spoilers for fans,” 

“Might have to get you an NDA,” he giggled merrily, “I’ll send the file over. You ever work with InDesign?”

“A few times, yeah...” she trailed off, a new train of thought lingering in the back of her mind, “Emerson... can I ask you something sorta’ personal?”

Emerson raised an eyebrow, “How personal?” he asked. 

She breathed out carefully, “Remington had told me about your dad --”

“What did he say?” Emerson asked quickly, his cheerful demeanour quickly souring.

“Just that he hadn’t been in the picture for a while,” she said assuringly, “Nothing else,” 

Emerson began to relax a little, “Okay. What’s your question, Eva?”

“Say he out of the blue started making an effort to get back in touch with you... would you take that offer?” she asked.

“Nope,” he replied shortly, “Because if he wanted back in our lives, it would be for his own gain,” 

Eva stayed silent, his quick answer all she needed to know that she shouldn’t push the envelope. Emerson saw the fall in her face, feeling a tad bad for being so short with Eva. 

“Sorry...” he grimaced, “I just... I don’t like to talk about my dad,” 

“I understand,” Eva nodded, “I’m sorry I brought it up,”

“... Why did you?” Emerson asked curiously.

Eva exhaled, her fingers picking at the edge of the glossy page, “Just getting room different perspectives. My mom and I don’t exactly have a Gilmore Girls kind of relationship. I’ve just been thinking ‘cause she’s been trying to get a hold of me for so long,”

“Was she nice to you? When you were younger?” he asked.

“I don’t really remember,” Eva replied truthfully, “She was -- superficial. There but not really there,”

He cocked his head, his wispy black hair falling over his eyes, “So... you’re trying to figure out if you want a relationship with your mom?” 

Before she could reply, they both turned when they heard footsteps echoing in the hall towards them. Michael had appeared, panning his camera around for new footage for the band’s Youtube channel. Eva was unsure whether she pay attention or turn back to the book and pretend not to see. 

“What’re you two working on?” he asked, focusing the lens on Emerson so Eva was just out of the shot. Michael respected that Eva was a touch camera shy. 

“Top secret,” Emerson replied promptly, “And if we told you, we’d have to kill you,”

“I won’t unleash that wrath,” Michael chuckled, “Don’t have too much fun!”

“We’ll try,” Emerson muttered as he sauntered into the next room. 

Eva closed the book and pushed it aside, sighing to herself as she pulled back her laptop and opened Emerson’s project. The youngest brother watched her unabashedly, picking off the air of uncertainty swirling around her. 

“Does Remington know your mom keeps calling you?” he asked.

“He was kind of curious as to why I kept getting all these blocked calls,” she replied.

“What did he say?”

“That everything was going to be okay,” she nodded slowly, “You don’t know how many times I’ve heard that in my life and... it’s not. So, I’m super inclined to believe him,” 

Emerson swallowed, “My brother has a tendency to want to take care of everybody. And it’s not a bad quality. But he also doesn’t know how he can make it better,” he said.

“It’s not up to him to make it better,” Eva declared. 

“But he loves you,” Emerson stated, “And just because of that, he’ll want to help you find your way out of this. When Remington commits to someone, he tends to go one-hundred-percent all in,” 

Eva simpered to herself, “I appreciate him. He’s -- definitely been a plot twist,” 

“Good or bad plot twist?” 

“Very good,” 

Emerson smiled as she started to type on her keyboard, some of Eva’s vexations visibly released when the topic had changed to Remington. As she appreciated Remington, Emerson appreciated Eva for all that she’d done for him. He had this gut intuition, a simmering notion that Eva was going to be sticking around for a long time. And he had absolutely no problem with that.

“Can I ask you a serious question, though?” he asked.

“Of course,” Eva nodded.

“Do you like his blue hair...?” he asked with a drawling disdain.

The young brunette turned her head in the direction of the distant chatter of the boys. 

“I take it by your tone you’re not a fan,” she said.

Emerson scoffed, “He’s taking me back to the Kool-Aid dye trend,”

“Oh, Emerson,” 

[kyberphilosopher]

Wʜᴀᴛ I'ᴍ Tʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ Aʙᴏᴜᴛ

“Go ahead and cry little girl... I know how much it matters to you...I'd do whatever I could do. I'd run away and hide with you.”

Word Count: 4176

“He doesn’t care what she tells him or what they talk about, he just loves to hear the sound of her voice. Even better if she has to tell him twice. On the other hand, this could insinuate that he either has a bad memory, is distracted, or is so infatuated with her he can’t concentrate on what she’s telling him.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Everybody on the Mantis seemed to be filled to the brim with something that could never be alleviated. 

Things stung like a sunburn... one that was plastered to their brains and wouldn’t go away. Even when the sun would implode in on itself six billion years later, the pink marks and scars wouldn’t fade. All their problems ran so deep- arguably too deep. What could they have done but sat and waited for it to leave them?

Greez Dritus couldn’t stop gambling. The rush of it all... the chance of losing and dying and escaping it each time made him feel invincible. Even when he would lose, it felt so good. It felt right, fated. Godly, even. It nearly destroyed his relationships... almost got one of his crew members killed... but Greez had come back to save him! Not that he needed saving... but it counted for something, didn’t it? 

[It didn’t.]

Cere Junda did what she could to let the guilt go. First, she tried confronting it. Then she tried burying it down. Neither of these made her feel any better. She tried meditating, eating, starving, sleeping, ignoring, embracing, and redirecting the guilt. Anything to defer the pain, instead of accepting it. But the more Cere deferred, the more the guilt grew. And the more the guilt grew, the more Cere shrank. 

Merrin felt angry too often. Even for her own liking. It was just that, sometimes if she thought too long, or shut her eyes too tight, she could remember her childhood. She could remember being patient and small, just as willing to learn as her fellow nightsisters. She could remember that all was well. But Merrin could also remember the day the armored man came with the droids, and how she wouldn’t have to be patient until she was left alone with no one but the dead. 

And Cal Kestis... Cal Kestis might’ve had the worst of it. The man suffered of no addictions, nor physical ailments. On the contrary, in fact. His body was broad and promising from work as a Rigger. Flexible and taut. It was his mind and emotions that was couldn’t seem to function properly. 

But it was different from Cere and Merrin’s trauma. It was more intensified, focused, raw on both guilt and loss at once. Cal had been in a complete state of agony since he was twelve years old, since he had held his master’s hand while he died. Master Topal had died for him, after all. Maybe it was for the best that Cal be the one to live with the blame. 

Cal thought about this every day. He thought about what he not only could’ve done, but should’ve done. He thought about all the people he’d never be able to love again, and why he didn’t deserve it anyway. Maybe he did have an addiction. Maybe Cal Kestis just loved making himself feel so bad over something nobody but himself hated him for. 

It’s not like you were much better. 

You felt incredibly heavy with the weight of all the secrets you’d been asked to keep. Strained with all the tapestries of misery you’d been tasked to weave. You were a Slicer, which wasn’t the most morally corrupt job, but it certainly made you feel morally corrupt yourself. Because you doubled as a bounty hunter, you were forced to choose yourself over others. Usually, yourself over the people and things you were turning in. 

Once, you had sliced into a mans datapad in search of information you had been tasked with deleting. On this datapad, you found names. Names of children, anywhere between the ages of eight to sixteen, sold off into various different rings. A girl named Aheka Shyn was training to be a medic when she was abruptly kidnapped and sent off to make spice. A boy named Garreth was only fourteen when he’d been stolen from his junk home planet, instead to be sent to an Imperial fighting ring. And you had desperately wanted to send the man to the authorities, arrest him yourself- anything. But if you didn’t delete what you had found, you would’ve starved to death that night. 

So you deleted what you found. 

There were several more occasions like this, and all of them haunted your memory. You were not a bad person, or even a neutral person. You were much worse. You were a bystander, a failure, the farthest anyone could get from a hero. And you refused to blame anybody but yourself for this revelation. 

You would not hate your father, nor blame your actions or lack thereof on the issues he had given you. You would not blame your mother, your brother, your sister- anyone you may or may not have in your life. You wouldn’t blame the first boy who ever broke your heart, or the first girl who had ever let your hands wander against her for false fame. It was you, all you, and if you wanted otherwise, you should’ve given otherwise. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

There are a lot of people in this world, and the next, who find sex to be pleasurable. Sometimes it’s for selfless reasons, and sometimes it’s for selfish reasons. Sometimes it’s simply because it’s one of the many cures for boredom. Maybe the purpose for your particular instance didn’t matter very much. It was pleasurable for you and Cal, and that was enough. 

You’d liked Cal for a long time. It was difficult not to. First thing you knew about him was that he had a great taste in music. Second thing you knew about him was that he didn’t know when to ask and not ask questions. The third, and most obvious thing you knew about him, was that he was a good person. From anyone’s point of view but his own, he was someone to be admired and respected. His whole life, the entirety of all occupations he’d had, were based around helping others. And you knew this was further proof that you weren’t good enough for him, but that night was the night that you couldn’t resist any longer. 

Cal had given you his consent, and you had given him yours. Both of you were worn out and too honest from the events of the long day, but mentally sober enough to be clear in your mindsets. You knew what was happening. No drugs, no alcohol, no manipulation. You’d found yourself in his quarters while everyone else slept for one reason or another, and then you’d done it. 

The act hadn’t lasted long. Both of you were too excited at the heat and promise of intercourse from the time you’d gone without. Not because you couldn’t get intercourse, but because you couldn’t find it within yourselves to muster up enough trust for anybody to touch you so. But then something had snapped between you and Cal, resulting in the rather hot and aroused endeavor. 

When it was done and the finger tipped shaped bruises were beginning to form on your hips, your first clear thought cut through like a knife. [“Oh, fuck.”] It wasn’t because there was a good chance that Cal had partially finished inside of you. It wasn’t because either of you had failed to think of any quick source of protection. It was because the consequences of your actions stretched beyond the physical ones. 

Were you in a relationship now? What if you weren’t? What if you wanted to be, and he didn’t? What if he wanted to be, and you said otherwise? What if this meant nothing to him? You didn’t know if you believed Cal to be that type of person, but your work as a Bounty Slicer before joining the Mantis crew was enough to teach you to never assume anything about anyone. Where were either of you to go from here?

Cal Kestis was in no position to be in a relationship. He’d told you that tonight, not with his lips, but with his fingers. When people become intimate as you have, sometimes they manage to share more than just their bodies. Cal had managed to share with you just why and how you were wrong about his mental and emotional state. He’d revealed his anguish, his fear of losing people. He’d revealed that he was angry deep inside, that he’d had more than a few regrets in his life. You didn’t know how or why- you’d always been too respectful to ask about his past. But now you had some twisted form of confirmation.

You looked over at him, deep in thought. Cal’s skin was glistening with a thin layer of sweat as he began to regain his breath. His hair was falling in soft, orange locks by his eyes. His lashes were long and dark brown, and seemed  heavy as he blinked. You can see the old, mauve gash that stretches from his neck to his cheek like a line in a poem. 

The boy raises his veined, left hand to push his hair back. With close eyes and a heaving chest, he says, “was it alright?”

In truth, it was much, much better than alright. Maybe you had low standards for not being touched for so long, but you really believed it was fantastic. A little blurred together from the pace and the clouded mind, but unmistakable in the sensations you’d earned from it. “Yes,” you managed to reply. 

Cal sighed finally, eyes still shut. His breathing was beginning to calm down at this point, but your mind was still racing. With his green orbs still glued shut, Cal reaches his arm around you, and rolls to the side. In a fluid motion, without much effort at all really, Cal pulls you towards him until your bare back meets his bare chest. 

Cal groans lazily a few more times as he adjusts his body around until he’s completely comfortable. He falls asleep in a matter of seconds. You on the other hand, feel tired, but buzzed. Almost like your deep dark thoughts have the same affect as caffeine. 

What the hell was that? You cry out in your mind. What the hell are we going to do now? 

But, despite the thoughts that created such anguish after such a pleasurable experience, you could feel yourself sinking into Cal’s embrace. His chest was warm and inviting, and broad enough to snuggle into it at any angle. You didn’t fight too hard to keep your eyes from coming to a stiff close.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

This brings us to now, and why you’ve only said one word to Cal since that night. 

It happened about four days ago at this point. You should’ve stayed and voiced your concerns to the boy, but you hadn’t. Instead you’d fallen into a dreamless sleep, only to wake up hours later when the Mantis shook coming out of hyperspace. Cal had removed his arm from around you and turned away, so it was easy to hop up, throw your undergarments on, and rush back to your room before anyone could deduce anything. 

It wasn’t that you specifically regretted what you had done- you liked Cal. You liked Cal a lot, actually. The night you spent pressed against him only proved and accelerated that much. But you were an observant person, and you were observant enough to understand that you might’ve just ruined everything. 

You weren’t good enough, or worthy enough to be with Cal. He wasn’t perfect, (which would bring you to your next point), but you were even farther from it. How many lives had you ruined just by trying to scrape by? Cal saved and bettered lives like it was nothing. He’d helped the partisans of Kashyyyk without asking for anything in return. He’d informed a single mother of her partners death with as much humility as he could. He’d shown enough empathy towards the Nightsister’s to make even Merrin budge. And you? You hated yourself for all the people you’d let down and would continue to let down into the next life. 

But Cal wasn’t in any state of mind to love you. He wasn’t cruel, nor manipulative. But he was damaged and scared of something that scared you more. So how was he ever going to love you? How was he going to put up with you? To take on more suffering than he already struggled with? You couldn’t do that to him, and the option of breaking your heart seemed all the kinder. 

And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. You knew the moment you would be alone with him again, it could’ve gone one of two ways. Way One: that Cal would inform you that he loved you- falsely- and you would fall into his strong arms again and repeat your heated actions. On the other hand, there was Way Two: the way in which Cal told you he loved you, but he couldn’t go any further. Then it would come to an end. Both options upset you, so you decided to freeze yourself in time. Cal could neither lie, nor harm you so long as you kept away from him. 

And, as stated above, this went on for four days. 

So, there was a build up of frustration within the walls that you’d constructed around yourself. It was a stalemate, and it didn’t take long for you to crack. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

It started slow- the welling of tears across your lower lash line, the flushing of your cheeks, the trembling of your lips. You tried to deny it from happening. You practically shouted at yourself not to cry. It was so stupid. So, so stupid. So... why was it happening?

It overwhelmed you quickly. Your eyes squinted, smearing the drops across your eyes and making your vision blurry. You bit your bottom lip to stop the trembling, but then your nose began to sniffle. It burned to inhale the snot again, and your lips started to quake again. You were lucky you were alone, you thought, before you let the tears fall. 

It was night. Or, as nightly as space could get, you supposed. Greez had put the Mantis on autopilot, and hyperspace was whizzing by in indigo and baby blue streaks. White stars laced by in between lines, past the glass of the windows and the metal that had created the space. 

All was asleep, except for you. So you allowed yourself to cry, but only if you held yourself to keeping the volume down. And you did. On the steps by the Latero’s terrarium. All of the seeds had grown into miniature plants and trees and flowers by now, blooming in vibrant colors of all kinds. The picture would’ve been so neat and beautiful, if not for your form shaking as you hunched over. 

You should not have slept with Cal. Did you regret it? Not exactly. But you still felt so guilty about how much you cared for him, and the knowledge that he couldn’t have actually loved you. You might not have been able to love him too. There was just so many issues that you’d been able to pick up on, especially since you’d done the deed. But Greez had his gambling, Cere had her guilt, Merrin had her anger, and Cal had... Cal had everything. Everything you had shared, every burning mark he’d left on you, it all felt false. Like maybe it wasn’t out of emotions, but a wrong idea. 

What a ridiculous thing to cry about, you thought as you cried. But you couldn’t stop. The tears were leaking from you in pearly beads, glistening and swirling with your stress. As much as you hated to admit it, it felt good to cry. You hadn’t done it in a long time, years maybe. There was more than just everything with Cal that was exiting your system along with the tears. 

It was from the stress of your father, and whatever he may or may have not done. It was from the stress of work, the stress of your past. The guilt. All of it. It was pouring out of you silently, like the way that someone wrings out a washcloth. The sounds were minimal, and if anyone woke up and heard it, it could easily be mistaken for the little critter on board eating. 

However, the person that woke up and heard the noises, didn’t mistake it for the little critter on board eating. In fact, he thought it sounded a lot like someone who was crying, or sniffling. Even if he hadn’t been so observant with his hearing, he could still sense the waves of sadness coming from just past the hallway. They echoed throughout his chest like a wind chime, rippling through him until he felt sad too. 

Cal Kestis had a habit of taking on others people’s emotions. He had, even if it didn’t always shine through, an enormous amount of empathy. He had it even for his enemies, and it was the cause of a lot of lost fights. 

The Jedi had gone to use the bathroom when his face fell. He looked to the doorway of the stairs for a while, seeing just the outline of someone from his view. He couldn’t make out who it was, but he was quick to rule out Merrin and Greez. This left Cere and yourself, but the hood of your jacket gave it away. 

Maker, Cal had to urinate. He had to go so bad. But he went to you first without thinking about it, walking carefully as if not to disturb you. His boots were dropping on the floor louder than he would’ve liked, but it must not have been too loud, since you had not ceased your depressed bobbing or turned around to face him. 

Cal didn’t like asking upset people if they were okay, because he was intelligent to understand that being upset was not equal to being okay. But his baby pink lips were already throwing the words out anyway, his voice croaking slightly from the sleep he’d woken up from. “Are you okay?” he ventured out. 

Immediately, you turned around with a jump. Your cheeks were a deep shade of magenta, eye lashes long and dark and feathery. Eyes were sparkling beautifully, but for all the wrong reasons. One of your hands hastily wiped your face, as if you had simply sneezed. But Cal had already seen it. He knew you were crying, and you knew that he knew. 

“Oh, uh, yeah,” you said as your voice cracked slightly. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“You sure?” Cal asked as he took a hesitant step forward. “You don’t look okay.”

Your eyes flitted from him to the miniature tree in Greez’s terrarium. The branches were curled into detailed little swirls, with leaves sprouting in bushes of bright and dark greens alike. In truth, craning your neck to look over your shoulder strained it for you, and looking away alleviated it just as much as it alleviated seeing the boy. “I’m cool.”

You hoped he would leave it and go away. This was a bit of a long shot, and of course he didn’t. Because Cal Kestis had a big, caring heart that was probably corrupted, but big and caring nonetheless. 

He walked nearer to you until finally another step would’ve resulted with him on the stairs too. You didn’t dare look up at him, keeping your eyes on the tree like your life depended on it. 

“I don’t think you’re okay,” Cal said in a very tired, but very soft and real voice. 

You swallowed, trying to keep the tears from falling again. Your eyes had already begun to glisten again like a threat, and your breathing was becoming shaky. But you were a big girl, and you knew you could keep it together if you just kept your eyes on the tree. Where had Cal gotten it? Kashyyyk?

“I mean maybe I’m tired but... you don’t look okay,” he continued. You could feel his soft green eyes on you as your nostrils flared with anxiety. “You don’t sound okay.”

“I’m just having an off night,” you decided to say. Which, by the way, was a safe enough thing to respond with. It wasn’t necessarily a lie- you were having an off night. But somehow it still felt like it wasn’t the truth. 

“Can you please look at me?” the boy said softly, though it felt somewhat dominant. 

Maybe if you looked at him and kept telling yourself to keep it together, you could. Maybe it would help. Like confronting a dare or showing up an enemy. Was that how you saw Cal now? An enemy?

Your knees croaked in protest as you pushed yourself off the floor. When you stood at your full height, much lower than him due to being a step lower, you lost sight of the tree. Cal’s left shoulder was in the way, covered by a black shirt and dark blue poncho. You followed the seam of it down where his collarbone would be, up the neck to where you had left a few marks, around his jaw and finally to his eyes. They were piercing and begging, and you knew at once you shouldn’t have accepted the challenge of looking into them. 

“Are you okay Y/N?” he repeats. 

You bite your bottom lip as the tears well again, telling yourself to nod yes. But for some reason, the message doesn’t get from your brain to the nerves or muscles in your head, and instead it shakes no. 

Cal reaches his arms around your shoulders again and pulls you into him until your head hits his chest. It’s a bit of a weird angle and position, but it feels nice to rest against something. He’s quick to notice your trembling and slowly eases his knees into a bend as you follow, though you’re more melting like putty. 

You start crying again right before he hits the stairs. It’s a little louder than it was before Cal arrived, but only because he knows you feel more protected and comfortable enough to do so. Still, he keeps you close as both a courtesy to others, and yourself. And it’s nice because you can see the tree again, but this time you can hear the rhythm of his heart as well. 

Both of his strong, engineer hands are caressing you- one against your shoulder and the other in your hair. Stroking softly and quietly as a contradiction to your sobs, like something calm against something wracking. 

It made you cry more when you realized how calm Cal was to all of this. He stayed steady and upright so you could be comfortable against him- you could already feel the tension forming in his back. But his eyes were closed instead of looking around awkwardly. He wasn’t asleep, but it was like his body was entirely dedicated to taking care of you in the moment. He knew how much it meant for you to cry, even if you thought the reasons were stupid and ridiculous and you’d done your best to stop it. He let it happen anyway, and he’d let it happen on him. And if you didn’t know, that’s an incredibly nice thing to do for someone. 

