#Chloe Benjamin

[rorygilmore-studying]

“…the time apart did not matter, not yet. They were sisters. That mattered, nothing else.”

The Immortalists by Chloe Benjamin

[bookcoversonly]

Title: The Immortalists | Author: Chloe Benjamin | Publisher: G.P. Putnam's Sons (2018)

[albay34-blog]

ÖLÜMSÜZLER ve YEDİ YILDIZ TAŞI!

ÖLÜMSÜZLER ve YEDİ YILDIZ TAŞI! Kafka Kitap 2023’ün ilk ayında, Chloe Benjamin’in kadere ve aile bağlarına dair etkileyici romanı Ölümsüzler’i ve Babil Ekspres serisi kapsamında, dünyaca ünlü Dracula’nın yazarı Bram Stoker’ın T��rkçeye ilk kez çevrilen korku romanı Yedi Yıldız Taşı’nı edebiyatseverlerle buluşturdu.  Ölümsüzler / Chloe Benjamin Öleceğiniz günü bilseydiniz, hayatınızı nasıl yaşamayı…

[leona-hawthorne]

SELFISH / mattheo riddle

mattheo riddle x fem reader

summary: he dreams of you after you leave him because of his addiction

warnings: angst, addiction, drug use, swearing, mention of vomit (super brief), established relationship, mattheo and reader live together, post-war

words: 4.4k

a/n: i went to the melanie martinez concert yesterday! yay! anyways here’s a depressing fic for you <3 also i can’t lie, this was kind of inspired by that one line in chloe or sam or sophia or marcus by taylor swift (included at the end)

navigation mattheo riddle masterlist

The dim light of the kitchen amplified the feeling of darkness threatening to take over your soul as you sat perched on the counter, silk robe slipping off your shoulder. The sweet scent of fresh cookies flooded your nostrils each time you took a breath, the tray resting on top of the stove. An ice pack was pressed to the burn you’d just attained as you were taking the cookies out of the oven.

It seemed baking was one of your many ways of running from your problems instead of solving them.

Mattheo would be home soon. And unbeknownst to the poor boy, you were currently contemplating how to do it. How to leave him.

Maybe you should just leave now, before he returns. No fuss. Or maybe you could spend one more night in his loving arms and then leave a note on the fridge and quietly slip out at the first cracks of light. But that seemed cruel. You knew what you had to do. You had to tell him face to face. That’s what’s right, isn’t it?

If only it wasn’t so hard.

At heart, Mattheo Riddle was a selfish man.

He was selfish when you kissed him for the first time and he greedily pulled you back in. He was selfish the first time he saw you talking to another boy and got his knuckles bloody because you were supposed to be his only. He was selfish when you gave him your body for the first time and he ravished it from dusk to dawn. He was selfish when he continued to love you during the war, knowing his very being compromised your safety. And he was especially selfish when he didn’t flush the powder down the toilet each time after you washed him of his own fucking vomit. He was even more selfish because he didn’t want to let you go.

You were the light of his life, and as much as he wanted to tell himself that he didn’t know how he’d managed to snuff out your bright candle, that was a lie. With each action he took, with each time he ignored your teary eyes as he grabbed the bottle, there was a gust of wind blowing your once fiery spirit out. He felt as though a knife was being stabbed into his chest over and over and over again, piercing the tissue of his heart and breaking him down. He just couldn’t stop.

“Matty, please,” begging, your whispers would break apart, your voice trembling even in the quietest of tones. He’d shrink down to the floor with you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead as your palm clamped over your mouth to silence your whimpers, his glazed eyes would look back to the drawer, unable to stop himself from walking to it.

Guilt, guilt, guilt. It was the only feeling he’d known for a long time now. Guilt, eating away at him as he stumbled home with dilated pupils, your beautiful soul straying from judgment and instead leaning his arm over your shoulder. Guilt, gnawing at his quivering fingers as they drew a new line of white, your muffled sobs leaking through the bathroom door. Guilt streaming down his cheeks in the form of tears as he held you in the aftermath, whispers of false promises that both of you knew were fake but wanted to believe anyway.

The sound of the front door creaking open shook you from your daze, furrowed brows relaxing and pulling your nails away from your teeth. You don’t move. You don’t get up to greet him. Even him walking through the door was a rocky road of memories for you. Sometimes, he’d come home with a smile and a kiss. Other times, he’d return with red eyes and arms that refused to hold onto you for help walking.

”Y/N?” His deep, tired voice called out.

”Kitchen.” You yelled, eventually hearing his footsteps approaching you. Still staring at the floor, you see his feet come into sight as he stands in front of you.

”You’re adorable, you know? Making my favorite cookies for when I get home.” He commented, giving you a lazy smile and a long kiss on the top of your head. “What happened to your finger?” He asked, concern filling his eyes as he saw the ice pack on your hand. You ignore his question.

With a shake of your head, you finally look up so your eyes meet his. “Um… Matt, baby, we need to talk.” Your voice is quiet as you contemplate which words to use. His face sours, lips curling downwards into a frown. “Okay…” He swallowed nervously.

You take a moment to really study your boyfriend’s face and lo and behold, his eyes are red. No surprise. Your expression doesn’t morph into shock or horror or concern. This is your usual now.

“What did you and Theo do today, Matt?” The question sounds innocent but Mattheo knows it is anything but.

“That’s what you wanted to talk about?” He chuckled nervously in an attempt to dodge your question.

”No, but I asked you a question.”

His head tilts down, staring at his feet embarrassedly, and after a long moment of silence, he answers. “You know.”

You huffed quietly, the sound a mixture of a bitter laugh and a scoff. “Yeah, I know… That’s actually what I wanted to talk about.”

His head snapped back up in an instant, eyes filling with fear that he desperately tried to cover up as his feet shifted around, the wooden floor creaking under him. You averted your eyes, unable to meet his fearful gaze as you just decided to be straightforward with it.

“I can’t watch this happen anymore, Mattheo.”

He stumbled back a bit, as if your words were a physical blow. “What?”

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you continue. “I’m done.” You got down from the kitchen counter to walk away but his hands were already grabbing at your arms. It was like his blood had turned to gasoline, your words the match. He’d been speechless for many moments, his brain going blank as your words settled in and became the only thing occupying his mind, bouncing around the corners of his skull with a groundbreaking echo. Anger, despair, and most of all, fear. Fear that he’d finally pushed you too far, that you were finally leaving. His hands grabbed at you in a desperate attempt to ground himself, to lock you to himself. “No, please—”

“Stop, Mattheo.” You mutter, your voice breaking. His hand froze, his heart clenching in his chest as your voice hit his ears. He hated the way you said his name. There was no love or warmth in it anymore. Just a cold, sharp edge.

