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ohwynne · 1 year ago

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TIMING: Recent LOCATION: Where two roads meet in town PARTIES: Thea @notstinky and Wynne @ohwynne SUMMARY: Thea and Wynne crash their bikes into each other! Both are very stressed about it! Friendship is formed and Wynne learns about Glee. CONTENT WARNINGS: N/A

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Look out for the girl on the bike! Excuse me! I’m so sorry!” The air whipped through Thea’s hair, sending tendrils of black hair in every direction. She couldn’t see from in between the strands but prayed fast and wildly to any god that was both real and would listen to her. There was a fact about cheap bikes that she had forgotten: they were cheap. Prone to failure, her temp bike, meant for use while her beloved (accidentally stolen) green one was being repaired (after a similar incident to the one plaguing her today), had its brakes snap off. Literally, actually, and with a loud crunch, snap off. She was rushing downhill at a pace too fast to be safe. She had tried stopping with her feet only for her shoe to slip off and tumble up the street. Then she’d tried with the other one and gotten the same luck. So, she tried with her heel and instantly recoiled from the ripping pain that seared under her skin. Eventually, mathematically, and with sound reasoning to believe it, she would stop. She hoped she would.

“Look out! Shoeless girl on bike! Get off the sidewalk!” Thea yelled the best she could, but her voice was muffled by the wind and her hair flying into her mouth. Thea was what most people called a bore and what the rest called a nerd. She was the only adult who rode a bike around town in existence who actually wore a helmet (citations might have been needed for this fact but Thea certainly felt like she was the only one preoccupied with safety sometimes). This was because her dad told her to do it once upon a time and she had never forgotten. The most rebellious thing she’d done was forgo the knee and elbow pads.

No one would ever laugh at her again for wearing a helmet. As Thea flew through the air, like a frisbee at a dog show waiting to be caught, her helmet saved her from getting some very unflattering grass in her hair. A victory, in her books. What wasn’t a victory was the scene: her bike crunched up, tire spinning in the air, and the thing she had crashed into. The person, with their own bike. “Oh my god,” Thea looked up. She’d bit her lip on the way down and scraped up her palms and knees; she was bleeding and it stung but wasn’t anything she couldn’t recover from. “Are you okay?” She asked the other party, wobbling up to her feet.

—

A certain freedom came with having a bike. It was faster than walking, didn’t require Sully being available to carpool with them and was not as irregular as the bus. Wynne liked biking, even if it was more stressful in Wicked’s Rest than it had been back home. There, days that they’d gone biking had been few and far between, but they had happened. Their parents and brother and Wynne would take some food and cycle around the lake, have a nice meal and return home. It was one of the few ways they’d get away from the estate’s grounds and always something to look forward to.

But here, in town, there were cars and mopeds and all other kinds of things to be mindful of. Like other cyclists rushing down hills, in their direction. This was a bad combination: Wynne was lost in thought, head stuck on an annoying song that played constantly at work and mulling over what their brother might be up to and then there was the other, an object that would not be stopped. The crash brought them back to earth, in literal and physical sense: their body slammed against the concrete sideways, their bike stuck between their legs. They felt the bruise form on their knee already.

Their head spun for a moment the same way the wheel did, neither bike nor person moving forward. Wynne felt dazed, reached a hand up to their head (they got a vague look at their scraped palm and saw more blood when their fingers pulled back). “Ouch.” They pressed up, one leg still awkwardly stuck to the ground. “I – yeah.” They were in pain, and they weren’t sure what had happened, but they weren’t sure what other answer to give to that question. “Can you help with my bike? They wanted to sit, but the thing was stuck on and between them. “What happened?”

—

“Yes, yes, oh my god…” Thea scrambled to her victim’s sides The bike was stuck between their legs and it would take some twisting and lifting to pull it free. Thea hoped that with her help keeping the bike from crushing their legs, they could escape without further damage. She offered her hand out. “Are you sure you’re okay?” She asked again, she didn’t want to seem doubtful but she was staring at a bleeding palm to mirror her own scratched one. “Um, well, my brakes stopped working and then I couldn’t stop and I went right into you and…” Thea snapped her helmet off her head and threw it aside, surveying the other person and their bikes. Both of them were in need of repair. Thea really couldn’t afford her own bike repairs let alone someone else’s. “This is my fault,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” She swiped at the dibble of blood escaping the small cut under her lip.

“I will pay for everything,” Thea offered quickly, before anything else could be said about it. “I mean it! I totally messed up here and I probably damaged your bike and also you, physically, and maybe even emotionally, but uh, okay….if you need therapy after this I don’t think I can afford that so maybe we can do yoga in the park? That’s free.”

—

With the other’s hand now firmly in their grip, Wynne managed to push themself over the ground, from under the bike. Getting in a sitting position, they stared down at their jeans, at the hole on their knee and the blood slowly pooling underneath the ruined fabric. They weren’t scared of blood, weren’t scared of bleeding this little, but they still felt somewhat like crying. As if the smack on the road had scrambled their nervous system. “Yes, yes, I’m okay,” they said, pulling their leg closer to them. They had seen and felt worse than this. Wynne wasn’t going to sob over falling off their bike. Right? “It’s, no, I should have been paying more attention, you can’t help it if the brakes break. I was off in my own world, so —” They stopped staring at their bike and looked at the other. “It’s on both of us, right?” Wynne had never been very good at blaming others.

The other’s offer to pay for everything made Wynne realize that this damage had to be fixed and that included money. They hated this economy! Why couldn’t such favors be done in return for something else? They stared at their bike again, wondering if they were handy enough to fix it themself. (They were not.) “No, no, I couldn’t ask that of you,” they said, head shaking, watching the other’s bruised lip. This wasn’t some rude person who had hurt them on purpose “That’s not fair, okay? But maybe we can find a bike shop together, and maybe we should try and find some band-aids, right?” Since life had slowed down and Wynne didn’t feel like were constantly on the run, they didn’t carry everything a person could possibly need any more. “Are you okay? Your lip …”

—

Thea wasn’t sure of a lot of things: she didn’t entirely understand taxes and more than once she purchased yogurt thinking she could become the sort of person that ate yogurt and then the yogurt would go bad and she’d have to throw it out. She was sure, however, that most things were her fault: climate change (on account of all the wasted yogurt), world hunger (because of the yogurt again), and this bike accident (not because of the yogurt). Maybe this person was trying to appease her, trying to soothe the anxiety that often radiated from her like the electric buzz of an old light bulb. Maybe they were a kind person who didn’t deserve to be rammed into with a bike. Regardless, nothing worked to soothe Thea’s guilt for existing. Sorry, she wanted to say, if only she had decided to stay indoors and never go out anywhere and never do anything. Thea smiled softly, “that doesn’t change the fact that I’m the one at fault. If I hit a um…like a lamb or something…that’d totally be my fault. Not that you’re a lamb! I don’t mean that.” Thea shook her head violently, trying to reject her own awkward wording. “You’re more like a, uh, like a baby. Like what if I hit a baby? I mean, you’re not a baby—you look like a young adult—but what if I hit a baby?” The thought made her shudder.

“Not asking,” Thea squeaked. “I’m giving! If you don’t take it I’m going to be haunted by this moment and it’s going to seriously decrease my quality of sleep.” Which already wasn’t very good and, in fact, this moment would still linger in her mind anyway. “Okay,” she mumbled, she reached down and picked up the stranger’s bike; hers was probably a lost cause. “Are you good to walk? I think there’s a shop just down the…” Thea paused, raising a hand up to her lips. Red blood painted the edges of her fingers as her eyes trailed down. “And your knee,” she winced. “Are you okay?”

—

As the other stumbled over her words, Wynne blinked at them until looking back at their knee. The comparison to a lamb hit home and though there was no way the stranger could possibly know what kind of history they had with lambs and being compared to one, it still didn’t help their already frazzled state of mind. Again, they didn’t blame her: they just felt a little off because of it. “But you didn’t hit a lamb or a baby, you just hit me, and I’m okay. It’s a scratch, it will heal!” It would heal. This was nothing, this blood was nothing. They fought against their trembling lip. “And the bike is just a bike, right?” Material possessions were not the most important thing to Wynne, to whom life – and their continued presence in it – mattered most of all.

The other made it hard to reject her offer, if only because Wynne didn’t want to be responsible for ruining some else’s quality of sleep. That would seriously come to haunt them in return. “Oh. Oh, well, maybe we can see when we get to the shop, okay? It was an accident. And I wasn’t paying attention.” They needed to start paying attention. They watched the other pick up their bike and managed to push themself off the ground, despite really wanting to curl down there and just take a nap. Wynne watched the blood on the other’s face, and then the blood trickling down their leg now that gravity was more in play again. “Yes. A scratch. We will get a bandaid. And something cold for your lip. Okay? Should we get … your bike out of the road?” Just so not more people would get into accidents.

—

“But what if,” Thea argued, as if there was any real logic to it. It was always the what if’s that haunted her. What if she had hit a baby? What if she hit a baby and then the mother came out of the bushes and honked at her like the one time she got too close to a gosling (not the actor; she wished)? “The point isn’t that it heals…” Thea frowned. “It still happened. You still got hurt; that still matters and I still…” she swallowed. This person was being graceful, giving her the space to let it go. If she pushed, like putting something back into a box that was too small for it, she’d rip the edges of politeness. Thea squeezed the handlebars of the stranger’s bike. “Sorry, yeah…” She forced a smile. “You’ll heal up like it’s nothing; it’ll be okay.” But it wouldn’t, it wasn’t. The body fought to survive but the mind didn’t heal like a wound. If the stranger ever flinched the next time a bike approached too quickly, Thea would know the truth of the matter: it wouldn’t heal. Irrevocably, she has changed someone’s life for the worst. It might just have been a new instinct they gained, but wouldn’t it have been better if nothing happened at all? If Thea was better? Smarter? Kinder? Thea’s grip tightened until her knuckles turned white and her palms ached. “The bike is just a bike, yeah.”

“Huh? My bike?” Thea’s attention snapped to her mangled temporary bike— the cursed thing, the ruiner of days, the scrapper of knees. “Right, yeah.” She seethed; the damn thing and her damned stupidity. Thea set down the stranger’s bike gently, dragging hers off the street. Stupid. Horrible. Useless. Her muscles tightened and her nostrils flared. A small growl escaped her lips as she gripped her bike and spun, throwing it as far as she could. She watched it sail through the air, jaw aching and fingers twitching. As soon as the bike disappeared behind a line of bushes, her body relaxed with only a mild ache in the places a transformation threatened under her skin. “Yep!” She turned to the stranger with a cherry expression. “Let’s go now!” She picked up their bike again. “I’m Thea, by the way.” She held out her hand. “Normally I don’t crash into people.”

—

What if was a very valid question and concern, in every situation ever imaginable. Wynne couldn’t begin to think of it though, evading the what-ifs in their life as if they were marked-off areas, afraid of getting too close to the truth with their doom-thoughts. (What if leaving the commune had killed everyone? What if they were coming for them? What if?) “It didn’t happen, though. It was just me. And I will be fine. It is okay.” Worse things had happened than a split knee. Wynne wanted to live in a world where this was the worst thing that had happened to them in this past year. Where a scratched knee was worth having a mental breakdown over. But they had learned a thing or two about composure back at home, where every faltered step could be taken as a sign of doubt or failure. “Please don’t worry too much, okay? I will worry if you do, and then we will never stop worrying. And I would like to not worry for a day.” They tried to smile.

And then the other picked up her bike, as if it weighed nothing at all. Wynne didn’t fight to keep their mouth from falling open a little. There was a growl, and then a show of strength that they hadn’t sought after the other. Fair enough. Sometimes people were just very strong. Right? Their mouth remained somewhat agape, though, as they heard the bike crush a few bush branches. “Oh wow, Thea.” They were in awe, not afraid or put off — but just very much impressed. “Are you sure —” She had seemed very certain, actually, when she’d thrown the bike through the air. “I’m Wynne. I also don’t tend to get crashed into.” They shook her hand and gave another smile. “Good to meet ya.”

—

Telling Thea not to worry was a lot like telling a dog not to stare at a passing bunny. Maybe it was possible after some training and a lot of treats, but for right now, Thea was going to worry. She laughed nervously. “Yeah! Okay! No worrying!” Much like a dog would dream that night, paws twitching, imagining a world where they chased that bunny down, Thea would sleep imagining the countless worlds where Wynne was more seriously injured and one world where there was a test she had forgotten to study for, just because that one often haunted her despite its irrelevance.

“I feel really sore,” Thea confessed, rubbing her arms. She expected her muscles to ache but it was more like her bones did. Seeing Wynne’s awe instantly embarrassed her. “Maybe I shouldn’t have thrown it.” What if she hit someone? More worlds to dream about in the night. “It’s nice to meet you too!” She perked up, pushing Wynne’s bike down the sidewalk. “Do you ride around here often? I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. Um, but I do usually commute at weird hours. I’m not blessed with a Dolly Parton nine-to-five. Um, but I guess, like, in the song—um, and the movie—it was a shitty job anyway…” Thea laughed nervously again. In the disjointed year of travel and monthly carnage, she felt like she’d forgotten how conversations went. “Do you–uh–like Dolly Parton?”

—

Asking someone not to worry was an impossible request, Wynne knew that distantly, and still they had meant it fully. They didn’t want to cause worry in others, not the concern-type but not this kind, either. This sort of distress. As the other laughed nervously and exclaimed that she wouldn’t worry, they doubted if that was true, but they also weren’t sure what they could do. Wynne would go over this interaction themself, reevaluate their response and their own faults. Maybe that was human existence. “I’m sorry you feel sore. Maybe the shop has something for the pain too?”

They smiled at the returned sentiment, glad to have something to hold onto in this confusing interaction. A swap of names, a nice to meet you, nice to meet you too. Some customs didn’t die, even when bikes crashed into each other. “Oh, yes, when I go to or from my work. I don’t always bike, though, sometimes a friend gives me a ride. I …” They frown. “Don’t know what a Dolly Parton is, but I do work regular hours. Sometimes earlier, though, like from six-to-three? Or until late. I work at a Latte to Love!” Maybe that was a detail best omitted when meeting strangers, but Wynne didn’t think Thea was that bad. Maybe a bit frazzled, but so were they. “Sorry to hear your job is shitty. What do you do?”

—

Thea shook her head; she wasn’t sure if bike shops offered anything for pain but even if they did, her pain wasn’t the sort that could be solved with an Advil. “I’m alright.” She swallowed. “I’ll be alright.” If she said it enough times, it made it true. As evidenced by her daily morning mantra: I am normal and not stinky. Both things were totally true. “You don’t know who Dolly Parton is?” Thea froze, just a few steps from the fated bike shop. “You don’t…” She tried to make it make sense. Maybe she was being gatekeepy—never mind that Dolly Parton was a country legend, maybe Wynne also didn’t know Patsy Cline, Johnny Cash, Loretta Lynn, Willie Nelson, etc. etc. Maybe country music just wasn't for them; it wasn’t for most people. Thea had a broad music taste, which was a kinder way of saying she had no standards. But even if you didn’t like country music, you knew Dolly Parton. Everyone knew Dolly Parton. “Jolene, Jolene, I’m beggin’ of you please don’t take my man.” She stared at them, signing off-key. “Please don’t take him just because you can.”

Thea threw her hands up into the air, letting the bike fall before she frantically caught it again. “It’s Dolly!” she exclaimed. “Dolly! She’s got big boobs! Blonde hair? Everyone loves Dolly. I mean, maybe she’s secretly evil—I heard Jenna Ortega spits in peoples’ coffee…” Thea held up her hand. “Don’t ask; it’s a long story. I’m working on bringing the spit mafia down. It all starts with Casey. Anyway, don’t ask.” She sucked in a breath. “But Dolly? The Dolly Parton? Are you going to say you don’t know Led Zeppelin or Fleetwood Mac or Paramore?” Despite the venerated status of both Led Zeppelin and Fleetwood Mac, Thea would’ve been more offended if Wynne didn’t know Paramore, which was venerated in her heart. “Dolly Part—Oh sorry, I work as a janitor, hence the shitty, and I love a Latte to Love, great coffee.” She blinked. “Dolly Parton!”

—

They blinked at the other as she went on and on about Dolly, who Wynne was apparently seriously supposed to know. They vowed to themself to remember the name, so they could look this blonde, big-breasted woman up and listen to these songs. For now, though, their face just flushed and something trembled inside them out of embarrassment. It was all a little much! Falling off their bike, their bike being damaged, their body hurting and now, once more, falling short when it came to pop culture. “I don’t know her, I don’t … I know a blonde woman with big breasts, but she’s called Winifred, and I don’t think she makes music.” Winifred was a woman from back home, so she was definitely not the same person. “And I don’t know that song, nor Jenna Ortega, but that’s really rude! I never spit in people’s coffee and I make a lot of coffees for a lot of people. I also don’t know a Casey?”

But Thea mentioned something that they did know, so they decided to latch onto that. “I know Fleetwood Mac! With Stevie Nicks? Of that song, Silver Springs.” Ariadne had told them all about it, playing the song for them and then a video of it too. Wynne had thought it very powerful. “I love their song ‘You make loving fun’.” That one reminded them of Ariadne most, whereas Landslide made them indescribably sad. They felt less inclined to cry now that they had something to say about something they knew. That they didn’t know those other bands (or artists?) was omitted. “I will look up Dolly! Okay? I just don’t know a lot of music.” They frowned. “Because I’m Amish. Or well, was Amish. Now I’m a barista.”