You felt like a little girl again, but this time it felt better. It felt like maybe someone actually wanted you to be okay. 

Cal didn’t even ask what was wrong. Not yet, anyway. He just stayed in his position, tracing loving circles into your skin without really knowing the reasons why. He cared, but not as much as he cared about you being alright first. That meant something to you. It meant that he cared about you more than whatever reasons that galaxy could come up with. It meant that he’d put you first, before logic or shadows of facts or evidence. For now, at least.

In turn, Cal wanted to do everything he could for you. He didn’t know what was hurting you. He’d ask after, when he’d whisked you off to somewhere special and warm and safe that existed just between the two of you. Like your own little planet with a thousand different rings and scenery. Because, like said before, Cal Kestis has an enormous amount of empathy, and a very big heart. 

So, you thought, maybe he can love me like I love him. 

[He could.]

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

I really came into this trying my best but then I feel like it slowly spiraled as I progressively got more tired. I always say I’ll go back and edit but then I get distracted by the Clone Wars and start something new. 

This was based of the song Daddy Issues by the Neighbourhood. I suggest listening to it. AND if there’s any other characters you’d like me to use for this song than tell me! I really like it a lot. anyway, butts. 

Taglist: @omg-we-really-doo​ @haztory​ @fanficsforheartandsoul​ [can’t even remember if you’re actually on my taglist but i just tag you in everything anyway i’m so sorry], @anakinswhore​ @chokemeanakin​ @kit-jpg​

[peachyteabuck]

under cover of darkness

summary: a 24-hour convenience store, the night shift, and the man who gets you through day. 

a commission for @lovelycarose​

pairing: eliot spencer x reader

words: 5510

trigger warnings: mentions of a break-in with canon-level violence, fluff, mentions of an unspecified chronic pain disorder

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

There are some good things about the night shift. It’s easier to balance classes and your precarious mental health, plus the pay wasn’t terrible – a few extra bucks per hour were thrown your way after eleven and before five.

So you kept with it, one earbud in so you could listen to music while the hours ticked by at a pace so slow it felt like some supervillain had not only completely frozen time – but was also determined to thaw is at room temperature.

That was another thing about the night shift – the customers. It was mostly regulars, or tourists who forgot something at home but didn’t want to spend airport prices for a travel sized container of deodorant. None of them really stick out, none interesting enough to stick in your brain for long as you mindlessly pack their various items into white plastic bags.

That is, until he starts coming in. Tall and impossible big – it’s hard not to marvel at him as if he was a breathtaking skyscraper, like you had never seen something so magnificent. His flowing dark brown hair, his tight jeans…it’s all nearly too much for eleven-at-night-you. (Also for “I haven’t had sex in so long and I think I’ve eroded the ridges on my vibrator from using it so often and holy shit I would do anything to have that man under/above me” you, a you only made stronger and more desperate by how late it was and tired you were.)

He walks around with the confidence not often seen in newcomers, your eye used to college students too drunk to stand up perfectly straight. You’re used to people stumbling around with eyes-half closed, rubbing their temples as the bright white lights feel like cheese graters shaped like ice picks against their already hurting brains. You’re used to watching them stumble around, using some Neolithic instinct to find the cool fridges where they’ll rest their faces against the glass for an oddly long amount of time before opening it up to grab as many Gatorades as they could hold before attempting to grab one or two (or five) frozen pizzas, never able to access the higher order thinking necessary to understand that maybe grabbing one of the baskets by the entrance is important.

Or, on the other end of the spectrum you’ve come to know as normal: soccer moms searching for alcohol for their husband’s post-game barbecue. Moms with large dark circles under their eyes who probably read (and watched) the Fifty Shades movie unironically but still feels weird when their husbands suggest having sex in any position besides missionary with the lights off. Moms who went to college just to meet some mediocre-looking frat boy who votes Republican just because his father did and thinks thirty seconds of oral is enough foreplay.

They don’t spend as much time in the store as the drunk/high students, but it’s still just as entertaining watching them grab the food and drink – but not before lingering in the makeup aisle, staring at bold shades of red and waterproof mascara and the bright hair dye whose advertisements have terribly applied photoshop.

No matter the type – no matter the customer – they were nothing like the man who stood on the other side of the store, staring intently at your soft drink selection. None of them were beefy men with crumpled grocery lists, permanently furrowed brows, and the most beautiful five o’clock shadow you’ve ever seen. None of them wear thick black work boots that make not a single sound as they walk around the store, none of them wear jeans that are so criminally tight around a perfect ass.

Not even a perfect ass – the perfect ass. It’s symmetrical, looking as if it was drawn by a pin-up artist in the 50’s whose specialty involves drawing super buff men in poses meant for petite, slender women with perfect curves. As he walks you half expect sparks to form on his backside as if you were in some kind of Anime, or for each individual cheek to bounce up and down on their own asynchronous accord. Normally you’d be terrified of being caught staring – of him turning around and catching your eye and mocking someone like you for having the nerve to be attracted to him.

But that doesn’t happen, because for once in your life the universe is kind to you. For once in your life you’re allowed to listen to music and stare dreamily at the hot guy who checks the ingredients on every snack dip option you have available before choosing three different ones with a small, disappointed huff.

You watch him with that same silent intensity as he fills the bright red carrier he grabbed without a sound when he first strutted in, the packaging of the items crinkling being the only way to track his location when he steps out of your eyeline. If your boss wasn’t the one on security cameras you’d be angling all of them to follow him around the store, your eyes hungry for another look at him at whatever angle and whichever quality you could get. You feel like a fangirl obsessed with some boyband, your heart rate determined by the amount of the mountain of a man you can see between displays of holiday-themed candy and cheap make up.

You’re not sure how long it is before he’s approaching your counter (time appears to have lost all meaning the second he stepped into the store), but whether it had been five minutes or five years, he still takes your breath away. As he steps closer you realize he’s fucking massive – something your grandmother (a wonderful woman, but one lacking when social situations called for, among other things, any kind of brain-to-mouth filter) would call a “shit brickhouse.” He doesn’t even need one of the baskets as he prowls the aisles – scanning every item like a lion watches the Sahara through tall grass. It’s hard to look away, to go back to the book you’ve been trying to read the same page from since long before the little automated bell above the door had announced the man’s arrival – but the only distraction before had been the tiny, exhausted voice in the back of your mind that was shaming at you for not sleeping before the night’s shift.

Now, though, the voice has quieted to allow your tired eyes to follow him, pupils tracing along every inch of him.

The man checks out without a word; shaking his head when you ask if he has a rewards card and paying in cash. When you give him $7.26 in change, your hands touch for a brief moment and you nearly stop breathing – lungs suddenly void of their capacity to hold air as sparks fly from his callous fingertips to the bottom of your spine. He pulls away, eventually, because he has to – depositing the totality of the meager amount of money you’d just handed him into the donation box plastered with facts about victims of domestic violence right next to your register.

The box is made of an opaque deep purple plastic, the coins making a loud clink sound as they crash into the near-empty container. The man stares at it for a moment, swallowing an apparent lump in his throat as his eyes go blank for a fraction of a second before he digs into his pockets and fishes out a thick wad of perfectly folded five dollar bills before stuffing them into the hastily cut slot at the top.

Neither of you say anything as he does so, you too stunned by his generosity and him too occupied with making sure he had no more money hidden in his pockets to try and muster some vague capacity for speech. Still, as he turns and leaves, you cough to clear your throat and call out a loud and slightly hoarse “thank you!” to which he just turns and gives you a small smile in return.

The moment between the pair of you is fleeting but still makes your heart beat rapidly in your chest, swelling until your lungs feel tight against your ribs as you struggle to breathe. Fuck, you think. You haven’t felt like this since middle school when Jamie told you that your Katniss braid was adorable and you followed him around for two weeks until he agreed to take you on a “date” during lunch. You don’t even know this man’s name and you’re fawning over him as if you have another girlhood crush.

God, you need to learn his name.

Luckily, you find out the next time that his name is Eliot, even though the name embroidered in red above the right pocket of his dirtied coveralls says “Evan” in a fancy looped script (whatever, you don’t question it. You regularly wore your roommate’s sweatshirt from her alma mater even though you didn’t attend the university – must be the same thing, right?). That time all he buys is hair ties and chapstick – lots of hair ties and chapstick, just another thing you don’t question – but stays to talk with you about the Robert Frost poem you were annotating.

“Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening?” he reads aloud, smiling a little as he does so. “Is that for class, or…”

“It’s for class, but I’m liking it a lot more than the other obligatory readings for my degree,” you tell him a small laugh. “Do you enjoy poetry?”

Eliot shrugs as he grabs the full bags. “Oh, ya know. Just the occasional piece. You have a good day now.”

You smile as he walks toward the exit, butterflies pounding in your stomach once more. “You too!”

God, you think as he disappears from eyeshot. You’ve got it bad, girl.

He comes in again, irregular in each way except for the fact he arrives. Sometimes he’s clean cut, standing straight as he takes his sweet time wandering the store – as if he has nowhere to be, no need to rush around.

On those days, he buys a lot of things. Duct tape, orange soda, hair ties, sour candy in all shapes and colors. He makes conversation, asking about the book you’re reading or what you’re listening to, asking about your classes when you wear a jacket embroidered with your university’s logo on the front. On those days, he waits a little – even when all his items are bagged and there’s no real reason for him to stay – picking up on anything that would give him another thread of conversation to pull at.

“Something new?” he asks when you dogear one of the first few pages of a poetry book your friend had lent you.

“Yup!” you perk up just at the sight of him, cheery now more than you had been the entirety of the day now that he’s arrived. “Told a friend of mine about the assignment I was working on the last time you were here, and she shoved this anthology into my hands.”

You like those days – you look forward to them each time you step through the large door marked “EMPLOYEES ONLY” in large white letters that stand out against the incredibly depressing brown that’s been peeling since the day you interviewed here, spots covered sparsely by the maintenance guy who you’ve never seen. Those days are good, fun – they make you smile hours after he leaves and occupy your thoughts until you go to bed, sometimes even making it into the margins of your notebook when you’re zoning out in class.

Sometimes, though, he comes in nearly limping – at least one eye blackened and dark navy baseball cap pulled as far down his forehead as he can.

It scared you the first time, watching as he grunted with each step, every item he grabs from the shelves seeming like it pained him, his face scrunching into a wince each time he raises an arm above his ribs. You checked his items (bandages, ice packs, gauze, antifungal cream, a few first aid kits) with bated breath, terrified of making his mood worse.

It isn’t until you tell him the total, until you finally look up from your hands – that you finally look him in the eyes. They’re always warm like plate of freshly baked macaroni and cheese (and always make you feel just as gooey), but now appear to be clouded with a type of pain you can’t pin down. He doesn’t say much – or anything – as you bag his items, placing them gingerly into the paper bag as if it was an extension of him.

You try to keep a happy face throughout the entire ordeal, not wanting to push him in case what happened was particularly bad. Eliot gives you a similarly small, but earnest one in return – even if he barely hides the wince in his side as he does so.

But that was the first time things seemed a little off – your first time, specifically – and the others get easier as time passes.

At first, “easier” meant a return to days similar to the good ones – telling him things about your day as you ring up all his first-aid related items. He doesn’t respond with as much enthusiasm, doesn’t have the same witty banter – but gives you a small smile that you recognize nonetheless. But then, as the weeks bleed into months, you learn how to handle both the terrible days, the bad days, and the good days all the same.

It’s on one of the good days that he buys tampons, a piece of every kind of chocolate item you sell, and enough Acetaminophen to knock out a horse.

“Your girlfriend is very lucky,” you tell him, blushing as you bag the items. For a minute you think you’ve embarrassed him, crossed some line as a sickening silence grows between you two like mold on two-week old leftovers in a fridge that was turned off. It’s just as disgusting, too, which is why you’re so happy that he still gives you a small smile when you dare look up from where your scanner’s red line centers on the barcode of one of the tampon boxes.

“Nah, just,” Eliot’s plump lips look so kissable it makes your heart pick up. “A roommate, uh. She needs this. Her boyfriend is doing some game night thing and couldn’t pick it up. So I, uh. I got drafted.”

You give a little snort as you grab the receipt, smiling wide as you place it in the bag. “Well, your roommate is very lucky to have you.”

Eliot laughs as he grabs his stuff, cheeks heating up as he blushes. “Can I kidnap you for a little while so you can come remind her of that?”

In a rare moment of confidence, you lean forward and grin. “Is it kidnapping if I want it?”

The blush rages as he sputters a response, eyes downcast as he turns to leave. You get no witty response back, but the way he turns to wink at you as the automatic doors part is enough of a rebuttal for you to feel satisfied with your quip.

No matter what kind of mood Eliot is in, you look forward to his visits, watching and talking with him. Each evening you get ready for work you wondered if he would come in that night, if you would be able to tell him about the dumb thing this guy in one of your seminars said, or how you won an argument during bar crawl over the weekend using some of the random things he had taught you during the very conversations you now wish to have with him. It’s nice, the nicest thing you have in a long time – and somehow that doesn’t scare you, and somehow that makes you feel even better each time you see him.

But then “The Day” happens, and it changes everything.

The evening of “The Day” you woke up from your pre-work nap with this unexplainable feeling that something was going to go wrong. This feeling deep in the bottom of your stomach that you can’t quite place, one that makes the back of your knees sweat and where your ribs feel just a little tighter. Each and every sound – the cars that drive way too fast down your street, the creaking in your house, the dogs that bark obnoxiously – seem loudly, harsher than usual. When you sit up in bed when your alarm goes off it’s like you can feel the muscles in your back contract, feel the bones in your joints grind against each other. There’s some electricity in the air like when it’s right before a storm – only the sky is clear and your weather app doesn’t predict any rain until next week (and, even then, it’s only a drizzle).

At first you think it’s just a bad pain day; not bad enough to keep you home, or make you forget even the idea of doing anything besides groaning in pain in your bed and taking as many pain medications as your doctor says you’re able to. Still, it’s quite noticeable, and occupies your thoughts as you go through each part of your pre-work routine. Even as you shower, turn on your coffee pot, do the minimal make up required to make it look like you didn’t just roll out of bed or are some Victorian orphan plagued by tuberculosis and possibly a deep sadness embodied by the terrible weather that crashes outside their overcrowded London orphanage – you can’t seem to get rid of the proverbial dark cloud that settles itself between your brain and skull, clouding your thoughts and making your stomach hurt just a little.

It doesn’t get better when you get into work, either. There’s a tenseness in the air you can practically taste – electricity in the air that settles over your skin and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straighter than the carefully constructed sales display of some B-list celebrity’s nail polish collection, the one you spent hours fussing over during one of your very rare day shifts. It somehow only gets worse when Eliot arrives, whistling some tune that normally would be wistful and happy, but given the context sounds like something straight from a horror movie trailer that invades your otherwise-sweet daydreams for weeks to come; one of those songs that everyone knows but no one knows the name of that sounds really creepy when played slowly over a clip of some old, beat-up doll being held by an adorable little blonde girl with black-out contacts in.

You don’t tell him to stop, but the tune does slow when he notices your tense state when he passes to get to the soft drink aisle. When he gives you a questioning look you just shrug, hoping he forgets (or finds it in himself not to ask) about it by the time he finds what he needs. Judging by the song, lack of list, and spring in his step – it’s a good day, one where he intends to meander around the store and grab whatever it is catches his attention. Today that appears to be anything with sugar, most notably soda in every color but orange.

At some point he finds his way closer to you – more specifically he finds his way to the chocolate aisle, which faces your register – and strikes up a conversation. It’s just small talk, and doesn’t do much to distract you from the twisting in your gut, but you appreciate his efforts nonetheless. The small talk just feels like a dead-end – a polite road to nowhere that feels pointless to engage in. Still, it’s Eliot, so you give half-hearted answers and ask half-hearted questions and hope he doesn’t press you too hard on your slightly-sour mood.

And, because it’s Eliot, he draws a few small laughs and a couple of tiny smiles and it’s…nice. It’s not the usual “Good Day,” but it’s not a bad one, either.

But then it happens. And it happens quick – all of it.

Three men, dressed head to toe in black, enter guns a blazing as if they own the place. They’re wearing masks over everywhere but their eyes, the thick, black material likely silencing their voices if they weren’t screaming at the top of their lungs.

They enter in an oddly-triangular formation – one you’d describe akin to the Charlie’s Angel’s post if you weren’t scared out of your fucking mind. One of them runs to the aisle where you keep cold medicine, the other ransacking the liquor aisle and shoving heavy glass bottles of your most expensive bottles of alcohol into the black duffel bag slung around his shoulder. The last one – the one you think is the leader – keeps his eye on you as he steps closer to where you are at the register.

It’s the scariest fucking thing to ever happen to you, and what occurs next happens too fast for you to describe.

You blink once and find that you’re staring down the barrel of a handgun that’s definitely loaded and definitely has the safety off. The end shakes just a little, as if the robber is nervous, and you wonder why he’s the one scared. Both of your hands are up in the air, elbow bent at a ninety-degree angle while sweat pools at your brow and your bottom lip trembles. It’s the most terrified you’ve ever been in your entire life, and if you had enough in your stomach you throw up, you totally would’ve.

But then – Eliot.

You’re screaming at him to stop, to get away and hide and what are you doing? They’ve got a gun! Get away! You could be hurt! Eliot!

But then you realize that, holy shit, he’s actually taking the guy down. Holy shit, Eliot just punched that dude in the face. Holy shit, Eliot just punched that dude in the gut. Holy shit, Eliot just disarmed that dude while punching him.

It’s only when the guy that targeted you is screaming in pain from a dislocated shoulder that the other two realize something’s up and come rushing towards the man that stands just in front of your register. You’d scream if you weren’t stunned – eyes not sure where to look as Eliot disarms them with the grace of a professional ballet dancer at the same fucking time. He’s fierce but controlled – not breaking any bones but definitely leaving some bruises as he knocks them to the ground and kicks their guns across the carpet.  

It’s then – when the inferior robbers are writhing in pain on the ground – that he grabs the leader by the collar of his black hoodie and pulls the teenager’s wincing face close to Eliot’s raging one.

“I will give you one warning,” he hisses, teeth bared like an angered wolf as he spits. “one warning to leave this place and never come back. If this,” his left hand raises to gesture to you in all your petrified glory. “Nice lady tells me that you have returned to so much as buy a single stick of gum, I will track you down and find you and make sure you pay for the damage you’ve done here today. You got that?”

The still-masked teenager immediately nods furiously, eyes wide with terror and legs already kicking at the ground to leave.

Eliot gives a small, faux smile, and shoves the kid back down onto the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of him. “Good, now get the Hell out of here and don’t come back.”

Without hesitation, the would-be robbers scatter as fast as their damaged legs can carry them, clutching their bags to their chests as they rush to their crappy getaway van.

If you weren’t scared shitless you’d admit you’re a little turned on at the feat, especially as Eliot flips his hair from his face as he watches them speed away.

Your boss appears a few seconds later, apparently one more to watch from his safe room in the back than to interfere. Thank Heavens Eliot was here, you think. Facing those three kids on your own – even if they were, indeed, kids – makes your blood pressure spike once more.

“Should I call the cops?” he asks, looking at the wreckage around the store. The only silent alarm is located under the counter where the register is and, given your petrified state, you weren’t one to trip it.

Eliot just sighs and shakes his head, kicking a broken bottle of whiskey that for sure was going to stain the carpet. “No, they can’t do much – those kids probably don’t have a record and I don’t think you’ll get much out of ‘em if they do find the bastards. They’re young, broke, and I don’t know how much priority your case will be given.”

Your boss sighs, rubbing his face. It’s not as if they stole more than a few hundred dollars’ worth of merchandise, but being the victim of a robbery is still both tiring and rage-inducing – especially when someone like him has gone so long without incident.  “But, I, what am I supposed to do? I just-“

Eliot grabs his wallet from his back pocket, reaching into it to fish out a small, professional-looking business card that he hands to your boss. “Call the number there come sun rise and tell them Eliot referred you. They’ll help you out with whatever you need.”

The man who signs your paychecks furrows his brow and reads the block print allowed. “Leverage, Incorporated? They can help me replace what I lost?”

Eliot nods, placing a comforting hand on your boss’ shoulder. “Everything.”

Immediately the man nods and steps away to go out the back exit, leaving you and Eliot in the center of it all.

It’s then – just as you’re alone – where the sun’s just coming up and the large windows in the shop allow its warm light to bath the both of you in a beautiful soft orange. There are no other customers there, and with your boss preoccupied with calming himself down, it really does feel like it’s just you and Eliot – just the two of you with the whole world still asleep around you. It’s nice, perfect.

He’s the one to break the silence, voice gruff as he flashes you a small, shy grin. “So, uh…you want to go for coffee?”

Your heart rams in your chest even louder than when you were staring the possibility of a gunshot wound to the face, the poor organ exhausted as your brain screams at you to accept his generous offer. It takes what feels like an eternity to muster up the courage to do so, but before you can Eliot’s already speaking once more.