“We can talk about this.” He pleaded, his voice becoming low and desperate. “Please, Y/N. Just let me explain.”

“This isn’t something we can fix with a fucking conversation, Mattheo. Not anymore.”

“We can try!” He insisted, his grip on your arm becoming a little firmer. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, and he wasn’t going to let you go without trying to fix this.

“Mattheo, we have tried.” You let out a broken sob.

“I know I messed up. And— and I’ll do better. I’ll stop, I’ll do anything.” He said, the desperation seeping into his voice. “Please, Y/N, I’m begging you.”

If it weren’t for the fact that you’d heard similar words leave his mouth many times before, you may have broken and given in.

“That’s not how that works and you know it.” You utter quietly, teary eyes darting back up to his.

He swallowed, suddenly feeling a mixture of anger and hurt wash over him. “You’re not even willing to fix it.” He spat, his grip on your arm tightening.

He hated the way you spoke to him, like it was so easy for you to walk away. It tore his heart out of his chest. “You don’t get to act like you’re better than me, because you’re not. You’re just a coward, running away instead of facing this like an adult.”

With a sniffle, you bit your tongue and said, “Maybe. But I can’t take this anymore, so I don’t care.”

He flinched at your words, the pain stabbing at his heart as he realized that to you, it was that simple. A part of him wanted to say something more, to convince you to stay, but he knew he couldn't do anything to change your mind. He didn’t deserve for you to change your mind.

And so, with a frustrated, heartbroken glare into your eyes, he abruptly took a few steps back away from you, the walls he’d spent ages lowering for you closing back up, the years worth of trust and progress shattering within an instant.

“Fine. Go ahead. Run away. See if I care.”

You swallowed and walked to your guys’ shared bedroom to pack your things, hoping the walls are thick enough to muffle your sobs.

He watched you walk away, feeling like a dagger was plunging deeper and deeper into his heart with every step you took. He wanted to run after you, to hold you in his arms right then and there and sink down to the living room floor with you, but the cold reality of everything that had happened hit him, and he stayed rooted in his spot, unable to move.

Sitting against the gray wall, he couldn’t even look at you as you walked out the door with your bags clutched in your shaking hands. After you left, he sat there for what felt like hours. He couldn’t move, couldn’t think. His mind was filled with an overwhelming mix of anger, resentment, betrayal, but most of all, an excruciating amount of just simple childlike sadness. It felt as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

And hours later, still in the same dumbstruck position, in the hazy depths of his mind, he could swear he heard your pretty voice, felt your gentle fingers tracing the outline of his face as they’d done so many times before.

Finally, he decided that he needed to do something, anything to distract himself from the painful emptiness. So he did the only thing he knew how: he went to the white nightstand beside what used to be the both of yours’ bed to take out the one thing he knew would quiet his pounding head.

His fingers brushed against the bottle, and his heart leaped as he recognized the familiar feel of its cylindrical shape. He pulled it out, his eyes widening with relief as he held the bottle in his hands. It felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He hastily opened the bottle as he walked towards the door leaned against it.

Soon enough, a sudden lightheadedness washed over him, and he sat there for a moment, enjoying the light fuzzy feeling inside his head. It helped to erase all the terrible thoughts that were plaguing his mind, making him feel like he was floating. He reached for another pill, but as he was about to take it, a voice at the back of his head started scolding him.

“What are you doing?”

He flinched as he heard the voice in his mind, his hands still clutching the bottle. He looked around, even though it was clear that the voice wasn’t coming from anywhere in his room. He tried to ignore it, shaking his head and popping another pill into his mouth.

But the voice didn’t go away. It grew louder, demanding he listen to it.

“Stop!”

He began to recognize the voice as yours.

He let out a frustrated groan, rolling his eyes at the voice. “Please shut up, I need this right now!”

But the voice kept echoing through his head. “But Mattheo, you’re hurting yourself. You’re hurting me. Don’t do this to us.”

Jesus, had he really gone so crazy to the point that he started hearing voices and talking to himself in an empty room?

Reluctantly, he laid the bottle back down beside him.

“Good job, pretty baby. Go drink some water.” Your voice murmured in the back of his head.

He felt a pang in his heart at the way you spoke to him. He missed having your hand gently soothing his cheek, your soft kisses planted on his skin. He missed you, even though he was trying his best not to, to just be mad. Hearing your voice in his head, so soft and gentle, was making him crave you even more.

He sniffled loudly, blinking away his tears before they could fall. He couldn’t help but obey.

Without wasting another second, he stood up and huddled off to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water. As the cold liquid flowed down his throat, he couldn’t help but feel like you were there with him. He could almost imagine you standing beside him, softly stroking his hair like you had done countless times before.

Sauntering back to the bedroom with his eyes glazed over, he laid back down in the bed, pulling the quilt over his body. The fact that it was riddled with your scent didn’t help to soothe his aching chest. A tired, defeated sigh escaped his lips as he sunk into the soft mattress. His body felt heavy and fatigue washed over him, making it increasingly hard to keep his eyes open. He couldn’t help but wish it was you beside him instead of your pillow, your body pressed against his like it usually was every night.

Just as he was about to close his eyes, the voice spoke up again. “Go to sleep, my love. I’ll watch over you.”

His eyes snapped open and he sat up a bit straighter, his heart racing. God, you’re not really here, are you? You can’t be.

He shook his head, trying to convince himself that it was just his mind playing tricks on him. But the voice continued, growing even more fond.

“Relax, darling. Don’t overthink it. Just rest and I’ll see you in your dreams.”

Your voice in his head was so gentle, a soothing balm over the wound in his heart. He hesitated for a few moments before laying back down. He let out a soft sigh and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off into a deep sleep.

But before he lost himself to the dream world, he could have sworn that he felt a gentle pair of lips grazing over his face.

In his dream, he found himself in a beautiful garden, surrounded by bright, colorful flowers. The air was filled with the sweet, fruity scents, and the warm sunlight danced on his skin softly. He stood there, taking a moment to drink in the beauty of his surroundings, before seeing a familiar figure in the distance.