—

Thea felt stupid again, she was feeling that a lot around Wynne. Of course it was stupid to insult someone for not knowing who Dolly Parton was when they were Amish. That was like growing up in a cult, or something (Thea didn’t know, she didn’t know much about the Amish except for what existed in Weird Al’s “Amish Paradise”). Although, a part of her mind did consider that even the Amish would know who Dolly Parton was. “I’m so sorry,” she squeaked, her cheeks bursting with crimson. “Y-you know Fleetwood Mac?” But not Dolly Parton? Thea pushed the doors of the bike shop open and ushered them inside, pulling the back along with them. “Silver Springs is kinda deep cut--well, not that deep, but usually people bring up ‘Songbird’ or ‘Landslide’ or ‘Dreams’ or something.” Thea considered what sort of person would know only of Fleetwood Mac and nothing else. At least it was a good band to know about. “‘You Make Loving Fun’?” Thea blinked. Something was going on here, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “My favorite is ‘Rhiannon’--it makes me feel like the cool girl monologue in Gone Girl. You know, Santana Lopez sang ‘Songbird’ on Glee and…” Thea trailed off, clearing her throat. “Actually, it’s probably better if you never learn what Glee is.”

Thea leaned Wynne’s mangled bike up against the counter. “I’m sorry about the--the Dolly thing.” Thea stuck her hand out again. “Friends?” She smiled. “No hard, Amish feelings? I think you’re really cool and--” I need more friends. “--I’d like to be your friend. So, friends?”

—

“No, it’s okay! You couldn’t know! I don’t look Amish.” Because they weren’t Amish. Some of their dresses did look similar to the ones they’d worn at home, though, but they’d never worn those white caps. Those looked strange. “Silver Springs is my girlfriend’s favorite song. But I love those others as well. Landslide is very sad, though, right?” Wynne smiled at the mention of Rhiannon. “I love that one also! It’s about a Welsh witch. I’m also –” They stopped themself, there. The Amish weren’t Welsh, right? “Um, really fond of Songbird. I don’t know what Gone Girl is? Is it a movie?” Another thing to Google. Just like Glee. “Oh. Is Glee not good? Even if there’s Fleetwood Mac on it?” They’d have to ask Ariadne about that one too.

Wynne shook their head again. “It’s okay! Really. No hard feelings, Amish or otherwise. And I think you’re very cool too.” They shook the other’s hand. “Friends.”

#thea.#writing.#wynne learns about glee.

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inks-books · 2 years ago

Note

5, 9 and 15 for the writblr asks please x

5. What is your favorite book/story/poem you read this year?

@authorlaurawinter’s book The Curse of the Broken Shadows which is on Amazon and Kindle! I fell in love with Brela from the first sentence.

9. Create a meme or mood-board that captures your past writing-year!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sd2Q6Fagemg

This video, playing o Fortuna instead, but I actually finished something and started two other projects xD

15. Time for shameless self-promotion! answer with a piece of writing you want others to see/read! (if you have nothing posted/published this year, any other year is fine too ^^)

Putting it below the cut because it’s long, but here’s a snippet from my first chapter of Love Triangle Gone Wrong. Someone please tell me what they think of Ethan lol He’s a handful and a half and I love him.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?”

The pretty blond girl sitting at the counter in front of Ethan fluttered her eyelashes at him in a flirtatious way. She was shapely, had perfectly manicured nails, and the sweater she was wearing clung to her in a very nice way that accentuated her breasts. Ethan could appreciate that much. In fact, a week ago he would have jumped all over that invitation in a heartbeat. Probably with a line like ‘I didn’t until I saw you’ or ‘I think I might have just become a believer’. But right now, his eyes drifted over to the redhead in the corner of the restaurant sullenly as he sighed with great tragedy.

“No,” he murmured, looking back down at the bar he was wiping down and continued his chore.

Harper, Ethan’s best friend and confidant since elementary, snorted behind him as he passed by with a bucket full of dishes he’d just bussed off a table where a family of five had left a mess.

“Ethan,” he said. “You just proclaimed last week you’d met your soulmate. And it was a girl you’d never laid eyes on before in your life. You usually don’t wait that long to get into anyone’s pants.”

Harper was a tall, lithe boy with strong shoulders and a dark brown skin. His hair was buzzed, and his eyes were bright and shining with mirth. Both of them had Native American blood in them and it showed strongly. He and Ethan had known each other for longer than they hadn’t known each other, and their friendship had only grown stronger over the years. Even with the constant teasing.

“Don’t you have some tables to take care of?” Ethan hissed, throwing his towel at Harper.

“You haven’t even taken the time to talk to the girl,” said Big Joe, the cook who looked at Ethan through the window that peered into the kitchen. His voice was deep and booming, but he tried his best to keep it low so as not to be overheard by the redhead. Big Joe was not only the tallest man for miles at six foot eight and four hundred pounds, he was the best cook this side of the tri-county area. He had a heart of gold and was the most gentle giant you would ever come across.

“There’s a reason for that,” Ethan said blandly, then added with a hiss, “And since when are you two so interested in my love life?”

“Since you quit sleeping around and started moping over the one that got away,” Harper replied. “Or rather, the one you’re too terrified to talk to even though you’re obviously crazy about her.” By now, the blond girl had left the bar, feeling rather ignored in this little drama, and the three of them were alone again. “Besides, didn’t you say you imprinted on her?” Harper whispered. “At least try talking to her!”

Ethan groaned at himself for having shared that tidbit the day it had happened. He’d been so enraptured in the euphoria of it all, he wanted to shout it from the rooftops. But the very next day his heart had been shattered into a million pieces and he’d been brought back down to earth with a crash and a fiery bang.

Being a werebeast wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

The bell on the front door tolled signaling someone had entered, and Ethan looked up as a blond male with long hair down to his shoulders pulled back in a low ponytail, entered the restaurant. He was broad shouldered and nearly six and a half feet tall, and was an imposing figure in more ways than one. He looked around the room for a moment before his eyes lit on the redhead typing away at her computer in the corner, and smiled broadly before joining her. His smile changed his features from threatening, to devastatingly handsome in seconds. It physically pained Ethan to see him smile at her like that. He wanted to throw Harper’s bucket of dishes on him and see if that gave him something to smile about.

Prick.

Ethan knew the man was a prick too. Wearing a cream colored turtleneck sweater and khakis? Who even dressed like that? Pricks dressed like that. Rich pricks too from the looks of it. He watched the blond greet the redhead.

“Hey sorry I’m late,” he was saying as he sat across from her in the booth.

“Rune,” the redhead drawled. “You’re always late. It’s a part of your nature. You’ll be late to your own funeral. Meanwhile I’m actually getting some work done.”

Rune frowned. “I thought you said you were taking it easy on the work during the pregnancy.”

“I said I’d take it easy, I didn’t say I’d stop working all together,” countered the redhead.

“Hope,” Rune complained. “You know how important this is.”

“Relax, I’ve got this,” Hope replied.

The rest of the conversation was lost on Ethan as Harper ran into him pointedly and put a couple of menus in his hand before giving him a significant look and glancing at the couple in the corner booth. Harper raised his eyebrows at Ethan one more time, and left silently to take care of his corner of the restaurant. Ethan took a few steadying breaths through his nose and plastered on his customer service smile, and marched his way over to the corner booth and slid the menus in front of them.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” he asked, looking at the redhead with a flirtatious smile. Okay. So he couldn’t completely kill ingrained habits so easily.

“I’ll have a sweet tea and she’ll have a water with lemon in it,” Rune answered for her.

Ethan flicked his eyes over to Rune and back to Hope as if to confirm.

Definitely a prick.

“I’ll have a diet coke,”’ Hope corrected. “And a water with lemon,” she added pointedly looking at Rune who rolled his eyes.

“You do that just to spite me, I know it,” Rune grumbled.

Hope blinked innocently and Ethan gave her a wink and a sly grin, moving off to get their order. The second he turned away from them into the mostly empty restaurant, he dropped the plastered smile and scowled across the room at Harper who made a motion of smacking himself in the forehead.

This was why his heart had been shattered. She was already with someone else and pregnant with his child. And every time Hope came in here, Rune wasn’t far behind her in arriving. It was like he was attached to her by the hip or a short leash. Whenever he tried to work up the courage to start a conversation with her, Rune would pop up and ruin the moment. How could he be around someone he’d imprinted on if she was busy making her own life and starting a family? It wasn’t fair to either of them for Ethan to try and worm his way between Hope and Rune. Wouldn’t be fair to the kid for that matter.

And yet Ethan still found himself arguing internally about how he could make this work. She’d just wandered into his life randomly in this small town where everyone pretty much knew everyone else (which was annoying when you were trying to get away with something and would have half the town gossiping about it the next day), and was a stranger to them all. He wanted to get to know her, learn her secrets.

But in a small town where everyone knew everyone else’s secrets, there were secrets still that everyone kept or pretended they knew nothing about. Because knowing meant acknowledging they were real. And something’s were better left to stories you told your children at night to keep them from wandering out past dusk.

Things that Ethan knew all too well about. Harper and Big Joe too, though, there were probably a few secrets of Ethan’s the other two didn’t know about. Could Hope accept the parts of him the rest of the town pretended not to know about? Or at least if they didn’t know, they looked the other way so they could keep themselves ignorant.

“Your face is going to stick like that if you don’t stop making that face,” Harper said, pushing his finger against the furrow in Ethan’s brow. Ethan’s face went slack with shock as he blinked at Harper. “Were you seriously so lost in thought you didn’t notice me talking to you this whole time?” Harper asked.

“He got it bad,” Big Joe said. “Why don’t you try talking to her while he runs to the bathroom?” he added, nodding as Rune got up and headed to the restroom.

Ethan perked up and quickly moved to get the glasses but Harper handed him the tray before he could register what he was holding.

“Overheard the prick order for her. His voice carries,” Harper explained.

Well perhaps Ethan wasn’t the only one who thought he was a prick. He grinned at his best friend who winked at him and told him to ‘Go get her.’ Ethan swiftly but carefully so as not to dump the drinks and ruin his chances, went over to the table to set the drinks down and leaned against the table with his hip.

“Anything else I can get for you?” he asked. “Appetizer, Entre, a date?”

“A what?” Hope asked, taken aback.

“You know, like the dried fruit?” Ethan smiled seamlessly.

Hope laughed. And god was it a beautiful sound. It was like a straight shot of adrenaline to Ethan’s system, his heart began racing, his palms began sweating, and he felt like he could soar through the sky like Superman. Which was ridiculous of course he didn’t have wings or superpowers that would allow him to fly. In fact, what he did have he wasn’t even sure was a power at all. Right now it was just a curse that was getting in between him and a normal life. But right now? Right now he was on top of the world and didn’t care. He’d made her laugh and that was a superpower in and of itself.

“What do you like on the menu?” Hope asked, placing her chin on her hand and watching him with smiling eyes.

Oh god. He knew the menu like the back of his hand. He’d tried everything on the menu and a few things not listed on there. He knew what he liked and disliked, what were the best choices to suggest to a customer and the safe choices that most everyone liked. He knew it like he knew his own name.

Which at that moment he couldn’t remember.

“Um,” he said, wracking his brains. He took the spare menu and took a seat opposite of her and scanned the contents as if trying to refresh his memory, but his brain was in panic mode and he suddenly couldn’t comprehend anything he was reading. He knew how to read. He knew the words on the page. He’d read them a billion times over and could quote the menu from start to finish. (Listen slow days were boring when you had no one to serve and nothing to do, and your boss wanted you to still be productive. You found ways to entertain yourself. Memorizing the menu faster than the other employees was the best way to make the boss happy and earn some extra cash for the bets placed.)

“You’re in my seat,” Rune said as Ethan blinked at the menu.

He looked up, and up again to find Rune’s eyes that bore down on him like a dangerous pair of emerald daggers, telling him to move without telling him to move.

“Finders keepers,” he blurted out, making Hope giggle.

Oh the look Rune cut Ethan was sharp as a shattered piece of glass. Or one of Big Joe’s kitchen knives. The man didn’t like a dull knife and would sharpen them himself every week to the point you could lay a hair on them and it would sever it.

“I was just helping her decide what the best item on the menu would be to try,” Ethan smiled, standing up from his seat - or rather, Rune’s seat - and suddenly his brain was working again. He could remember his name, he could remember the menu items he liked and hated and what was the best option to serve a new customer to get the full experience of the diner.

“And?” Rune sat down, looking at him expectantly. “What was the verdict?”

Ethan bit his tongue before listing off a few menu items that sounded pleasing, but The Prick dismissed them all, then ordered the country fried steak with white gravy and a side of steamed broccoli for Hope, and an order of the greasiest hamburger they had on the menu for himself.

“Is that accurate, ma’am?” Ethan checked with Hope before walking away and just assuming like The Prick.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Rune demanded. “I know what she likes.”

“Yeah, I’d like to knock you upside the head,” Hope replied under her breath, but then turned to Ethan with a polite smile. “That will be fine, thank you.”

Ethan gave a nod and turned to walk away, but heard Rune’s voice drift back towards him in a hushed tone.

“Rude ass.”

If Hope responded, he didn’t hear what she said, but Rune continued muttering under his breath as if arguing with her. When Ethan got back to the other side of the counter and put their orders in, Big Joe just shook his head sadly. Ethan gestured blatantly at the couple’s table where they had their heads bent over talking about something in low tones, paying them no attention, and pursed his lips. It was a gesture of ‘See what I have to work with?’ Big Jo just shook his head again disappointed. Ethan rolled his eyes.

Harper elbowed him in the side. “You got her to laugh,” he said to cheer Ethan up. “That’s an improvement.”

Sure, an improvement. From what not talking to her? Ethan guessed that was something. Still though his skin was beginning to itch with all the emotional rollercoaster-ing his insides had done in the last ten minutes. He needed to shift, but to do that in the middle of his work schedule could get him in trouble. But going too long without a shift could also get him in more trouble. A lot more trouble.

“After I serve them, I’m going for a run,” Ethan said under his breath to Harper.

Harper’s eyes darkened slightly.

“You good?” he asked. “Have you checked your blood sugar?”

“I just need to shift for a bit. I’ll be fine,” Ethan replied.

“Oh no,” Big Joe said. “Last time you got stuck like that. Eat something first and then you can go.”

“Okay dad,” Ethan complained with a sigh. He knew there really was no arguing when Big Joe put his foot down. Even though Ethan knew he was right, it didn’t make it any less annoying to be scolded like that when he was already in a bad mood. When Big Joe passed the food over to Ethan, he gave one last warning. “Okay! Okay. Just… I dunno. Make me a burger or something! Sheesh.”

“One burger, coming right up,” Big Joe smiled and winked. “Now go give ya girl her food.”

“She’s not my-“ he looked over his shoulder quickly to make sure she hadn’t heard his voice carry across the small room. Thankfully, she was engrossed in something on her computer as she muttered something to Rune, a serious look on her face. It was cute, Ethan realized. The little furrow her brow made put a dimple on her forehead that looked like a little frowny-face. He was pretty sure Rune wasn’t appreciating that as he shook his head to whatever she was saying.

“Ethan,” Harper said, nudging him. “Go, the food’s going to get cold.”

Blinking rapidly and remembering he was holding the food for their table, Ethan made his way around the counter and over to them again, announcing his presence a few feet away so they couldn’t accuse him of eavesdropping as he came up on them. People often got antsy if they thought you overheard their personal conversations. Especially when they were whispered to each other hastily with little furrows in their brow that made a frowny-face.

“We have your orders here,” he said with a flourish. “Do you need a refill on that Diet Coke, ma’am?”

“No,” Hope said with a bright smile, the crease in her forehead easing quite rapidly. She gave a little shake of the head as she spoke and added, “I’m going to work on my water and lemon now. But thank you!”

“My pleasure,” Ethan said. “Does everything look alright?”

“It looks delicious,” Hope said, reaching for her silverware.

“One thing doesn’t look right,” Rune interjected. “My glass is getting a little empty.”

“I’ll fill that right up,” Ethan said without missing a beat and reaching for the cup. “Anything else I can get you while I’m gone?”

“Ignore him,” Hope said apologetically. “He’s grumpy when he hasn’t eaten. And he takes it out on people around him.” She added the last bit pointedly, glaring at Rune.

“It’s perfectly fine,” Ethan lied. “I understand. I’ll get that drink for you.”

“Thank you,” Rune grumbled, then looked at Hope pointedly as if to say ‘See? I can be nice.’

It fell a little short in Ethan’s book.

Okay a lot short.

Prick.

Ethan turned around, the smile instantly falling from his face again as he gave Harper and Big Joe a glare. They quickly went back to what they were doing, pretending like they hadn’t just been staring in his direction and shirking their duties. Big Joe started whistling to appear more innocent, but it only sealed the fact he had been spying on Ethan. He only whistled when he felt guilty or was trying not to appear guilty.

Ethan looked into the security camera as if he were on The Office and made a face. If only there were someone at corporate watching just then to see it, he’d feel justified. He often would cast a look at the camera, though he wasn’t entirely sure which way it was pointing in it’s little black glass ball. But he often imagined it followed him around just to watch his antics throughout the day. At least it entertained him to pretend it did. Like his own little reality show.