“Not that you, uh,” he clears his throat. “Not that you should feel, uh, pressured, or anything. I just mean like, hey, you worked all night and just went through a pretty rough event, and you’re probably tired, and probably pretty hungry as well, and a coffee place just opened up a street away that I’ve heard good things about. I’ve wanted to try it out, for a while actually, and I wanted to, uh, see if I’d have the honor of you joining me…”

“Eliot,” you laugh as you step closer, placing your hand on his face to guide his eyes to yours. “Don’t be stupid. I’d love to go with you,” he smiles and it warms every bit of you. “Just let me grab my bag and clock out, I’ll meet you outside in a moment.”

He sputters through an “okay, sure, yeah,” before you both turn to leave – him out the front doors and you behind the large one your boss had just been hidden behind. Your hands shake just a little as you insert the little card into the dinosaur of a machine, the loud noise and sputtering sound it makes now white noise as you grab your purse and rejoin him outside.

When you arrive at the coffee shop (aptly named “The Bean Spot”) you order a caramel latte with a cheese Danish, Eliot getting a simple black coffee with cream along with a walnut muffin. You wait for your breakfast in relative silence, neither you nor Eliot sure what to say after such an event. When the food and drink are handed over to you, you find a spot tucked in the back with an excellent view of the whole place.

The coffee shop is nearly empty since it’s still so early in the morning – the only patrons coming in, getting their coffee, and zipping off to the next part of their day. It’s nice to be the only inert thing, the movements of the people around you providing a nice cover as they zip past, locking you and Eliot in your own little world as the world stretches its arms and prepares for another day of hustle and bustle.

By contrast, you and Eliot are wide awake, laughing as you swap horrible roommate stories and whatever else comes to mind. He asks about your degree but has enough class not to ask you about your graduation year (a rare feature of conversations these days), talking to you about all the books you’ve read and professors you’ve liked.  

It’s odd – not bad, per say – but odd nonetheless, to be able to talk freely and openly and having him in front of you, within arm’s length as your knees barely touch under the small table. Seeing him in this space, a space more conducive to conversation and watching his hands as they pick at his blueberry scone and watching his mouth as the corners of his lips twist into a smile every so often and watching –

You blush at your own serial-killer-like thoughts, trying to suppress them with another sip of way too expensive but totally worth it coffee.

Eliot notices, because of course he does. “Hey, you alright?”

You nod, trying to calm your racing heartbeat. “Y-yeah, just-“

He smiles warmly, one hand moving to cradle your chin – to guide your downcast eyes to his. “It’s weird, seeing me in a new place, isn’t it?”

Once again, you nod. “It’s not that I don’t-“

“It’s okay,” his smile widens even as he now avoids your gaze, his hands moving to his lap as he fiddles with them. “It’s…I understand. Trust me, I get it.”

You exhale deeply, your shoulders falling a little. “I’ve thought a lot about this moment for, like, since you walked into the store for the first time…to have you here,” you gestured vaguely to the rest of the coffee shop, to the very few customers and baristas chatting about something you can’t hear and don’t care to pay attention to. “It’s…I don’t know. It’s not as if you’ve fallen short of expectations-“

Eliot gives a little chuckle, mumbling an “I sure hope so” with a glimmer in his eye that makes you want to jump on his lap and kiss him right there. Somehow, you find it in you to continue.

“It’s just super, super weird,” you tell him honestly. “And I don’t like it.”

The man in front of you leans forward, placing a hand over yours to calm you down.  

“How about we get out of here,” Eliot murmurs, voice warm and thick like the caramel drizzle over your latte. “I have an espresso machine at my place, and could make you homemade baked goods a million times better than whatever you bought, and we can continue this in a space where the baristas don’t misspell my name on overpriced coffee.”

He gestures to the cup labeled Elliott, wincing as he does so. It makes you laugh, and you nod in agreement. Together you down the coffee and throw the empty cups along with the wrapping for your pastry away. It’s natural – the way the two of you move – as if you’ve known each other for a millennia, as if whatever it is between you two that’s formed is already as strong and sturdy as an oak tree.

Eliot places one of his large hands on the small of your back as you exit the cafe, thumbing at the fabric of your sweater as you wait to cross the street. It’s comforting – just a flash of the fire that he started for you back at the store a mere hours earlier, heat warming your blood from your toes and up your spine. As he guides you to his apartment his hand finds yours, his fingers fitting neatly next to yours as he points out parts of the city you’ve never slowed down enough to see.

You may not have known Eliot for very long, but even within that short amount of time (and even shorter conversations) he had become a safe house for you, one that you could easily make a home.

And, unbeknownst to the other person, the both of you intended on doing just that.

[raleighcarrera]

cliché

ride or die | colt kaneko x mc (ellie wheeler)

an au where everyone is college friends and logan is getting married and the best friend of his ellie always hated is going to be logan’s best man. as the maid of honor, she’s probably expected to be at least a little nice to him. 

for @rodappreciationweek, of course! day 7/wild card

(spoiler alert: i bent the rules of weddings for plot reasons so go easy)

tags: @choicesarehard, @lovehugsandcandy, @pixeljazzy, @troublemakerinspace, @dancingboba, @yaushie, @brightpinkpeppercorn, @tempesrature, @zigtheeortega, @beccadavenport, @theeccentricbibliophile 

~15.5k words | M (18+)

she squealed, clapping her hands excitedly in view of the laptop’s webcam. “i’m so happy for you guys! seriously, this is amazing.”

from across the country, ingrid beamed, still holding her left hand aloft so ellie could see her ring. “did you know?”

ellie shook her head. “i knew he’d bought a ring but i didn’t know he was proposing now.” her attention turned to logan, “i thought you were waiting until your anniversary?”

he shrugged, looking just as excited as ingrid did. “i couldn’t wait anymore, it was driving me crazy.”

ingrid leaned her head on logan’s shoulder. “ellie, say you’ll be my maid of honor.”

“oh my god, of course i will!” ellie gushed, blinking away a sudden wave of emotion. “please, you guys know i’d do anything for you.”

the two of them exchanged a glance. “glad to hear you say that,” logan said slowly, “because i already asked colt to be my best man.”

the smile dropped off her face. “are you kidding me?”

“come on, it won’t be that bad,” ingrid rushed to assure her, “you’ll hardly have to deal with him. but -- while we’re breaking bad news to you...” she pursed her lips, and then shrugged. “we already set a date, too.”

“it’s in three months,” logan interjected helpfully.

ellie felt her eyes bug out. “three months?”

“el, we got our dream venue,” ingrid sighed wistfully, “you’re going to die when you see it. it was the only saturday they had available for, like, the next five years. it’s in santa monica overlooking the water and it’s just -- it’s perfect.”

“that’s really soon,” she said dumbly, “we have a lot to do.”

“totally.” ellie watched as ingrid shifted from blushing bride in love to ruthless, no-nonsense delegator. “we’re going to cram as much of it in as we can when you’re home for spring break. i already made us appointments to go look at dresses and tuxes and then -- we’ll figure everything else out when you’re here.”

the thought of spending her spring break shopping with colt kaneko was already making a headache start to throb behind her eyes. but ingrid and logan were her best friends. and they deserved the wedding of their dreams.

she pasted the biggest, most extreme smile she could muster on her face. “sounds great, you guys.”

*

ellie relished the long flight home from new york to los angeles, well aware that it was probably going to be the last moment she had to relax until the end of the summer. 

there had to be some irony in the fact that she was midway through pursuing her ph.d and more stressed out about her college friends’ wedding than anything else. 

but her coursework was going well. everything in her life was falling into place perfectly, exactly how she’d always envisioned it. 

this was the wrench in the plan. how she was supposed to make time to come back home for ingrid and logan’s wedding when she’d already committed to spending her summer in miami doing field work was a problem she didn’t need.

so she spent the flight napping, enjoying the five hours in the air as the only chance she’d get to kick back during her spring break. if she knew ingrid at all, she was going to be barking orders from the moment ellie’s feet touched orange county soil until the second they left. 

still, there were at least a few hours she could spend delaying the inevitable.

riya picked her up at the airport and ellie threw herself into her arms eagerly for a giant hug. “oh my god, i am so glad to see you. thank you for picking me up -- i pretty much have bridal boot camp all week.”

“ingrid’s got it all planned out, huh?” riya asked, helping her get her suitcase in the car with a grin. “look, it probably won’t be that bad. you’re you -- when darius and i got married you were the reason we didn’t even need a wedding planner!”

“that was different,” ellie explained, as riya started driving them back to the city, “you and darius are normal. maid of honor doesn’t mean the same thing to ingrid that it meant to you, trust me.”

“well, i believe in you,” her oldest friend declared, “and even if it’s awful, just come over afterwards and we can drown ourselves in wine.”

“done and done,” she sighed. “i’m sorry i probably won’t be around much this week otherwise. i know it’s been forever since we caught up.”

“please, i can’t even imagine how busy you are,” riya said, waving her apology off, “you’re getting close to the home stretch, eh?”

ellie shrugged. “i still have two more years of study, but -- yeah, pretty much. it’s crazy.”

“so crazy,” riya agreed, “but you will absolutely see me and dare in miami as soon as you get set up there.”

the thought of it, with everything she knew was ahead of her this week, sounded like nothing short of paradise. “can’t wait,” she said genuinely, sighing as the car slowed to a stop in front of the house she’d grown up in. “wanna come in and say hi to my dad?”

“uh uh,” riya chided, “i’m done being the buffer between you two. sooner or later, you’re going to have to have that long overdue heart-to-heart.”

“okay, dr. phil,” ellie groaned, “thanks a lot.” her phone lit up with a text from ingrid as soon as she closed the car door. 

be at your house in 5 it said, pulling a sigh of relief from deep within her. 

saved by the bell.

*

ellie only had a moment to drop her bags and shout a quick hello to her dad before she heard a car horn honk and rushed back outside, leaning over the car’s center console to give ingrid a big hug hello. 

“boy, am i ever glad to see you,” her friend said. “everything is already such a disaster. the venue is giving me such an attitude about moving our ceremony outside and my sister is an out of control diva who is, like, demanding to be allowed to read a poem before we say our vows and -- i swear i’ve almost killed logan at least twice.”

“wow. okay, well -- all of that sounds fixable.” though already she knew the next three months were going to be nothing like the ramp up to riya and darius’ wedding. ellie stifled a sigh. 

“oh, it will be,” ingrid threatened darkly, “we’re doing everything at once today. dresses -- tuxes -- groomsmen, bridesmaids. i tried being nice about it, but do you know what i realized? some people don’t deserve to be allowed to make their own decisions. so i changed our appointment and i’m going to supervise and everyone who acts normal will be allowed to come help me pick out my dress at our new appointment on wednesday.”

ellie blinked. “whatever you want,” she said finally, her brain still working to process what the hell she was talking about, “it’s your day.”

“yes it is,” ingrid agreed viciously, “i’m glad you’re on board. come on.”

ellie followed behind her into the boutique they’d arrived at, immediately catching sight of eight or so of their closest friends from college, plus logan’s cousin and ingrid’s sister, the latter who was staring at a long, pink dress with her arms crossed petulantly over her chest. “i’m not trying that on,” she said, as ellie stepped closer, “it’s going to accentuate my shoulders.”

“look, brat,” ingrid started, lowering her voice to the dangerous timbre ellie had come to associate with group project members who weren’t pulling their own weight, “get in that dressing room and put this on right now or so help me god --”

“ellie!” 

she turned around and saw logan, the distressed look on her face instantly melting into one of relief. “oh my god, hi,” she laughed, rushing over for a hug, “it’s so good to see you!”

“hey, back at you,” he grinned, “seriously, i know this probably isn’t how you wanted to spend your spring break, but -- thank god you’re here. ingrid needs all the help she can get.”

ellie pulled out of his arms and saw that he was wearing an elegant black tuxedo, the lines of which settled nicely on his shoulders and seemed to suit him perfectly. “okay, but -- this is a great tux.” she called out to ingrid over her shoulder. “come look at this one.”

ingrid walked over and gave logan a cursory glance. “i hate it. get changed.”

logan shot her an amused glance, but dipped back into the dressing room without a word. bless him, ellie thought, before drawing in a deep breath and asking, “okay, where do you want me?”

as if on cue, a harried shop attendant immediately dropped a pile of gowns into ellie’s arms. “follow me.”

*

the first dress she tried on was bright pink and heavily ruffled -- so ugly she honestly didn’t even want to show everyone. 

but she hitched up the skirt and stepped out of the dressing room obligingly, standing in front of the mirrors and the rest of the bridal party for ingrid’s judgment.

you have the ideal body type, ingrid had explained nonsensically to her as they herded her off with the gowns, so you’ll try on all of them and then once we find one we like everyone else will try it on, too. 

ugh. “it’s not... that bad,” ellie said delicately, once she was situated on the platform in front of the group.

“not if you’re little bo peep.” 

god. she’d know that smug, arrogant, self-centered, self-obsessed, narcissistic egomaniac voice anywhere.

“hi, colt,” ellie said pointedly, without turning her head, “nice to see you, too.”

he stepped closer, directly into her field of vision. there was no avoiding looking at him, then. 

colt was just as handsome as he’d been the last time she’d seen him, over a year ago at logan’s twenty-fifth birthday party, but this time, he was in a navy blue tux that had no business looking as good as it did. 

he smirked at her. “as if anyone could miss you in that thing.”

ellie sighed, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling. formalwear could only go so far when it came to making him appear tolerable, it seemed. “do you always have to be the most insufferable person in every room you’re in?”

“not always, no. but i like to win.”

“it’s disgusting,” ingrid declared abruptly, before ellie could snap back at him, “please take it off. can you try on the purple one next?”

she ducked back into the dressing room, thunking her head softly against the wall once the door swung shut behind her. why me, ellie thought miserably, i’m a good person. this isn’t fair.

it took two and a half hours, but eventually, she’d tried on what felt like every single dress at the store. finally, once she’d wiggled into a gown that was a soft, sky blue, figure-hugging with thin straps and delicate lace accents over tasteful cut-outs, ingrid gasped, “that’s it! that’s the one.”

every bridesmaid, including ellie, sagged with relief. “great,” she smiled, “i’ll just get out of the way so everyone else can try theirs on, too.”

just before she stepped back inside the dressing room to get changed, she caught sight of colt, who was still standing around on their side of the shop for some reason. he was staring at her, face carefully blank -- though there was something in his eyes she couldn’t quite place.

as soon as he noticed she’d caught him looking, he stormed off.

once ellie was back in her street clothes, ingrid said, “i’ll finish up over here. can you please go make sure the guys are on the right track?”

ellie winced as she approached the men’s side of the store. half of logan’s groomsmen were dressed in navy, the other half in black -- logan had a white jacket on and one of their friends from college, brent, was inexplicably wearing pants that were powder blue.

“oh my god, ingrid’s going to kill you,” she said to logan. “i can see why she sent me over here to babysit.”

“hey, i’ve got it sort of under control,” logan said defensively, “she said she wanted slate grey. look at this.”

ellie cringed again as he held a jacket on a hanger aloft in front of her eyes. “that’s charcoal grey.”

the determined look on logan’s face crumpled immediately. “fuck. can you help me?”

she was already nodding before he finished his question. “just -- get in there and get that off before anyone sees. i’ll pull tuxes for everyone.”

it was only a few minutes before she was passing out new outfits, herding each of logan’s groomsmen into their respective dressing rooms one by one. 

only one of them gave her any trouble about it. as soon as she passed him his tux, colt scowled, asking, “what is this?”

“a tuxedo,” she answered tersely, “presumably you’ve seen one before? like, an hour ago? those are all called tuxedos. maybe you never learned the word?”

he merely rolled his eyes at her. “why are you giving it to me?”

“because i want you to put it on. now. like, immediately.” 

still, he just stood there. “i already tried on forty of them.”

“then one more shouldn’t make much of a difference.” she shoved his shoulder expectantly. “go.”

ingrid wandered over just as they all started to emerge. as they stood in a line outside the dressing room, she laid a hand to her heart and gasped. “oh my god, they’re perfect. baby, you did such a good job!”

“actually --” logan started, though he stopped abruptly as soon as he caught sight of the way ellie was frantically shaking her head from behind ingrid’s back, “uh, thanks. i want everything to be perfect for you.”

“oh my god, you guys can do something right,” ingrid sniffed, “i’m so happy. okay -- fuck it, let’s go get drinks. i’ll get the first round.”

*

a few of their friends cornered her as soon as she got her first drink. it was the same every time she came home; everyone wanted to know how new york was, how school was going, what the dating pool was like on the east coast and if she’d met anyone. they asked the same questions every time ellie was able to make it out so they could catch up, and she gave the same answers.

it was exhausting. she gulped down her glass of wine as quickly as humanly possible, just so she could have an excuse to escape back to the bar. 

the bartender slid her a shot when he passed her refilled wine glass back to her. his smile was sympathetic. “you look like you need this.”

ellie grimaced at him, but immediately lifted the shot to her lips and knocked it back. “that obvious?”

“oh, yeah.” he placed his palms on the bar top and leaned in close, grinning brightly at her. “let me guess. family reunion?”

“worse,” she sighed, “two of my best friends from college are getting married. in three months.”

he whistled, slowly shaking his head. “brutal. i don’t think we have enough alcohol in the bar to help you with that.”

“tell me about it,” ellie laughed, taking a sip from her wine glass to chase away the burn of the shot she’d done, “you don’t even know the half of it.”

“well...” he smiled charmingly at her again. “my shift is over in twenty minutes. i’ll gladly listen to you complain, if you want.”

she blinked. “oh, i --”

“hey, don’t look now, but that guy over there has the angriest eyebrows i’ve ever seen.” the bartender leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “boyfriend?”

“what?” ellie turned around and followed the line of his gaze. 

sure enough, colt was glaring at them from the booth with the rest of their friends, his eyebrows drawn together thunderously. 

“oh my god, no,” she said, turning back around as quickly as possible, “never. we don’t even like each other.”

“right. well -- listen. if you do wanna pick this up some other time, here’s my number, okay? no pressure.” 

she watched, dumbfounded, as he wrote it down on a cocktail napkin, printing his name evenly below it. ben. 

all the girls cheered for her when she got back to the table.

“is that a phone number?” julia demanded, her grin wide and wickedly sharp. she reached over and plucked the napkin out of her hand. “jesus, ellie. you’ve been back in the city for, what, an afternoon?”

“give it,” she said, stepping forward as the rest of the girls passed it around the table, out of her reach, “oh my god, he was just being nice.”

“no, please,” gemma laughed, holding the napkin up over her head, “tell us again how you’re too busy to date.”

“i am too busy to date.” she bounced up on her toes and snatched the cocktail napkin out of her friend’s hand, folding it up and tucking it into the pocket of her jeans. “and i live across the country, remember?”

“hey, that doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun while you’re home this week, right?” brent asked, making her aware, all at once, that the guys were officially clued into their conversation, too. “speaking of, ryan moore keeps asking me about you.”

beyond brent’s shoulder, colt was still staring at her. he looked tense, his grip firm on the glass in his hand. his jaw was clenched tight.

“can we talk about something else?” ellie asked finally, lifting her wine glass to her flushed cheek. “my love life can’t be that interesting to you guys.”

logan reached out and ruffled her hair. “hey, you’re our last single friend. you can’t blame us for being invested.”

“colt’s single,” she reminded him, before she could bite her tongue. ellie risked another glance his way and found him scowling at her.

“colt doesn’t count,” ingrid interjected, “he doesn’t have any social skills. you are a catch. you just need to put yourself out there.”

“and i promise, once i have my ph.d, you can set me up with anyone you want.” a discussion they’d had at least a thousand times before. ingrid looked as pleased about it as she’d ever been, which was to say not very much at all. before she could respond, ellie continued, “hey, will someone please play pool with me? i haven’t shot in forever.”

to her surprise, colt offered, “i will.” ellie slowly turned towards him and found him smirking at her again. “who knows what’d happen to your virtue if you went over there alone?”

fucker. he’d probably volunteered to go with her on purpose -- now there was no way for her to get out of it. and if she stayed at the table for one minute longer she was going to scream.

her eyes narrowed at him. “thanks.”

colt set up the table like she wasn’t glaring at him bitterly, humming to himself while he racked the balls and then passed her a cue.

“you’re awful,” she said, as she snatched it out of his hands.

he just grinned at her. “thank you. break?”

ellie leaned over the table to line up her shot, knocking the cue into the balls. two of the solids slid into the corner pockets. her hip leaned against the table as she watched him survey the setup critically, and she took advantage of the fact that his eyes were elsewhere to study him in turn, making note of what was different about him since the last time they’d seen each other.

he’d recently gotten a haircut, but was otherwise unchanged -- he wore the same leather jacket, had the same smug smile, was still so insufferably arrogant she found talking to him pretty much impossible.

“so, what’s your deal?” he asked suddenly, pulling her from her thoughts and knocking the striped number eleven ball smoothly into one of the side pockets, “you a rocket scientist or whatever yet?”

ellie rolled her eyes, trying not to flush when he lifted his head and looked directly at her. despite his many, many flaws, she’d always found him unnervingly hot. “my degree is in chemistry. so -- no. i still have two more years in the program.”

“yeah, but what are you going to do with it? once you’re a doctor.” even the way he said the word sounding mocking. 

she ignored him in favor of focusing on the table, and knocked one of her balls in. once it was his turn to shoot, she answered, “if you need to know, my specialization is in environmental science. one day i’ll hopefully work alongside some of the best in the world to ensure environmental hazards are at an all time low.”