You were walking towards him, dressed in a simple sundress. Your hair gently moved with the wind, and your eyes shimmered under the sunlight, resembling a star in the night sky. You were gorgeous, more beautiful than any flower in the garden.

He couldn’t help but smile as you approached him. He reached out for you, wanting to touch you and see if you were real. But as soon as his fingers brushed against your skin, you vanished, leaving him standing alone in the garden, all silent except for the sound of the gentle breeze.

His heart sank with confusion and disappointment as he realized he was alone again. He let out a frustrated scoff, kicking the grass as he began to look around the garden for you. Finally, he spotted you again, standing under an elegant archway.

He quickly closed the distance between the two of you, his hands reaching up to cup your face. He was relieved that he could touch you again. He softly caressed your cheeks, staring into your eyes with admiration. “I missed you so much,” he whispered, his voice filled with longing.

But before he could say anything else, you vanished once again. He gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling within him as he yelled out your name. He began desperately running around the garden, searching every corner until he spotted you sitting under a cherry blossom tree.

His heart leaped in his chest as he ran towards you, but as soon as he reached the tree, you disappeared once more. He felt his frustration reach its peak and he let out a groan of annoyance, his fists clenching as he yelled angrily.

“Stop disappearing on me! Let me hold you, damn it!”

Just as he was about to give up hope, he suddenly noticed you standing behind him. You were smiling, a kind and loving smile gracing your lips as you said, “Catch me if you can, pretty boy.”

His eyes widened as soon as he heard your voice. He slowly turned around to face you, his heart thumping rapidly as he realized you had really appeared. He reached out to grab you, but just as he was about to wrap his arms around your waist, you suddenly sprinted off, your laughter filling the air.

Despite the initial shock, he broke out into a huge, boyish grin. Without hesitation, he began chasing after you. He was laughing, feeling more alive than he had in weeks. As time flew by, the two of you ran through the flower garden, chasing each other like little children.

Finally, after a long chase, he managed to catch you. He pulled you close, wrapping his strong arms tightly around your body. He let out a satisfied laugh, his eyes filled with warmth and affection as he whispered, “Got you now.”

His heart swelled with happiness as you wrapped your arms around him too, your body pressed securely against his. He buried his face into your hair and breathed in your scent, feeling overwhelmed with contentment.

He let out a gentle sigh before pulling away just enough so he could look down at your face. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before murmuring, “I love you, darling.”

You pulled away slightly to look into his eyes, mirroring his look of contentment. “I love you too, beautiful boy,” you whispered as you gently caressed his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, relishing the feeling of your fingertips against his skin.

But when he opened his eyes, he was met with the image of your figure fading away, a startled gasp escaping him. “No! Come back!” He called out, but you were gone. He frantically looked around the garden, only to find that he was alone once more. He felt your absence like a physical ache, and a sense of longing washed over him.

He stood there, his heart feeling heavy and lonely as he whispered your name, hoping for you to come back. But there was no sign of you, no response to his calls. He sank down onto the grass, feeling lost and desperate. The sun continued to shine, almost as if mocking him and his misery.

He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to regain a sense of comfort, but it wasn't the same. He missed you, longed for your presence. He couldn't bear being alone anymore. The garden around him, which had been so beautiful and filled with life, now seemed empty and boring without you.

He closed his eyes as he lay flat on the ground. Suddenly he felt a kiss on his cheek. His eyes snapped open to see you standing above him with a teasing smile.

A mix of disbelief and happiness washed over him as he saw you standing there, a playful smile gracing your lips. He sat up straight, looking up at you with a mixture of relief and confusion. “You’re back,” he whispered, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

“What do you mean? I never went anywhere?…” Your voice echoes through the garden as you tilt your head in confusion, looking down at him.

He furrowed his brows, a bit confused by your answer. He looked around at the garden, which was now eerily quiet, then back at you. “But you disappeared. I was chasing you and you vanished.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ve been here the whole time.” You giggled, toying with the straps of your dress.

The confusion in his eyes only deepened as he listened to your words. He was starting to feel a bit disoriented, like he was stuck in a twisted dream. “No, you weren’t,” he insisted. “I lost sight of you for a moment, and then I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“Oh, beautiful boy. Are you seeing things again?” Your gentle voice echoed throughout the open field.

As he heard the echo of your voice, he felt a pang in his chest. There was something amiss, something that didn’t feel right. “I don’t understand… Are you really here, or is this just my imagination?” he asked, his voice filled with a hint of desperation.

“I’m whatever you want me to be,” You murmured, looking out at the swaying flowers with an innocent smile.

Frustration started to bubble up in him as he heard your ambiguous answer. “That’s not an answer. I need to know if you’re really here or if you’re just a figment of my imagination.” He stood up from the ground and stepped closer to you, his eyes fixed on your face, searching for any signs of truth in your expressions.

Your innocent smile morphed into a playful smirk, angling your head up to look at him. “Catch me,” You say before running again.

He watched you run away, a mix of frustration and determination now etched on his face. He let out a huff and began chasing after you once more. He was tired of feeling powerless and confused, and he was determined to catch you this time.

As he ran through the garden, the flowers of different colors and shapes passed him in a colorful blur. He pushed himself harder, ignoring the occasional thorns and leaves that clawed at his skin. His focus was solely on you, his eyes locked onto your figure as you darted through the garden.

He tried to strategize as he ran, trying to anticipate your next move. You were nimble and elusive, like a butterfly fluttering just out of reach. But he refused to give up. He zigzagged through the garden, trying to cut you off. He was getting closer, he was sure of it.

Finally, he saw an opportunity to cut you off as you headed towards a narrow path between two rows of tall bushes. He pushed himself to sprint even faster and managed to get in front of you, blocking your escape route.

He stood there in front of you, panting heavily from the chase. His chest was heaving, his eyes locked onto yours. “Caught you, darling,” he said breathlessly, a hint of triumph in his voice.

“Come back to me, Mattheo,” You whispered.

The sound of your voice was like a bandage to his tired soul. He stepped closer, closing the gap between them. He reached out and gently took your hands in his, his fingers intertwined with yours. "I'm right here, darling," he whispered back.

“No… You’re not. This isn’t real.”

He furrowed his brows, confusion and a tinge of hurt evident on his face. "What do you mean? Of course, this is real. We're here together, talking, touching. How can it not be real?”