#Love triangle gone wrong #ask game #writing meme #ask inks

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liesyousoldme · 2 years ago

Note

How about "you don't get to do that anymore"?

thank you so much for the prompt! have some angst with a happy ending <3

it’s cold in the loft. the lease is up next month, and buck hadn’t planned on renewing since he practically lived at the diaz house anyway. but now, he lies in his giant bed alone and wonders if he should just stay here or try to find a new place for himself - something warmer, cozier, more like a home.

he ignores the voice in his head that insists the diaz house is his home, because it’s not anymore. the sooner he gets that through his head, the better.

it’s been five weeks. he’s still waiting for his heart to get the memo.

he’s spent the last five weeks, if you ask anyone who knows him, moping, but he feels like he has every right to. he’d had everything he’d ever wanted - he got to fall asleep next to his best friend, the love of his life, and kiss him whenever he wanted to, he got to cook breakfast for chris every morning, he got to work alongside eddie and then go home with him at the end of the day - and then eddie had decided, after three blissful weeks together, to end it. to take it all back, as though buck could just forget what it felt like to be with his soulmate for even a second.

it had been out of the blue, one morning on a day off after chris had been taken to school. eddie had asked if they could talk, and they sat at the dining room table, and eddie had pulled the rug out from under him. swift, sure, and with a painful crash to the floor.

buck had tried to listen to eddie’s reasoning through the rushing of blood in his ears (something about his fear of being a bad partner, of ruining what they have, of moving too quickly before he was truly ready for a relationship), but in the end, all buck was left with was the feeling that he wasn’t enough for the one person he’d believed would always stick around.

it had been chim's idea to go on the date. he'd said something along the lines of "the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else" and even though maddie had glared at him and said, "buck, ignore him, he doesn't know what he's talking about," buck had still, in a fit of something, (irritation? depression? pettiness? he wasn't sure) he'd downloaded tinder and within fifteen minutes had a date set up with a cute guy at a local cafe. he didn't plan on actually sleeping with the guy, but it had been five weeks of nothing and he at least wanted to enjoy the company of someone who maybe - in some way or another - wanted him.

the date had been fine. the guy was nice, if a little full of himself, but he didn't make fun of buck for ordering a drink that was less coffee and more milkshake, there were no uncomfortable silences, and he shared pictures of his really cute dog, so. buck's counting it as a win. there was no kiss at the end or plan for another date, just a hug and a general "see you around," but he was okay with that. his last two relationships had been taylor and then eddie, so maybe he needed to ease into dating this time around. find someone he really connected with and take things slowly. it takes time to heal a broken heart, he knew that well.

he's almost asleep, wrapped up in his comforter to fight the chill of his empty apartment, when there's a knock at the door. he picks up his phone and sees it's almost 10 pm, so whoever it is better have a damn good reason for making him walk down his staircase just to answer the fucking door and -

it's eddie.

it's eddie and he - well, he looks a little rough. not that buck hadn't been aware of that - it's not like they could stop working side by side, so they still had to spend lots of time together - but it's different to see the vulnerability on his doorstep as opposed to the safety of the lounge at the firestation.

"hi," eddie says, his voice soft but still managing to pierce the air between them.

buck keeps a tight grip on the door handle and says hi back.

there's a short, thick silence between them for a moment before eddie speaks again. "um, can i come in?"

there's a part of buck that wants to say no. a petty, angry, rejected part of him that screams at him to slam the door in eddie's face because maybe that's what he deserves after shattering buck's heart.

he doesn't listen to it. he opens the door wider so eddie can step inside, though he still doesn't say anything. eddie stands awkwardly beside him for a moment, and buck wishes he could hate him for making things between them awkward, but he can't, so he vaguely waves toward the direction of the couch.

once they're seated next to each other, buck takes a moment to look at eddie, at the bags under his eyes and the way his hair is unstyled, and then he brings his eyes forward, staring blankly at the tv screen.

"i heard you went on a date the other day," eddie finally says, and buck wants the floor to swallow him whole.

"yeah," he confirms, not sure what else to say.

"how… um… how was it?" eddie asks, and buck turns back to him, something like resentment building up in his chest.

"you don't get to do that anymore," he bites out.

"buck -"

"no, you don't get to - just because you're apparently - i don't know how you're ready to go back to being just friends but i am not there yet, so you do not get to ask me about my dating life or -"

"buck, i don't -"

"no!" buck repeats, standing from the couch. looking down at eddie, he seems so small. he crosses his arms over his chest, blinking back against the stinging feeling behind his eyes. "i need more time, and - and, considering you're the one who broke up with me i think it's only fair that -"

"i shouldn't have broken up with you," eddie cuts in desperately. he stands up too, takes a step toward buck. buck takes a step back. "i - i was wrong, i was - i was freaking out about how serious things felt, and i was talking to frank about it, and he told me to - something about re-evaluating myself as a partner, to keep from comparing our relationship to my relationships with shannon and ana, and i thought that meant - i thought i couldn't do that and be with you at the same time, because i needed to - to look at myself as a person and not as one half of a whole, but apparently that's not even what frank meant -"

"eddie." buck's voice is quiet but it stops the nervous rambling words falling from eddie's lips. he swallows thickly, trying to hold back the hope he feels bubbling inside his chest. "eddie, what are you - what are you trying to say right now?"

"i'm trying to say i never should have broken up with you, and i don't want you to ever date anyone else and even if you liked that guy you went out with, i want - i want you to pick me. i want to get back together and i want you to get rid of this stupid apartment and - and i'm trying to say that i'm sorry. i'm so sorry that i… broke everything. i was wrong and stupid and…" he trails off. buck's mind is racing, and he can't find the words to explain the combination of happiness and sadness inside of him. when he doesn't say anything, eddie tries again, a simple "buck. please."

he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, tries to realign this new information with the way he's been living his life the past five weeks.

"it's - i understand if you're - if you're not ready. or if you just… don't want to, ever. but i can't - i don't want to lose you because i'm an idiot."

without his permission, the first thing out of buck's mouth is, "you broke my heart."

eddie's face crumples, and buck can't find it in himself to feel bad for it after the last five weeks. "i'm sorry," eddie repeats, shrugging his shoulders helplessly.

"i mean, i obviously want to get back together; you're the love of my life." eddie's face lights up, and buck has to look away. "but i don't think i can go back to the way things were. i - i'm mad, and i'm hurt, that it took me going on a date with someone else for you to realize you want to be with me -"

"that's not -" eddie frowns, shaking his head. "i didn't - i knew i wanted to be with you even when i was breaking up with you, i just thought - i thought it was the healthy, mature thing to do since i wasn't ready to be with you, and i didn't want to be a bad partner to you. i don't know what i've been doing the last five weeks, other than - than needlessly making both of us suffer, but… but i had my monthly session with frank a few days ago, and he was shocked when i said we were broken up, and then hen let it slip you were going on a date and i just - i wanted to plan something - something nice, and, and worthy of your forgiveness but i couldn't sleep, thinking about you trying to move on. i've wanted to be with you every second of the last five weeks, buck. i was just - wrong. and i understand if you want to take things slower this time around. i just want you - however much of you you'll give me."

"eddie," buck says, blinking back tears. "you have all of me. you've always had all of me."

eddie nods, looking a little blown away. "okay."

"but we should maybe… go slower. but, um, actually, where's chris?" buck asks, suddenly remembering how late it is.

"sleepover with a friend," eddie answers. "i've been… well, hen called it moping -"

buck snorts, and when eddie gives him a confused look, he waves it off.

"anyway, i spent the evening alone, trying to gather the courage to come talk to you."

"i've been told i'm moping, too, if it helps," buck says, answering eddie's questioning look a little late. eddie lets out a huff of relieved laughter and buck takes a step closer to him. suddenly, eddie's grabbing his hands and pulling himself closer, until they're near enough that buck has to look down a little to see into eddie's eyes.

"hi," eddie whispers.

"hi," buck whispers back, his eyes flitting between eddie's eyes and mouth.

"i missed you."

buck nods, and their noses knock together. "i missed you, too."

he doesn't wait another second to press their lips together, the feeling unlike anything he's ever felt before - it's the feeling of coming home. it's just a quick brush of lips, and buck's hands gentle on eddie's jaw, and eddie's soft sigh against buck's mouth. they don't say anything else; that's all they need. their hands find each other and buck wordlessly leads eddie up the stairs and to his dresser. he pulls out some sweats that eddie had left there months ago and hands them over. they kiss three more times as they get ready for bed, and when they lie down next to each other, their hands are linked on the sheets between them.

"i love you," eddie whispers. buck closes the distance between them for another kiss.

"i love you, too. good night, eddie."

"night, buck."

buck closes his eyes and falls asleep easy and warm.

the loft isn't so cold anymore.

#buddie #buddie fic #prompt fill #911 #i hope you like this sorry if it's awful <3 #buddie drabble

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toppersbitch · 3 years ago

Text

Tell Everyone pt. 2 / Rafe x Reader

18+ Minors DNI

Summary: Rafe finally gets ahold of you, but you still hold some sort of hate for him. How will he fix it?;)

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: swearing, verbal fight, alcohol, toxic relationship, bodily injury, blood, choking, oral(fem receiving), unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it), spit, smoking, public sex, aggressive rafe, also soft rafe, and maybe some unedited work

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Tell Everyone pt. 1 <3

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A week later, you hadn’t talked to Rafe or anyone but family for that matter. You had logged out of social media, turned off your phone, and kept it in your bedside table. Why hadn’t he come down on the beach?

Sure he has tried to come check on you, although you have your mom specific instructions not to let him in. Topper tried once, he had found you when you were out at your dock, he had pulled up in Malibu, he was practically begging you to talk to Rafe again.

Kelce appears on your doorstep one night, with his family of course. Seeing as both of your parents had been friends for years. He tried to say a few words a few times but you always shushed him telling him “just watch the movie,”

Hell, even Ward and Rose had swung by, using the excuse to drop off something for your dad. Of course, while Ward and your dad talked Rose pulled you aside, she gave an entire speech about how heartbroken Rafe was and how he just moped around all day. You knew he was probably crushed but he didn’t love you so what did it matter.

You felt the sand in your hands, the gritty texture making you cringe. The picnic blanket underneath you, slightly scratchy. The wind was breezing and the waves crashed on the shore. A clothe type bandage wrapped thinly around your foot. There wasn’t a single person in sight, not even Tourons.

The skyline in front of you looking flat from the ocean, you heard a car pull up behind you. You paid it no mind, planning to keep to yourself. You heard only one door close and the sound of sand crunching underneath shoes. You didn’t turn around until the footsteps were right behind you.

There he was, a peach-colored shirt, striped shorts, and tennis shoes. His dirty blond hair was disheveled and his eyes were full of sadness as he looked at you. You didn’t move, you turned your head back to the sunset. He sat beside you, taking you in. The very faint and yellow marks on your shoulder and wrist, where he had grabbed you, and the white bandage on your foot.

“Hey,” his voice was soft and full of sadness, “your a- your mom told me you were here,” he continued to take in your appearance. Your hair was up in a claw clip, eyes red from being rubbed nearly raw. You didn’t say anything, just continued to stare out at the ocean.

You sat up, brushing your hands on the blanket.

“I’m sorry,” he continued, his hand reaching out for yours. You flinched away, you didn’t want to see him, nor talk to him.

“I-I I don’t know what happened,” his voice choked up, “I don’t know what happened to myself, I'm not okay,” you looked over he had tears falling down his cheeks.

“Y/n I’m sorry I didn’t know what I was saying and I was so blinded and I’m sorry,” he said as a steady stream of tears was going down his cheek.

“Yeah Rafe whatever,” you said, your voice came out smaller than you thought, “I’m just your arm candy,” you said the words, they stung even when you said them yourself.

“Y/n I’m sorry okay? God why are you so stubborn,” he was starting to get upset, “Oh yeah Rafe start being mean again, that’s just like you,” you began to stand quickly, almost forgetting that your food had been sliced open.

You put your weight on it stepping, a sharp pain shot up from your foot to your leg, “AH FUCK,” your knee weakened and you fell back to the blanket. Rafes face changed in an instant.

“What the fuck happened,” he was trying to pull your foot over to him, and although it was bandaged, see the damage, “One of those pogues do that to you?” He said, the rage growing in his eyes.

“Rafe shut the fuck up, they helped me okay, you’re the fucking stubborn one,” you pulled your foot back glaring at him. His eyes became sad.

“Sorry, can I at least help you get back to the car or something,” he began to stand, reaching out his hand for you. You took it, pulling yourself up. You held onto his shoulder as he bent down to help you slide your shoes on.

He folded the blanket and then helped you hobble your car. He opened your door and held it open, he leaned down.

“I’m really sorry and I didn’t mean it, you’re the only, well you’re the only one that makes me feel good about myself and I’m sorry, you’re not arm candy…” he put his hand out to caress your cheek, “you mean the world to me.”

You admit it felt nice for him to say these things, but you weren’t ready to forgive him. He got so angry for what? Throwing his coke out? Talking to JJ? You wanted to tell him to cry a river, but you didn’t want to lose him either. Seeing him cry made you have hope that maybe one day he could become his old self.

You sat for a second, his hand pulling away. He began to shut the door, but you put out your good foot to stop it.

“Ray,” his nickname just spilling out, he looked with hopeful eyes to you, “I’m sorry too, I love you,” he pulled back open the door, wrapping his arms around you.

“Can I take you out to dinner? I can get us a table at the clubhouse, and we can-“ he continued to ramble about the dinner date. You still felt some sort of resentment towards him, some form of hate. But what could hurt but going to dinner with the poor boy, maybe you could talk things through.

“That’d be nice,” you said, smiling at him and cutting off his rambling. A bright smile shown on his face.

“Yes, wait really?” You nodded, “Fuck yeah okay I’ll pick you up at 7,” you nodded once again. Rafe closes your door, pumping his fist lightly in a compliment.

It was 7. You had one a summery dress and sat waiting in the front garden. Rafe was there right on time. He got out and walked over, he put his hand around your torso and helped you to the car.

“This foot is gonna be the death of me,” you giggled, he smiled down at you before opening the door and helping you in. The smell of Rafe’s truck was pleasant to you, it smelt like his cologne and sunscreen along with the black ice air freshener.

“How’d that even happen?” He asked as he began to pull away.

“Well I’m that night I was running and I stepped on a broken bottle,” you said quietly, hoping you wouldn’t have to further explain “that night” to him. He placed his hand on your thigh, a gentle gesture.

“The pogues actually fixed it up,” you knew this would get on his nerves a little, and to be honest you wanted to.

“Oh,” his hand on your thigh gripped harder, the one on the steering wheel turning red.

“Oh quit it,” you slightly pushed at his angry-looking state. He softened at the playful push.

You arrived at the country club, it was loud inside, all of the older couples out for date night. Rafe requested seating outside and you obliged. It was a cooler night, and the sun was beginning to set, the colors vibrant in front of you.

You shared small conversations, you began to become quieter and quieter as the night carried on. It was nearing the end of the night when you couldn’t hold in your feelings anymore.

“Rafe,” he turned his head from watching the ocean. He bummed back in response, tapping your hand with his.

“I- well I don't know how to explain it but I’m still really upset,” you said his glance at you turned to a stare, “I just feel like you don’t care about me, you don’t know me at all.” He held his gaze on you, his hand resting on top of yours still, his other swirling a drink.

“You think I don’t know you?” He said, his tone sounded shallow, his jaw clenched once he was done speaking, “well I just I don’t know it was stupid I’m just a little mad at you still,” you spilled out your words, looking anywhere but him.

“I know you better than you think,” his eyes were fixated on your exposed chest now. You weren’t opposed to having the hate fucked out of you.

“Show me then,” you smirked and he smirked back, “meet me in the locker room in five,” you promptly got up to walk, well limp, to the locker room. There shouldn’t be anyone in there, no one golfed at night. You pushed open the door and sat waiting on the bench in the middle of the room. You sat thinking about everything Rafe would do to you, how he would make sure you knew how much he cared for you.

Finally, you heard a faint knock, then in came your lovely boyfriend. He shut the door quietly and pulled a chair up against it. He walked to stand in front of you. Your face at his stomach, he brought his hand to caress your cheek.

“What do you want baby,” he asked, he knew damn well what you wanted. He loved being a tease, it was his favorite to watch you squirm under his control.

“I want you to fuck me until I don’t hate you,” you said giving him puppy dog eyes. His thumb fell onto your lips, slowly moving along the bottom one until he pulled you up. He pulled you into a hug, this confused you but you allowed it.

“You’re gonna regret saying that,” he whispered in your ear, the hot breath against your ear, “take off your panties for me baby,” you did so making sure to give Rafe a show.

“Come here,” he picked you up and placed you on the bathroom counter. He pushed your dress up and got to his knees in front of you. He laid kisses along your legs and thighs. His hands are holding onto your hips, gripping hard. He moved and ran his finger through your slit, he hummed at the wetness. It covered his finger, he slowly pushed it in. You let out a small and quiet moan in return, he chuckled before adding a second finger. You gripped his hair, he brought his face closer, laying kisses on the inside of your thighs.

“More, please?” You begged as he slowly fingered you. His free hand came up to your throat, squeezing the sides. You felt your breathing slow, making you feel so good. He connected his mouth with your clit, sucking harshly. You pulled his hair more, pushing his head towards your heat.

“Rafe,” you whined, his hand squeezed your throat, and he began to move his fingers quickly in and out. He pumped fast bringing you close to the edge, you began to whimper and tense up, and grind harder against his face and fingers. His hand left your neck and your clothed breasts, he played with them while he brought you over the edge.

Your whimpers and fast breath lead to an ecstatic feeling, a knot releasing in your stomach. Clenching all of your muscles and then relaxing and melting into his hands. He pulled back, blowing onto your sensitive pussy, he chuckled as you jumped slightly.

He stood in front of you, your body laying somewhat limp against the counter. He put his finger to your lips, you opened to taste yourself. He leaned down, your noses were touching as he pulled his fingers from your mouth. He connected your lips, shoving his tongue in quickly. His hands roamed your body, pinching and squeezing.

He continued to kiss you, pushing your head against the mirror. Rafe undid his belt and pushed his pants down.

“Are you ready?” He asked pulling back and keeping your faces close. You nodded and felt him teasing you, his cock slapping against your clit. You moaned at the feeling, then suddenly he slammed into you.

You felt his length filling you up, you opened your eyes, Rafe’s forehead was against yours. He was watching himself entering you. His hair had fallen in front of his face, he pulled out and slammed back into you, you threw your head back and grasped at his clothed back.

His pace became fast, spit down, letting it hit his dick. He moved his hand down, his thumb starting to rub circles on your clit.

“You still hate me?” He asked, his breathe close against you, “would you still rather be with those fucking Pogues?” He brought his other hand off the wall behind you. He slapped you across your cheek, “Fucking answer me.”