“so whaddya moving to miami for?” he asked, effortlessly sinking two balls into the pocket at once, “their environment is already pretty sweet.”

“the department is sending me to collect data from the water and air outside of the city,” she answered, her eyes on the table as she tried to locate her next best shot, “it’s for my dissertation. it’s only for the summer.”

“shame,” colt murmured, laughing under his breath when her next shot went wide, missing her target completely, “i’ll be stuck dealing with this mess on my own.”

“somehow i doubt that,” ellie said, “it’s only a timezone change. there’s still phones and video calls and plenty of ways for all of you to bother me.”

“only if you pick up.” smoothly, he sunk the last three striped balls, one after another. she scowled at him. “the way the rest of them talk about how hard you are to pin down you’d think you were the president or something.”

“i have a demanding course load,” she huffed out defensively, “so we should get started on planning their bachelor and bachelorette party before my flight back on sunday. that should be the only thing that’s still up in the air after all our appointments this week.”

“don’t even get me started on the concept of a joint bachelor party,” colt sighed, leaning over in front of the eight ball, “it’s going to be the lamest trip of all time. side pocket.”

“i don’t know,” ellie murmured, resting on her cue as the eight ball sailed effortlessly into the side pocket as indicated, “i think it’ll be fun.”

he straightened up and smirked at her, spreading his hands out wide as if to say look at me. what an asshole. “you would.” colt nodded at the table. his smirk lengthened. “looks like you still suck.”

ellie shoved her pool cue back into his open hand. “one thing you’ll never know,” she promised, spinning on her heel and striding back to the table as quickly as possible.

*

“thanks for all your help today,” ingrid said sweetly on the drive home. “i know it wasn’t easy -- dealing with my idiot sister and all of those guys.”

“colt was as terrible as ever,” she mused, officially thinking too much about it. “i don’t know how he never gets tired of himself. he is such a prick.”

“totally,” ingrid agreed, even though ellie knew she’d softened to him, lately -- though she wasn’t sure she’d ever understand why or how. “but he just picks on you because he likes you.”

ellie lifted her head from where it’d been leaning against the passenger side window and turned towards ingrid with a look of confusion contorting her expression. “what? no.”

“yes,” she insisted, “he’s wanted to bang you since freshman year.”

“okay -- you’re too drunk to be driving,” ellie laughed, though even she could hear the undercurrent of nerves in the tone of her voice, “he’s an asshole to everyone. it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

“well, he sure doesn’t talk to me like he talks to you.”

ellie waved her hand dismissively. “because you and logan have been dating for, like, a hundred years. i’m positive he’s just as big a dick to gemma and julia and christie.”

“okay,” ingrid mouthed, arching her eyebrows at the road. 

she furrowed her brow. “he is.”

“forget i said anything,” ingrid said breezily as the car slowed to a stop in front of her dad’s house. “i’ll pick you up tomorrow at nine, okay? seriously, thanks again for all your help.”

“anytime.” 

dread filled her stomach as ellie dragged her feet up the path to the house. all the lights were on inside, which meant her dad was still awake. “hey pumpkin,” he greeted her, as soon as she toed off her shoes and dropped her bag, “long day?”

“you have no idea.” ellie walked straight to the sofa and flung herself down onto it face-first, groaning into the cushions. for a moment, it felt like she was back in high school, without a care in the world other than coursework and group projects and prom. she drew in a deep breath. “planning this wedding is going to be a headache.”

“you’ll pull through,” her dad assured her, “you always do.”

ellie pressed her forehead to the fabric of the couch and scowled, the freedom of her hair covering her face allowing her to express how she really felt. that was what everyone always said: she’d be fine. she’d figure it out. she’d make it happen.

part of her was so tired of always bending over backwards, always finding a way to make things work -- always being perfect. 

some first day back it was shaping up to be.

“i guess,” she mumbled, letting herself sulk for one more long moment before finally lifting her head and sitting up straight. “are you working tonight?”

“yep -- on my way out now. glad i caught you, though. i feel like i haven’t seen you in forever.” 

she winced, turning away from the disappointment in his eyes. “ingrid has a pretty full schedule for us this week, but maybe we can have dinner tomorrow.”

“sure thing,” her dad said brightly, pausing by the couch on his way out the door to gently grasp her shoulder. “i’ll see you in the morning, then. hang in there, kid.”

ellie slumped back into the couch, watching him go blankly. half of her was so exhausted she couldn’t imagine doing anything other than collapsing into bed for as long as humanly possible, but the other half of her still felt anxious and unsettled, the way she always did whenever she had to come home. 

being back in los angeles always felt like losing control of her life. there was something about being around her old friends and her dad and other people’s expectations that made her feel not like herself -- like some kind of persona she was putting on so everyone would perceive her a certain way.

so she could look like she had everything figured out, so everyone would keep saying you’ll pull through. you’ll figure it out. you’ll make it happen.

the thought of keeping it all up for an entire week of wedding activity with ingrid and their college friends was daunting. worse still was ingrid and logan’s engagement party on friday night, hanging over her head as the last obstacle between her and her flight home to the solace of her silent new york apartment, where she’d be able to analyze soil samples in peace until her mind was quiet again.

*

the week passed by in a blur. true to form, ingrid kept her busy for a majority of her waking moments with dress shopping, fittings, a trip to the venue, the florist and the bakery and, finally, last-minute preparations for friday’s engagement party, which left ellie tying ribbons around party favors late into the night on thursday.

“i could kill logan,” she complained to riya in the middle of the one free hour she’d been able to steal away for a mani-pedi, “i swear to god i’ve been playing the part of the fiance since i got back.”

“it’ll all be over soon,” riya hummed sympathetically, “the wedding will be here before you know it.”

as she dressed for the engagement party, she repeated the words to herself over and over again in the mirror. it’ll all be over soon.

she arrived at the venue early. the first person she saw after she stepped out of her rideshare was colt, who was loitering by the entrance to the restaurant, smoking. 

“some dress,” he smirked at her as soon as she got close enough to hear him, not even bothering to pretend like he wasn’t looking her up and down, “you trying to get laid tonight?”

“you know, ‘hello’ works just fine, too,” she said, pushing past him without a backwards glance. her face felt hot as she considered the comment, looking down at herself self-consciously. fuck him. i look nice.

fortunately, the party itself was less exhausting than she’d expected it to be. it was actually sort of nice to catch up with people she hadn’t seen since they’d graduated, and though she had to run through the familiar talk track she was getting sick of over and over again -- how’s school? how’s new york? what are your plans for after your thesis? -- the open bar made her hate it all a little less. 

eventually things started to wind down, until it was late and only the wedding party was left. ellie teetered in her heels as she pretended to help ingrid clean up, shuffling around as inconspicuously as she could manage, given the drinks she’d had.

“are you drunk?” 

she jumped, startled by the question. ellie’s lips pulled down into a frown as she noticed the out-and-out delighted expression on colt’s smug face from where he was suddenly standing next to her.

“no,” she lied, “and shhh. someone will hear you.”

“god forbid.” the shit eating grin on his face stretched further. “you want a ride home?”

ellie blinked. “from you?”

colt wasn’t at all deterred by the high arch of her eyebrows. he shrugged. “if we get out of here now we can probably avoid carrying presents to the car.”

that was all it took to convince her. she followed him out to the parking lot with a laugh, drawing up short when he stopped her in front of his motorcycle. she propped a hand on her hip and asked, “you still ride this thing?”

“it’s part of my image,” he answered, and as he came closer ellie found herself staring at the gentle slope of the smirk on his face. maybe it was the low lighting of the parking lot, but he looked a little softer than he had all week -- almost like when she’d first met him, in college, before he opened his mouth to say something rude and their relationship devolved into exchanged barbs and sidelong glares. 

colt cleared his throat, looking down at the helmet in his hands. “here.”

she flushed, pulling it on as quickly as possible in the hopes that it’d cover her face before he noticed. 

in all the years she’d known him she’d never actually gotten on the back of this thing. she’d seen him pull up to parties and speed away from them with plenty of girls holding onto his stomach, but she’d never actually thought she’d be one of them herself.

the bottle of wine she’d had was making it seem like no big deal, though, so she pressed up snugly behind him and rested her cheek on his shoulder like they’d done this enough times to form a habit.

and then they were back at her dad’s house, so quickly that ellie was almost sad about it. colt was actually mostly alright when he was quiet -- the speed of the bike hardly facilitated conversation -- and he was warm and solid against her while he drove, comforting her to the point that she was half asleep when they finally stopped.

she slid off the bike with a yawn, clumsily yanking the helmet off and handing it back to him. “thanks,” she murmured, glancing at the house and cringing once she realized all the lights were still on, meaning her dad was waiting up for her again. ellie lingered silently beside him, fidgeting. 

colt hesitated. after a moment, he killed the engine. he pulled his own helmet off so she could see his face. “you okay?”

“yeah.” she pursed her lips, then exhaled, blowing a messy lock of hair out of her eyes. “i guess i am a little drunk.”

his lips pulled back into that stupid, familiar smirk. “i know. i saw you guzzling chardonnays back there.” 

ellie leaned in over the handlebars. “stalk me much?”

“you wish.” 

movement in her peripheral vision caught her eye and ellie sighed as she saw the curtains shift. colt followed her gaze to the house, then turned back towards her with an eyebrow quirked.

“is there a reason you’re still standing here?”

she rolled her eyes at him. “it’s complicated.”

he laughed. it was after midnight, and the sleepy street she’d grown up on was completely silent and dark, save for that sound. “don’t tell me little miss perfect has daddy issues.”

“what, you thought you had the monopoly on them?” she shot back, too drunk to stop herself.

surprise flashed across his expression for a split second before he laughed again. “touché,” he murmured, “i probably deserved that.” 

ellie still didn’t move, standing at the front of the bike. they stared at each other, silence hanging in the air between them. it had to be the longest amount of time they’d gone without arguing since their freshman year. 

that felt like a lifetime ago, but she still remembered what she’d thought when they first met at orientation. 

cute, and then, once she found out that he was in the honors college like her, and smart, and eventually, once he opened his mouth, but a jerk. 

“what are you staring at?” he asked finally, and though he was difficult to read on even her best day, when she had one-hundred percent of her faculties intact, she was pretty sure there was no malice in his voice -- just genuine curiosity.

“nothing. you’re being weird.”

he laughed again. it took her a moment to realize why it sounded so different than it usually did; most of the time he was laughing at her. but not tonight. “no i’m not.”

“yes you are.”

“okay -- you’re trashed. do you need me to walk you inside?” 

all the lights were still on. yeah, that was just what she needed. the thought of colt and her father coming face-to-face made her own mouth curve into a grin. “no. but thanks for driving me home. that was almost decent of you.”

“well, i’d hate to be fully decent.” even his smile was different when he wasn’t making fun of her. 

ellie forced herself to take a step away, though it was difficult -- some strange magnetic pull seemed to want to keep her in his orbit, to see if she could maybe make him laugh softly at her again. 

as soon as she stepped back, the bike roared to life, though he didn’t pull out of the street until she’d wobbled all the way up the path to the front door and turned back to wave at him.

huh, she thought to herself as she ducked inside, wine-drunk acid swirling in her stomach with something else unidentifiable along for the ride, weird.

it wasn’t until she was tucked in bed that she privately acknowledged to herself, nice, though, too.

*

as expected, ingrid filled the weeks after her spring break with questions and complaining and dozens of skype calls.

ellie did her best to balance it all with school, which was ramping up as they got closer to the end of term, and packing for her move to miami, though on any given day she felt torn in at least ten different directions while she struggled to get everything together. 

the sound of another incoming facetime call was going to haunt her nightmares. with a groan, ellie fumbled for her phone blindly, not taking her eyes off the instant noodles slowly spinning in her microwave. 

“what now?”

“hello to you, too,” said a voice that definitely wasn’t ingrid’s, and ellie turned her head to see colt staring at her expectantly from the screen of her phone, jolting both from the surprise of seeing him and the sound of the microwave going off. 

“colt?” she blinked, suddenly aware that she was in her pajamas and tugging self-consciously at the cropped tank top she was wearing. “what do you want?”

“we have to go over some things for the bachelor party,” he sighed, and when he shifted she saw that he was reclining in bed. her face flushed.

“bachelor and bachelorette party,” she corrected.

“whatever. is now a good time?”

ellie cast a glance around her apartment, which looked like a tornado had recently swept through it. her kitchen table was covered in textbooks and pages of notes, though the living room had half-packed boxes covering every available surface. “i guess. one second.”

she set her phone down to retrieve her instant noodles and then leaned it up against her toaster, standing in front of the counter to both stay in her phone’s field of view and shovel noodles into her mouth as quickly as possible.

“seriously?” colt said, “isn’t it ten p.m. where you are?”

“i’ve been busy,” ellie answered defensively, between bites, “some of us have lives.”

he rolled his eyes. “did you book your flight yet?”

she paused, fork halfway to her lips. had she booked her flight yet? “i think so.” ellie pursed her lips, and then remembered, “yes! it gets in at seven. i’ll meet you guys at the hotel.”

“okay. the rest of us are driving down together, god help us all.” he scowled.

“relax. it’s only, like, four hours to vegas, anyway.” she was the one who was going to lose two entire days to travel and timezone changes. 

“do you want to sit in a car for four hours with everyone?” he smirked at the look that crossed her face. “i didn’t think so. how are the dinner reservations coming along?”

“good,” she nodded. at least she’d remembered to do that. “we’re all set for friday and saturday night. we can walk to both restaurants from the hotel.”

colt had been adamant about planning everything else, and she’d been all too happy to let him take the reigns. the last thing she needed to worry about was getting them into nightclubs and securing bottle service and busting her ass only for him to ultimately turn his nose up at it and declare the whole thing lame. 

“that should be everything, then.” she just barely saw the way he narrowed his eyes at her when she tipped her head back to get the last of the styrofoam cup of noodles down her throat. “except for whatever girly shit you have planned.”

“hey, you’re going to have to be the one to tell logan that your bad attitude is what got all of you excluded from mani-pedis and facials,” she shrugged, resting her elbows on the counter and leaning in toward the screen. “just so you can do what on saturday? smoke cigars and play darts?”

“someone has to draw the line somewhere,” he said, revisiting the argument they’d had at least four or five times since she was home the month before. 

“you’re impossible,” she sighed, her mouth stretching with a wide yawn. ellie pulled a face at herself, shaking her head. she had at least another two hours of coursework to do once they hung up. 

“you’re the one who looks about ten seconds away from combusting,” he smirked. “you can say no to things, you know.”

“i’m fine,” she insisted, “and i do say ‘no’ to things. when i have to.”

“right. it’s not like we haven’t known each other for eight years or anything.” 

ellie rolled her eyes at him, her cheeks still flushed red. like he’d paid attention to anyone other than himself and whatever girl he was fucking when they were in college. “everything’ll calm down after the wedding.”

“whatever you say,” he shrugged, “just don’t miss your flight to vegas, okay? i’m going to need someone to talk to who doesn’t make me want to blow my brains out.”

what? colt hung up just as she opened her mouth to respond, leaving ellie staring at her phone background in confusion. 

she took one last glance around her apartment, slowly trailing her eyes over the dishes in the sink, the schoolwork on her kitchen table, the piles of shoes that had to be bubble-wrapped and boxed up in her living room.

then ellie turned on her heel and headed off to bed. for once, it felt pretty fucking good to do the wrong thing. 

*

when her flight got in she sent logan a long, detailed text with all the information he could possibly need -- what time her rideshare was going to get to the hotel and how much time she was going to need to get up to the room and get changed -- and asked where she should meet everyone when she was done. 

his response was two short words. casino. craps. typical.

she rushed to get into her dress and get some makeup on and found everyone standing around the same table when she got downstairs. of course, the only available space was just to colt’s left. ellie squeezed in with a grin. “hi!”

“hey, you made it!” eager cheers from around the table greeted her and the tight hugs she was forced into let her know that she had a backlog a few drinks deep to catch up on. 

when she turned back around, colt shoved his hand in her face. there was a pair of dice sitting in his palm. “blow,” he said, staring at her expectantly. 

“excuse me?”

“blow,” he repeated, smirking at her, “it’s for luck.”

“i’m not going to --”

“come on, ellie,” logan grinned, “he’s up, like, two thousand dollars. you have to!”

“this is so demeaning,” she grumbled, but pursed her lips and blew on the dice as requested. colt stared at her the entire time, not even breaking eye contact to roll.

it was only when the croupier said, “another easy eight,” and the table broke out into cheers that he looked away, directing his gaze down at the stack of chips that was pushed over to him. 

“okay, what’s the next one?” he asked, taking the dice into his hand again.

“huh?”

“what am i rolling?”

“oh.” ellie glanced around the table and found everyone looking at her expectantly. “seven.”

“okay, any seven.” colt shook the dice in his hand, then held them out to her again. “come on.”

she leaned in a little closer. “you know, i’d love a drink at some point.”

“if we get this one i’ll find you a whole bottle of dom,” he promised. “blow.”

ellie blew on the dice. she grabbed colt’s arm anxiously as they waited for them to land.

they did, a moment later. she craned her neck and saw them facing up, over the line -- five and two.

all the noise they were making was starting to draw a crowd. ellie found herself sharing a grin with colt when he looked back at her again.

“another seven,” she instructed, head already bowed towards his hand.

he rolled a three and a four. the people gathering around the table were enraptured.

she blew on the dice again. a one and a six.

the forearm of his jacket had indents where her hand kept grabbing at it frantically, but colt never showed any outward signs of nervousness. if anything, he seemed to get more and more excited as ellie called out the numbers and he rolled them, one after another -- an eight. a six. a ten. another seven.

“holy shit, that’s twenty thousand dollars,” ingrid breathed finally, her mouth open in shock.

colt picked the stack of chips up, nodding at the roulette table behind them. “come on.”

“where are we going?” ellie asked, but followed him to the table anyway, her heart racing. all of their friends fell in line around them, hushed. 

“we’re gonna double it,” he smirked. “red or black?”

“you’re going to bet it all?” her eyes went comically wide.

“ellie, red or black?”

everyone within hearing distance, including the attendant, was staring at her. she looked down at the table, and then at the screen, which was displaying the outcome of the last few rounds. her mind raced as she tried to calculate all the ways it could become more complex than just a fifty-fifty probability.

colt noticed her staring and shook his head at her. “just pick.”

“black,” she blurted out, and watched in horror as he dropped the entire stack of chips down onto her choice. “oh my god, i’m going to throw up.”

his arm wound around her waist as the ball dropped into the table and started to roll around. instead of recoiling, ellie held onto him in return, digging her nails into the fabric of his suit as she stared.

there was dead silence at the table when the ball dropped neatly into the slot.

“twenty-nine,” the dealer announced, smiling at the both of them. “black.”

sound exploded all around them. their friends were jumping all over colt and the table, clapping him on the back, cheering and screaming. the spectators who’d been watching them joined in, and ellie couldn’t stop a deliriously joyful laugh from escaping as she looked, beaming, from the stack of chips on the table to colt’s face.

he was already grinning at her, and reached out to shove her shoulder excitedly before pulling the chips off the board and towards their end of the table -- four stacks of ten.

logan pushed between them, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers. “jesus christ. that was insane. way to make an entrance, el.”

“me?” she demanded incredulously, “what kind of person puts twenty thousand dollars on black?”

“what can i say,” colt shrugged, eyes still bright when they settled on her again, “i’m reckless.”

well, that was the understatement of the century. she slowly shook her head as the rest of the players at the table moved on to the next round. “i can’t believe that just happened.” 

colt reached out and grabbed her wrist, then unceremoniously dropped five chips into her palm. “here. your cut.”

ellie blinked down at her hand like she’d never seen a casino chip before. “five thousand dollars?”

“hey, all you did was blow on some dice.”

“no, i --” she shook her head, trying to shove the chips back onto his pile with a laugh, “you don’t need to do that. it was fun.”

he shrugged. ellie watched in surprise as colt smiled at her, fixated on the upturned corners of his mouth. “whatever. remember i did the next time you’re pissed at me.” 

colt walked off before she could try giving the money back to him again. she stared down at the chips in her hand for a moment, staring at all the zeroes that looked back up at her.

if what had just happened was any indication, it was probably going to be a strange weekend.

*

after dinner they went to a nightclub. her buzz was kicking in, so the lights and the music hardly bothered her as much as they might have on a normal night, and though she was loathe to admit it, colt had actually done a pretty nice job setting everything up. they had a booth to themselves and bottle service with sparklers, themed shots and props for both logan and ingrid -- sashes and buttons and crowns for the both of them.

seeing how happy everyone was made all the aggravation of the last six weeks worth it. before she knew it, she’d had more shots than was probably wise and her feet were killing her from dancing, leaving her flushed and sweaty when she stumbled back to the table.

as soon as she sat down, ingrid rushed over and grabbed her arm. “come on! i want to introduce you to a hot guy!”

“no,” ellie moaned, digging her heels into the booth while ingrid tried to drag her out of it, “stop, we’ve been dancing for hours. i need five minutes.”

“okay, but he’s so hot,” ingrid insisted, “and you could get laid tonight!”