He looked down at your intertwined fingers and lightly brushed his thumb over your knuckles, as if trying to convince himself of your tangible existence. "I can feel you," he murmured. "I can feel your skin against mine. How can that be unreal?"

He lifted one of your hands to his chest, placing it over his heart. It was hammering against his ribcage, his pulse strong and steady. "Can you feel that?" he asked quietly. "Can you feel my heartbeat? That's real. I'm real."

“No, you’re not, sweet boy,” You whisper, your body slowly fading away.

His eyes widened in alarm as he watched your form start to disappear once again. "No, no, no, no, you can't leave me!" He clutched at your hand tightly, unwilling to let you go. "No, you must be real. You have to be!" Panic and despair welled up inside him as he saw your body fading. He gripped tighter onto your hand, desperately trying to keep you with him. "Please, don't disappear," he pleaded, his voice trembling. "I need you. Don't leave me alone again."

“Wake up,” is the last thing you whisper before disappearing from his grasp.

His eyes snapped open, and he jolted upright in his bed. He was bathed in sweat, his heart racing and his breaths coming out in pants. He sat there for a moment, disoriented and confused. It had all felt so real, yet now he was back in his cold, empty room.

He raked a hand through his messy hair, raking his mind over the dream he had just had, searching for answers.

He couldn't shake the feeling of melancholy that had settled over him. He could still remember the way you had felt in his arms, the warmth of your touch and the sweet melody of your voice. He could still see your captivating smile and the sparkle in your eyes. But it was all just a dream.

He ran a hand over his face, feeling both physically and emotionally exhausted. He looked around at his room, which now seemed even more hollow without your presence. He let out a deep sigh, feeling more lonely and empty than ever.

It was clear he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep in the bed you once shared so he ambled back to the kitchen sleepily and grabbed one of the cookies you’d left in one hand, a bottle in the other, chugging it with no reaction to the sting.

Stumbling to the sofa and collapsing down, now with his system in overdrive, he couldn’t help but selfishly hope you’d come back and save him from falling deeper into oblivion.

But he knew you wouldn’t and most painfully of all, he knew that he deserved it.

You needed me but you needed drugs more and I couldn’t watch it happen

I changed into goddesses, villains, and fools

Changed plans and lovers and outfits and rules

All to outrun my desertion of you

And you just watched it

If you wanna break my cold, cold heart, just say “I loved you the way that you were”

If you wanna tear my world apart, just say you’ve always wondered

— Taylor Swift

[ruewrote]

𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑖 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟.

OUTER BANKS.

jj maybank, rafe cameron, pope heyward, sarah cameron

SURVIVING SUMMER.

baxter radic, marlon sousa

THE WALKING DEAD.

benjamin (twd), glenn rhee, rick grimes, daryl dixon

SCHOOL SPIRITS.

wally clark

911.

evan buckley

MARVEL.

peter parker (all), captain america

TOP GUN.

jake seresin, bradley bradshaw, robert floyd, natasha trace

LIFE IS STRANGE.

chloe price, warren graham, rachel ambers, ryan lucan, alex chen, steph gingrich

RED DEAD REDEMPTION.

arthur morgan, sadie adler

THE DOLAN TWINS.

grayson dolan, ethan dolan

SHAMELESS.

lip gallagher

THE MAZE RUNNER.

minho, thomas, gally

THE QUARRY.

jacob custos, max brinly, nicholas furcillo

UNTIL DAWN.

josh washington, jessica riley, mike munroe, emily davis, sam giddings, ashley brown, chris hartley, matthew taylor

TEEN WOLF.

stiles stilinski

THE HUNGER GAMES.

cato hadley, peeta mellark

BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA.

katsuki bakugou, eijiro kirishima, denki kaminari, keigo takami, touya todoroki

CELEBRITY CRUSHES.

dylan obrien, will poulter, archie madekwe, jeon jungkook, park jimin, josh hutcherson, rudy pankow, drew starkey, tom holland, milo manheim.

[maccreadysbaby]

Project: Killcode

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

don’t ask me how i put this out so fast just marvel… jk

also BENTLEY’S FIRST MOMENT™︎ WITH A GIRL

part twenty-nine

❝ SPITE ❞

SATURDAY — JULY 28 — 8:07PM

BENTLEY WENT BACK TO THE MAIN GYMNASIUM, WORKING HIS WAY BACK THROUGH THE CROWD TO ASTEN AND LAYLA.

“What was that about? You just took off,” Asten asked as soon as Bentley returned, scanning him questioningly with his green eyes. Bentley glanced at him, then at Layla, who was looking at him just as curious, then at Vera, who was still onstage, and, finally, back through the doorway where Chloe had been. Crying. Because of him.

“I saw someone I needed to talk to,” He replied, glancing back at Asten, at his sort of fixed blue hair. “But I didn’t catch them in time.”

Bentley looked back at the stage and watched Vera and her band move around on it. He felt Asten’s eyes lingering on him for a while, but eventually, he looked away, too.

Vera was onstage for probably half an hour, and the whole time Bentley was really focused on not having shiny eyes. (It was kinda hard because you can’t feel shiny eyes… so maybe he just looked mad. He’d ask Asten later.)

But finally, she and her band left the stage, and, about two minutes later, she pushed through the crowd toward them.

“That was amazing!” Layla squealed, running up and engulfing her best friend in a bone-crushing hug. 

“Thanks, L,” Vera replied, hugging her back, locking eyes with Bentley over Layla’s shoulder. She smiled softly, the same kind of way she had on stage, and he smiled back.

(Were her eyes shiny, or was it just the lights?)

“I didn’t know you were in a band,” Was what he finally said. Vera wriggled her way out of Layla’s embrace and stepped up to him with a shrug. 

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Red,” She snickered, folding her arms in front of her. “But yeah — being a famous singer is, like, my dream. Mrs. Hastings helped me find people here to make a little band. We may not have a tour bus and sold out venues, but it’s fun to play here.”

Bentley hummed. “It’s really cool.”

“Thanks… but you’d take that back if you heard the band name,” She snorted. “The boys named it. After the Apocalypse.”

“That’s not bad. What about hootie and the blowfish? That’s a bad band name,”

“Hey! Don’t sleep on hootie!” She ordered with a laugh. “They were actually pretty good.”

“I didn’t say they weren't,” He snickered. “Who’s in your band?”