“I fucking hate you,” you said taunting him, he took his hand slapping you again, then pushing your cheeks together and opening your mouth. He spits into it and then connected your lips. He kissed you harshly.

His pace quickened, it began to hit your g-spot every time. Your small and hushed moans turned into loud and ecstatic ones. Rafe hurried and put his hand over your mouth.

“Shut the fuck up, we’ll get caught if don’t,” he hurried his thrusts, even more, they felt so deep. He was filling you up. You whimpered into his hands, staying as quiet as possible.

“You think you fucking hate me huh?” His hand moved back up to choke you, a tighter grip than before. You felt your body begin to tense and a hollow feeling in your stomach.

“Rafe I-I’m cumming,” you choked out. He kept thrusting, faster and faster. You felt the feeling of joy take over you. A loud moan escaping your mouth. You clenched around him, your hands gripping at his biceps. Rafe continued to thrust into you, hitting your g-spot. Your legs began to shake.

“Rafe p-please-I can’t take anym-,” he cut off your begging.

“Do you still hate me?” He began to grunt, you couldn’t form the words to say anything back, “Huh do you still fucking hate me?” His thrusts were becoming sloppy and his hand around your neck weakened its grip.

“N-n-no,” you stuttered through the single word, your head pushing hard against the wall behind you. He let out a loud moan and you felt him twitch inside you. He pulled out, he pushed his hair off his forehead, he was huffing and puffing.

He knelt down to watch the cum spilling out of you, “Good girl,” he slicked up your slit making you jump. He stood up, some of his cum on his mouth. He leaned in to kiss, you tasted his cum, it was almost sweet. You leaned forward into the kiss, you fought his tongue for dominance for a second before he won, his tongue swirled around.

“HEY WHAT GOING ON IN THERE?” A loud bang at the door made the both of you jump. Rafe hurried and pulled up his pants before helping you pull up your panties. The both of you hurried over to the door, removing the chair and opening it. Giggles and snorts escaped your mouths.

There stood a waiter, his face looking surprised. You both became quiet, feeling guilty, well at least you felt guilty, Rafe was full of adrenaline.

“Oh uh-“ Rafe struggled to come up with an excuse, his hand moved to the back of his neck, rubbing nervously, smirking.

“We were just changing my bandages,” you said motioning towards your foot, you and Rafe pushed past and headed out to his truck. Going out the door and onto the lush and beautiful front garden.

“I want you to go around and tell everyone you love me and that I fucked the hate out of you,” you blushed at this statement, knowing full and well he wasn’t joking, “there’s another party tonight at Top’s.”

“And what if I don’t tell anyone?” You asked, smirking at him, he squeezed you into his side.

“Don’t and see what happens,”

----------------

Part two is here!!!!! Hope everyone enjoys;) I didn’t make him nearly aggressive as I had imagined I would

pt. 2 of a request for the lovley @uzisplanet

also shoutout to my bestie @monocuspid for editing and helping me catch all my mistakes, i love you shawty

Here is my masterlist

#rafe outer banks #outer banks fluff #outer banks imagine #outer banks #obx #obx imagine #obx fluff #rafe obx #outer banks smut #obx smut #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe x y/n #rafe #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron smut

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amerrierworld · 3 years ago

Text

You’ve Caught Me

for the request: Can you do an Au where Debbie flirts and seduces reader with witty and bratty banter, but then becomes a softy and takes care of the reader?

Summary: Everything is going perfectly until Debbie encounters you on a bad day.

Characters: Debbie x gn!reader, mentions of other friends and the crew

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: moping/uncertainty in the second half~

A drink appeared in front of you from the bartender. It was brightly coloured with a slice of fruit on top. Ice clinked as it was set down on the bar. You frowned in confusion.

“I’m sorry, but I didn't order this.”

“It’s from the lady by the window seat.”

You looked over and saw a brunette making eye contact with you. She sent you a bright smile, and toasted you with her glass. There was a small party of women sitting by the window with her, a few of them eyeing your interaction with the brunette. A blonde next to her nudged her with her elbow.

Then your own friends that you were with whistled and nudged you as well once you had all seen what the lady looks like. You took a sip of the freshly delivered drink, feeling the burn of alcohol and a sweet aftertaste. It was quite delicious, honestly.

You turned back to the brunette who looked at you expectantly, and you smiled and nodded, with a toast of the drink. She winked back, and then the both of you focused back on your respective friend groups, feeling giddiness crowd your emotions from the fleeting glance you had just shared.

“Hey, doll. You nearly forgot your purse.”

You looked to see the smokey-eyed brunette standing behind you, with your purse in her hand. You must have left it at your bar seat when you got up to leave to meet your friends at the door.

“Oh,” you frowned, the alcohol you already had making you a bit drowsy. “Thanks.”

You checked everything in your purse, confident that nothing was missing, and all your change was still there. The brunette hadn’t moved from her spot.

“What, do you want a reward or something?” you asked. She smirked a little.

“No, I’ve already got one.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that then?”

“An excuse to talk to you.”

Well alright, you weren’t expecting that. You allowed yourself to look the woman up and down as you thought about your reply. She was dressed very stylishly, with long brown hair that curled and fell in all the right places. Her nails were short, which was a very welcomed discovery.

“Okay then, now you have the chance to talk to me,” you said, alcohol making you bolder than usual. “What do you have to say?”

She fully grinned this time and looked back around the bar as she spoke, “I would ask you to join me for a drink but I think you’ve already had your fill. How about some late take-out instead? On me.”

You contemplated, before saying, “I’d take the chance to go out with a hot stranger any day if I wasn’t a bit too drunk right now. Sorry.”

“Fair enough,” she replied. Then, “You think I’m hot?”

Oh, crap. Did you say that?

“Hmm.. I suppose I get very honest when I’m tipsy,” you answered. She chuckled this time, and you felt warm, and not because of the alcohol in your blood.

“Yes, quite. Should I call you a cab?”

“No, thanks. I’ve got my friends here, and one of them is the DD. We’re headed to a small party, if you’d like to come?”

She quirked an eyebrow, not expecting another offer from your end. She looked at the front doors, where your gaggle of friends were eyeing you and whispering with gleeful smirks on their faces.

The stranger leaned forward, so much so that her perfume filled your senses and wisps of brown hair brushed your face,

“A bit early to go introducing me to your friends, don’t you think?”

You barked out a laugh as she pulled back again. “Oh, you wish. None of them would probably remember you by the time the hangover hits.”

She looked down at her phone for a moment and then back at you, as if she was waiting to put in her own passcode.

“What’s your code, honey?”

You frowned. Your code? But... wait.

She was holding your phone, having nicked it from your pocket when she was so close.

“Hey!”

“Just wanna make sure you have my number. Don’t worry, I don’t steal from people I like.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Well, I said I liked you, didn’t I?”

You wordlessly put in your code for her, and she added herself to your contacts list as Hot Stranger. She smiled successfully as she handed you your phone, but a slight blush had creeped up on her cheeks.

“Careful with that. You never know who might steal it.”

You grinned and had a fleeting thought if she meant your phone or your heart. You pushed the sickeningly romantic thought away and quickly waved goodbye before hurrying back to your entourage.

Turns out Debbie was an unwavering flirt, in the beginning. She always managed to catch you off guard, and didn’t hesitate to compliment you when she felt like it.

“You know other people would think you’re being way too forward, you know?”

“Does it bother you, doll?”

You sheepishly shook your head. You liked the devotion and attention, honestly. Who wouldn't? Debbie was incredible to you. On dates, through text and, yes, in bed as well.

It all seemed like paradise.

And then there was a shift. The expected but dreaded shift in any relationship.

One night, the both of you were put to the test. There was a knock on your door, and you grumbled under your breath, preparing to yell at whoever was stupid enough to show up at your place. It was super late, you had been busy, and if anything else came up now you’d blow your top off.

“Hey?” Debbie said, her chipper expression fading away at your stormy gaze when you opened the door.

“Oh, it’s you,” you said, turning around and leaving the door open without another word. Startled, Debbie carefully stepped inside, watching you disappear into the kitchen.

“Why are you here?”

Debbie scoffed a little, “do you not want me here all of a sudden? How flattering.”

“No, of course not,” you grumbled as you grabbed a bottle of wine. Debbie came to stand just outside the kitchen, watching you as she took off her coat.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Hey, now. Don’t lie to me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you snapped. “Have some alcohol and just leave it, okay?”

You lifted one of the wine glasses to your mouth and were prepared to drink a mouthful. Then a firm hand gripped the base of it and pulled it down, spilling a bit of wine down your hand and on the kitchen floor.

Debbie’s eyes were glittering dangerously at you, and you relented in letting here take the glass away. She set it down on the counter.

“Don’t I even get a hello?”

Your eyes cast down to the floor and you muttered an apology. Debbie grasped your hand and squeezed your fingers reassuringly.

“What’s the matter?” she asked again. Your shoulders slumped this time, and you glanced at your intertwined hands.

“I’ve had a shit day,” you grumbled. You hadn’t encountered a bad mood like this with your girlfriend yet, and in the back of your mind you worried about her reaction. “I’m exhausted but I can’t sleep properly. There’s so much crap to do. It’s been so busy and I hate it.”

Debbie nodded slowly as you talked on for a bit about the things that were irritating you and how annoyed you were by everything. She noticed the bags under your eyes and the firmness of your upper lip.

“Have you eaten?” she asked after you had finished. You half-shrugged. You had some take-out, that counts right? The last full meal you had was when she took you to that restaurant last weekend.

She tutted at your non verbal response. The next few moments she rummaged through your fridge and whatever food you had lying around.

Almost immediately after there was a plate of food under your nose.

“I didn’t know you knew how to cook,” you commented.

“You learn to fend for yourself,” she replied, grabbing your wine glass from earlier and taking a swig.

“Hey, that was mine.” She blew you a kiss. It calmed you somewhat.

“Want me to stay the night?” she asked as she cleaned up your kitchen and washed the dishes. This was the first time that she asked, because usually she would stay the night regardless of anything else.

“Do you not want to?” you asked, interpreting her question as uncertainty on her end.

“What? No, of course not, baby. I’m asking because I want to make sure you want me around.”

“Of course I want you around. I always want you around,” you confessed.

Debbie helped in tidying up your place, which mostly just consisted of her doing the work and you sitting at the table, still numb. She eventually pulled you up to your feet to get you in pj’s and then to crash immediately on the couch, curled around you.

“You can turn on the tv if you need some white noise,” she suggested. It was a good idea, but the bright lights were distracting you from sleeping. So instead you turned over and burrowed into Debbie’s hold, her skin warm and soft. Now it really was paradise.

A/N: finally getting through super ancient requests yes i am here and yes i am slow :)

#debbie #debbie ocean #debbie ocean x reader #debbie ocean x you #fanfiction #merry writes #oceans 8 #ocean's eight #Sandra Bullock #sandra bullock x reader #wlw #amerrierworld

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cdroloisms · 3 years ago

Note

Dream tried to stop Wil from creating L'Manburg, Phil tried to stop him from blowing it up, BOTH value people over items and builds, Phil has said that they're replaceable but people aren't, Dream traded spirit for his best friends fishes (we kno he's not someone to talk abt feelings:[) BOTH were kind and selfless but used by almost if not everyone, BOTH were ready to be THE VILLAINS if it meant everyone else could live better after. ONE of them always had someone there, ONE didn't. Intentional?

aaaa sorry for the really inconsistent posts ,, im gonna try to post a little more in the next few days. i have a few things written up, so look out for them? maybe? for now, have this *gestures vaguely* thing ,, it’s kinda a mess but *shrug*

phil is such a fun character, anon, especially for all the reasons that you mentioned in the ask!! he’s a really fun character with a lot of complexities that go (sadly) overlooked by a large portion of the fandom, but he’s super cool even tho i havent analyzed him too much. hope you enjoy (and i hope my interpretation of c!phil isnt too ooc lmao)

tw: mentioned blood, injury, implied torture/abuse, starvation, trauma, mentioned death, prison arc/pandora’s vault

When Techno first brings Dream back from the prison, Phil doesn’t quite know what to think.

“I don’t trust him either,” Techno assures him, but there’s a flickering anger in the backs of his eyes, one that had emerged ever since he came back from the prison with the other man in his arms, and Phil knows his friend well enough to know that the words are empty in the face of the piglin hybrid’s particular brand of to-the-death loyalty. He shakes his head in reply, refusing to voice his thoughts for Techno’s sake, at least, but the look that the other slants at him suggests that he’s caught onto them all the same.

At first, the work is thankfully mindless; even if Phil has reservations on the man that Techno has more or less dumped into his house, he would hardly wish the clear suffering he’s been through on anyone. The first few days pass in a flurry of brewing potions, wrapping and rewrapping dressings, stitching up cuts and setting broken bones straight. The damage is extensive; Phil has to take more than a few breaks to just leave the house and breathe - he’s far from a stranger to blood and carnage, had received the title of ‘Angel of Death’ for a reason, but even he had never been particularly familiar with this form of cruelty. Torture was a level of violence that extended beyond what even he was willing to bestow - his hands may have caused many deaths, and the weight of each one would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life, but even those had the mercy of being a quick end. The wounds and scars that ripple over Dream’s skin, thin and stretched tightly over his bones with little muscle and fat left to cushion them, speak of horrors that were anything but merciful.

“I didn’t know they were capable of all of this,” Techno says, once, as they huddle of Dream, wringing towels in cold water to wipe his feverish skin. Techno’s hand reaches for the ribboning gold-filled scars that remain from the execution - carefully, Phil raises his hand to let his fingertips brush over them as well. “I mean, I knew he was dangerous and all, but-”

“I know, mate,” Phil looks back at Dream’s face, tight even in unconsciousness, at the darkened, hand-shaped bruises that remain around his throat, at the scar that runs over his left eye, clearly meant to mirror the same one that makes its way down the duck hybrid’s own face. “You said that Quackity and Sam were working together?”

“Yeah,” Techno’s expression darkens, eyes focused somewhere on the wall, seemingly very far away. He said that nothing happened to him in the prison, and he seemed relatively unharmed when Phil activated the stasis chamber, but ever since he came back, sometimes he’ll have moments, and Phil can’t help but - wonder. “Quackity does the dirty work, Sam gives him the way in and out, probably also the tools to do it. It’s-” he huffs a short, self-recriminating laugh. “It’s bad, Phil.”

“Mate-”

Techno shoots him a look, and Phil cringes, knowing already that he’d used the wrong tone. Even with the execution, Techno had been adamant to hide all traces of his own terror and fear away from him, masking it all with fury for Phil’s own sake. He knows, just from the way his old friend looks at the ribboning scars that remain sometimes, that he is far from as over the whole ordeal as he acts, but Techno never wants to talk and Phil never knows the right time to ask and they smooth it all behind plans and explosions and hope that the TNT can blow apart the trauma, too. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that the same thing is going to happen, here.

“As soon as we can,” Techno starts again, pointedly shifting his eyes away from Phil’s face, “we’re calling a Syndicate meeting to figure out what we’re going to do about the prison. Like- come on, man, you couldn’t make a more transparent abuse of institutional power if you tried, really-” he looks over, uncharacteristic uncertainty warring over his features. “If you think that’s good, I mean-“

“Of course, mate.” Phil’s voice softens. “Whenever you’re ready.”

‘Whenever he’s ready,’ as it turns out, is easier said than done, becoming even more evident when their charge wakes up from his days long spell of unconsciousness. The worst of his injuries have, under their careful care and the benefit of many potions, healed enough to no longer directly threaten his life, but the vast majority have quite some time to go before being healed completely. Being as the goal was torture and not death, most of his injuries weren’t made to be life-threatening, but rather to cause as much pain as possible - from the grimace that twists Dream’s face when he struggles to force himself awake, they’re doing their jobs.

“Hey, mate, slow down,” Phil murmurs, pressing the man down by his shoulder when Dream weakly tries to push himself up and off the bed, and his struggling only lasts for a few more minutes before he gives up and slumps against his pillow, eyes cracking open and seeming surprisingly lucid.

“Where-“ his voice is wrecked, and Phil reaches for the glass of water at the bedside as Dream coughs. “Where am I?”

“You’re at Techno’s house,” Dream’s eyes widen and then slip closed as he processes the information, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows as they knit together. “We broke you out, after Techno escaped with a stasis chamber with your book. Do you remember?”

Dream gnaws on his bottom lip. “Um- yeah. I think.” His head turns as his eyes crack open again- “Techno-“

“He’s out, right now. He’ll be back in a bit.”

“Oh.” Dream falls back into the bed, strength seemingly sapped from the short conversation. His breathing stutters, then steadies. “Okay.”

Recovery is slow. Phil doesn’t actually find himself seeing the man very often; now that he doesn’t need around-the-clock care anymore, he’s moved back into his own house, letting Techno do most of the work when it comes to rehabilitating the escaped convict crashing at his house. As he begins to spend more of his time awake and aware, he brings a whole slew of new problems; Phil catches him screaming one day, blurting harsh, angry words as Techno reads, unbothered from the other side of the room, and he stops in his tracks standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Um-“ he winces when Dream curses, smashes something against the floor, and then curls into himself at the sound. Techno doesn’t even flinch. “Am I interrupting something?”

Dream stomps away, face flushed, arms wrapped around himself. Techno raises an eyebrow.

“You lookin’ for something, Phil?” he asks, and the unpleasant knot in Phil’s chest refuses to unwind.

The episodes, unfortunately, don’t seem to get much better. Though he’s rarely outright violent, Dream looks constantly murderous, usually muttering underneath his breath about something or another while he stalks the grounds of Techno’s house. It’s not too long before Techno sends him out to work around the house instead of just moping within the cottage, which also means that Phil sees him a lot more - tending to a small farm behind the house, feeding the dogs, hacking away at mobs, and usually complaining the entire time. It’s unnerving, even as injured and unarmored as the man is, to see him walking around like this; despite his rather pathetic appearance, swamped in sweaters that dwarf him thoroughly and thin enough to look like the slightest breeze will knock him over, his eyes are flinty and intelligent and bubble with promises of revenge.