“or we could just enjoy your bachelorette party!” she screamed back, over the music, “that’d be so fun, too.”

“oh my god, you’re impossible,” ingrid sighed, dropping down dramatically into the booth beside her. "look, he’s right over there.” 

ellie followed the line of her eyes and saw an admittedly very hot guy standing with a few of their friends. she lifted her hand and waved at him, and he smiled charmingly back at her, waving in return.

from behind her hand, when she pulled it in to cover her mouth, ellie said to ingrid, “he looks kind of stupid.”

“oh my god,” ingrid groaned again, “forget it. i’m done trying to set you up.”

before she could argue further, logan ran over to refill his drink and pulled ingrid back up to her feet, dragging her away from the booth and back onto the dance floor.

ellie watched them go, then turned her eyes to the half-full bottle of vodka in the ice bucket on the table. she was in the middle of trying to decide whether or not she was one drink away from puking when colt walked up to her.

“hey, loser. you wanna dance?” he asked, just as she made up her mind and reached for the bottle. he wasn’t loud enough to be heard over the music, but ellie could see the shape of his mouth make each word clearly, mostly because she tilted her head up to stare at him in complete confusion as soon as he got close. 

“with you?” 

“i thought you were supposed to be smart,” he said, and she recognized the easy grin on his face from dozens of late nights out with all their friends in college; he was drunk. “come on.”

she stumbled to her feet and followed him without thinking too much about it, even though there was no way their friends weren’t looking at them as they found a spot on the dance floor together. 

“you know how to dance?” ellie asked, blinking down at colt’s hands, which settled confidently on her waist, in absolute, total surprise, “since when?”

“since always,” he answered, lowering his mouth to her ear, “you just repress all my positive traits.”

“you don’t have any positive traits,” she shot back, though she gave in and wound her arms around his neck a moment later, letting him pull her in close.

“ouch,” colt murmured softly into her ear, and ellie sunk her teeth into her bottom lip at the low tone of his voice and its proximity. “that really hurts.”

her head tipped back to stare up at the flashing lights in the ceiling. colt didn’t say anything -- of course, he loved to get the last word -- and after a moment she forgot how utterly strange it was to be close to him at all and let herself enjoy the dance, smoothly moving her hips against his.

it was unnatural how natural it felt. she was dancing with colt kaneko -- it should have felt insane. they didn’t dance together. they didn’t get along. 

except that evidently they did, and she kind of liked it, too. 

when he dragged everyone out of the nightclub at three o’clock in the morning he wouldn’t tell them where they were going. even ellie was surprised to hear about a planned part two of the evening, though the way he seamlessly swiped a bottle of dom perignon from a table they passed on their way to the door and presented it to her as soon as they stepped back into the lobby of the hotel made her laugh with her whole body.

“you didn’t even pay for it,” she grinned, cradling it in her arms like a baby. 

he looked around, then started leading everyone down a side hallway. “i never said i would. hang on.”

logan caught on as soon as they all stopped in front of the fancy glass doors marked pool, and ellie kept watch at the end of the hallway while the two of them worked to get the door open. one by one, their friends filed quietly inside to the hotel’s closed indoor pool, giggling while they stripped out of their clothes.

“this feels illegal,” ellie said, while ingrid helpfully lowered the zip on her dress for her, “no?”

“it’s only a crime if you get caught,” logan answered, running past and jumping in the pool directly in front of where they were standing at its edge, splashing them both.

“oh, you’re in for it,” ingrid promised, jumping off after him. 

ellie self-consciously pulled her dress off the rest of the way, walking over to the steps and wading into the shallow end carefully. she swam out to join the rest of the group, head spinning from the drinks she’d had.

“hey.”

she turned around and came face-to-face with colt again, staring at what she could see of his bare chest, sticking out of the dark water before averting her eyes with a flush. “we’re totally all going to jail,” she said, apropos of nothing.

“that’s the plan,” colt returned, still smiling that easy, open smile. but he’d always been a lot more fun to hang out with when he was drunk. 

“why’re you being so nice to me?” ellie asked abruptly, reaching out to hold onto the pool wall and treading water to stay afloat in front of him. “it’s weird.”

colt laughed. his own arm braced on the side of the pool beside hers, and she looked over at the way the water slid of his muscles, her mouth suddenly dry. 

“guess i like the reactions i get,” he answered, effortlessly short-circuiting her brain as she tried to figure out what the fuck that was supposed to mean. “plus, it looks like you’re my good luck charm.”

“that was pretty crazy,” she acknowledged with a soft smile of her own, “i’ve never done anything like that before.” in fact, it’d been almost more excitement than she could handle.

“there’s so much i could show you.” 

the look in his eyes was intense -- searching. she wasn’t sure what to say, but fortunately the noise from the rest of their friends splashing around covered the too-loud pounding of her heartbeat as he stood there staring down at her.

it was the most alive she’d felt in months. before tonight, she hadn’t even thought she’d want a break from her routine -- from school, from her work, from everything that made her her.

wading in the pool now, with colt, all she wanted was more.

before she could find something to say, logan and brent swam by, kicking up water with a splash. “come on!” logan called out as a wave of chlorinated water hit her smack dab in the face, “we’re doing back flips.”

she forced her eyes down and swam off after them, hurrying to put some space between them. 

drunk as she was, it was a struggle to even stay afloat.

*

the semester wrapped up quickly; before she knew it, it was time to start shipping her things down to miami. ellie saw and heard from everyone less and less as she finished her coursework and switched into summer mode, even as the date of logan’s wedding grew closer.

finally it was time to hand her keys over to the girl who’d be subletting her apartment for the summer and catch her flight; when she stepped off the plane she forgot, for a moment, that she wasn’t home in los angeles -- it was humid and sunny and everyone around her looked happy, a far cry from the scene she’d left behind at jfk.

ellie went straight to her summer housing and checked in, a little astonished by how nice the apartment was. there was a pool in the back of the building and the beach was only a short walk away; there were floor-to-ceiling windows exposing the view to her and illuminating every last one of the boxes she’d have to unpack where they were cluttering her new living room floor.

her eyes landed on one marked kitchen stuff and ellie tore into it, using her keys to rip the tape. the still-sealed bottle of dom perignon from the bachelorette party was sitting on top of everything else, wrapped in bubble wrap.

the trip or the heat had probably made it go flat but she pulled it out anyway, sitting on the floor and popping the cork. ellie took a sip from the bottle and grimaced -- all expensive alcohol was disgusting.

she set it on the floor and took a photo for her pictagram story anyway, the boxes and the view in the background. it was only up for a few seconds before her phone screen lit up with an incoming message.

it was colt. dork was all he’d written, when she opened her direct messages. the little animation beneath his words indicated he was typing something else. how is it?

pretty bad she wrote back honestly.

guess i’ll have to work harder to impress you

she stared down at her phone, rereading the words twice before she huffed out a genuine laugh. ellie had been avoiding checking in with most of her friends while she focused on moving, but it felt pretty nice to talk to colt again. the new peace that had settled between them had admittedly been a welcome respite, distracting her from every stressor in her life. 

with a shake of her head, she gave in and wrote back guess so.

*

everyone in the wedding was spending the entire weekend in santa monica, and ellie was grateful for the opportunity to avoid awkward conversation with her dad, heading straight to the hotel when she flew in on the morning of the rehearsal dinner.

things were already in full swing even though it was early in the day when she arrived; though she was exhausted from her flight and the work she’d left behind on the east coast ellie still let ingrid pull her up to her suite to start getting ready together.

one by one the rest of their friends started to trickle in, chatting excitedly about the wedding the next day, and eventually, after they’d gone over saturday’s schedule at least a thousand times, it was late enough in the afternoon that she had to go back to her own hotel room to get dressed for dinner.

ellie was the first of the girls to finish getting ready and logan and the rest of the guys were already downstairs at the lobby bar when she came out of the elevator. logan pulled her into a hug as soon as she got close, kissing her cheek hello.

“are you so excited?” she asked, squeezing his arms, “big day tomorrow.”

“i can’t wait. i know we did this fast but it still feels like we’ve been waiting for forever.” he looked adorably eager. “you look nice, by the way.”

“thank you,” ellie said primly, stepping out of his arms to spin in a circle, the skirt of her dress swishing around the tops of her thighs, “not half bad for an all-nighter and a cross-country flight, eh?”

“thanks for flying out so early. i’m so glad you’re here.” logan called the bartender over as she moved down the line to say hi to the rest of the groomsmen, and when she came back around to his other side to accept the drink he held out to her she noticed there was one person missing from the group.

“where’s colt?”

logan arched an eyebrow at her. her face flushed pink, and then worsened when that voice she could pick out of a crowd said from behind her, “miss me?”

the smart remark that was waiting on the tip of her tongue died when she turned around and saw him. he always wore formalwear well, but something about how he was dressed tonight captured her attention in a way that was impossible to ignore. she swallowed.

“just wondering if tonight might actually be peaceful or not,” she said finally, lifting her eyes from the few buttons that were open on his shirt at the front of his throat to look him in the eyes. “i guess it won’t be.”

he shrugged, leaning around her to signal the bartender for a drink of his own. “i promised i’d behave this weekend.” 

“yeah, and you’d better follow through or ingrid’s going to come after us both,” logan grinned, waiting until colt had his glass in his hand before sticking his own in between the three of them. “cheers.”

“cheers,” ellie smiled, clinking her champagne flute delicately against the two rocks glasses in their hands, “congratulations. i’m so happy for you guys.”

“you can back out at any time,” colt said, and then, as ingrid finally walked over and hit him on the shoulder, “ow. what? you can back out, too.”

she linked her arm through logan’s, tilting her face up for a kiss. “no one’s backing out. come on.”

they filed into the restaurant, where everyone’s families were already waiting at one end of the long table. ellie sat down on ingrid’s right and came face-to-face with colt, who was sitting directly across from her at logan’s left. he smirked at her from the other side of the table, bumping his foot into hers underneath the tablecloth. 

she kicked him back, turning her cheek to stifle a smile when she saw him wince as soon as her high heel collided with his shin. 

dinner was surprisingly pleasant, making her cautiously optimistic for the way the rest of the weekend was going to go. tomorrow was sure to be exhausting, with a full day of primping and photos before the ceremony and reception, and the after party following late into the night, if she knew their group of friends at all.

but it’d probably be pretty fun, too. at least she could start drinking heavily as soon as her toast was over.

though she was woefully sober after the cake had been cut and the night started to wind down, certain that a hangover would be a wrench in tomorrow morning she just didn’t need, with the day ahead of her. 

they all took their time saying goodbye and slowly started to head to the elevator. just outside the restaurant door, colt caught her elbow and asked, “wanna go for a walk?”

she stared back at him dumbly. why? “huh?”

“come on, the beach is right there.” his hand slid down her bare arm to curl around her wrist, and he tugged her towards the french doors that would lead them outside onto the hotel’s back patio before she could protest.

ellie slipped off her shoes as they moved down the steps and out into the sand, silent when they both walked off down the beach together. the stretch owned by the hotel was private and closed for the night, so they were the only two people making their way down to the ocean, though she still wasn’t exactly sure for what. 

“how’ve you been?” she asked finally, when it felt like it’d been quiet for too long.

“fine. how are your... water samples?” 

her eyebrows arched. part of her was amazed he’d remembered, and a little warmed by his thoughtfulness. “um, good,” she answered slowly, “well -- not good, they’re contaminated, but... good for me? to have something to study?”

out of the corner of her eye, ellie saw his lips twitch. it was good to know he still found her embarrassment amusing. “that’s good.”

“are you nervous for your speech tomorrow?” she asked, because she was certainly nervous about hers. his smile spread.

“no.” he’d long since let go of her arm, but colt still only shoved the hand on the other side of his body into his pocket, letting his other arm dangle near hers. “i’m just gonna wing it.”

“you’re going to -- i’m sorry, what?” she demanded, completely horrified. “you cannot just wing it.”

“well, i’m going to,” he shrugged, “so don’t lose sleep over it.”

“oh my god,” ellie groaned, “i feel sick just thinking about it. please tell me you’re joking.”

“you know i’m not,” he laughed, that same soft sound from the night of logan and ingrid’s engagement party, when he’d given her a ride home. her cheeks flushed just thinking about it. “don’t you ever get tired of being so self-righteous?”

“no,” she sniffed, “don’t you ever get tired of being so...”

ellie trailed off as she searched for the right word. colt stopped suddenly and turned in the sand to face her, grinning widely when their eyes locked. “so what?”

arrogant. smug. obnoxious. insufferable. reckless. “so...” she paused, tongue darting out to lick her lips, “well --”

colt leaned in and kissed her before she could decide which word she wanted to settle on. the hand that’d been in his pocket landed on her waist, and he lifted the other to her jaw, cradling her cheek in his palm when he pulled her closer to meet his lips.

she froze. part of her had been expecting this, though it still felt so unbelievably beyond imagining -- colt kaneko was kissing her after they’d spent the last eight years at each other’s throats, and tenderly, too, his lips soft and gentle when they brushed against hers.

ellie sighed quietly into his mouth, then looped her arm around him and kissed him back, sliding her fingers into his hair at the back of his head. 

he was a good kisser. not that she’d thought about it, or anything, outside of one or two times --

fine, a few times... 

colt snaked his arm fully around her waist and pressed his body in against hers as close as they could get; there was only the sound of the waves on the shore while they kissed for what felt like an eternity, with all the familiarity of two people who’d done this dozens of times before.

there was something about being alone with him that eased the tension being home always brought with it. something about the new calmness in their relationship reminded her of her apartment and new york and the places she’d always felt most like herself, almost like colt understood her and the things she wanted to say but wouldn’t without her even having to say them. 

finally, his thumb pressed into the hinge of her jaw and he broke them apart, tipping his forehead against hers to stare into her eyes.

in the dark, with the moon behind him, the depths of his gaze consumed her entirely. ellie worked to catch her breath while staring back at him seriously, though there was surely some shock on her expression.

“um,” she said finally. “i --”

he swept her into another kiss and she was grateful for the chance to collect her thoughts before being expected to say something, though every last one she had left her abruptly when their lips met again. all she could focus on was how good the kiss was -- how it felt like giving into something she’d been holding off on allowing for far too long. 

this time, when he pushed her away, he spoke up. “do you want me to apologize?”

ellie realized her fingers were still curled into his hair and forced them to relax. she dropped her hand onto his shoulder. “no.” her eyes lingered on the minute upturn at the corners of his mouth. “an explanation would be helpful, though.”

the hand colt had on the small of her back dipped lower. she raised her eyebrows at him again. “i want to spend the night with you,” he said bluntly, “if you want.”

she pretended to think about it, even though she already knew what her answer would be. judging by the look on colt’s face, he knew she was only acting, too, though he stayed quiet for once and let her go through the motions of looking back at the hotel in thoughtful consideration. “yeah,” she said finally, with a nod, “let’s go to your room.”

*

colt’s room was on the other side of the hotel, and he’d forgotten to pull the heavy-duty shades shut the night before, so the sun filtered in through the gauzy curtains and hit her in the face early, waking her up before she was ready.

ellie rubbed at her eyes and took in the sight before her: the muscled arm slung across her waist was attached to a set of broad shoulders and a sculpted torso, though colt was sleeping on his stomach so she could only see his back, the sheet draped low over his hips. 

his face was squished into the pillow and he was still peacefully asleep, his breathing even and quiet beside her.

she stared at him for a few seconds before a deep sense of dread started to set in, filling her with slowly dawning horror.

you slept with colt kaneko! her brain screamed unhelpfully at her, like she didn’t already know. what the fuck were you thinking?

okay. this was fixable. all she had to do was get to her clothes and get out of his room before he woke up. she could make it back to her suite before anyone noticed she was gone, right? 

his body stirred beside her as soon as she shifted to the edge of the mattress. ellie watched colt’s arm slip off her waist and stared as his eyes slowly blinked open, his jaw cracking with a yawn. “hey,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep and perfectly cozy-sounding, halting her progress out of the bed and almost enough to make her turn right back around. “what time is it?”

“seven,” she returned just as quietly, and he flopped back against the pillow with a groan, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“the fuck are you doing up?” he grumbled. “christ.”

ellie shifted another inch to the edge of the bed. “we need to all start getting ready soon. pictures are at two.”

“it’s seven,” he sighed, “she can’t possibly expect you to --”

“she does.”

colt groaned again, louder this time. he rolled onto his back and pressed both palms against his face, then pushed his hands through his hair. “we’ll get up in ten minutes,” he declared decisively, dropping his cheek into the side of the pillow. his eyes were half-lidded when they landed on her. “come here.”

ellie hesitated at the edge of the bed, biting her lip. 

that was probably a mistake. 

she cleared her throat, averting her eyes. maybe all of this had been a mistake. it was so unlike her -- flirting with him, kissing him on the beach, having a one night stand. he’d never even liked her before she started doing all of these things that felt so wildly out of character for her. in fact, he’d always hated her. 

what the fuck did he think they were doing, anyway? 

panic was starting to set in, hot and desperate. “i should really get going,” she said, then stood and snatched her dress up off the floor before she could be sucked in by the curve of him against the mattress. “ingrid’s going to wonder where i am.”

there was complete and total silence as she pulled her clothes back on quickly, piece by piece. finally, colt said, “okay. i’ll see you later.”

his voice was slow -- carefully measured. ellie didn’t look at him before double checking to make sure she had her phone and room key and nodding blindly in the direction of the bed, doing her best to keep her voice faux-chipper. “totally,” she called out mindlessly, rushing out the door.

her chest squeezed tight with anxiety and refused to relent for the entirety of the morning. ellie found herself fighting off a meltdown through hair and makeup, through hours of gushing over ingrid and how beautiful she looked, through a session with the photographer in the bridal suite. 

her thoughts were elsewhere during the group photos with everyone. it took every effort not to look colt’s way when they all got together before the ceremony to take so many pictures her face was hurting from maintaining her fake smile.

still, her mind drifted. the part of her that was adamant she’d made the right decision couldn’t seem to quiet the little voice beneath it wondering what if, her curiosity needling her brain incessantly. 

now she’d never know what he might’ve been about to say or do. she wouldn’t have to deal with the reality of having two pieces of her life that didn’t fit together -- new york and school and los angeles and colt -- because there was no knowing if anything would’ve even come from it.

maybe that’s for the best, said the larger, more rational part of her brain. 

all the excuses she’d used a thousand times before came back to her at once. she was too busy to date, probably, and ill-equipped to have a boyfriend. guys she’d dated in the past had complained about her being hot and cold, either clingy or distant depending on where she was with school or in her professional life. the only parts of herself she could actually tolerate most of the time seemed to be the biggest turn-offs: she was too driven, too focused on her passion projects. 

each word felt hollow, now. maybe she hadn’t done the right thing.

ellie’s pulse raced dangerously as everyone lined up at the edge of the cliff for the outdoor ceremony. she and colt stood just behind logan, side-by-side. 

he wasn’t looking at her. her stomach twisted unhappily. 

she gently reached out to touch his arm. her voice was barely a murmur when she leaned in close and said, “hey, can i talk to you?”

colt looked down at her like she was insane. in front of them, logan started down the aisle. “now’s not really a good time.”

fuck. she was almost definitely going to lose her nerve, but he was right. she pursed her lips, looping her arm through his. her free hand clutched her flowers tightly.

colt felt stiff beside her, at odds with the easy way he’d held her last night. she used all her focus not to trip as they walked down the aisle together and then separated on either side of the altar, the both of them looking anywhere else but at each other.

fortunately, the ceremony provided a welcome distraction from her swirling thoughts. logan and ingrid had written their own vows, and she cried the entire time they spoke to each other, tears silently dripping down her cheeks as she watched two of her oldest friends profess their love.

even the poem ingrid’s sister read made her heart skip a beat, her bottom lip wobbling through the ceremony until the officiant finally pronounced them husband and wife.

ellie was still smiling through tears after they’d kissed and started back down the aisle together. she forgot to be nervous about walking with colt until he took her arm in his and said, “seriously?”

then everything that had happened rushed back to her at once, and she was uneasy and miserable again.

“come on,” ellie sniffed, dabbing delicately at her eyes, “that was beautiful.”

“it was something,” he mumbled, so quietly the excited din of the crowd nearly drowned him out. “i’ll catch up with you later.”

he dropped her arm as soon as he possibly could, disappearing into the venue. ellie watched everyone through the glass windows for a moment before following him inside with a sigh.

bathroom, then bar. even if the first thing she needed was a large glass of wine, the absolute last thing she needed was smudged mascara. everything else could wait.

*

it was almost the end of the cocktail hour when logan found her at the bar. ellie grinned at him wholeheartedly and passed him the champagne flute she’d taken for herself, signaling for another.

“thanks,” he said, reaching out to squeeze her arm, “like, a thousand people have already tried talking to me. you never told me this was going to be so exhausting.”

“getting married is a huge deal,” ellie laughed, “of course every single person here wants to talk to you. you’re going to be making the rounds all night.”

“just -- keep me occupied for a few more minutes,” he said, gaze darting around the room, “make it look like we’re having a really serious talk. start with whatever put that look on your face.”

“i don’t have a look on my face,” she argued, though she knew it was futile.

logan arched his eyebrows at her. “ellie.”