Vera glanced back up at the stage. “Most of them were friends with my brother, before he went missing. He used to tutor and hang out with the younger kids here at Redwood because he didn’t like anyone his age.”

Bentley said nothing to that, but glanced up at her. She’d heard her mention her brother before, but he didn’t know he was missing. Why was she acting so… casual about it?

“It’s fine, I mean, he went missing when I was, like, eight,” She shrugged. When Bentley scrunched his face up in confusion, she cringed. “Oops, I just read your mind. Sorry. Sometimes I hear it so naturally it sounds like you’re talking to me.” She sighed. “But yeah. They say he went missing, but I saw him leave in his car when he was sixteen. So he’s probably just out there doing what he wants. I don’t blame him — my parents were trash.”

Bentley hummed, glancing back at the stage. “What’s his name?”

“Noah,”

He, again, said nothing. He couldn’t imagine one of his siblings going missing… let alone for seven years. 

Seven years. Was Noah Levante even still alive?

“Of course he’s alive!” Vera suddenly blurted, and when Bentley looked over at her, she huffed. “Sorry, I did it again. But he’s alive. The police are still looking for him.”

“Okay,” He replied simply, glancing back at the stage.

A moment of quiet came and went.

“Anyways, you asked about my band,”

Vera went on naming the members of her band and telling Bentley about them, but the whole time, he could only think about Noah.

And the fact that when police couldn’t find someone for that long, they were usually… 

Dead.

—

When they made it back to the dorm, Bentley’s social battery was more dead than week-old roadkill. It was only nine-thirty, but it felt more like two in the morning. Everyone had had a pretty mediocre time at the dance. As Bentley had expected — besides Koa, though, who spent the whole thing with Summer and was happy about it. Bentley guessed it had been fine for him… besides seeing Georgia cheating and making Chloe cry. And talking about Vera’s dead missing brother.

Okay, so maybe the majority had been kinda un-fine.

Chloe really was pretty, but it didn’t seem to actually matter when she was trying to shove it down his throat like she did. If she would’ve been nice to Layla and stuff, they might’ve even been friends. But she made him feel so… weird. Uncomfortable. Gross. Summer and Layla and Vera and even Georgia were all pretty, but none of them acted like her. Why did she act like that? Like she had to prove to everyone that she was pretty?

Despite wanting to sleep desperately, he laid in his bed and thought about her. About why she felt the need to tell everyone how attractive she was. And then, going through all the potential answers he came up with (none of which ended up being good), he managed to make himself feel like a bucket of garbage for being mean to her.

But she was pretty mean, too, even if it wasn’t to him. She was mean to his friends. She was a jerk.

So why couldn’t he stop feeling so bad about what he’d said? It was even true — her dress was really too short. But…

It was nearing ten o’clock, and thirty minutes of laying there with his eyes closed, when he heard Asten climb off the top bunk and leave their bedroom. Then, a few minutes later, a few voices came and went, and the dorm door closed.

That’s about when Summer’s voice echoed in his head: The afterparty starts at ten at Mason’s house — fifteen plus. Don’t be late.

Asten was going again?

Did he not remember… last time he…

What?

Bentley promptly rose from his bed and glanced around their dark room, flipping the lamp in the corner on. He checked the top bunk and desks for Asten’s phone, but it was gone, and when he went out into the living area, it was empty. Rockie and Valor’s bedroom door was wide open to the world — empty, too.

Asten was going back? And he wasn’t going to tell him?

Bentley, with a huff, plopped on the couch and whipped his phone out of his pocket, tapping on Asten’s name — so much for not keeping secrets, right? No, he backspaced that. Where are you? Would it be petty of him to copy the exact string of texts that Asten had sent to him when he was gone? He backspaced that, too. Did you go to the party again? Was that too accusatory? 

He emptied out the text box and just stared at it. Why would Asten go back after what happened last time? He came back to the dorm sick and crying and he was going to go do it all a second time? 

Bentley stared at Asten’s messages for a good ten minutes before he finally huffed and swiped them away.

All that talk about secrets, and Asten still only left in the quiet after he thought Bentley was asleep. At least last time he’d woken him up to lie to him.

Bentley huffed and raked his hand through his hair.

Asten was just going to up and leave the dorm in the middle of the night and keep it secret?

Fine. If Asten was allowed to do it, then Bentley was, too.

He scrolled through his contacts until he found a familiar name, tapped on it, and held his phone up to his ear.

“Oh, look, the asshole’s calling,” Chided a high-pitched falsetto, laced with something thick that made Bentley’s guilt come back ten times worse. “What do you want? To humiliate me for the twentieth time?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, a strange mixture of feelings swirling around inside of him. He was tired, but he was also kinda pissed at Asten, and he also felt like the asshole of the century.

He exhaled. “Chloe, I… need to talk to you,” He glanced at the dorm door that Asten had so readily gone through without telling him. “In person.”

He heard her hum. “Really? Alright… What building are you in?”

He glanced over at Varian’s bedroom door, like he was about to come out and catch him in the act. “Aristotle.”

“Okay,” She replied. “Meet me under the willow trees — near the fountain between Columbus and Aristotle.”

Then she hung up. 

Bentley went back into his room, traded his pajamas out for some pants and a hoodie, then went to the door of the dorm and stared at it.

If Asten wasn’t going to tell him about the party until it was convenient… then he wasn’t going to tell him about sneaking out with Chloe in the middle of the night until it was convenient, either.

—

It was kind of cool outside when he made it to the fountain. 

It was quiet — the running water and rustling of trees were the only sounds he could hear. The moon and stars were all that were providing him with light, dimly illuminating the walkways so he could see where to step. He might’ve used his phone flashlight if he weren’t petrified of being caught by campus security. (Which Redwood claimed to have but… Bentley and his roommates snuck off and around campus, like, constantly with no issues? Had he ever even seen a security guard there?)

“Look who decided to show up. I half thought you were just trying to stand me up and make me feel like an idiot,” Came Chloe’s voice. He followed it to the darkness ahead of the fountain, where he could see the subtle silhouette of two willow trees and a small blob sitting under them, a little ways from the sidewalk.

With a sigh (he didn’t let himself think very much about what he was doing — it was just to apologize and get back at Asten.), he made his way in that direction, stepping off the sidewalk and into the grass, toward the trees. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he recognized that the blob sitting on the ground was her — she was out of her dress now, wearing what looked like a huge sweater and leggings, with some fuzzy boot-slipper-things that looked like the ones Summer had worn in the nurse’s office. Her hair was pulled up into a curly ponytail. She was looking at him, sitting on the grass with her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms tight around them.