“FUCK!” Phil turns to see him slamming a shovel into the snow, stomping away into the woods, and his hands tighten around his cup of tea. Next to him, Techno shrugs.

“Nerd’s got a few issues,” he drawls, and Phil laughs shortly.

“That seems like an understatement.”

“He’ll ease up in time,” Techno sounds surprisingly confident, completely content despite the muffled curses that come from the woods next to them. He’s probably used to it, with Chat and all, but Phil can’t quite seem to find the same calm.

“I just don’t know, mate,” Phil shakes his head. “You sure having him around is the best idea? He doesn’t seem...stable.”

Techno looks up at him over the rim of his cup of coffee. His head tilts, considering, but there’s a small smile on his face that tells Phil that Techno, inexplicably, doesn’t share the same sentiments. There was always a part of him that was, for the lack of a better word, softer than the rest of the server for his self-proclaimed rival, a sort of understanding that Phil could hardly hope (nor would really want to) understand.

“Don’t worry, Phil, if he tries anything I can always just tie him up in the attic or something,” Phil huffs a small laugh, amused, and nods to concede the point. “And- well, call it intuition. You could really try talkin’ to him, you know. He reminds me of you, sometimes.”

The words stick in his head despite his best efforts, rattling in his skull when he tries to sleep, lingering when he catches glimpses of the green-clothed man stalking around their properties. He can’t imagine what would’ve prompted his old friend to make the comparison, can’t think of a single thing (besides their affinity for the color green) that would mark him as similar to the - from what he’s heard - deranged menace with a particular penchant for destruction (not that his rants and fits of anger are doing anything to correct that impression). Even so, Techno had sounded so sure when he’d made the comparison, the words offhand like he’d thought them a million times before, like it was a simple observation that held no more weight than commenting on the color of the sky. Phil watches as Dream lugs a pile of logs behind him, huffing at one of Techno’s dogs that comes to chase and nip at his feet and grumbling loudly before faceplanting into the snow. He just...can’t see it.

Days later, Wilbur comes to visit, a grin on his lips as he dramatically recounts his newest exploit: a nation by Las Nevadas, a supposed safe haven away from the glitter and glory of Quackity’s city; it sounds brilliant, it sounds lovely, and more than anything it sounds stupid, and Phil tells him as such immediately.

“You’re being reckless,” he rants at his son, wings flaring outwards and only barely noticing Dream watching from the corner of his eye, “What are you doing- picking fights with Quackity? Starting another nation- didn’t you see what happened to the first two you made? You’re going to get yourself killed, Wil!”

“Well, I’ve already seen what’s on the other side of death, and it’s really not that bad-“

“You’re my son!” The words are angrier than Phil would’ve liked, and he knows that he looks ridiculous and overbearing, criticizing the actions of his fully grown son, but all he can see is Wilbur’s face, slack with pain and grief, stained with ash and soot as his eyes flutter to half-mast in the midst of the rubble of a country he loved and destroyed and destroyed him in turn. “I can’t lose you again, Wil!”

Wilbur doesn’t quite storm out, but it’s a near thing, leaving with a clipped goodbye and leaving Phil seething on his doorstep. He spends the rest of the night pacing around the house in a sort of mad frenzy, wings stretching and folding over and over. Not for the first time, he longs for the sky, to feel the air through his wings and let the world fall into pinpricks below him; it’s this that leads him to the roof of his house, staring stubbornly at the clouds as the sun sinks down to the horizon.

“Hey.”

Phil startles; there, down below him, is Dream. He rocks back on his heels, seeming awkward, before clambering up the wall (Phil rolls his eyes at the ease with which he scales it, the feeling in his chest almost fond) and settling himself on the shingles at Phil’s side.

“Hey, mate,” Phil shakes his head. The fondness leaves, and the irritation that had risen at Wilbur’s words, earlier, comes back full-force. “Sorry- Wil came to visit, we talked. I just needed some time to think.”

Dream hums in acknowledgement, and they fall into a comfortable silence, watching as the sun dipping down past the mountains in the distance.

“You know,” Dream starts, sudden, “I told him the same thing.” He looks up at Phil, eyes faraway with old memories. “Wilbur, I mean. When he made L’manburg- I told him he was being reckless.” He shrugs. “I guess he never listened.”

Phil pauses, Techno’s words ringing in his ears. He reminds me of you, sometimes.

Dream looks surprisingly normal up close - face no longer reddened with fever or pale from blood loss, even the scars fail to really take from the boyishness of his face. He bites his lips, eyes falling away at Phil’s scrutiny, golden blond hair flopping over his forehead, newly trimmed to be something a little closer to his old length, at least in the front, the back pulled into a small ponytail. He’s young, and shockingly awkward, teeth worrying his lip, hands fiddling with each other, shifting his weight from one foot to the other several times a minute. He looks like a kid.

“He never does,” Phil lets himself smile, watches as Dream smiles back, almost like they’re sharing a joke. He wonders how well he really knows the man behind the mask. “Want to come in for some tea?”

Dream smiles wider, and something old and worn in Phils chest, knocked loose ever since he felt his son fall limp in his arms with his own sword shoved between his ribs, falls back into place.

“That would be great,” Dream replies, the words almost hopeful, and they go inside.

#tw trauma #tw death #tw blood #tw injury #tw torture #tw abuse #tw starvation #prison arc #pandora's vault #-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !!#-> my asks

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hivequest · 3 years ago

Text

Taking a Risk » Mallek Adalov/Reader

Wordcount: 2.3k words

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, stressed out reader, chillboy Mallek. TYping quirk only used when texting cause I could not be bothered lmao Originally posted on AO3

A/N: One of my favorite things that I’ve written, ever. I love Mallek and he’s for sure one of my favorite Friendsim characters. When I wrote this I was really feeling those Quarantine Woes

You didn't know what you were doing here. You felt out of place in the worst possible ways. It was a weird, squidgy feeling like stepping on wet grass. But not like the fun kind where you were running around in a sprinkler on a hot-as-balls summer day. No, this was the bad kind of wet grass that you stepped on without knowing it was wet. Why weren't you wearing shoes?

This analogy is stupid. The point is, you're feeling bummed out.

And what better way to not have to deal with that than hang out with someone you knew wouldn't push you into talking about all the ways crashing on this planet sucked! The point is, you're on your way to see Mallek. Mallek is absolutely the kind of friend who can tell when you just need to sit down and veg out. You had been so caught up in everyone else's bullshit that you weren't looking after your own damn self. So now you were doing that.

All it took was a quick text, asking Mallek if he had any company. He texted back only a moment later with a no, obviously not. You asked him if he wanted any. Not really. You ask him if you can come over anyway. Obviously.

You smiled at the palmhusk in your, well, palm. You could already feel the chill vibes of your hacker friend. Friend? Was that the right word for it? You didn't know anymore. When you first met there were definitely some sparks there. You could still feel them now and it made weird butterflies flutter around in your stomach. When you slapped his phone out of his hand and he sent you ass over applecart into the slimy depths of sewer water and he saved you, tits out and all.

You shook off the weird wistful feeling of maybe possibly crossing the friendship barrier and told him you'd walk to his hive. You'd been moping in some bookhive, not your usual hang-out spot with Tagora or Tyzias. This was some upper caste bookhive with purple bloods and some indigos and definitely not where you were welcome if the looks you were getting were any indication. They ranged from snooty to downright murderous. Yeesh.

Your phone -palmhusk, stupid troll names- beeped again. You got another text from him and those cheery fucking butterflies were back. God, you had it bad.

yeah were not doing that lmao;

im not going to let my robobuddy walk out in the sun

do you even know what time of day it =

just stay put ive already got your location ill pick you up;

And like a good little friendsimp. You park your ass on a chair and wait. You hadn't released your moping had taken up most of the night. But with the quick look around, yeah, no, this place was nearly empty by now. Just some older bluebloods trying to cram before their Ordeals and get shipped off-planet. Again: Yeesh.

You kept your ears open for the telltale sound of Mallek's limo. It was a sound you were getting used to these days. He always seemed ready to drop whatever coding shit he was working on to come to see you. You tried not to think too hard on what that might mean. No need to get your hopes up now. It's probably just your bad mood making you imagine some context where there's nothing. Yeah.

Damn, that shit hurted.

Just as you were about to add that to the reasons you were considering just screaming your lungs out who cares whose listening? you heard the wonderfully familiar sound of an approaching elongated scuttlebuggy. If that wasn't enough of a clue as to who the ride was for the quiet of the bookhive was very abruptly disturbed by a series of rhythmic beeps.

Holy shit was that the Tetris theme?

You shoved your palmhusk into your hoodie pocket and yanked the hood over your head. Even if the sun was only out a little bit you didn't want it anywhere near your freshly healed skin. You had no kind cowgirl to nurse you back to health right now if you got your asscheeks baked by the flaming death orb. You peeked your head out and even with the blinding light of Alternia's suns you could Mallek had opened the door and was waiting for you.

Aw. No, shit. You're in a bad mood don't get all heart eyes at him. Don't make it weird.

You took a few steps back into the bookhive, ready to make a run for it. You turn to a sitting indigoblood, who is just staring at you disdainfully for keeping the door open. You give her a two-fingered salute. Godspeed young cosmonaut. She gives you a one-fingered salute. Close the door you insufferable bulgebiter. Fair.

Taking a running start, you book it out into the heat of the Alternian sun and dive for the open car door. It's then that you realize he's halfway parked on the sidewalk to lessen the amount of time you'd have to spend in the sun. Aw. That also means that you came barreling like a cannonball at something that was like two feet out of the door. FUck.

Your face meets carpet and you can already feel the rugburn starting to set in. You hear a startled wheezy laugh from above you, a sound you know better than anyone else on this planet. You smile. It's not like you had any dignity to begin with.

You say hello to him as you peel yourself off of the floor of his car.

"Hey, there robobuddy. You stuck the landing this time," He smiles down at you as he reaches over you to shut the door, closing the space out from natural light and leaving you both lit by his colorful LEDs. You shrug and tell him you've been getting a lot of practice landing on your face these days. The look he gives you is still smiling but there's some level of disbelief at the dumbassery that is your whole existence.

"I know you can get yourself into it. Nothing too bad this time, though, right? No drones or broken bones?" He sounds concerned which is nice but he doesn't drown you with his concern. He leans back on the bench of his limo, keeping an eye on you as the vehicle begins to move on its own. You've been staying out of big messes but the little messes are starting to mess with you. He makes a sound of understanding the sounds as it comes from deep in his chest. Whoa. "Believe me, I've been there. Glad you're not cracking under it though."

He smiles and you can see his little fang and you can feel your heart melt a little. And also you're getting a bit teary-eyed and now Mallek looks alarmed. Shit. You try to quickly explain that you're fine, just, alien allergies am I right? He must be using some new air freshener to mask the musty smell of his limo. Since doesn't use it enough. Ha ha?

He isn't buying it.

With a rare show of cerulean prowess, he lifts you up off of the shitty car rug and sets you on the seat beside him. He feels uncomfortable and you can tell. Ah, goddammit you made it weird. You didn't mean to. Fuck. Fuck now you're feeling even worse. You thought you were starting to balance out. You're with Mallek now, shouldn't everything start to quiet down like it always does? Fuck. He doesn't say anything at first, just leans back against the seat and stretches his arms across it, letting you lean on him if you choose to.

...You choose to.

Your head finds itself somewhere between his shoulder and his collarbone, and you just. Shove your face there. Then scream.

To his credit, Mallek doesn't even flinch. He doesn't wince or shy away from you as you let out every bit of anger, sadness, and frustration out against his sweater. He just sits quietly, staring straight at the blacked-out windshield. You get the feeling he's needed to do this more than once.

Screw this planet. Screw everything about it that makes all of your friends suffer. Why can't you just get them away from all this bullshit?! Why do you have to deal with everyone's bullshit! You love them, you do but holy fuck they're looking to you like you can undo all the damage this place has done to them when you've got literally no god damn idea what's happening at any point ever!

And then, just like that, it fades into the background. Your throat hurts. Your head hurts and you think you might be crying. But it feels lighter. Better now that you've gotten some of that aggression out. You aren't like the trolls on Alternia. You can't kill people when you experience an Emotion™. But that doesn't mean you don't get pent up with rage.

Mallek realizes that now. He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and his left hand slowly moves down from the back of the seat the rest against your back. His thumb brushes against your back, the claw drawing little patterns against the fabric of your sweater. His sweater. He tries not to think his sign your chest. This isn't the time.

"Feeling any better?" He asks and you don't know how to answer. You kinda don't want to. But you nod anyways, and you feel some tension leave his body. You knew he was worried about you. You apologize for making him witness your meltdown but he just makes another deep-chested hum. "Nothing to apologize for. I got the feeling you weren't feeling great. I could tell from the texts, you didn't use nearly enough ugly emojis."

You scoff and smack a hand against his chest and once again you hear that wonderful laugh from him. Hey! Your purrbeast emojis are adorable, thank you very much! And you'll not hear another word of it or else you'll send him pictures of rocks and rocks exclusively. No more memes.

"Jokes on you I'm into that shit." You laugh and thump your head against his collarbone. You thank him for being with you when were needed it. And picking you up to make sure you didn't deal with it alone. You don't want to make it weird but...yeah.

He doesn't respond this time, just letting you both enjoy the silence and the comforting sound of the engine. You should almost be at Mallek's apartment by now. It's as you're settling in for the last bit of the drive that you notice that the limo isn't moving. And hasn't been for a while. Your head pops up in confusion and the little GPS display on the back of one of the seats says... yep.

You're already at Mallek's.

But then why is the engine still on? That can't be good for the environment. Do these things even run on gas or is it bugs? Bug gas? Gross.

You notice then that the rumbling is coming from behind you. Like. From where Mallek is sitting. He doesn't look away when you turn to him, just kind of tilting his head to the side with a little bit of a cerulean hue to his cheeks. Oh. Oh, the sound is coming from him. He's purring. That's.

That's adorable.

You feel yourself soften even more when he lifts his arms, silently offering a hug if you want it. Is this platonic? Is this more? You've never had too much trouble identifying what people wanted from you. (Debatable.) If was overtly flushed you could shut it down or divert it to something very much friends only. (Like your every exchange with Zebruh.) But did you even want to do that to your hackerman? You could feel yourself screaming, no, absolutely not. But at the same time, you didn't want things to change. You didn't want to make his issues any worse than they already were. He didn't have too much longer on the planet and you knew it would tear him apart.

But then he turned those blue eyes to you. He looked just as unsure as you were but he was willing to take the risk. He shoved himself so far out of his comfort zone for you and was asking you to be selfish. To want something for yourself and do something for yourself. Not put him or anyone else's wants first. Just your own. And so you did.

You crawled up into his lap, pressed yourself as close to him as you could and clung to him. His arms didn't hesitate to wrap around you and you could feel a shuddering breath from above you.

"We don't have to put a label on this... not yet. Or ever. Either way is chill with me. I just... yeah." He gave up with a little shrug of his shoulders but you knew what he meant. Unless you could find a way to fight fate he was going to go off-world. He was going to leave you and you doubted you'd be able to go with him. You'd probably get gored by a drone for even trying.

But even if it was just for now, just for a moment, you were going to take it. You were going to let yourself have something, have someone who would care for you no matter how long or short your time was. You'd take it. You had stomached some of the most horrible things on this planet but Mallek had always been a constant. And you got the feeling he thought the same way about you.

So, you'd take it. Whatever comes next, you'd take it. You listened to the sound of his purring, in no hurry to move to get inside the apartment. Mallek felt the same.

You exhaled.

You would be okay.

#homestuck #hiveswap #hiveswap friendsim #mallek adalov #friendsim #homestuck imagines #hiveswap imagines #reader insert

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ephemereos · 3 years ago

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Indulging further into the hyperfixation with another kawoshin au.

Farmer Shinji x Alien Kaworu

Accidentally set it in america dhjbfjke both of them are between 18 and 20, didn't really think of a precise age.

As for warnings, mentions of torture in regards to Kaworu's past, but nothing too graphic, I'm not going into detail.

In this au I came up with absolutely for like pure self indulgence, Kaworu is an alien who ran to Earth to take shelter from an invasion happening on his planet. They are humanoid aliens, with extremely high empathy and abilities to understand other living beings' emotions perfectly. They are a pacifist race, reason why they were so easily invaded, as their defenses were low. Kaworu's safety spaceship crashes on earth, getting the attention of the authorities and he's immediately brought into a government research lab. Kaji works as a guard there and can't stand the thought of a living, breathing being getting tortured and experimented on. Especially when it looks so much like a human. The research facility had never done experiments on living beings, they mostly focused on rocks, plants, other matter that seemed to come from outer space and that needed analysis.

Kaji decides to break Kaworu free, creating a foolproof plan beforehand, taking multiple weeks. He has the sympathy of other guards and workers from the facily, who too empathise with the alien, deeply upset at how he’s being treated. Kaji’s able to break Kaworu free, getting him into his car and then speeding away to the safety of his small house in a rural town in the middle of the countryside.

The first thing he does it patch Kaworu up: bandage his cuts from the vivisection, cover hos bruies from the blood withdrawals with cream. He becomes Kaworu’s surrogate father, constantly making sure to tend to his wounds while he’s recovering, the boy spending a few days of total moping around between Kaji’s guest bed and the couch because he is just so exhausted and in pain from the experiments. When Kaji is working he alternates naps to watching tv, curious about human entertainment. He loves animal documentaries or historical ones. Once a few days have passed and he seems to be doing better, as well as Kaji being sure no one is onto him, the man decides to take him for a small ride to his trusted farm where he gets fresh produce, wanting Kaworu to get some fresh air and having promised he’d let him see cows in real life.