“what?” she asked. she shuffled her feet anxiously and then continued, “look, i’m sure colt already told you we slept together last night, so --”

logan started coughing, spitting champagne back into his glass. he set it down on the bar with wide eyes. “oh my god, you what?”

ellie felt her own eyes bug out to match. “he didn’t tell you?”

“no,” logan hissed, then coughed again. “what do you mean you slept together last night?”

“um,” ellie started, her voice high as she swiveled her eyes to the ceiling, “well...”

“jesus, i can’t believe he finally went for it.”

she slowly lowered her gaze back to his. her brow furrowed in confusion. “what?”

“oh, man. he’s liked you for forever. i didn’t think he was ever going to...” logan trailed off as he caught sight of the expression on her face, which cycled from confusion to realization to horror so quickly it made her head spin. “wait, how’d you guys leave it?”

“um,” she said again, cringing, “well...”

“yikes.” logan matched her look with a wince. “you should probably talk to him.”

she wandered into the ballroom as if in a daze. ellie found her seat at the table with the bridal party and breathed a sigh of relief once she noticed colt was far away from her at the other end -- at least ingrid had done her one favor. 

after the toast, she told herself with a nod, i’ll talk to him. 

after the toast she could have the hard drink she’d need to get through the conversation. they could take a few minutes to themselves.

but first she had to actually get through the toast, and that meant sitting politely while colt gave the best man speech, which he did unflappably well, of course, even though he hadn’t prepared for it at all.

ellie was reminded all at once what’d made her hate him in the first place: colt was good at everything without having to worry about it. in college, he’d effortlessly pulled perfect grades in even the most impossible classes; tonight was no different. he made jokes that landed perfectly with the crowd, getting the appropriate amount of laughs, and finished with something surprisingly sentimental that garnered lots of applause -- both ingrid and logan beamed at him when he sat down again.

and she had to go next.

she pointedly ignored him as she stood with her glass. “hey, everyone. i’m ellie. for those of you who don’t know me, ingrid and i met on the very first day of college -- eight years ago. i’d just turned eighteen and i was away from home for the first time. i actually bumped into ingrid in the parking lot...”

ellie hit all the marks, too: what she loved about her friends, what made them perfect for each other. “-- and i knew he was the one just from the way she’d talk about him. she always got so giddy, it was like there was a whole other side of her i’d never seen before. every day she’d have something new to say about him: ‘oh, logan said this,’ and, ‘oh, logan showed me that’ --”

everyone was crying by the time she wrapped up. ingrid blew her a kiss as she lifted her glass into the air, and ellie grinned brightly back at her and logan before the band came back on and she could finally sit down again.

the girls around her were gushing about how good her toast had been, but ellie leaned around them to catch colt’s eye at the other end of the table.

her eyebrows lifted meaningfully. she nodded at the dance floor.

colt rolled his eyes. she watched him shake his head.

ellie thrust her bottom lip out into a pout. 

he looked sort of close to smiling, setting a swarm of butterflies loose in her stomach. it was both better and more dangerous than the thought of him being angry at her had been. later, he mouthed, turning away before she could frown at him any harder.

that was fine. it’d give her a little more time to work up her nerve -- hopefully.

she grabbed ingrid on her way back to the bar.

“oh my god, i can’t believe you,” ingrid sighed, squeezing her tight in a huge hug, “that was only the most beautiful toast of all time. you ruined my makeup, you bitch!”

“okay, you still look perfect,” ellie argued, squeezing her hand, “you’re the most beautiful bride ever. don’t even start.”

ingrid sighed wistfully, looking off towards the sweetheart table at the front of the ballroom. “i am pretty beautiful, huh?”

“are you kidding?” ellie demanded, “the whole thing was gorgeous.”

ingrid’s grin sharpened. out of nowhere, she said, “logan told me you totally fucked colt last night.”

“shhhh!” ellie cast a glance around desperately, but they were blessedly alone at the bar. “oh my god, i didn’t --”

“yeah, right. why didn’t you tell me?!”

“it’s your wedding day,” she laughed, “i wanted to -- i don’t know. it just happened, it was weird.”

“what’s he like?” she asked, passing ellie a glass of champagne.

“can we not do this?” ellie ducked her head behind the glass, trying to hide her flushed face. “isn’t it time for your first dance?”

ingrid waved her hand dismissively. “in a minute. so? spill!”

“oh my god, it was obviously incredible,” she mumbled into her champagne, “now get out of my face, this is exactly why i didn’t tell you.”

“fine, but we are so not done talking about this.” she reached out and tugged on one of the neat curls of her hair before linking her arm through ellie’s to walk back to the front of the ballroom together. “and you’d better save me a dance.”

*

she didn’t get her moment alone with colt until after the entrees. ellie had given up on trying to catch his eye, so she was surprised when he walked over and said, “i’ll take that dance, now, if you can stop crying long enough to make it happen.”

“people with souls cry at weddings,” she huffed, standing and taking his hand in hers, “i’m sorry you can’t relate.”

“you’re forgiven,” he smirked, so that she could almost pretend there was absolutely nothing weird going on between them as they walked out onto the dance floor.

but his expression shifted when the song changed and her hands laced together behind his neck, absolving her of that illusion near-immediately. she cleared her throat as his hands settled on her hips and they started to sway together.

“i’m sorry,” she said again, more seriously this time. 

he pursed his lips, then shrugged. “for what?”

“for being weird this morning. i don’t know what you were going to say -- um, if you were going to say anything, but i totally freaked out and i obviously didn’t even give you a chance to get to it, so. that was uncool. sorry.”

colt’s gaze was calculating on hers. she wondered what he was thinking. “don’t worry about it,” he said finally. “it’s nothing.”

she drew in a deep breath. well, if he wasn’t going to give her an inch... “logan said you’ve always liked me.”

ellie watched as his eyes narrowed. “logan’s lucky today’s his wedding day,” colt murmured darkly. his hands tightened on her hips briefly, then released. he turned his head and leveled his glare on her. “so?”

“so -- i thought you hated me,” she laughed, that thread of nervousness back again. “you never -- i mean, why didn’t you ever say anything?”

he rolled his eyes at her. “okay, you’re always, like -- smiling and happy and constantly surrounded by people. when we were in school you were in, like, student government and on debate team and running a thousand clubs or doing extra lab hours and everyone always liked you -- so you wanted me to, what, exactly? just walk right up to you and be like, hey, do you want to see a movie?”

ellie gaped at him, her mouth open in shock. “i -- yes! you could have just asked me out.”

“right,” colt snorted, “that would’ve gone over well. you thought i was a total asshole.”

“colt, you were a total asshole,” she reminded him.

he shifted back and forth on his feet. ellie stared in fascination as the tips of his ears went red when he dipped his head to avert his eyes. “i didn’t want you think i had a crush on you or anything.”

it felt a lot like she was having an out-of-body experience. “well... did you have a crush on me?”

colt cleared his throat. “you weren’t like everyone else,” he said, in lieu of an answer, “you’re still not. but i get that you’re busy. this doesn’t have to be, like, a thing.”

“hang on, i’m still processing.” whatever this was, it was officially bizarre. 

it seemed impossible to wrap her head around what he’d just admitted: that he’d always liked her, even at her most neurotic, at the most school-obsessed, five-year-plan focused she’d ever been. 

so she didn’t have to change.

for once, it didn’t feel like she needed to put up some front that was, frankly, exhausting to maintain.

everything just felt -- nice.

“done yet?” he demanded, “the song’s almost over.” 

ellie leaned in and kissed him, uncaring of anyone who might see. his hands were warm over the cutouts in the dress at her sides and she was breathless when they finally broke apart, long after the song had changed.

the look on colt’s face was a mixture of self-satisfied and surprised when he pulled her off the dance floor and out onto the terrace. “i am busy,” ellie said, once they were alone.

colt nodded, looking out at the view of the beach below them. “i know.”

“but -- if you really don’t mind that i have to split my focus with school... and the distance... and the time difference...”

“are you trying to talk me out of it?” he asked, sounding amused.

“...then obviously i’d love to date you or whatever.”

“huh.” colt was smiling as he stared at the ocean. “i guess i probably should have just asked out you five years ago, then.”

“it might’ve been easier,” ellie allowed, shifting to lean her shoulder against his. she reached for his hand and laced their fingers together. “but that’s not really our style.”

colt turned and pressed his lips to the top of her head. “true,” he hummed, and then, “you smell like you have a whole can of hairspray in your hair.”

“i probably do.” she hesitated, looking down at their joined hands. “are you sure you want to do this?”

“yeah.” ellie looked back up at him and found colt’s eyes still stuck thoughtfully on the view. “i’ve wanted to for a really long time.”

“that’s so crazy to me.”

“why?” he finally turned and looked at her, his gaze no less intense than it had been last night by the ocean. “ingrid’s right. you are a catch. it’s crazy to me that you’ve stayed single all this time.”

“well, i was --” she bit the inside of her cheek to avoid again using the word busy, and then pivoted to a more uncomfortably honest answer, “-- never interested in compromising. before now.”

his lips spread into a smile. she felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of it, soft and genuine and open on his face. “figures i’d be the one to break your streak,” colt said, in that same overconfident way she always used to hate.

“oh my god, do not start,” she huffed, using their joined hands to push his side until he stumbled a step away.

colt retaliated by spinning her around and pulling her in close, trapping her against the ledge of the balcony before she could move. “why?” he challenged, “what are you going to do about it?”

she was going to kiss that stupid smirk right off his face, for one.

and he was going to spend the night dancing with her and later hold back her hair when she had too much to drink.

then they’d both spend most of sunday in bed, skipping brunch with the rest of their friends to put the hours before her flight to better use.

colt would drive her to the airport. they would say their goodbyes on the curb.

and she would be too excited to sleep on the trip back to miami.

“just wait,” she threatened, though her voice was sweet; she tilted her chin up to brush their noses together. “you’ll see. i have it all planned out.”

the look in his eyes made her feel like she was doing something dangerous; colt looked both fond and delighted, content and sweet and sure. his free hand lifted to thumb at her cheekbone, like part of him was still surprised to find the both of them out here, wrapped up together like they were. 

“i’ll bet,” he returned, his voice low and full of promise. “that work ethic is one of the things i like most about you.”

“you’ll have to give me a list of the rest,” ellie laughed, eager to hear his take on it all from what was arguably the most unique perspective in their friend group. 

“eh, you can wait,” colt shrugged, gently pressing her in along the stone ledge behind her back on the balcony, leaning over her with another grin, “there’s a few other things we have to catch up on first.”

fair point, she thought, though she’d be damned if she ever actually agreed with him out loud. she had a lot to fill him in on, too. 

he’d probably waited long enough, though, so ellie folded first and gave him that kiss she’d planned, colt’s smirk dissolving as expected when his mouth pressed against hers. 

when they finally broke apart and turned to head back inside, they drew up short outside the doors to the balcony. every last one of their friends was standing in front of the glass facade, staring at them, their eyes wide and their mouths open. ingrid and logan in particular looked unreasonably overjoyed. 

“christ,” colt sighed, as ellie instantly flushed bright red beside him, “is this what this is going to be like all the time?”

“no take backs,” she said, squeezing his hand. she turned to look up at him just in time to catch his eye roll, and the subsequent glare that made the group watching them from behind the door scatter with raucous laughter.

“fine,” he answered, sounding put-upon, but she hadn’t looked away yet and so she still caught the private smile that tugged his lips up against his will.

perfect, ellie thought to herself, and then, for the first time in as long as she could remember, nothing else -- no self-doubt, no exhaustion, no pretending. 

colt was probably going to have to help her get used to how it felt to have everything she wanted.

[grapecinnamon]

Two Gay Dogs: A Ruff Ruffman Story | Chapter 6: Valentines and Voicemails

"Blossom, you're not going to believe it!" Ruff exclaimed as he walked into the dog house. "Guess what? I asked out Mason, and he said yes!"

"That's awesome! Did you use a card?"

"No, I'm saving that for Valentine's Day in a few days. We're going to make plans for our date later on. Ooh! I hope we can go to the Chinese place!" Chet then came in with a wagon full of wooden crates.

"Ah, Chet. I see you got me my supplies in these boxes." He looked in one of the boxes, only to find it empty. "Uh, okay?" Then he looked in another, only to find nothing again. Then he opened another. And another. And another until he realized that Chet was being Chet.

"Chet, are you kidding me!? I said crafting materials, not crating materials! Craft isn't even close to crate! What am I going to do?" He sighed and put his paws on his face, but then he remembered three important people.

"Wait? Alma, Chester, and Lance can help me out. I just hope none of them tell Mason."

~

The first dog he visited was lance, the crafty black-lab. He knocked on the door, and entered at the sound of a voice saying, "It's open!" He walked into the living room to see the black lab playing a video game on the switch. It was an 8-bit game where the lab seemed to be controlling a small, red heart, and was avoiding the attacks of a tall goat-like king. Ruff didn't know what this game was, but he seemed to connect with the king for some reason. A fireball hit the heart and it broke into a million pieces.

"Aw, I died again!" He threw the controller next to him on the couch and looked behind to see the orange mutt.

"Oh, hey Ruff. What are you doing here?"

"I need your help making a card for Mason."

"Ooh? For Mason? For Valentine's Day?" Ruff nodded. "Yeah, I heard from Mason about you asking them out. Congratulations, Dude!" He playfully pushed Ruff on the shoulder and Ruff playfully pushed him back. But he pushed him so hard, the labrador fell backwards and onto a table full of trash and crafting stuff.

"Oh, sorry about that."

"That's alright. I was looking for that glue bottle anyway." He nonchalantly held up his elbow, which had a white, glue bottle stuck to it. "So, dude, what do you want?"

"I need a big, red card for Mason. It needs to be in the shape of a heart, lined with pink lace, and big enough to fit about twenty dog treats inside. I think Mason said they liked green-apple treats."

"Alright, I can do that. That'll be $30, please." Ruff was caught off guard, as the dog held out his paw for the upfront payment. He looked around and saw a sign on the table that said $15/ flat card | $30/ 3-D card. Ruff didn't have 30 dollars. He didn't even have enough for a flat card. He already gave Chet the $20 for those crates, leaving him with $10. He was about to call off the commission and getting a cheep card at a store, but he knew he couldn't settle. No, no, Mason Jaye deserved something with a heart and soul poured into it.

"Okay, I only have $10. Is there anything I can get for that?"

"No, but I'll make a deal with you. I have this thing where if my clients can make their ideal card themselves, they can get it for $5, but since you're my friend, and Mason really likes you, I'll let you do it for free."

"Lance, you got yourself one heck of a deal!" Ruff sat at the crafting table and got to work at the card. It took him about 30 minutes to get it done, but once finished... it looked like absolute garbage.

Ruff tried his best, but the card looked horrible; the heart looked more like a brain, especially since the lace was glued on lopsided, and there wasn't enough space for the treats. Lance looked at it and cringed. He didn't want to hurt Ruff's feelings, but...

"I can't let you give this to Mason. This looks horrible. Look, I'll just do it for you, okay?" Lance then got to work and created Ruff's idea card in perfect detail. It even put the treats inside. Ruff looked inside to get a good look at them; they were green and in the shape of apples. Ruff wanted one so badly, but these were for his enbyfriend, not him. The box had a message engraved on it in cursive; it read To Mason: The Love of my Life. Ruff didn't exactly request that message, but

~

Up next was Chester. He arrived at his house to seem him and Alma hanging out in the backyard.

"Hey, Ruff," Chester said, as he dug a hole with his paws.

"Hi, Ruff," Alma said, waving. "Good to see you. What are you doing here?"

"I came by to ask if Chester could help me write a poem to Mason."

"Oh, yeah," Alma said. "You asked xer out the other day, right?"

"Yeah, and Lance helped me make this heart box filled with treats. I thought this would be enough, but now I feel like it needs something else. Could you help me write a love poem?"

"Sure." Chester and Alma lead the orange dog into the house to a desk that had writing material and a quill dipped in a glass jar of ink.

"Do you know anything about writing poetry?"

"Of course. Hold on, I think I have some poems for my ex crush right here." He pulled out the poems addressed to Charlene and showed them to the dalmatian. Wow, never thought I'd be calling Charlene my ex. The orange dog thought. It's kind of exhilarating. The poem read as follows:

Charlene

My Washing Machine

Is Green

And Keen

The dalmatian and the schnauzer looked up at the prideful orange dog, realizing they had a lot of work to do.

After a while, bouncing back and forth from one another with ideas, they finally finished the new and improved poem, which read as:

Paws that hold mine perfectly, like they were crafted for each other.

Arms that embrace me tightly with never-ending comfort.

Ribs that touch mine when you lay on top of me.

Tails that wag in unison as we share each other's love.

Ojos that look into mine, not wanting to focus on anything else.

Fingers that touch my soul like no one else has.

Minds that think alike, and spend all their time thinking of each other.

Everything about you is perfect. I'll never meet anyone else like you for as long as I live.

The poem was perfect, and it was nothing like what Ruff would actually write. Which was why Ruff thought it was perfect. He blushed brightly as he reread certain lines. He could barely have Mason's arm around him without going nuts. Just the thought of Mason laying on top of him... Ruff, get a hold of yourself. He thought. Mason probably doesn't think about you like that yet. I think.

Chester took the poem and folded it into fourths, as he put it inside the heart.

"It's missing something," Alma said. "I think what would really put it all together is a bouquet of roses."

"Ah, good idea," Ruff said.

"I can't give them to you today because they could die by then. But for now, what colors do you want the roses to be? I have every color you can think of in roses."

"Well, how about we use roses in the colors of the pan and enby flag."

"That sounds great. Do you want me to add the colors of the gay flag as well?"

"Actually, I don't think I..." Ruff thought about how he had been crushing on Charlene for a while, but then he remembered, she's a thing of the past. He never felt the things with her that he felt for Mason. But maybe he just has a preference?

"...I'm fine with that."

"Great!"

~

It was Valentine's Day. Couples all over the city were showing each other their love in their own special ways. Ruff and Mason would've met each other today at the arcade (another favorite of Mason's despite being made fun of for that due to their age) around 12:00 p.m. but just when Ruff was about to walk out the door with his gifts, he got a text message:

Mason: Hey, sorry, but I don't think I'm ready for a relationship. I think we should cancel that date.

Just when his heart was mended, it gets broken all over again. How could Mason do this to him? They made such a good connection, one that Ruff never thought he'd get from anyone else, so why did he flake out on him? The orange dog felt like crying. Scratch that, he was crying. He sunk to the bottom of the wall and held his face in his paws as he sobbed away the pain, the same words circling in his head: fat. Idiot. Slob. Creep. Fat. Idiot. Slob. Creep... And then he noticed the answering machine had a message left on it. Could it be Mason explaining their self? Or perhaps Blossom and Chet left him a message. No, no, if Blossom and Chet needed to tell him something, they would've said it to his face or texted him. And wouldn't Mason text him an explanation? Who was messaging him? He pressed the button and listened:

You have one new message from: Charlene

*Beep!*

Hi, it's Charlene. I heard your little enbyfriend cancelled your date today. Such a shame. I thought you two would be so happy together. Anyway, I'm just sitting at home, in my jacuzzi. Wink, wink. I know you've probably fantasized about this for years and I just wanna give you what you've wanted. I'm so sorry I sent you those mean text messages. That was meant for, um, someone else. Now, come over here as soon as you get this. I'd hate for you to spend Valentine's Day alone... again.

*Beep!*

Ruff was confused. But a little excited. And also a little suspicious. Looking back at the text message, he noticed that Mason texted in perfect grammar, which was something he never did. He must've been serious about this. Feeling absolutely bummed out from his second break up, he decided that maybe giving Charlene a second chance wouldn't be so bad. After all, she was finally interested in him, and with perfect timing as well. He wiped off his tears, threw his gift to Mason in the trash, and made his way to the poodle-next-door's house.

[Stay tuned for another chapter of Two Gay Dogs. Boy, it's getting wild]

[honey-makki]

A little birdie tells me you want to do some sort of alphabet, if so could I please request one for akaashi💖💖 (need some new daydreaming material).

A is for Adventure: something they haven’t done but have always wanted to

He really wants to ride on a motorcycle. He thinks the wind pressing against him and his clothes flapping around is the closest he could ever get to flying. That being said he TERRIFIED of having to drive a motorcycle and doesn’t know anyone with one. So for now he will live out his dream by just driving around with his windows perpetually down.

B is for Butterflies: How they act when they’re nervous

He is so polite. Quiet, clean and always uses honorifics even if he normally wouldn’t. He is essentially trying to shrink into himself and be forgotten about. He doesn't like to cause any problems so he cleans up after himself and excuses him as soon as it's appropriate. I don’t see him fidgeting, rather just being super stiff and looking down. He can maintain a conversation but it feels forced. If he's trying to push through it more than normal he can make conversation better, but he stutters (which in turn makes him blush) and then he's a little fidgety. 

C is for Crush: what is it like when they have a crush? How do they know/act?