With a sharp inhale, Bentley went and sat himself beside her on the ground.

For a while, they were quiet, with only the fountain and gentle breeze to distract them. Bentley just kind of watched her for a minute — she didn’t really look at him, she just laid her chin on her knees and watched the fountain in the distance.

Bentley sighed, pulling his legs up criss-cross. “I’m really sorry I made you cry. I’m not usually so mean, I don’t… know why I said that. You looked pretty.”

He saw Chloe glance over at him in the dark, and it was his turn to look at the fountain instead of at her. “Really?” She asked. Then she cleared her throat and looked away. “It’s okay. I know I’ve been weirding you out. What you said… it isn’t actually why I was crying.”

He looked over at her in the dark, her features becoming slowly more discernible as his eyes continued to adjust. “Oh?”

Chloe shrugged, and one of the shoulders of her sweater fell off only for her to tug it back up anxiously. “I mean, it didn’t exactly help, but… right after Vera started playing, my mom called me.”

She breathed in and out, laying her head back on her knees. “I’m not allowed to go home for Christmas, because… of you.”

Bentley furrowed his brow, glancing back over at her. “What?”

Chloe glanced back at him, her brown eyes flicking back and forth between his before she smiled sadly. “My mom went to Redwood when she was young — seduced every guy in her path, married into a family of millionaires, divorced him and got all his money. My two older sisters are doing the same — one just got married and the other just got divorced,” She explained softly, looking away again. “My mom wanted me to do the same thing. Y’know, so I don’t have to work n’stuff. She never found anyone for me, but then she just about died when she heard Bruce Wayne’s kid was coming to Redwood this year. So she told me I had to…”

Chloe glanced up at him, her brown eyes bouncing across his face again. “Seduce you. So I can marry you. Take your name. Be a Wayne. Get rich.”

Bentley exhaled lightly. “Oh. That’s… kinda…”

“Crazy? Screwed up? Psychotic? I know. We’re freaking thirteen and she…” Chloe sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry I freaked you out. Most teenage boys just fall on their face in the presence of a girl like that, they always have… but then you didn’t, and I didn’t know what to do, so I just… kept doing it, because… that’s what I’ve always been told to do. Even now, it’s… weird. To just talk to you.”

Bentley said nothing. A mom forcing her daughter to act like that… was kind of… he wasn’t sure.

“My moms all about, like, schedules and timing, and she wanted you around my finger by the dance. And you weren’t, so I got punished,”

Bentley breathed in heavily, hoping the reality of the strange and slightly concerning situation would change on his exhale. It didn't. “I’m… sorry.”

Chloe waved her hand at him. “It’s fine. I mean, if I was just normal you might’ve been friends with me… it wasn’t your fault.”

Bentley looked down at his own lap. “That really sucks, though. About Christmas. You just have to… stay on campus?”

“Yep,” She replied, popping the ‘p’, looking out at the fountain. “All by myself while my whole family just… gets together and forgets about me.”

Bentley frowned when he heard her sniffle lightly, and she turned away from him.

Oh, God. Now a girl was crying. What in the world was he supposed to do with that? 

“I’m sorry,” She sniffled. “You didn’t care about any of that. What did you want to talk about?”

“I… just came to apologize for being mean,” Bentley replied. “I feel like crap about it.”

“Everyone in high school feels like crap about something all the time,” She snickered emptily, but Bentley was pretty sure she just did it to mask a sniff. “Being a teenager sucks; like I can’t do anything right.”

He nodded in agreement. “Yeah, it does.”

Another long silence ensued where the only thing Bentley could hear was Chloe crying. He glanced around awkwardly — at the fountain, the grass, the trees above them. (What would he do if it was one of his roommates?)

Eventually, he reached over and rested a hand on her back, moving his thumb back and forth gently. 

He immediately regretted it when she quickly reached back and grabbed his wrist without as much as turning her head, probably to push it off or get onto him for touching her.

Or… not?

Actually, she… laced her fingers between his, pulled his hand close, and held it.

Bentley was glad it was dark, because he was sure his face turned the color of a tomato. He’d never… and… with a girl? Was this even allowed?

He wasn’t exactly sure what to do, but his arm was at a weird angle, so he just scooted closer to her and… let her. He wasn’t going to be the jerk that was mean to her and then ripped his hand out of hers while she was obviously in distress and needed comfort, no matter how weird it was. Holding her hand wasn’t bad, was it? He was pretty sure it wasn’t or Layla wouldn’t have grabbed his earlier.

It was weird, and he was pretty sure his hand was clammy because he was kinda freaking out. Did she actually think he was… hot… or was that just something she’d said to appease her mother? Was it all fake, or was there a chance that she… because he… didn’t…

For a while, she just cried, and Bentley felt like the biggest bag of garbage despite her saying it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t good at situations like that — he never had been, he never would be. It was all technically his fault, right? That she got in trouble?

(Jeez, he was just screwing things up left and right, wasn’t he?)

Silently, he wiggled his hand out of hers, which earned him a confused, teary look that made him feel ten times worse. Then, without saying a thing, he extended his arm out to the side like Bruce often did.

Chloe just looked at him for a moment. Then, like he’d told her she was the ugliest girl in the world or something, she started crying even harder and pushed herself into his side, wrapping her arms around his torso and hiding her face in his hoodie to sob there. And he just sort of hugged her back. (It worked the same way with girls that it did with other guys, right?)

And that’s how they stayed for a long time.

(And he kinda forgot he was there just to spite Asten.)

--

tag list that never works lmao

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy

[thepermanentrainpress]

The Permanent Rain Press Interview with Teo Tomczuk. (Watch in HD)

Teo Tomczuk chats about Mathias' evolving journey in season 3 of Rykter (Rumours), including his relationships with Erik, Felix and Sara, family dynamics and expectations, sexual orientation, and being a risk taker.

He also discusses connecting with the cast and crew, his acting and musical inspirations, and vulnerability as an artist.

[crazychlo08]

Missing them (about a historical figure I’ve never met)

[cobalt-axolotl]

all of their future family's!