Shinji finished Highschool and, unlike his parents had thought, he has no desire to go to university. The school years have exhausted him to the point that the thought of more studying makes him sick. So over the summer, while his parents travel around the country for their job as researchers, he started working at his aunt Misato’s farm, taking quite a liking to it. He likes staying with the animals, tending to the plants. It’s tiring, but he enjoys it and makes him feel alive. Kaji is a regular and always welcome at the farm.

Kaji prked his car near the cows before going to Misato to ask for what he needed. Shinji is the one who had to bring the produce to his car while Kaji and Misato chat. What Shinji didn’t expect to see was an albino boy looking at the cows with the eye sparkles a little kid would have. The boy is quite cheerful and friendly; he asks for Shinji’s name as well as the cows’. What unsettles Shinji the most is seeing all his bruises and bandages: around his hands, his arms, his neck even. When Kaji comes around he pats Kaworu on th3 shoulder, saying it’s his nephew visiting him. Shinji immediately thinks abuse is going on. He doesn’t want to make a scene, nor is he sure of his suspicions, so he keeps quiet and watches the two go away.

The following day Shinji decides to take his bike and go to Kaji's place, using excuse that he forgot a bag of apples and needs to deliver it to him to get the address out of Misato. He bikes to his house, walking quietly around it to peer inside and see if the albino boy is there.

"I didn't expect to see you around the house."

Shinji almost shits himself. The boy is behind him, calm as he can be, smiling at the brunette. Kaworu invites Shinji inside and an awkward conversation starts, Shinji worried sick and trying to understand if Kaji is the one at fault for Kaworu's wounds. Kaworu quickly picks up where Shinji is going and reassures him that no, it wasn't Kaji and he would never do anything like that to him. Shinji is relieved, but not completely, still anxious to understand who might have hurt the other boy that bad. Kaworu takes a while, his high empathy analyzing Shinji and his behaviours in an attempt to understand if he's completely safe as he seems or not. Eventually, Kaworu decides to tell him the truth, making Shinji promise to not tell anyone else.

Shinji ends up hanging out with Kaworu all day, now curious to understand the other, until Kaji comes home and chaos ensues. He’s mad at Kaworu for exposing them and possibly putting them at risk, but when Kaworu tells him his reasons and that he thought that maybe, having allies in the city would help them, Kaji calms down and realizes that having a bit of support might not hurt. He talks to Misato, explains the situation and she’s surprisingly very calm about it. She tells Kaji that, if he’s worried, he could leave Kaworu with them during the day as he works. The farm is in the countryside, it’s quite isolated and Kaworu would be safe there.

Until Kaworu’s wounds are fully healed, Misato only asks him to keep an eye on the cattle or feed the chickens, trying to keep his labour to a minimum to avoid opening up his wounds again. After that he helps shinji in the fields and doing other things that might be more tiring. The two grow a lot closer, goofing around on their spare time, Shinji sometimes taking Kaworu to arcades in the evening, having him wear a big goodie with the hood pulled up so that he won’t be easily spotted as an outsider.

Their peace is soon broken as Kaji starts suspecting that the facility might be onto them and he tries to find a solution. He can’t run away with Kaworu, he would immediately become suspicious and be tracked down. So Shinji offers to take Kaworu away. He has money put aside for what was supposed to be his university fund. He has a van his parents got him instead of a car because he wanted to be able to drive but also help Misato with deliveries and such. He and Kaworu quickly pack their things, leaving instructions to Misato as to what to say to his parents in case they call her and ask about him, instead of calling him directly, and then they run off, stopping in a city farther from their own to buy supplies to modify the van, turning it into a livable space.

They keep travelling, only stopping for very short periods of time and picking up short jobs like dog sittinng and lawn mowing to avoid spending all of the money saved (it’s quite a bit but they have no idea how long they’ll be on the run and want to avoid tricky situations). Kaworu gets to see the world, the beauty of nature and many different people and Shinji gets out of his comfort zone too.

They grow closer with each day, especially considering there is only one bed. But they soon don’t mind at all and all embarrassment is gone. Sometimes Shinji stays up longer, and stares at Kaworu’s scars, feeling a pit in hos stomach at the thought of what could have happened if Kaji hadn’t intervened. Kaworu, being a creature based on empathy, can feel Shinji’s emotions crystal clear even in his sleep and wraps his arms around Shinji in an attempt to soothe him. It works every time, with Shinji curling in closer to Kaworu and calming down, eventually falling asleep to the other’s heartbeat.

#kawoshin #kaworu x shinji #kawoshin fanfic #kawoshin drabble #nge #evangelion #neon genesis evangelion #kaworu nagisa #kaworu #shinji ikari #shinji #it took me a few days to type this out #fanfic #drabble #scene speaking

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ladymercysletters · 4 years ago

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The Moment I Knew// Anthony Bridgerton - Epilogue

Word Count : 1820

Warnings: childbirth

A/N: based on this request from @albeeox. As usual I have not beta’d this. I just hope it makes sense.

You waddled into the breakfast room at Aubrey Hall, squeezing into a seat before letting out an exhausted huff. Anthony had been sat at the head of the table, nose deep in his morning paper as he waited on cook to bring breakfast. He didn’t hear you come in until the slow squeaky drag of the chair next to him drew him out of the pages.

“Y/N you should have called me” he said, setting down his paper instantly. “Did you take all of those stairs yourself? In your condition?” his voice getting higher with each question. You gave him a stern but ultimately buttery look at his worry.

“Yes dear. My waters have not yet broken, I am perfectly able to take the stairs.” You fixed him with a glare as he moved to push your chair in. “And I am famished.” Just as you said that several maids entered with trays of breakfast on gleaming silver trays.

“Just as I thought my love. Which is why I instructed cook to prepare one of everything… except kippers” he added, knowing the smell had turned your stomach even after your morning sickness had passed. Trays of eggs; and toast; and meats and fruits were all laid out in front of the two of you, just as they had been for the past month. Ever since the doctor had told you it would be any time soon.

After breakfast was finished and taken away you settled back to mull over your bump. Anthony picked up his newspaper again but you noted his eyes never left the rim of the pages. You looked at him watch you, to his mind surreptitiously before his eyes locked on yours.

“Yes darling.” He said immediately, pushing his paper to one side and drawing his chair and inch or two closer to yours.

“I didn’t say anything” you questioned, watching with curiosity as he pulled his chair up next to yours, arm finding its way around the back of your chair.

“You were looking at me, is everything alright?” his tone was sweet but almost frantic. He placed a somewhat shaky hand on top of yours.

“I’m fine my love” you smiled, watching as Anthony’s hand became steadier over your protruding stomach the more he held it there. “You know he settles when you’re near?” Anthony’s head shot up at your words, his deep brown eyes almost pleading for the truth. “I’m not lying. It’s like he can sense it. When he hears your voice or you touch me in any way, he settles”

“And how do you know it’s a He?” Anthony dopily smiled, kissing your cheek as he squidged closer.

“I have a feeling”

“Well, I’d be perfectly happy with either. We are in no rush for an heir and I would like an excuse to lavish you with as much affection as you desire.” The lopsided smirk on his face, evidence of his rakish youth but the love in his eyes held a more settled gentleman’s gaze. Anthony rested his head on your shoulder as he continued to caress your swollen stomach, nuzzling into your neck – contented to spend the rest of the day just like this.

You convinced Anthony to walk with you in the gardens after breakfast. He had mildly argued that he needed to prepare for a meeting with his steward later but your baby kicked under his hand and he melted into submission.

You stood amongst the autumn foliage, watching as the gardener’s little girl toddled over to her father holding a trowel.

“I can’t wait to be a father” Anthony murmured in your ear as he held you from behind. You smiled at his little slip of thought.

“You’ll be an excellent father.” You turned in his arms, belly pushing you further away from his face than you would have liked. Anthony reached across the distance between you to plant a loving kiss on your pouting lips.

“I must get back to work: Martin is coming at one and I have not so much as gazed at the books this month.” He whispered through a smirk before turning to leave.

It was a little while later; you had decided to take tea on the terrace, enjoying the afternoon sunshine whilst it lasted, and Anthony had been in his study, nursing an early brandy as he thought on crop rotations, when he heard it. A shrill scream followed by the crash of bone china on a stone floor; that could only mean one thing. Y/N! Anthony ran as fast as he could from his study, bolting down the hall and through the morning room to see you buckled over on the floor. He rushed to your side

By the time the doctors arrived Anthony was practically having a heart attack on the front steps. Since getting you up the many stairs of Aubrey Hall himself (He insisted everyone else would hurt you if they so much as touched you), Anthony had run from your rooms to the front steps every time he heard you whimper, or the distance sound of horses. He practically dragged the aged senior by the collar to your chamber, rushing to your side when he saw you panting and sweaty, and looking fully ready to birth his child.

You panted as your maid guided you, Anthony taking over the moping of your brow as the doctors began his examination. As the afternoon turned to evening, Anthony’s temper didn’t … well, temper – with every whimper or wail let from your mouth he argued with the doctors to do something. Despite numerous insistences of both nurse maids and doctors insisting Anthony leave the room as it ‘just was not seemly for a lord to see a lady this way!’, he stayed; gripping your hand as you squeezed with each contraction.

“Please, your Lordship, allow the doctors to worry for your wife’s condition. It is our profession.” He was chastised.

“MY WIFE IS IN PAIN AND I WILL BE WITH HER UNTIL SHE IS WELL AGAIN” Anthony snapped back, looking like he would be ready to bite the next hand that tried to see him to the door. The furrow in his brow deepened as the senior doctor announced it was time to push. Through each effort, Anthony only looked on more and more distressed, unable to take the pain away from you: with each scream his mind reeled with flashbacks to his youngest sister, Hyacinth’s, birth and how he’d almost lost his mother that day.

After an hour of intense pushing, both you and Anthony looking as sweaty and exhausted as each other your child was still no closer to being born. The doctors rushed around; one feeling your stomach for movement, the senior, with his notebook doing (in Anthony’s opinion) Sod All, and the last, between your legs, occasionally checking for further dilation. Suddenly the young doctor feeling your stomach snapped his head up and beckoned the senior over.

“The baby is in breech” the elder doctor mumbled with a stained sigh – moving as fast as Anthony had seen him as he rummaged in his medical bag for instruments. You let out a cry of pain as your tried in vain to push again. Anthony panicked at the doctor’s announcement.

“Breech? Breech? What does that mean?” Anthony stood, still holding your hand with both of his as he glared at trio.

“It means, Your Lordship” the small senior man said sighing “that the baby has decided to descend feet first and, as such” he took his glasses off to clean them “is stuck.” Anthony’s heart leapt to his throat and lodged there.

“Well do something. Now!” he choked out, trying to sound as intimidating as he had been. Your breaths came out in short pants as you tried not to panic and faint. Your lady’s maid had your other hand in her own, comforting you with soft words and the occasional dab of a damp cloth to your forehead as the men argued above you.

“We are preparing to turn the child. It is a difficult thing to do but she is not yet crowning so it may be possible.” The elderly man said smoothly.

“May be possible?”

“Yes. At this stage it is the only option.” He said lowly, just to Anthony, breaking the news as softly as possible as you were otherwise occupied.

The next thing you felt was a decisive clamp of hands around your protruding belly as the small, senior doctor guided the taller but decidedly younger one in moving your baby around in your stomach to turn it the right way. The movement was sharp and stinging but it was strange that you could actually feel the child moving. When the doctor gave the word, you began pushing again, the other doctor; who had, even at this stage, not said a word reached behind him to retrieve a large metal appendage. You felt a cold sensation at your opening as he inserted the instrument; as the baby began to appear, he clamped them around the crowning head and gently pulled. The force of the birth and the still odd angle they appeared to be at made you throw your head back with a scream. You faintly heard Anthony call your name but the rushing of blood in your ears drowned out everything but your own screams.

Over six hours since Anthony had first found you, collapsed on the patio, your baby was finally born. You let out an exhausted laugh as they were lifted over the linen shroud at your waist and passed to a nursemaid to clean and wrap. Anthony’s face was nearly split in two by a radiant grin; the look of complete and utter adoration in his eyes never left as he looked from you to your child and back again. You beckoned him to go and he let go of your hand for the first time all evening and walked over to the nursemaid on the opposite side of the room to watch his first-born being wrapped in a soft muslin cloth.

Anthony reached out to hold the child, cradling him in his arms as he walked back over to you. The baby let out a quiet scream as he yawned for the first time, a big pair of dark brown eyes staring back as Anthony as he welled up.

Dearest Reader, It is with great pleasure that I can announce that the Viscountess Lady Y/N Bridgerton has born her child, a son named Edmund. Although the child appears to have arrived some months before due, I have been informed that both mother and child are in splendid health and that the Viscount is determined to keep both holed away at Aubrey Hall for the foreseeable season ahead, giving us all, even greater cause than usual, to hope that the annual Bridgerton musicale goes ahead as planned.

Lady Whistledown, 18 March 1813

#bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #my writing #the moment i knew

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atlantis-scribe · 3 years ago

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AU-gust 2021 ( Day 12 )

Fairy Tale

(in which Rodney is a wizard's apprentice who has no great love for the royal family & John is an orphan with an identity crisis who may just be his ticket to a better life)

"You really think I'm the lost prince?"

Rodney almost drops the jar of unicorn blood in his surprise. After carefully tucking it back on the shelf — and subtly willing his heart to stop racing — he turns around to find John leaning by the doorway. "What?"

"The prince," John drawls, stepping farther inside the chambers until he’s seated on one of the stools Rodney saves for Balthazar. "Are you sure I'm him?"

It's well past midnight, and while Rodney is accustomed to keeping odd hours in order to finish whatever errand Janus believes must be carried out before the sun rises, they all have a long day ahead of them. A moping orphan who has more hair on his head than any chimera has in its entire body is the last thing Rodney needs.

But Rodney also knows what inability to sleep looks like, and the dark shadows weighing John's eyes down is awfully familiar.

Reluctantly, Rodney makes his way to the table and sits across from John. "We wouldn't be doing the memory spell at all if we're sure. We can just knock on the castle doors and drop you first thing in the morning." He lifts a finger before John can open his mouth. "But! Janus thinks you are him, and you heard what that old fool said, right? He used to be part of the royal court, before all this lunacy and fear of magic business. He was even good friends with the late queen, so I'm sure he knows what he's doing."

John sniffs, not entirely mollified. "If you say so."

"I do say so. Besides, Balthazar likes you, and he used to live in the palace, too."

"Balthazar is a cat, Rodney."

There is no good response to that, so Rodney keeps his lips sealed and spends a moment to just look at John.

When John had crashed into the temple that dreadful evening, when Rodney and Janus were so sure that the royal guards had finally found them, Rodney took one look at the green-eyed stranger and somehow knew that he would be changing their lives forever. It didn't matter that Janus had gotten it in his head that John, an orphan who has nothing to his name and nowhere to call home, is Lantea's long-lost heir. Rodney, for some unfathomable reason, recognized in John the hope he’d once lost for a future where he will no longer be hunted simply because of the power that runs through his veins.

Not that he’s ever going to say that out loud.

"I met him once, you know."

John, who was already on his way to closing his eyes and sleeping right there on the table, jerks and looks up. "Hmm?"

"The prince," Rodney repeats, and John scowls at his mocking tone. "I met him. When I was ten."

Rodney's own eyes flutter as he teases at the edges of that precious memory with his mind's eye. He's thankful that John doesn't speak, because Rodney is sure any other sound might've broken this particular spell.

"There were still dragons. It was before The Great Purge, right? The royal family still kept dragons, and the prince loved riding the blue-scaled one, the last of its kind, especially during parades."

There'd been so many people, probably thousands, out in the streets that day. Even then, Rodney cared little for the royals, but for some strange cause, he was drawn to the young, crowned boy with the flying beast. So Rodney sought out the highest perch he could find amongst the endless throng of adoring fanatics and made himself watch.

"He sat atop his dragon and waved at the people. He had dark hair. Like yours, I suppose. And when the parade passed by the carriage I was on, our eyes met."

Distantly, Rodney can hear John making a soft sound, maybe a hum, but lost as he is to the memory, Rodney doesn't acknowledge it.

"He smiled when he looked at me. Like he knew who I was, which is stupid, I can see that now. But it really seemed like he did then, and I— I think I smiled, too."

"Rodney. . ."

"The parade was still moving along, and while his dragon kept pace with it, my carriage was not. It was just there, parked by whatever merchant stopped to gawk at the nobles. I knew I would lose sight of him eventually, so I did the strangest thing. I—”

"You bowed."

Wrenched from the dream, Rodney blinks only to find John's soft smile, strange yet familiar, waiting for him.

"You bowed," he repeats to Rodney. "And the prince bowed back."

Rodney hears his own breath hitch. "I never told you that before."

"You didn't have to," John says, his voice a gentle whisper. "I remember."

#gosh this got long #oh well #loosely based on Anastasia's 'In a Crowd of Thousands' w/ a dash of Merlin for Plot haha #stargate atlantis #rodney mckay #john sheppard #mshep #my fic #fic: AU gust #AU_gust #AU_gust_2021 #my post

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panda-noosh · 4 years ago

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the normal one {Leo Valdez x Reader}

Words: 14k

Summary: Your sister is the demigod. You’re just the unlucky one who got dragged into her mess.

Genre: angst??

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - omg happy first day of nano y’all.

---

You never knew your sister was a demigod.

Of course you didn't; it's not the kind of thought that crosses the mind of a logical individual, though it seems obvious now that you're being greeted with the proof.

Emma has never been particularly normal. She's three years older than you, and yet she carries herself like she's been through years upon years of unforgiven trauma, glaring at anyone who dares even speak to her. You used to just describe her as grumpy, not-a-morning-person, just leave her alone and you'll be fine.