Follow up on the last part. He's gonna be nervous but he knows he needs to talk to them and make his presence known even if he is nervous. His hand is probably gonna be glued to the back of his head/neck. He might seem to be a shade or two darker when interacting with you but goddamnit is he gonna talk. Probably goes and reevaluates his life after you leave and like stands in the corner with his head against the wall (same)

D is for Date: describe an ideal date for them

He loves window shopping with you. He stays trapped inside for his job a lot and just going out able to stretch his legs is a relief, and if you are in tow it's infinitely better. He's the type of man who can make grocery shopping fun and a date. His favorite thing is walking with you to a nearby park for an afternoon picnic or just stargazing. You love to tease him that the stars are hard to see because of the city lights and he always gets embarrassed. He just loves laying with you in a comfortable silence so let it slide because let’s be real, you love it too

E is for Essential: what is one thing they could NEVER go without

Water bottle. He bought an expensive sturdy glass water bottle when he first entered college to both remind him to drink water to be hydrated (he gets killer migraines if he isn’t) and also to hopefully discourage him from buying coffee all the time. He is positive he would have drank himself to death either with a caffeine overdose or end of term celebrations without his trusty water bottle reminding him to drink some water.

F is for Favorite: a favorite anything- food, place, smell, book, etc.

His favorite thing in the whole world is a glass of fresh orange juice during the sunrise. Yes, he has a caffeine addiction, but he saves that for when he is fully starting his day. He loves to just take in the wonder of the world and life itself before he thinks about the actual day ahead. Looking at birds chirping or people starting their day and walking through the city while he's still in his frumpy pajamas and housecoat waking up slowly.  It's the one thing he would never be able to give up in his routine. (if you made him switch to apple juice he could probably do it, but he wouldn’t be happy about it.)

G is for Giggle: how they laugh/what makes them laugh

His laugh is quiet. It almost sounds like he’s always trying to muffle it, and maybe he is, because on the rare occasion when you land a really good joke, or he’s just so exhausted, a deep, deep, hearty laugh echoes out of his gut. The sound doesn’t even look like it should come from him but the way his face flushes the most subtle shade of pink when he realizes how loud he was makes it all uniquely Keiji. You can’t get enough.

H is for Holding Hands: Do they like holding hands? Are their hands warm or cold? Pinky promises?

Cold, clammy hands. You theorize he might have anemia just based on how cold he runs and you can tell that he is self-conscious about his hands. He loves to hold your hands in theory but rarely initiates it because he thinks it must be a little gross since they are a little sweaty. He instead links a finger with yours when walking, pinkies held rather than full hands. 

I is for Inside Joke: something they do that everyone thinks is funny but they don’t understand

Your freshman history class was the bane of your existence and subsequently, Akaashi’s since he helped you study and listened to you complain. After a very very long night, you both decided to take a nap before morning classes instead of pulling an all-nighter. In his exhausted state he said “goodnight, queen mary of scots” and promptly passed out. Now you both say farewell to each other as royalty. “See ya later, Princess Diana.” or “I brought you a glass of water, King George, good night!” No one else knows why and frankly it wasn’t even that funny but you don’t think you could stop if you wanted to at this point.

J is for Jinx: Are they Superstitious?

He isn’t superstitious but he also isn’t willing to push his luck. Like he doesn't believe in ghosts but he doesn’t do anything intentionally to upset them. He just doesn’t see the point in pushing his luck on something he thinks is so inconsequential. The most superstitious thing he does is just walking through his apartment every night checking all the windows/doors but that's mostly because he watches way too much true crime tv. He also is able to be convinced to play with an ouija board but only when he's trashed. Will NOT play one of the summoning games like bloody mary. 

K is for Kiss: how do they kiss?

Keiji is an attentive kisser. He wasn’t bad at first and he wasn't good either. It was a pleasant but fairly neutral experience. Every time after was better and better as he saw what made you tick. He can lead but if you want to that’s fine too. If you want him to hold you close and steady or run his hands across your body, he can do both. He’s attentive and flexible, meeting your needs with ease once he learns your tells. His favorite is slow and sensual kissing in bed though when early morning kisses lingering just a touch too long.

L is for Love Language: what is their love language? How do they give and how would they like to receive love?

Akaashi is best at giving words of affirmation, but if you struggle to accept that he's going to immediately fall back into acts of service, because hey, actions speak louder than words right? He always sends you a motivational message before your tough labs or work shifts, reminding you of how strong and smart you are before an exam, or bringing you a coffee and pastry when you’ve been cooped up studying for hours on end. He doesn’t receive words of affirmation well but they mean the most to him, even if he won’t admit that he goes to sleep thinking about whatever pet name you called him earlier that day. You would guess that physical touch is his love language. He finds solace in knowing you are there. It doesn’t have to be a big touch, but he's significantly happier if you are both on the couch and your legs are on his lap, even if it leaves him in a more uncomfortable position. 

M is for Meant to be: how/when they know someone is “the one”

You buy him his favorite book. That’s how the idea that you are the one really starts swimming around. You knew he had a favorite copy of his book, but when you saw this decorative hardback or signed copy you had to get it. Whenever he is working you bring him a black tea but a green tea when he's done. You know green tea is his favorite, but you don’t want him to start associating it with something stressful, so unless he requests it, you save it for the happier times. It's a simple thing, to know his two favorite teas, but to treat something so insignificant in this fashion makes him realize how he really can’t imagine his life without you anymore.

N is for Nickname: a nickname they would have or their favorite thing to be called

He loves being called traditional names. Dear, love, sweetheart. He calls you them as well but he likes to find ones that make you blush so he has a rotating cast of names that also include doll, princess, angel, sweet pea.  His favorite one is beautiful. He once wrote you a poem about how the definition of beautiful has ever been changed by your kindness and care for the world, and since then whenever you hear that you know exactly what he is implying and you melt. He loves it.

O is for Organization: are they clean or messy?

Yes. common areas are pretty clean! Doesn’t like to vacuum often and can be a little slow on the dishes but he always has time set aside to do the cleaning. His room though…. Man, that shit is MESSY! But like the type of mess where you can’t see a single part of his desk but you can tell that he has it set up so he is getting the most out of every inch. His laundry is sometimes done but isn't on the floor, he just has two laundry baskets (one clean and one dirty) and *also* a separate chair that is definitely not there just so he can put semi-clean clothes there and is very much for sitting. Just as his cat who has claimed it as their own.

P is for Pet Peeve: What’s something they absolutely CAN’T stand?

Resistance to change or growth. He gets that it’s scary but does understand for the life of him the ability to find comfort in stagnation. He is always growing and learning and changing and being a better version of himself and the fact that some people are ok not doing that leaves him feeling weird. A good example of this is when people don't accept he didn't know something or were wrong in an argument. Being wrong or uninformed isn't a bad thing, but choosing to stay there is. 

Q is for Quiet: What do they do for peace of mind

I think in high school he took up meditation before games and if stress is high they revert back to a long morning guided meditation and any small ones that they might need in the middle of the day to make him at ease. He also just goes out on his balcony or opens his window and just closes his eyes. The sound of the city and the smell of wet pavement intermingling with street food is a constant comfort and always manages to ground him

R is for Rainy Day: Do they like rain? What about storms? How would they spend a rainy day?

WET! PAVEMENT! SMELL! PETRICHOR!!!! If he had the option, he would be on his balcony with you, a green tea, and a book. Listening to the city bustle despite the sky’s resistance and finding respite from the rain in his book. The steaming green tea you brewed for the two of you bringing you just the touch of warmth you needed to be comfortable in the cooler weather. And you. He has everything he needs. 

S is for Soft: Describe their softest feature

His skin is so soft. All of his skin, but ever since you made him take up a bare-bones skincare routine, it’s almost insulting how his skin is almost expelling a light radiant glow. Even when it’s marred by a pimple or his deep sleep circles, his skin is still soft, rivaling an angel. He doesn’t like you touching his face that much outside of the comfort of his bed and sleepy morning touches, but it’s ok because his arms are just as soft under your touch.

T is for Telephone: are they a talker or a texter? How often do they use their phone?

Keiji is one of those people who does actually like to talk on the phone. If he's just sending you an update on his eta or something simple he will text, but with his job, it's easier for him to just close his office door, put you on speaker, and continue working. Often it reminds you of how you would talk to each other on the phone every night in high school. Your animated conversations slowly squashed by sleep until you are left fighting off sleep just to spend another second with each other. 

U is for Unique: a random quirk they have

He has to brush his teeth before and after breakfast. It stems from childhood not knowing if he would have time to eat every morning but still needing to have clean teeth. He’s probably never needed to see a dentist in his life because he also flosses every night. ok almost every night. 

V is for Valentine: Are they the type to celebrate or not?

no but yes. He doesn’t believe in Valentine’s day and being forced to make grand gestures once a year. He believes you should show your partner love daily and do larger showings or dates when you feel personally inclined, not because of societal influence. He knows it’s a capitalistic scheme but if you would be upset by not doing something, he will make sure to make a nice home-cooked dinner (it's great but only because he’s been practicing all week and eating his bad first, second etc. tries) and get an expensive bottle of wine. He does want you to feel loved but he hopes you always feel like that. (if y’all decided to not celebrate he still does a big date around valentines though just to remind you how important you are to him) 

W is for Wholesome: something extremely pure about them that makes you just *uwu*

He got y’all promise rings when you graduated high school. He had a whole speech about how he was 100% confident he was going to marry you but wants to have a steady income and life to support you before proposing. He wears his on his ring finger and plays with it absentmindedly while zoning out with a tiny smile on his lips. Yours is on a chain around your neck just long enough so it falls next to your heart. He always kisses it when he kisses down your body, a reminder his promise is still as true as ever.

X is for Xenia: How they would entertain a guest/show hospitality

He must have a sixth sense that someone is coming over because he always just happens to be brewing some tea or throwing a pot of coffee on. Even if you swing by randomly on your lunch break he’s always prepared. (And if he is coming to yours, he always brings two things at least. A bottle of water because he knows how easy it is to forget to hydrate, and one of your go-to beverages.) He also keeps his living room very homey and comforting with blankets, candles, and lamps. Just somewhere people don’t feel bad about intruding into. A comforting safe space. 

Y is for Youth: A fond childhood memory they have

Akaashi always loved reading and knew people wrote books but he didn’t do too well at creative writing so he knew he couldn’t. He figured he would always be stuck doing the reading as a consumer and find a job as something else, but when someone else moved in next door when he was 8 it changed. This person was a publisher, and during a dinner, Akaashi’s parents invited them to, Akaashi ended up badgering them with any information they had about the writing world. That summer they opened up Akaashi’s eyes to the different types of jobs, in different genres and styles. Anytime he feels overwhelmed at work he thinks back to that summer where he learned that he could help writers with their works and make the experience of reading a book even better. His eyes were filled with stars then and they still are now. 

Z is for Zzz: Sleep habits. Do they cuddle in their sleep? Talk? What do they dream about?

Akaashi needs to be either cradled up in someone’s arms or holding someone in his to fall asleep. He just gets so cold and having someone flush against him is what gets him to fall over the edge. You probably wake up with your head on his chest or legs still intertwined. He doesn't snore but is a very heavy breather. The only time you heard him snore was when he got pneumonia last year and he had the cutest tiniest snores you’d ever heard. He has dreams frequently but never remembers them. They are actually normally nightmares and when you see him crying your heart breaks but he's fairly unaffected other than a potential headache since he doesn't recall any of it. he has a secret dream journal for the tiny bits he does remember and he wants to write a series of spooky short stories one day with them as inspiration

a/n: @keijiskitten hope you also enjoy this. thanks for sprinting w me <333333333

[amwritesitall]

Cordelia Goode Playlist

Masterlist

I’m sharing these so I have post schedullleeedd for my days oooofffff. They most likely won’t be popular but it’s all good :) I’m going to put little baby reasoning since this is a thicc list

Playlist link

Also if you guys want more character playlists go check out @make--your--life--spectacular​ ‘s playlists. Here’s links to Ally and Venable :)

“Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac

Now here I go again I see the crystal visions I keep my visions to myself It's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams And have you any dreams you'd like to sell? Dreams of loneliness

So the first few songs all kind of have the same reasoning and that is witchy vibes. You can’t have a Cordelia playlist without some Fleetwood Mac

“Rhiannon” by Fleetwood Mac

She is like a cat in the dark and then She is the darkness She rules her life like a fine skylark and when The sky is starless

The ultimate witchy vibes song

“Seven Wonders” by Fleetwood Mac

So it's hard to find Someone with that kind of intensity You touched my hand I played it cool And you reached out your hand for me But if our paths never cross Well you know I'm sorry but If I live to see the seven wonders I'll make a path to the rainbow's end I'll never live to match the beauty again The rainbow's end

We love our talented Supreme

“Has Anyone Ever Written Anything for You” by Stevie Nicks

Has anyone ever given anything to you In your darkest hours Did you ever give it back Well, I have I have given that to you If it's all I ever do This is your song

This song is so preetttttyyyyyy. I feel like this would be one of Cordelia’s favorites

“The Witch Queen of New Orleans” by Redbone

Dime or a nickel any one could buy Voodoo of any kind She had potions and lotions, herbs and tanna leaves Guaranteed to blow your mind Early one mornin' into mucky swamp dew Vanished Marie with hate in her eyes Though she'll never return all the Cajuns knew A witch queen never dies

This song talks about Marie Laveau and idk witch vibes. Cordelia is also the witch queen while Marie is the voodoo queen

“girls” by girl in red

I shouldn't be feeling this But it's too hard to resist Soft skin and soft lips I should be into this guy But it's just a waste of time He's really not my type I know what I like No, this is not a phase Or a coming of age This will never change

A lot of songs just make me think of bb Cordelia

“Loving Is Easy” by Rex Orange County

Loving is easy You had me fucked up It used to be so hard to see Yeah, loving is easy When everything's perfect Please don't change a single little thing for me

Soft gal loving. Prime happy Cordelia vibes

“i wanna be your girlfriend” by girl in red

I don't wanna be your friend I wanna kiss your lips I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath I don't wanna be your friend I wanna kiss your lips I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath

Teen AU Cordeliiiaaaa

“Glory Box” by Portishead

I just want to be a woman From this time, unchained We're all looking at a different picture Through this new frame of mind A thousand flowers could bloom Move over, and give us some room, yeah

HOW CAN I NOT PUT THIS SONG ON HERE?? This is one of my favorite songs they have ever used on the show

“you’re my world” by atlas

You were my earth You were the planet You were the grass The wind and tides And now that you're gone I feel so out of place And now that you're gone I'm just driftin' through space

Anngsssttt

“If We We’re Vampires” by Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit

It's knowing that this can't go on forever Likely one of us will have to spend some days alone Maybe we'll get forty years together But one day I'll be gone Or one day you'll be gone

I’m going to use my reasoning from my other post about this song.

Cordelia knows that one day she will die. There will be another Supreme after her and she can’t live forever. This is her coming to terms with the fact that maybe it’s for the best that she won’t stay around forever. Not being immortal allows her to live in the moment and savor all the time she has.

“Red (Demo Version)” by Miki Ratsula

Stars light up the sky, the clock strikes twelve Adventure in sight, the hours melt Ben Howard plays, she sings along I look to my left and fall in love

When she leans in for a red light kiss And places her love on my lips Hearts and lungs increase in pace Passion overwhelms our space But, the corner of my eye lights up in green This fragile moment woken by reality Our lips depart, our breathing slows as I wait again To kiss her lips, when the light turns red

Soft teen Cordelia vibes

“Planets of the Universe - Demo” by Fleetwood Mac

I will never love again the way I loved you You will never rule again the way you've ruled We will never change again the way we are changing Oh, you'll forget the chill of love but not the strain

One of my favorite songs. The demo is my favorite version of it because it feels so raw? Like the emotions in it and also young Stevie sounds like a cutie at the beginning and end when she’s talking to Christine.

In general this is also has Cordelia vibes too lol

“18″ by 5 Seconds of Summer

I'm not old enough for her I'm just waiting till I'll eighteen I think she wants to get with me But, she's got a job in the city And she says that she's always too busy She's got a naughty tattoo In a place that i wanna get to

Being a student at the Academy and having a thing for Ms Headmistress Cordelia

“House of the Rising Sun” by Lauren O’Connell

It's one foot on the platform The other's on the train I'm going back to New Orleans To wear that ball and chain

Witchy woman

“Bad Liar” by Selena Gomez

I was walking down the street the other day Tryna distract myself But then I see your face Oh wait, that's someone else Ohh, tryna play it coy Tryna make it disappear But just like the battle of Troy There's nothing subtle here In my room there's a king size space Bigger than it used to be If you want you can rent that place Call me an amenity Even if it's in my dreams

Nervous Cordelia trying to hide her feelings. Possibly Teen Cordelia?

“Nervous - Acoustic” by Gavin James

'Cause every time I saw you I got nervous Shivering and shaking at the knees And just like every song I haven't heard yet no I didn't know the words in front of me In front of me, and oh But I don't wanna know Who'll take you home?

Season three shy gal

“Mariposa” by Peach Tree Rascals

I can't wait for you To come my way I've been far away But I'll keep runnin' Just to find a way to you til' then

Cordelia will do her damn best to get to her love. Don’t mess with her b.

“Sweet Love of Mine (Acoustic)” by Joy Williams

When you found me I was all alone The whole world around me And nowhere to call home I heard your voice sing like heaven's choir Gathered up my fears and threw them in the fire

Oh my darling, sweet love of mine I'll hold you all through the night

I don’t think this is what the song is technically about but it makes me think of Cordelia finding someone that finally loves her and helps her love all of the things that Fiona made her self conscious about.

“Hurts Like Hell - OurVinyl Sessions” by Fleurie

I don't want them to know the secrets I don't want them to know the way I loved you I don't think they'd understand it, no I don't think they would accept me, no

I loved, and I loved and I lost you

Dreams fight with machines Inside my head like adversaries Come wrestle me free Clean from the war Your heart fits like a key Into the lock on the wall

This song makes me think of Misty x Cordelia or angsty teen au Cordelia. I can also cry on demand if this song is playing

“Waiting Room” by Rex Orange County

Our family reunion I'd rather be anywhere but here It's like a pain you shouldn't ignore But my uncle's here to open the door, and I don't like him This family reunion I felt so uncomfortable, I left They all decided to stay So it's just me and my mistakes And I'd like to know that you smile when you're alone And when you need time to yourself Remember me, I won't be anyone else I'm just the boy you love

And my lover, my best friend When I heard that you don't know why you're here I fell face down And became one with the ground And my lover's best friend

Cordelia’s hella dysfunctional family and just yeah

“Fancy Shoes” by The Walters

Let's go walking in the city tonight You wear the dress that makes you look so nice Like my fancy shoes I wore them just for you Tell me why all the good ones go Well I don't know but I want it to somehow change I'll be a better man if you just stay

This one I don’t have much of an explanation for besides vibes

“Common Sense” by Joshua Bassett

Common sense tells me kiss the girl goodbye Common sense tells me leave it all behind Common sense says the girl's not worth my time But common sense ain't common when you come to mind

Delia madly in love

“I Talk to the Sky” by Maddy Estelle

I write down things I wish I could say to you I talk to the sky I collect words I wish I could give to you I talk to the sky, I talk to the sky The sky doesn't say a word

Cordelia after she’s lost her loovee the annggsstt but sis is getting a happy ending

“Two Straws” by Also Joe

You've been on my mind In rain and sunshine You've got the sweetest smile that I've ever laid eyes on You make me dance And I make you laugh But nothin puts me in a better mood than being loved by ya This is the love that I've been dreaming of

Delia after falling really really hard

-

You might like:  Audrey Tindall Playlist or  Poems that Remind Me of Cordelia Goode

[aloera]

The ask prompt is too long to fit into an ask TT_TT but here's the doc for it docs(.)google(.)com/document/d/1yDI7iFRhOJ8ENv_IwZAo3rDSUqj80EiJROS10RzRbj4/edit

the lengths u are going for this,,, much appreciated you're very sweet!!!

prompts + answers under the cut!!

INTRODUCTION

Name: aloera

AO3 account: aloera

Fandoms you write for: bnha

How many stories have you written so far: 19

FANFICTION PROFILE

What's your favorite fandom to write for? hmm,,, used to do pjo and eah (ever after high) and eah was fun as fuck i will say!!! i think bnha is my fav mostly bc i made the most friends in this fandom :D

What's your favorite character/person to write for? bkg and kirishima!! cannot choose do not make me <3

Fic you'd want to improve? probably what we deserve? i rushed the beginning and the confession is a bit stilted imo

Hardest fic you've written? between lion and men -_- bc there is so much canon compliant stuff i've gotta write out before i get to the divergence and its HARD

Easiest fic you've written? come home to me!!! it happened so easily,,, no second guessing no writers block just vibes <33 was lovely i miss it

What would you say is the most "famous" fic you've ever written? also probably come home to me? its got the most interaction

first line of the first fic you've ever written and published. [not including my 2014 ffnet fics] "The bell rings, class starts, and Katsuki and Midoriya are inexplicably absent." from come home to me

Have you ever done a collab with another writer? yes!!!!! on two separate occasions and its so fucking fun i highly recommend trying it out its the best

Do you beta? if asked but honestly im a shit beta lmao

Do you like joining fic fests/exchanges? depends on what i have going on irl but in general yeah!!

FANFICTION PREFERENCES

Fluff or angst? definitely fluff

"OCs" or "Reader" inserts? reader inserts!! have been going ham on them recently

Blurbs or drabbles? blurbs!!