(Clover in the Security breach era of GC is a single mother)

[ask-ss]

Benji: One late night, you are up in your bedroom when you hear your mom calling you downstairs. You are halfway down the staircase when all of a sudden, you see your mom in front of her bedroom door, terrified, she whispers, 'Don't go downstairs. I heard her, too!

Benji: Who do you believe?

Chloe: The one calling me downstairs. They're lesbians, not ghosts.

[cappedinamber]

Watcher (2022)

Directed by Chloe Okuno

Cinematography by Benjamin Kirk Nielsen

[hellcheerforeverfan]

Chloe: You stayed here the whole time Alek: You asked my to Alek: (Internally) I would literally do anything for you. I have loved you since middle school!

[fanaticloser]

Teenage Dirtbag of the Week

Alek Petrov - The Nine Lives of Chloe King (2011)

[maccreadysbaby]

Project: Killcode

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

I am in pain writing my boys like this

part thirty-two

❝ EFFORT ❞

MONDAY — JULY 30 — 5:02AM

AFTER AN EVENTFUL DAY OF NEVER COMING OUT OF BELLAMY’S ROOM, BENTLEY WOKE UP ON MONDAY MORNING LAYING BACK TO BACK WITH HIM. 

And the first thing he thought about was Bruce.

He wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell him everything so bad — about the parties and the nightmares and the teachers and Tyler and Chloe and the (maybe?) Secret Keeper and his father. He wanted to just lay it all out at his feet so he didn’t have to deal with it alone anymore… but he couldn’t.

Because if he did, Bruce would come get them and take them home, and someone else would move into the dorm. He’d never see any of them again.

He had to show Bruce that he could do this no matter what kind of problems he had — he was thirteen, and he could deal with his issues by himself. He didn’t always need his dad or his brothers to swoop in and do it for him; he was capable. More than capable.

So for now, he decided, not a Wayne in the world would know a thing. Would it be easier on him if they did? Sure. But getting whisked home to live a life of solitude while every other teenager in the world did whatever they wanted didn’t sound like an ideal situation. Plus, he was pretty sure he’d have lost his mind if he didn’t stop homeschooling when he did.

It was okay. He was okay. Everyone was okay. Everything was okay.

He’d just focus on school — it was a good enough distraction. He did have seven classes to survive, and nine friendships to maintain.

(Or eight, if… Asten didn’t want to talk to him.)

So he decided that’s what he was gonna do. Just be a teenager, and try his best to forget about all the existential dread stuff.

He woke up, blocked the number his father had called him from, and left Bellamy’s room to go get ready. 

It was only a little after five, so he was able to get into his room and do everything he needed without waking Asten up, which was nice — because he wasn’t sure where they stood. They hadn't talked at all since the fight, but Bentley did end up in bed arrest in Bellamy's room, so he guessed it wasn't really either of their faults.

He grabbed his bag and all of his things out of his room and left, shutting the door softly behind him. Should he go back in Bellamy's room? Or just sit and the dining table and do something silent?

That moment was about when his phone vibrated in his hand.

The name on the text message was Chloe Singh. (He'd changed it almost immediately after she gave it to him.) It said: Hey, meet me at the fountain at 530?

He didn't even have time to think about replying before a second one came: Or at breakfast, if you're not a psycho that wakes up at 430 for school like me.

Bentley hummed to himself, typing a quick response.

Just text me when you're ready. I'm already dressed and all.

He hardly had time to look away before another message blipped onto the screen. Oh, okay! I'm ready then, haha.

With a faint little smile and a shrug, Bentley made sure he slid his keycard into his phone case and made for the door, leaving the dorm with his schoolbag in the dark.

When he made it down the stairs and the several sidewalks it took to get to the fountain with the willows, Chloe was already there in her uniform with her bag. Her blonde hair was tied up halfway with a black ribbon, and pin-straight so it looked extra long. She glanced back at him when she heard him approach and sent him a friendly wave, which he returned.

Were they technically friends now? How many times did you have to cry in front of someone before you became friends?

With that on his mind, Bentley made for the bench she was on, dropping his bag near his feet and taking a seat next to her.

"Good morning," She said quietly, eyes focused on campus staff that seemed to be moving something into the art building across the way, past the willow trees.

"Good morning," He replied.

"Listen, I just... wanted to apologize for Saturday night," She sighed, looking down at her lap and deflating slightly, a stark comparison to how confident she looked in class or the halls. "I had a massive breakdown and it was really weird. I word vomited so many unnecessary details."

Bentley shook his head, glancing over at her. "Don't apologize. We all have our moments. I, in particular, have had at least thirty since I moved into Redwood."

Chloe glanced at him, furrowing her brow. "I never imagined Bruce Wayne's heir would have moments."

"I wasn't always his," Bentley shrugged, forcing his father's voice out of his mind, focusing on Chloe's brown eyes that were watching him. "Anyways, it's no problem. Breakdowns suck, but they suck even worse if you're alone."

She blinked and looked away, then back. "That's why I wanted to say thank you," She continued, glancing down at her hands, fiddling with her fingers. "For being there for me. I... can honestly say I don't have anyone else, as pitiful and attention seeking as that sounds. Living a double life is really hard when everyone only knows the fake part."

Bentley watched her breathe in deep, then blow it out. "Anyways, not to get all pitiful. I think I have the rumors handled on my end... my roommates were the only ones who knew I was going to meet you, and they swore they wouldn't say anything. What about yours?"

"Only two know I was gone, and they won't say anything," Bentley shrugged. "I think we're safe."

A beat passed.

"Thank God," Chloe exhaled, brushing her long blonde hair over her shoulder. "I'd never forgive myself if a chimp like Tyler Abbott got ahold of information like that. He'd have the entire campus believing whatever he wanted about us in, like, ten seconds."

Bentley didn't reply.

"Hey, you okay?" She continued, lowering her volume just a little. "You seem preoccupied."

Bentley shook his head in an attempt to shake himself back into the present and out of whatever routine of self loathing his mind was trying to put him in. "Yeah, just pretty drained. I've been really stressed lately."

"I'm sorry..." Chloe mumbled, and Bentley shrugged.

"It's not your fault," He continued, waving her off. "What about you? Were you okay after the other night?"

Chloe shrugged. "Same... just kinda drained. Emotions and their stupid, stupid existence have a way of doing that. But I'm feeling okay now. Practice for cheer tryouts starts after school today, so I pretty much am required to be okay."

A beat passed.