Now, you're beginning to think it might not be as simple as all that.

Your day starts off pretty normal; you wake up, greeted by the sunlight streaming through the curtains you once again forgot to close over the previous night. You look down, not surprised to see you're still dressed in a pair of jogging bottoms and a loose white shirt instead of the pyjamas your sister has been trying so desperately to make you wear at night. You got ready, brushing the knots from your hair before marching downstairs.

Your mum is in the kitchen, whistling to herself, frail hands forever trembling around the pot of boiling oatmeal; you and your mum don't really talk that much. She favours Emma over you, and she's never found much point in wasting breath on the child she doesn't necessarily like. She'll smile, feed you, let you have a roof over your head, but neither of you pretend like your relationship with each other is permanent. One day you're going to move out, and your mum is never going to contact you, never going to step foot in your house, never going to give you a house-warming gift.

You're fine with that.

Emma is sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. It's not even that weird of a sight, considering you've always known Emma to be into the dramatics. You sit across from her, folding your arms over the table before whispering, rather loudly, "Rough night?"

Her head jerks up, revealing her wild, bloodshot eyes. "What?"

You laugh, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl in the centre of the table. "You look like shit, Em. Where have you been all night?"

Her jaw twitches, and she doesn't respond, which is a pretty normal reply for her, especially at this time of day.

"Whatever," you mumble. "Can I borrow that fancy deodorant you bought back from that summer camp you go to?" Emma nods. You grin, banishing the conversation all together as you stand and skip upstairs.

So, yeah. The day was starting off pretty normal. Not a single worry in sight. You would go to school, mope around classes for a few hours, come home and stress eat over a pile of unfinished homework that was probably due multiple days ago.

Instead, you have to deal with the boulders being thrown through Emma's bedroom window.

The first one hits just as your grabbing Emma's fancy deodorant from her bottom drawer. There is no warning, no low whoosh sound that would give you a chance to step away and make a run for it - no. Instead, it goes straight to the shattered glass and bloodied arms. Instead, it goes straight to the boulder smashing against your hand, crushing your fingers against the wall.

You are stuck, legs crumbling beneath you. You should be slipping to the floor right now, probably unconscious, maybe dead, but your hand, trapped between the biggest rock known to man and the wall, keeps you upright. Blood leaks from gashes forming on your fingers, dribbling down your wrist, your arm, dripping onto your knees. You stare at the scene in shock for a moment, unable to register what on earth has actually just happened.

And then Emma is screaming your name, thundering up the stairs, and you're crying out, trying to form words but they get lodged in your throat, replaced by the overwhelming pain and realisation that you're going to die, you're going to fucking die on your sisters bedroom floor because there is so much blood, and there is no way in hell you won't be drained before the end of this day, probably within the next ten minutes, probably within-

The door opens. Emma barrels inside, wielding a golden sword that honestly just makes you think of course she has a golden sword.

"You son of a bitch!" she cries out, darting to her bedroom window. She stands upon the sill and waves her arms at the sky. "You got the wrong L/N, you idiot! Get back here and finish me off if you're so tough!"

"Emma," you croak, tears flooding down your cheeks. "Little help here."

"It's the giants." She leaps off the window sill and swivels round, darting to your side. Something has changed in her, something you've never seen before; she seems stronger, her eyes a little brighter yet still eerily dark at the same time.

She crouches beside you and begins manoeuvring your trapped hand back and forth. You hiss, throwing your head back as blood spurts down your arm, staining your shirt. Emma grits her teeth, keeping her eyes peeled on her work. "They've found me," she continues muttering. "We need to get out of here - all of us. You, me, Mum. They know where the house is. How did they find out where the bloody house is?"

"Can you shut the fuck up talking crazy for one second?"

Emma pays you no mind, taking a tiny knife from her back pocket and wriggling it between the wall and the boulder. "I'll have to get in touch with Chiron, tell him I'm bringing a few mortals with me to camp this summer."

You grunt. "I'm not going to some hippy-Christian summer camp with you."

"It's not a hippy-Christian summer camp." Emma swats your head, forcing you to look away from the blood dribbling down your arm. "It's a place that will keep you safe, alright? So don't argue."

"Don't tell me what to - AH!" The boulder falls, crashing to the floor. Tables rattle, things tumble off shelves, and your hand is freed. You pull it to your chest, but Emma doesn't let it go unaided for long - she grabs your wrist and tugs it back, examining the damage; your nerves have clearly been ripped, fingers cold from lack of feeling. Gashes have been made into the back of your hand, fingers torn to shreds.

She shakes her head. "I'll get Will to have a look at this."

"No, you idiot, you'll call 999 before-"

"We have to go now. That giant will be back soon enough, especially once he realises I'm taking you guys with me." Emma doesn't even give you a chance to respond before she's grabbing your good hand and dragging you from her bedroom. You hiss in pain, stumbling behind her, but there's really no point in arguing. When Emma has her mind set on something, she goes for it no matter what objections people put in place. Mum always said she gets that from her dad, but you've never met the man, so you wouldn't know.

Speaking of your dear old mother, the woman doesn't even give you a second glance when Emma drags you into the living room and shoves you onto the sofa next to her; she's frozen in fear, fingers pulled to her lips as she bites on the nails, a habit she's had for as long as you can remember.

She shakes her head, dazed. "He's coming back to me. He's sending signs."

Emma groans. Looking over, you see her with a phone pressed to her ear, big and bulky with an oversized antennae peeking from the top of it. "Mum, that wasn't Dad sending signs. That was a giant trying to kill me."

You blink, certain your blood loss is contributing to this wild conversation somehow. "A giant? Your dad?"

Emma raises a finger, telling you to be quiet. Mum whimpers at the movement and goes back to chewing her nails, gazing steadily out the window. She looks terrified, but her knee is bouncing in that way it always does when she's excited. You've given up trying to understand her. In fact, you've given up trying to understand your entire family.

So you just sit there, trying to fight off the black spots dotting your vision and the blood dribbling through your fingers; you don't know why Emma hasn't called 999 yet, considering you're basically on the verge of unconsciousness, but your throat is too dry to ask. Instead you listen as she says, "Leo! Where are you? Are you close?" and then she sighs in relief, and within three minutes, there's a knock on the door and she's barrelling out of the living room to grab it.

You look up, dazed, when she returns with a small curly haired boy in tow. He's a bit scruffy, you have to admit, but in a cute way, like a bunny with a bit of dirt on its nose.

"Not really the time for guests, is it, Em?" you grumble, before falling face first into the floor.

---

You wake up, and immediately wish you hadn't.

Emma always messes things up - always.

Her life has to be so damn dramatic all the damn time, and you're getting pretty damn sick of being dragged into it. All you want to do is sit in bed with a nice blanket and a cup of tea, maybe practice a bit of witchcraft, maybe sink into the dirt and become one with nature.

You don't want to be hunted down by rabid, murderous giants, that's for sure.

You also don't want to be trapped in a hospital bed at some hippy-Christian camp you don't even know the name of. But that's exactly what has happened.

When you open your eyes, you're greeted by the sight of white, cloth walls and multiple eager faces gazing down at you. Most of them have blonde hair and the brightest eyes you have ever seen, and then there's that curly haired boy, and Emma herself, and there's a guy who is half horse-

"Oh god, this is death. I've died."

"She's awake!" the curly haired boy - Leo, you remember - cries, throwing his hands in the air. "Good job, Apollo kids! Another point for you!"

"Shut up, Leo." One of the many blonde haired kids steps forward and places the back of his hand against your forehead; in any other situation, you might have pulled away and told him to step back, but the feel of his skin against your own is surprisingly soothing. It's almost against your will when you melt into it, eyes gliding shut. Your hit with images of you and Emma as children, running through fields, her punching that guy in the nose because he called you short that one time, and-

He snatches his hand back, startling you back to reality. "The fevers definitely going down," he says, turning to Emma.

"Uh, excuse me," you chirp, raising a timid hand. "She's not my legal guardian, I'll have you know." You glance at Emma. "Where is my legal guardian, by the way?"

Emma rolls her eyes, and that's answer enough.

"Ah. Frollicking in the leaves again?"

Emma hums. "I left her to it; we have bigger things to worry about than her love life."

"That's a bit morbid, Emma," says Leo. "Love is a magnificent thing."

"So is me not dying," you say, before turning back to the blonde haired boy. "Can I leave?"

The boy blinks, staring at you like you have two heads. It almost makes you uncomfortable, but his eyes are so pretty, and the way his palm felt against your forehead-

Leo shoves to the front. "Will here is gay, Y/N. Stop staring."

You look away, flustered. "I wasn't even staring."

"Yeah, you were. I see that look of lust on people all the time - I get it a lot, to tell you the truth."

You look at his curls, the oil on his tattered overalls, the dirt smothering both his cheeks, nose and hands.

"I'm sure you do, big guy. I'm sure you do."

Will sighs, shoving Leo out the way again. "I'm gonna do a final check up before I let you leave; I can't give mortals any nectar or ambrosia, so the healing process might take-"

Awkwardly, Emma coughs. The entire tent goes silent, turning to her with raised brows and narrowed eyes, but all you can focus on is Will's strange choice of vocabulary. Nectar. Ambrosia. Those don't sound like common prescription pain meds.

"Emma..." Will drawls. "What have you-"

"I'll talk to them," Emma mumbles. "Can you guys just give us a minute?"

You grab Will's hand. "Please don't leave me alone with her."

Will gives you a timid smile, squeezing your hand gently before he, Leo and all the other blonde haired strangers exit the tent, leaving just you and Emma to your own devices.

And honestly, Emma's your best friend. She means the world to you. She's the one person in that god forsaken house that actually pays you any attention, and it doesn't even matter that she's the favourite, that Mum basically licks the ground she walks on for a reason you have yet to pinpoint. You love Emma with all your heart, but right now, you would rather be anywhere but in her presence.

You pull the quilt up to your chin and say, "I'm very confused."

Emma pulls a stool over and takes a seat. "I know. I should have explained. I need to explain."

"Yes, you do."

She hollows out her cheeks, which only makes your fear spike - you've never seen Emma act like this. She's usually so brave, bold, confident. She doesn't do a single thing without planning it out perfectly beforehand, and yet here she is, looking completely stumped. You almost feel bad for her until you remember the way she completely ignored your pleas for her to call 999 when you were fairly certain you were bleeding out.

"Well?" you push. "Go on, Em. I'm listening."

Emma sighs, scrubbing a hand down her face. "Do you have any idea where we are right now?"

"Absolutely none. There was a guy with a horse body-"

"That's Chiron. He's a centaur."

You blink. "Okay."

"This place is called Camp Half-Blood; it's where I go to every summer."

"Well, I assumed."

"It's a camp for Half-Bloods. Demigods. People who are half-god, like. . . like me. Like Leo, and Will, and probably loads of other kids, too."

It's starting to get jumbled now, a string of words that don't form to make a coherent, sensible sentence.

You don't even respond, simply staring at Emma until she is forced to continue.

"It sounds insane, I know, but I'm not lying. I'm a demigod, Y/N, daughter of Ares."

It goes silent, because of course it does. What are you even meant to say to that? The logical part of you says to just call her out on her lies, ask her where the hell you actually are and where Mum is and why she brought you here in the first place. But the other half recognises that Emma being the daughter of a war god kind of makes perfect sense.

In your conflicted state of disbelief, you say neither of those things. Instead, you look at Emma and say, "Mum hooked up with a god?"

Emma breathes a laugh, closing her eyes. "Yes, little one, she did."

"And she couldn't have done the same thing when she was conceiving me?"

Emma winces. "I don't want to talk about Mum conceiving either of us, thank you very much."

You shake your head. "So that's why she's always hated me."

"Mum doesn't hate you-"

"I'm the repair kid. I'm the one who-"

Leo pops his head in the door. "Did someone say repair kid?"

Emma looks up, giving Leo a tired little wave. "You can come back in now. Y/N's all caught up."

"Oh, happy days!" Leo marches in and reaches for your good hand, giving it a vigorous shake. "Leo Valdez, son of Hephaestus. Nice to properly meet you."

"Y/N L/N, child of - uh - that guy from McDonalds.

Emma stands up quickly, grabbing Leo's shoulders as his eyes narrow. "Alright! Now that we've got the niceties out of the way, I think it's time we let Will back in here so he can do his final check up. Sound good?"

"Sounds fantastic," you mumble, sinking down into the pillows. "Bring the nice looking blonde boy to me now, please."

----

Camp Half-Blood kind of looks like a dream scape. But a really bad one.

A nightmare-scape.

There's sword fighting, and teeny tiny girls in green dresses that get wildly offended when you call them Tinkerbell. There's people riding around on winged horses like it's no big deal, and you're almost certain it was raining when you left the house earlier, so why is it sunny and warm right now?

Leo is the one who greets you when you're finally allowed to step out of the tent - the infirmary, apparently, run by the kids of Apollo. All of them were really nice. They all had really nice hands.

"You're looking fresh," Leo says, tucking his hands in his pockets as the two of you stroll across camp together. "Will and his siblings really know what they're doing, huh? I had my doubts, with you being a mortal and all. I don't know how often they work on people like you."

You shrug. "It was just a bit of nerve damage in my hand."

"You passed out."

"I blanked. It happens to the best of us."

Leo's lips twitch. It shows you just the briefest hint of dimples, and you hate that it immediately turns your tough-guy demeanour to mush. It seems like you have a soft spot for demigods. You look away quickly, tucking your hands - bandage and all - into your pockets. It's this movement that seems to tilt Leo's attention to the clothes you're wearing, all of which are smothered in your own blood.

Pleasant.

He grimaces, stopping dead in his tracks. You would continue walking, being an independent mortal and all that, but you don't know your way around this place, and you'd rather not accidentally walk into a fighting arena. So, you stop and look back at him. "What's wrong?"

"You need a change of clothes, my friend."

You blink. "No, I don't think-"

"They might be a bit big on you, but I have the perfect pair of overalls you could borrow. Come on. To Bunker 9 we go."

He starts walking away before you even have a chance to protest. It really puts the fear of god - gods? - in you, because at that very moment, a winged horse slams into the floor at your side. You squeal, immediately sprinting after him, and the bastard doesn't even turn back to look at what has just startled you. He merely grins, cocky and annoying, and says, "Yeah, stick with me and that won't happen."

You grunt, knowing he's right.

The two of you arrive at Bunker 9 in no time. It's like an old bomb shelter, with tin walls and a door that looks like it's about to fall off it's hinges. You make a joke about why Leo can't just fix the hinges, considering he's a machine expert and all that, and Leo rolls his eyes and says, "I'm busy enough as it is."

The room lights up without a switch needing to be flipped, which you think is pretty cool.

"My school used to have lights like that," you point out, gazing up at the ceiling. "They were motion censored."

"Mm. They're handy little things until you haven't moved in fifteen minutes and they switch off whilst you're still standing there. The amount of times I've nearly put a screw through my finger." He shakes his head, tossing aside discarded tools in his search for the overalls he promised you. "Mental."

You pluck at a random copper wire hanging out of a drawer. "So, is this like. . . your dorm room?"

"Hm?" Leo looks at you. "Oh, no. I don't sleep in here - I sleep in the Hephaestus cabin. I'm the head counsellor, so I have to keep an eye on things, you know."

You raise a brow. "Is your bed more comfy in the Hephaestus cabin?"

"That, too." He blushes, lowering his eyes back to his search. "But honestly, my job is pretty important. I've got to keep that place running, keep all my siblings in check."

"I'm not being funny, if Emma tried telling me what to do, I would tell her to piss off."

Leo scoffs. "Yeah, I got that vibe off you."

"So how do you do it?"

Leo pauses, glancing over his shoulder."How do I do what?"

You push yourself up onto the counter, ignoring the saw dust that now litters your hands and the back of your already ruined jeans. "How do you get them to listen to you? You don't look to be much older than I am - surely you have older siblings in that cabin of yours. It can't be easy getting them to fall into line, too."

Slowly, Leo turns. He leans against the chest of drawers he has been digging through, regarding you with a single raised brow. His gaze is hard, but you keep the eye contact, smiling just the tiniest bit.

He doesn't respond with words. Instead, he stretches his hand out, palm towards the ceiling, and uncurls his fingers, revealing a bright orange flame dancing in the centre. It doesn't make you jump as it probably should have; instead, you are mesmerised, caught in the slick movements of the tiny ball of fire.

You slowly reach out. Leo slams his hand closed and pulls back. "You can't touch it."

"I wasn't going to."

"You were fully going to touch it."

You scowl, folding your arms over your chest. "What was the point in showing me that?"

He turns on his heel, going back to digging through the chest of drawers. "That's why I'm head counsellor - no other child of Hephaestus can do that." He glances at you. "You don't think it's weird?"

"Well, yeah - very weird." You shrug. "But who am I to judge? I can do this thing where I dislocate my shoulder, and that's pretty weird, too."

Leo blinks, mouth opening like you've caught him off guard. He swipes his tongue along his lower lip before he turns away and mumbles, "Yeah. That is pretty weird."

Bunker 9 is doused in silence after that. Leo rummages through his drawers as you inspect every nook and cranny of the place, running your fingers along the tin walls, picking up tools you have never seen before; you can feel Leo watching you from the corner of his eye, probably making sure you're not stealing anything. Honestly, the golden screwdriver set is pretty tempting, but you wouldn't want to risk getting on a demigod's bad side.

Finally, after what feels like far too long, Leo pops his head up, grinning broadly with a set of overalls in his hands. "Found them!" He tosses them at you with no warning; you just barely manage to catch them. "They got shrunk in the wash, so I was gonna rip them up for hand towels in here, but I'm sure they'll be more useful for you."

You pull them into your chest. "They smell like oil."

Leo spreads his oil stained hands. "Yeah, well, that's how life is, love. I'll let you get changed - I promise I won't peak!"