One thing you love about fanfiction i just. i really love slice of life romance?? and most media doesn't give you that bc its dedicated to plot and action and that's valid!! but fanfiction fills in the gap which is really nice

One thing you don't like about fanfiction most of the stuff i don't like is less about actual fanfiction and more about how people behave about it

What is/are your favorite fandom author/authors? IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE!!! TURN IT UP!!!

bnha: hiuythn, rae_tnub, Moniix, Ata_Lanta, wrunic, chezka, PurplePersnickety, surveycorpsejean, mahadevi, arxaris, deviance, Oceanbreeze7, MikeWritesThings, bonnia, wonhaebunny, dinosuns

voltron: hiuythn, Oceanbreeze7, DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee, arahir, dinosuns,

and honorable mention to loveclouds im not even in the haikyuu fandom i just love their fics So Much

these are just the ones off the top of my head i have so many favourites idc if i'm only supposed 2 have one!! die mad about it!!!

What is your favorite trope? secret relationship + relationship reveal til the day i die babie <3 <3

Least favorite trope? hm,,, probably just like. angst lmao i cannot stand 90% of it

A fanfiction cliché that you can't help but love? coffeeshop aus,,,, so good

Do you have a type when it comes to pairings? the otp where its like. piece of shit + himbo = love. ex. krbk, catradora, jade/beck

Favorite setting/au? hm,,, truly i cannot pick one KGKSJNHKj but i really like college aus!! and modern aus!! and roommate aus!!

Explain the meaning of your favorite line of dialogue you've written as if someone hasn't read it in context. “He doesn’t know,” Katsuki says, softly. “My timer stopped and nothing happened. He’s not mine.”

the line is from what we deserve!! it's a soulmate au where your timer counts down to the moment that you meet your soulmate!! bakugou's timer ends at USJ when he and kirishima attack kurogiri at the same time (impulsive kings <33) but kirishima's timer doesn't end until kamino because that's when he accepts himself as bakugous soulmate!! unfortunately, when bakugous timer has reached 0, he turned to see that kirishima's was still ticking and therefore believes that kirishima isn't his soulmate.

this line just,, idk. it's really sad. bakugou is such an action-driven character? if something doesn't go his way he Makes it go his way. he's got this insanely volatile quirk and he's got impeccable control of it!! but his love for kirishima isn't something that he can change and he's not going to ruin kirishima's chance of finding his own soulmate because he loves him and wants him to be happy. i really wanted to focus on how resigned he is? and how unusual that is for a character like him.

Favorite trope/genre to write? again, secret relationship with relationship reveals <33 fluff in general is my wheelhouse!!!

A trope/genre you haven't written but think would be a fun challenge? idk if this counts?? have been working on some dead dove concepts!! its super different from what i normally write so its a cool challenge

The one trope/concept you'll never touch and why probably cheating/infidelity?? it just looks,,, super difficult to write well and i don't have enough of an interest in it to try it out

Which do you prefer to write: longer or shorter fics? shorter!! low attention span gang <3

Ideal length to read? 5-10k?

Ideal length to write? 4-8k!!

How long was the longest fic you've ever written? control fraek is around 28k i think?

Have you ever written an AU? yeah!! i've done restaurant au's, soulmate au's, pro hero aus, and fantasy aus (general, not the bnha fantasy ending)

What's your favorite AU trope? hm,, probably when two people in authority are in a secret relationship? ceo's/uni professors/etc etc

Have you ever written smut? yeah!! was. difficult tho

What's your comfort genre? (the one you fall on most in writing/reading) fluff,,, hurt/comfort,,, fix-it fics with happy endings <3

If you were to start writing in other fandoms, which would they be? maybe jjk?? the characters are really cool!!!! fr i might go back to my ever after high roots i love the characters and setting so Much its so fun!!! idec if no ones into it anymore!!!!!

Is there a trope you think you could be easily recognized by in your writing? i've had people say they saw the mention of buff hagakure and recognized it was me so. probably that skdjhnksjd

WRITING STYLE

How would you describe your style? i tend to use shorter sentences and pretty simple words i think? and i gravitate towards lighthearted concepts that allow for ensemble casts and humour!!

Describe your style in three words romcom but fanfic

Favorite words to use when writing? the word reverent!! fuckin love including it!!

Dialogue tags or no dialogue tags? (she said, he said, they said, etc) dialogue tags!!!

Favorite dialogue tag (other than said, if you use them) again idk if this counts but "they said softly" is unmatched

Long sentences vs short vs a mix short <33

What colors would you use to describe your writing? hm,,, depends on the fic i would say?? control fraek is dark green to me?? kinda like a forest at night yk?? scary but there's still life there. sugar cookies is yellow like early morning sunlight, when it rains is yellowy-orange like a caution sign. not gonna list all of them cause theres a lot its just. do u get it? the colours change based on the vibe of the fic.

What song or music genre would you use to describe your writing? think. i am constantly trying to emulate that moment at the end of wasteland baby when hozier goes "im in love/im in love with you."

What kind of metaphors do you rely on? religious metaphors my beloved <33 they're just so pretty!!! i also love comparing stuff to water for some reason?? like that ocean vuong quote thats like "what are you now?/water." it goes hard!!!

What's something you'd say is experimental in your writing at this time? definitely action!! i have,,, no idea how to write it so anything i do is really just me playing around and seeing what works and what doesn't

Do you prefer to write by hand or to type? i've tried both!! personally i prefer typing because it goes way faster but i will say that writing by hand lets me get words down when i'm going through writer's block

What is your preferred place to write (notebook, laptop, cellphone, etc.)? laptop!!

What app/apps do you use to write (word, notepad, etc.)? google docs skjdnkjh its fine on desktop but mobile is,,,,, disgusting

Do you keep a notebook or file/notes page in your phone/device for notes on your writing? ngl i just have everything organized in my drive?? one folder per fandom and then sub folders for ideas+hcs, unfinished wips, and finished fics. multichaps get sub sub folders so i can organize outlines and drafts

Do you listen to music to help you write? yeah!! playlists organized by fic vibe :D

Where do you usually go to write (bedroom, living room, etc.)? mostly in my bedroom??? but moving around to different stops helps too i think!!

How long does it usually take for you to write? again this depends on what i have going on irl, how attached i am to the idea, my mindset at the time, etc!! i am,, the least consistent person skjnhdkjh.

What's your favorite font to use when writing? times new roman my beloved

Other writing habits? sometimes i'll write in the dark?? bad for my eyes but for some reason it gets the words flowing

CONCEPTUALIZATION

How do you conceptualize your ideas? (See specific moments like they're a movie, writing specific lines in your head, don't know until you put the words on paper, etc.) i tend to get inspiration from movies, books, poems, or other fics!!! sometimes one line just makes me go oh,, i want to write something like that,,, and then it helps me create an idea that makes me feel the same way?? i did this with control fraek!!!! i wanted a scenario where bakugou was cold and calculating and i was like hm. to do that he’d have to be focusing on something important. and from there i was able to flesh out the rest of the idea.

Which comes first: the pairing or the plot? with krbk its always always the pairing,, i'll be sitting there like wow <33 i love them <33 what if one of them had amnesia <33 (which, yes, wip!!) otherwise it's usually the plot!! and i slot in characters that i feel make sense

Have you ever used a prompt? yeah!! used a prompt for wlw week 2020 and it was fun as hell

Do you write around the story around a specific scene you want to get to or do you start from a plot idea definitely the first!!!! i almost always write like,,, a super messy scene thats 90% dialogue, keep it in my head, and then write the entire fic around that one moment

Do you find that you include a projection of some part of yourself in the way you write a character? a lot of the time when i write love confessions or love in general i'll have one of the characters think or say that the other person makes their head quiet? and it's because that's what i feel whenever i'm in love?? a quiet mind. i project on characters yeah but i think most of the projection actually goes to the way that i write love

Do you research some of the things you write deeply, partially and kind of wing the rest, or play entirely by ear (in this case, go with whatever base knowledge of the subject you have)? most of the time if i do research it'll be about the setting (ex. the izakaya in to have and to hold) or if i'm having the characters interact with an object that they like. need to know how to use (me, in control fraek: google. hey google. does someone die if they get shot in the foot??? no???? awesome thank u <3)

Have you ever had an idea for a story and forgot about it? lmaoo yeah all the time i'll find like 500-2k words of concepts in my gdocs like i do. not remember this at all

Is there a trope you think you could be easily recognized by in your writing? probably krbk secret relationship lmao

Are there concepts you've tried that turned out better than expected? yeah!! i fully thought the action in control fraek would be awful but it turned out not bad??? which im happy with

Are there concepts you've tried that turned out worse than you expected? again, what we deserve, i personally think it would have worked out better if i'd paced it slower and drawn out the pining but i. do not feel like going back to fix it so its staying the way that it is. pining is so fucking hard to do AHHHH i get so tired with it!!! im like just date already!!!!

PROCESS

How do you come up with titles? in rare occasions (literally. all my multichaps for some reason) the title comes after writing like .5 words of the first chapter im like YES this is it!!!!! sometimes i write the whole thing and pick out one line that fits (what i did with come home to me) a lot of the time i just. steal from songs or poems that i like

What's your favorite emotion to cause on your readers? i like making people happy!!!! love when people comment saying they're cheered up

What's your favorite emotion to write? lovelovelovelovelovelove

Have you ever cried or felt any emotion while reading something you've written? never cried?? but sometimes i'll rereading my hurt/comfort fics 4. yk. comfort

Do you write in order or whatever comes to you? in order!! unless i have a scene that i Need to write and i'll quickly jot it down so that i don't forget

Usual way you procrastinate while writing? ...doing asks like this, making playlists, discord, watching netflix. what don't i do smh

Do you outline or free write? i am. so shit at outlines. i mostly free write and write lil notes for stuff that i wanna add later

Do you set word goals or scene goals (scenes you want to include)? yes!! like i said i'll write loose notes for scenes that i want to add later!! it gives me something to write towards :D

What do you consider when writing your scenes? what goes into making the atmosphere and mood you want? to set a scene i do two things? the first is like,, the five senses bc that always sets the scene really well and makes it feel Real. i'll visualize stuff in my head like its a movie and write out what i would want to tell the set designer?? if the lights are low, if the space is busy, if it's supposed to exude comfort or not.

for putting forward the character's mood one thing i've found that makes a difference is sentence length!! long sentences are good for making a character seem flustered and nervous or not really in control of their emotions? good for love confessions. short sentences are good for when the character is focused on something or short on time. good for fights!!

What's something you never considered to include in your writing that you can't leave out now? def buff hagakure,,,, once i thought of it i was like. if i don't include this at least once in every single fic how could i look at myself in the mirror!!!!!! how could i face anyone!!!!

How do you start a story? establishing a fact about the character or describing the setting! option a is one single thread of gold, option b is between lion and men

How do you end a story? either by tying it back to the beginning or doing like a funny kind of closing??? option a is sugar cookies, option b is a godless society

How do you get out of writer's block? change something!! move something!! i go from typing to handwriting, moving from my bedroom to my living room, switching wips to work on something else!! i do sprints as well?? give myself like fifteen minutes to write something and sometimes 200 words opens up the way for another 2k. sometimes i'll just delete like 500 words and start fresh

Do you edit? or do you toss your writing out there? i edit!!! i'll go over it myself then send it to one or two betas (bee my beloved <33)

How do you edit? do you use spellcheck, grammar checkers, etc? bee is my grammar checker bc he is So Good with grammar. i use grammarly as well for spellcheck stuff mostly?? sometimes my edit process is just like "am i tired of looking at this!! yes <3" and then i post it

PROGRESS

Do you usually like what you write? yeah!!! i post stuff that makes me happy and that i'm fine with rereading!!! i write stuff for self-indulgence reasons first and foremost and i think my writing reflects that sjhnksj

Have you ever written something you didn't like but posted anyways? nope!! even what we deserve i LIKED even if i see a lot of room 4 improvement!! if i don't like smth it's not getting posted

Do you find yourself rereading your writing often? yeah!! the reason i wrote so much krbk secret relationship is because i loved it but i'd read all that there was so i just,, wrote more,, ngl its kinda nice being in a place where i actually like my writing bc i can write stuff that i want to see and really enjoy it!!

Can you tell us anything about your current WIP? sure!! i'm currently working on when it rains which is a fic where bakugou gets hit by a crying quirk!! i'm gonna be using it to explore So Much of all might's character and his relationships with bakugou and aizawa (and i think some people from his past!!)

Can you give us a sneak peek on your current WIP? “You did something. What the hell did you do?” Kirishima sounds pissed off. It would amuse Katsuki if he wasn’t fighting just to stay standing.

“Nothing he didn’t ask for,” Shinsou replies.

“K’ri… shima,” Katsuki croaks out. “‘S fine. Not him.”

His chest collapses back into the familiar dry heaving after that but Kirishima shuts up. He doesn’t apologize to Shinsou.

Kirishima’s a good friend, stubborn and loyal. He stands by Katsuki’s side like an attack dog, blocking him from the view of anyone ogling at his tears.

The last line you've written Ochako knows more than she'd realized. She knows enough to keep her guard up.

It’s not enough.

Open a wip. what’s the first line?

Katsuki wakes up feeling like absolute fucking shit.

INSIGHT

What's your favorite thing about writing? touched on this before but it's mainly just being able to write the things that i want to see and actually enjoy them!!! actually reread them!!!! i thought "wouldn't it be cool if bkg and kirishima owned a restaurant together" and then i wrote it and i like it enough to reread it!!!! being able to create content for myself makes me. so happy

How do you keep yourself inspired? this is gonna sound narcissistic maybe but honestly i'm just really excited about my ideas and where i'm gonna take them and the idea of "i'm gonna get to That scene" keeps me going through the entire thing. also my friends!!!! i'll talk to them about fics and their reactions keep me hyped up enough to finish!!!!

What is your favorite thing to write? just,, slice of life romance,,, stuff thats silly and makes people laugh!!

What do you think your strengths are in writing? i'm good with dialogue!! i do lil voice acting sessions with myself to make sure everything sounds natural and like it's coming from that character skhjnskj

i'm comfortable with my portrayal of love as well??? i spend a lot of time thinking about what it is exactly that i'm trying to get across and i think it turns out well!!

What are things you wish you could practice more? on one hand i wanna get better at writing angst on the other hand i dislike writing angst. do you see my issue

One way you've improved your writing since you began? characterization!! i think i've gotten better at writing characters that are all Different and bring different things to the table!!! i used to project a lot more and it would compromise the characterization because the character was like 70% me and 30% them? not to say that projection is bad but if you do it too much it just,, doesn't read like the character and from a reader's standpoint the narrative can become less compelling

One aspect of writing you're still working on? writing action!!! i. literally hate writing it but i write for a fandom about superheroes so. Unfortunately i gotta learn.

A piece of writing advice you've learned while writing saw this on another tumblr post but they said sometimes if you're struggling with a scene, the problem is five lines back. i've found that to be true!!!! sometimes u gotta delete a chunk and start a little ways back!! i did this with too busy being yours because i was stuck for Weeks and i deleted like 25% of what i had but it helped me actually finish it :D

A bit of writing advice you can't stand when people shit on show don't tell for being overrated lmao bc when u read their writing you can Tell

Something you wish you knew when you first started writing? ,,,,honestly i kind of wish i could know some of the stuff that i used to when i first started writing?? technically i'm better now but creatively i was must better when i wasn't stressing about whether anyone would like what i was writing. so i guess i wish i knew that i should keep that confidence? i kinda wish that i wasn't as insecure about other people's writing styles because i never used to be!!

Something you've learned in life that you apply in writing there's no point in feeling inferior?? writing one genre isn't better than the other. being in one fandom isn't better than being in another. the kind of language you use or the length of your paragraphs- none of that stuff like. matters. what matters is that you're having fun and happy with what you're creating!!!! enjoy other peoples writing but don't let it make you feel worse about yours :D

[speaknowslut13]

Hello honey bunches!

I am also dead after yesterday’s announcement akdhskhska Red was not at all what I was expecting to come next but I’m so excited! Red holds such a special place in my heart ugh 🥺 which songs are you most looking forward to??

Gross, I’m sorry to hear that the fire season is already bad there. It’s predicted to be a bad one in my home state too, but it usually doesn’t come in full force until august. I do not miss the smokiness at all. It hasn’t quite hit triple digits here yet, but close, and it’s so humid, I feel like the air is sticking to me. Hopefully it cools off just a bit soon for both our sakes!!

Awe that’s so cute! 🥺🥺

Well maybe I’ll take a dive into black panther this evening while I lay in front of my fan hahaha. Oh I didn’t realize Deadpool was marvel! I love that movie, Ryan Reynolds is *chef’s kiss*

The answer is NEVER to downsize books oml 😶😶 I have four bookshelves at my parents house, one at my friends house where I lived for five summers, and one where I currently live. Someday they will all be back with me, but that day is not today sadly

Awe okay love that! I’m happy for you that you’re all close 🥰 I don’t remember if I’ve mentioned but I have one younger sister and I miss her terribly.

Ohhh interesting! Coding goes way over my head, I’ve tried a few free online courses to like learn the basics but I just can’t quite seem to get there. I love watching resin pouring videos, it looks so cool! WhT kind of stuff would you want to make?

Okay but like it’s a fun poem. And that last stanza is really touching! Honestly if it speaks to you, why not want to have it read? Ahh sonnet 130. We spent probably too much time analyzing it in my Shakespeare class but I still can’t hate it because it’s so beautiful. I just finished “The Carrying” a collection by Ada Limón that was pretty good! Quotes from her work sometimes float around on here.

Satire is good when I like it and bad when I don’t, hope that helps 😌 A Modest Proposal is always a fun one to read, and as far as contemporary stuff goes, every once in awhile reductress has something good. That’s so funny about your husbands reaction tho hahahaha would’ve loved to have seen his face.

Ohhh that ones had been on my TBR for awhile, I read Daisy Jones & the Six by that same author and loved it, so your recommendation may have just bumped Seven Husbands up on the list!

What have you been up to over the weekend? And what’s your favorite flavor of ice cream? 🍦

Thanku for the flowers omg sunflowers are my favorite 🥺 here’s some back to you 🌹🌷🌻

During the actual school year, I work part time as an assistant English teacher at a high school/English lecturer at a college, right now I’m doing online tutoring! I definitely want to stay in education long term.

Sending you big hugs! Xoxo 💖 Drew

Hey Drew my dear! I’ve had time to process red being announced. I’m a little bummed because we have such a long wait. I fully anticipate being a complete wreck when it drops. I love almost all of red. I’m looking forward most to the unreleased tracks and that ten minute song we all know is all too well.

It was funny in ironic way that she described red as a heartbroken person. I was baffled when the academy told her it wasn’t cohesive enough to win Album of the Year. I’ve always argued that they missed the point. That grief isn’t traditionally sonically cohesive and that’s why it actually is sonically cohesive. Just not in the way they expect. She said it way better than I ever could though.

Ryan Reynolds is top tier amazing. Any movie he’s a part of I instantly like. I’m pretty sure Chase and I would both leave each other for him if he asked. No questions. And we’d both understand entirely. 😂

I need to get my hands on a copy of Daisy Jones and the Six. I want to read that one. But unfortunately, the public library and I aren’t on speaking terms and going and buying a book recently hasn’t been exactly easy. I can’t wait to go into a half price books again. I’m just waiting to do all the non necessary shopping. My daughter obviously isn’t Vaxxed yet. I’m hoping they approve the vaccine for her age group soon. 🤞🏻. I’m nervous to send her back to school in August. But it’s important. She’s on an IEP. So this last year has been rough on all of us. Now the district won’t offer online again so it’s in person or not at all.

Yay America! 🙃

We spent the weekend doing errands and swimming. I have a job interview this week. I haven’t worked in years but I feel like I need to again. There’s just multiple complicated facets to my life that I’m not sure how to juggle. Hopefully I will figure it out. Or it’ll be all for naught.

So I have a few favorites. Like coffee, orange sherbert, and chocolate. But I can’t eat any of them anymore. I have to avoid dairy. I can have a little dairy here and there but milk and ice cream irritate my digestive system too much anymore.

I love food. Love it. Salsa is amazing. Pizza. Wonderful. Spaghetti and marinara dishes are my entire world. Do you know what all that has in common? 🍅 in the last couple of years I’ve not only developed a slight dairy intolerance, but a tomato allergy and a gluten intolerance! I’m sad 😞 Tomato is in everything though. It’s like I can’t get away from it. It really sucks.

I 100 percent don’t recommend chronic illness. If I was leaving an Amazon review it would be one of those “have to give it one stars but it’s really zero” reviews.

Bless you, Drew. I admire anyone who educates. It’s a skill set that I have very little patience for. So anyone who can is like a god to me.

So my little ADD brain almost forgot to talk about the resin! It’s a cute little idea we have for Dungeons and Dragons. But I’d also like just to create all kinds of different things. Plus it’s an excellent reason to acquire a 3D printer.

Chase and I are trying to learn how to play DnD. He’s always been interested and I’ll follow him anywhere 🤷‍♀️ plus character creating is fun! When it comes down to the actual playing, I don’t know if I’ll enjoy it or not. But I’ll try almost anything once.

I hope your weekend was splendid and I can’t wait to hear back from you soon!