"So... did you and Layla end up having fun at the dance?" She questioned, looking across the way at the willows, a little hint of something he couldn't quite place filtering through into her words.

Bentley shrugged. "It was okay, but I... didn't go with her. I went with my roommates. To see the band that was playing."

"Oh," Chloe nodded to herself.

Another few moments of quiet passed.

"I... wanted to ask you something," Chloe started, turning to face him slightly on the bench, getting this... he wasn't sure. Embarrassed sort of look on her face. "You can totally say no if you want to; I know I'm not the easiest person to stomach."

"What is it?" Bentley questioned, turning toward her a little, too.

Chloe breathed in and out. "I know I was really mean and weird and stuff when we met, and I don't have any clever excuses to talk myself out of that. But I still... wanna be friends with you, if you want."

Bentley watched her nervously tuck a piece of hair behind her left her, her brown eyes straying down to the bench they were on.

"Yeah... I'd like that," Bentley replied, watching her anxiously pick at her nails. "But you... I don't want it to be some kind of ploy for your mom. If we're gonna be friends, I just... want to be friends. Not for anybody else."

"A hundred percent," Chloe nodded. "She won't have a clue I'm even talking to you anymore. She seems to have moved on in her searching for my perfect future divorce since I blew it with you already. Which means we're in the clear."

Bentley hummed in acknowledgment, glancing at her for a moment more before looking out at the trees again. "Can I ask an awkward question?"

"Sure," Chloe shrugged. "Can't be more awkward than me word vomiting my entire life's story, and my mothers."

Bentley found it in himself to chuckle at that. "I was just... wondering. Since you were only kinda acting, did you... mean what you told me? In class?"

Chloe glanced over at him quickly, her brow furrowed, before she seemed to realize what he meant. Her face flushed pink and she looked the other way. "That you're hot? I-I mean, yeah, I guess..."

Bentley didn't say anything.

"God, why can't I talk to you?" She mumbled, resting her elbows on her knees and dropping her head into her hands with a nervous little laugh. "It's so weird. Being, like, real. I always know what to say when I'm pretending."

Bentley shrugged. "Maybe you should... not pretend."

"I can't do that!" She said suddenly, sitting up. "My mother would disown me if I even thought about acting contrary to how she wants."

Bentley hummed. "How does she know what you act like here at school?"

Chloe looked up at him, a cringe spreading across her face. "She's the assistant Dean. She lives on campus."

Bentley blinked. "Oh..."

"Yeah..." Chloe shook her head. "I literally can't get away from her and her prying eyes through the school-day. That's why I wanted to talk to you now, before the day starts."

Bentley couldn't even imagine his father watching him like a hawk like that. When he first went to the Wayne's to, quote-on-quote, destroy them, he could hardly fathom the anxiety caused by the fact that his father may have possibly been watching. But Chloe's mom, putting her up to something out of greed, punishing her when she failed, watching her to make sure she was perfect... maybe they weren't so different after all.

Bentley didn’t say anything for a few minutes.

“So, are you liking it so far, here? I’ve heard Gotham is way different from New York,” She questioned. (How many times was he going to be asked that question?)

He shrugged. “New York is really cool. I like it here. It feels more… alive.”

Chloe nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “There’s so much that goes on, it's hard to get away from it all. That's why I like it so much here.”

Another beat passed.

“So, if it's not off limits, what are your powers?” Bentley questioned, glancing over at her. “I haven’t seen or heard anything about them.”

“Oh, I…” Chloe started, looking off at the trees ahead of them. “I… uh…”

Bentley could recognize discomfort when he saw it. “You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, I just…” She trailed off, breathing deep and holding it for a second, then exhaling. “I don’t have any.”

Bentley furrowed his brow. Wasn’t Redwood only for metahumans?

“My sisters do, and I have the genes for it, I just… they… haven’t appeared yet. My mom says that sometimes it takes a lot to make them show up,” Chloe shrugged. 

Bentley vaguely remembered hearing something about that when he was dealing with the whole Dr. Keene disaster -- it was like how Nico’s super speed only started to show up after he learned he was adopted, and only really showed up after he got kidnapped and put in a big machine that messed with his DNA. He remembered that metahumans finding their powers was… usually due to trauma.

He wasn’t quite sure what that said about the rest of the Redwood students. But maybe it was a good thing that Chloe didn’t have hers.

“I guess we’ll just have to see, then,” Bentley shrugged.

“I guess so…”

They fell into a comfortable silence, looking out at the willow trees in front of them.

Okay.. maybe Bentley had ten friendships to maintain.

--

When breakfast came around, Bentley sat across the table from Asten.

They didn’t say anything to each other. Bentley looked over at him a few times, but he was always talking to Rockie, or looking down at the table, or across the room. Valor was watching the both of them -- Bentley noticed his gaze a few times, calculating, contemplating -- but when Bentley’s eyes met his, it always switched to a supportive smile, faint enough to go missed by everyone else but present enough to be a little comforting.

Bentley and Asten didn’t talk at lunch, either.

And when music theory came around, Asten only spoke to Rockie, and Bentley only spoke to Vera, and in free period, Asten sat with Rockie, and Bellamy and Valor sat with Bentley. It was…

Weird.

He went to practice soccer with Varian and Koa, and they talked about nothing and everything. He went to dinner, where Asten deliberately ignored him even though they were within whispering distance from one another. And then he did his homework at the dining table, and listened to his roommates talk, and hung out, and texted Chloe, and went to bed without saying anything to his best friend who was sleeping one bunk away.

As wrong as it felt, Bentley was the one who’d been right. Asten was a hypocrite and all the lovely things Bentley had said in his anger fueled haze. So, for this one time, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t going to allow himself to apologize.

If Asten wanted to talk to him, Asten was going to have to put in the effort.

And as far as Bentley could tell, right now, he didn’t care very much.

--

tag list that never works lmao

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere

@skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy

[thepermanentrainpress]

The Permanent Rain Press Interview with Benjamin Ebbesen. (Watch in HD)

Benjamin Ebbesen discusses Erik's evolution in season 3 of Rykter (Rumours), including his relationships with Mathias and Sara, brotherhood, filming intimate scenes, the welcoming atmosphere on-set, and being challenged as a new actor.

He also chats about finding family in the show's cast and crew, overwhelming fan support, his acting inspirations, and future plans.

[ritzcrackee]

GUYS HELP IM CRYING IRL HOW DO I STOP