Laughing, he leaves Bunker 9; his footsteps stop there, though, and there's a glimmer of relief when you realise he isn't just walking away and leaving you to your own devices.

You get changed quickly, bundling your blood stained clothes into a ball and shoving them beneath your arm - you don't know where you can possibly wash them, but you refuse to leave this camp in Leo's old overalls. First of all, they're much too big on you, pooling over your feet despite Leo's own small stature. The striped shirt he gave you to put underneath it has oil spots embedded in it, too, which just makes you look like even more of a slump. Nonetheless, you throw open the door to Bunker 9 with your arms outstretched and call out, "How do I look?"

Leo peaks his head around and freezes.

You drop your arms, rolling your eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. This isn't a romance movie."

His nose erupts into flames. He yelps, swatting the fire away before he awkwardly coughs and says, "Good. You look good."

You grin. "Thank you. Do you have any idea where I can put these?" You offer up your pile of clothes. Leo takes them from your hands and tosses them over your shoulder, back into Bunker 9. You frown. "Do you have a washing machine in there?"

"It won't take me long to rig one up. I'll have them washed before you leave, don't worry." He offers his arm, grinning yet again. "Now, how about we go up to the dining pavilion and get some food? I'm starving!"

----

Leo did not know one of his best friends was related to such an attractive individual.

It wasn't really that big of a shock when he walked in and saw you sitting there in the living room, looking dazed and out of it with blood dribbling from some pretty severe cuts in your hand. Emma had rang him and filled him on all the details, so there was no surprise at the scene. And plus, Emma's not exactly ugly. She has that rough look to her, sure, but Leo would probably date her if she asked him. Again, it wasn't much of a surprise when he walked in and saw you there, all pretty with the innocence only a mortal could have.

But then he got a glimpse of your personality.

No. Scratch that. He got an entire bucketload of your personality, and he was still craving more by the end of it.

He tried his hardest to fight off these feelings, because he's felt them before - with almost every person he finds attractive, in fact. He gets it lodged in his head that he can impress them, that this is the one and he can make it work if he just tries hard enough. It's kind of hard not to think that way - hopeful, desperate, almost - when all his friends are hooking up and getting boyfriends and girlfriends, generally just having the time of their damn lives. And Leo is just. . . making machines.

But then the two of you went and had dinner together, and he found himself asking if you wanted to go for a walk along the lake before you would have to go to bed. You had agreed, and the conversation had continued, and Leo has never laughed so much in his entire life.

You tell stories of these little memories you have with Emma, enjoying the embarrassing little details you add in whenever you can. Leo struggles to imagine the daughter of Ares being anything close to the Emma you're describing, but he can tell in the passion of your words you're not telling lies.

"What about you, though?" he asks.

Your hands drop to your side, smile curving. "What about me?"

"Well, you're going on about Emma and all the cool stuff she used to do - what about you, though? What have you been up to?"

It's a pretty simple question in Leo's mind; with his ADHD brain, he is able to come up with a million different answers on the spot.

You, however, look at him with a raised brow. He stares right back.

Finally, you crack and say, "Uh. . . I've been doing some school work, I guess."

Leo blinks. "You go to school?"

"I do indeed. I'm studying psychology, but it's really difficult, so I might drop it."

Leo nods like he understands, even though he doesn't. All he really remembers of his school days is him sitting in the back of the classroom plotting his next escape. "Interesting," he says. "Does Emma go to school?"

"She's doing an apprenticeship at some mechanics place. She dropped out when she turned sixteen."

"Naughty."

You shrug. "She does what she wants. I would love to drop out, but Mum would flip." Leo glances at you; the mention of your Mum seems to be something a little heavy, as your smile immediately dips, your shoulders slumping. Leo knows he probably shouldn't pry, but he's Leo, so he does anyway.

"Is your mum tough on you?"

"No. She's not tough at all. She's not light, either. She just. . . lives with me, I guess."

"She just lives with you?"

You inhale, looking out over the lake. For a moment, Leo thinks you might start crying, but then he shakes that thought out of his mind, because you don't seem like the type to cry in front of a stranger, and that's really all Leo is, which is why he shouldn't expect you to open up to him right now, not if this is something you don't want to-

"Mum only had me because she wanted to see if she could get over Emma's dad." You wince. "Ares, I guess."

Leo pauses. His fingertips start glowing, a sign of his anger, but he shoves them in his pockets and dispels the flames before you see them. "That's horrible."

You shrug halfheartedly. "It's fine. She was crazy about the guy from what I've heard - it's why Emma's her favourite. She's the only piece of him she has left, really."

"But that doesn't mean-"

"You don't have to tell me she's a bad mother, Leo. I know. I've known from day one; I've just gotten used to it." You pick up a rock and toss it into the lake. "Honestly, we're better off out of each other's hair anyway; put us in a room together and make us talk, we'll probably burn the house down."

Leo doesn't know how to respond; he's never felt like that. Ever. Even with his dad, there's always been some level of affection there, even though his dad is a Greek god who only pops in when he wants something; Hephaestus has never straight-up ignored him, never made his favouritism clear.

Leo finds he wants to punch something, and not even the steady whisper of the lake can calm him down. He walks a little bit behind you as the silence settles, you picking up random rocks and tossing them into the water, apologising profusely when the eighteen tentacled octopus pokes its head up and yells at you.

Your calmness makes it even worse, though, because that lets Leo know that this treatment is something you've grown used to. You've never known any different.

----

Three days in, and Emma still insists on keeping you at Camp Half-Blood.

"You're not leaving until that giant is dead, and that might take a while."

You drape your arm over your forehead, still sprawled across her bed in the Ares cabin. It's a pretty musty cabin, to be fair, but you won't mention that when all of Emma's siblings are glaring daggers at you. "Do you have any idea how many assessments I'm missing? Mr Wrightchuck is gonna be furious with me, and I do not have the mental energy to deal with his shit right now."

Emma throws a pair of shorts at you. "Shut up and fold those for me."

You grunt, sitting up and getting to work; you've decided to make yourself at least a little bit useful around here. These people were nice enough to offer you accommodation, even though it's clear being around mortals isn't exactly their everyday routine. The amount of times you've hissed in pain because of your hand and been offered a chunk of ambrosia is uncountable.

"So," Emma starts suddenly, taking you by surprise; she hardly ever initiates conversations, preferring to brood in her own head when she can get away with it.

You look at her, sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the bright pink laundry hamper she stole off your Aunt Grace. She's not even looking up, lips pursed, eyebrows raised as if expecting you to fill in the blanks from that single word.

"So, what?" you push. "What did I just say, Emma? I don't have the mental energy-"

"You and Leo have been hanging out an awful lot these past few days."

You pause. That certainly wasn't what you had been expecting to hear.

"Uh. . . I suppose. He's a cool guy. Cool fire, and stuff." You wriggle your fingers, imitating flames, though Emma's sideways glare makes you mumble an apology and drop your hand to your side. "Is there something wrong with Leo and I being pals?"

"Leo's a very. . . hopeful boy," Emma replies. "He tends to get lost in his own fantasies sometimes."

You blink. "What, like kinks?"

Emma groans, throwing some socks at you. "No, you idiot! When he likes someone, he tends to get a little carried away. It's quite sad to see, actually."

"What does that have to do with me and him being friends?"

Emma glances at you; you recognise that look. It makes your stomach curl, heat rising to your cheeks. You look away, coughing awkwardly into her shirt before you mumble, "No. No, absolutely not. Leo doesn't like me that way."

Emma shrugs, grin spreading across her face. "Maybe, maybe not. I'm just saying, if you don't like him that way, try and break the illusion as soon as possible. It's easier to just rip the bandaid off."

"You're heartless."

"I'm a daughter of Ares, Y/N. We don't bullshit people. We say it how it is."

You scowl, snatching another set of trousers from her wash pile and getting to work, trying to ignore the thump of your heartbeat, which suddenly seems to have sped up a fair bit.

----

You lose track of how long it has been since you last saw your mother.

This happens sometimes, these long stretches of time when neither of you will acknowledge the other person; it's easier that way, just pretending she doesn't exist, just pretending the house is empty besides you.

You've been caught up in camp activities these past few weeks. Your hand is starting to heal, the nerves tingling, which Will says is a good sign. You've been talking to other campers, learning more and more about the world Emma has kept hidden from you for so long, a world that fascinates you, a world you will never want to be properly part of.

Now, however, you see her. Sitting on her own by the lake, knobbly knees pulled into her chest, dazed eyes locked on the swirling water in front of her. The little sea creatures have long since hidden, probably put-off by the presence of a stranger, but your mother doesn't seem to care. She just sits all on her own, long hair billowing out behind her as the moon begins to rise in the distance.

You lean against a tree just a little bit behind her and say, "Are you not cold?"

She doesn't even flinch, like the voice of her child has no effect on her whatsoever. Instead, she digs her fingernails into the dirt and grabs a handful of stones, lobbing them into the lake.

You sigh and crouch down next to her; she smells of sweat and dirt, a sure sign that she hasn't been taking much care of herself these past few weeks. "Let's go back to the Big House, Mum. You're gonna get hypothermia out here."

"He will protect me," she replies. "He's always protecting me."

"You mean Ares? Emma's Dad?"

"He's protected me from day one; he loves Emma and I. He's just busy."

You swallow, staring at the side of her face. "I'm sure he does, Mum. But he's clearly running a little late right now, so he's asked me to come make sure you get wrapped up before the wind eats you alive." You gaze at the trees. "Which I'm pretty sure is a thing that actually happens here."

Finally, your mum gazes at you, lower lip trembling. "I just want him to talk to me."

You freeze; it's most unlike your mother to talk like this, especially to you. She rants and raves about Ares to Emma, but she barely pays you any attention when it comes to things like this. You don't really know how to handle it, whether you should comfort her and tell her Ares loves her - this Greek god, surviving somewhere on Mount Olympus, overlooking the entire world. Yes, of course he still loves her. Of course he does.

But the other half of you just doesn't want to lie. You don't want to get her hopes up any more than they already are, because anyone with a brain will be able to see that Ares has long since forgotten about the mortal woman he apparently fell in love with, and the daughter they created together.

So, you grab your mum's hand and drag her to her feet. She slumps against you like a child having a tantrum, and you have to basically lift her off the floor to get anywhere. Nonetheless, you eventually have her standing, and together, you walk up the hill, back to the main camp.

It's dark, probably past curfew, but campers are still walking about. Mostly the Apollo cabin, never off their feet with the casualties they have to tend to in a day, though there are other campers enjoying a late night cup of hot chocolate by the fire, laughing merrily. They don't notice you walking up the hill, don't notice your mum mumbling to herself, words you can't even grasp being right beside her.

"The Ares cabin," your mum suddenly blurts.

You pause, nearly stumbling over your own two feet as your head whips around to the direction she is now staring, eyes wide.

"Yes, Mum," you grumble. "That is the Ares cabin - now, can we keep moving before my fingers fall off?"

"Is that where you've been sleeping these past few weeks?"

You narrow your eyes. "What? Yes, Mum, it is; Emma lets me sleep with her, now can we please-"

"He isn't your father."

You stop dead in your tracks; oh no. You've heard this line of speech before, and it's never pleasant. Mum gets angry, enraged, when she thinks you're trying to take on the same status as her beloved Emma, daughter of the war god. She likes to keep you in your place, which is a good few tiers below everybody else, apparently.

"I know that," you say quickly. "Emma was just nice enough to lend me her bed so I didn't have to sleep in the Hermes cabin - you know I don't know my way around here, so-"

"He wouldn't like you sleeping amongst his children. He told me."

"He what now?"

She shakes out of your grip, gritting her teeth. Her eyes are wild, dilated beyond anything you've ever seen, and when she next speaks, the words are a cry. "He told me!" She shakes her head, gripping the strands of hair between trembling fingers. "He's so mad at me, Y/N; he told me it was disrespectful to have a child with another man. He said he would burn you to the ground if you stepped out of line. He said he would kill you, just to teach me a lesson for going behind his back!"

You blink. You're used to this. You're meant to be used to this, but holy mother of god - gods? - you don't know what she's on about. You've never heard her talk like this. You've never heard her speak of your death before, and the words coming from her mouth are so eerie, so fucking terrifying that you stumble back, hands trembling, tears rushing to the surface.

"You crazy bitch."

She laughs, loud and clear so the entire camp's attention turns directly to her. "That's what he said! He called me insane, and then he said he loved me and gave me a child - and that child certainly wasn't you."

"Mum, what are you-"

"He talks to me sometimes, you know." She nods, hands still buried in her hair, tugging her eyes back so she looks demented. "In my head, he talks. We have little conversations, but he's been so much more talkative since we arrived here, like this place really is my home." She releases her hair, eyes dimming. "But you're not meant to be here; he told me that, too. He said Emma and I were welcome amongst his kind, but not you - not a bastard like you."

You look around; all the demigods are on their feet now, staring at the scene in confusion. It's embarrassing, absolutely mortifying to suddenly be the centre of their attention, especially under such circumstances.

"Okay," you croak out. "Okay, that's fine - I'll go, then. Leave you and Emma here. I don't mind, Mum. You don't have to get angry."

Mum's nostrils flare. "It's not me who's angry - it's him-"

"Well, tell him that he doesn't have to get his godly bollocks in a twist, because I'm leaving." You raise your hands in faux surrender, taking a few tentative steps back. "I'm leaving, and you'll never have to see me again."

The words hurt, but they're the truth - especially now. Mum doesn't respond, merely stares as you take a few more steps backwards, turn on your heel and dart towards the Ares cabin, fighting desperately to push the tears away, because crying is stupid.

This is just your mum being. . . your mum, just as she's always been. Sure, her words tonight were a little harsher than you're used to, but her neglect has given you thick skin, thick enough to take her words on the chin.

You see the Ares cabin, and run right past it towards the lake. You nearly slip in the mud on your way down the hill, catching yourself before finally crumbling to the floor against a tree by the lake side.

You'll take her words on the chin, but you'll cry over them first.

----

When Leo hears the news, he's pretty sure his blood turns to fire.

He's half-asleep, but that doesn't stop his understanding of Will's words, his descriptions of the scene he just witnessed at the camp fire.

And the thing is, after hearing all the things your mum has done to you, Leo isn't even surprised to hear it's finally boiled over.

Doesn't make him any less angry.

He storms out of the Hephaestus cabin wearing nothing but his pyjamas. He feels the heat beneath his skin, threatening to break the surface as he forces it down, gritting his teeth. He's half tempted to turn to the Big House to give your mum a piece of his mind, but his main concern at the moment is you, and where you've gone, and where you plan on going, because according to Will, your last words to her were "I'm leaving, and you'll never have to see me again." That's a horrible thought. Leo doesn't want to think about that.

He heads to the lake, because according to Will, that's the direction you were running, and Leo knows how much you like the lake; it calms you down, you said, and he stored that piece of information in his brain for weeks, as if in preparation for this very moment.

He stops at the top of the hill and gazes down, lighting up the darkness with a ball of fire cupped in the palm of his hand. You don't flinch at the sudden intrusion, instead curling into a tighter ball against the roots of a tree, burying your head in your knees. The sight breaks his heart. He swallows, slowly waddling down the hill, careful not to fall in the dirt.

You don't look up when he finally arrives at your side. "Y/N."

"Who told you?"

Leo crouches. "Will. He said you seemed upset."

"That's literally nobody's business."

Leo sighs, slumping against the tree beside you; his shoulder brushes your own, and for a moment, you stiffen against his side. "You don't have to tell me what happened if you're not cool with that," he says. "I'm not being nosy or anything."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm really not. I just wanted to make sure that witch didn't hurt your feelings too bad." He pauses. "What did she actually say?"

Your head snaps up, eyes blood shot, lips dry. "Ah, see! You are just being nosy!"

He swats your arm, scowling. "Be quiet, no I'm not; but how am I meant to help you if I don't even know what happened?"

"I never said I wanted help, Leo. My mum not caring about me isn't something that can just be helped." And you didn't even realise those were the words you were going to say, because they sound so heartbreaking, so self-pitying, even though they're the truth. You've always just brushed your mothers behaviour off as normal, the only hand you've ever been dealt, but phrasing it in that way, claiming she doesn't care . . . something about that makes your heart break.

Your lower lip trembles before you can stop it, fresh tears springing to the surface. You remember holidays, catching Emma wrapping up gifts of her own to give to you, just so you could wake up to something on Christmas morning. You remember making your own Halloween costume because your mother spent all her money on Emma's. You remember thinking it was okay, because it was all you ever knew.

You're older now, though. You can recognise mistreatment when you see it, but it's still a blow to the chest realising that you were on the other end of it, that you're a victim, whether you want to deny it or not.

Leo notices your sudden change of emotions and immediately lurches forward. His fingers are hot, almost scalding when they make contact with your arm, his brown eyes burning holes into your own. His eyebrows are furrowed when he says your name in a whisper, just your name, like nothing else needs to be said.

You close your eyes. "I'm fine."

"I wish you'd stop saying that. It's starting to grate on my skull, and I can't afford that kind of damage."

You let out a breath of a laugh, just because you think it's appropriate; in truth, you find none of this funny. You want to curl up and cry. You want to leave Camp Half-Blood and everything it stands for, start a life away from demigods and Greek gods alike.

What's stopping you?

Leo's hands heat up on your arm, forcing you to look at him again. He's closer now, head tilted, all amusement flushed from his features, which is a sad enough sight on it's own. It's been two seconds, but you already miss that sparkle in his eyes.

"Hey," he says quietly. "Talk to me."

And you do. You don't know why, but you do. The words pour out like a broken faucet, a complete mess of incoherence's that Leo - and only Leo - would ever be able to understand. He nods along like the words are making sense, like these sentences aren't just complete gibberish.

When you finish explaining everything that happened down at the camp fire, you gasp, starved for air. Leo grabs your hand and tugs you forward, cupping your face in his attempts to calm you down; you didn't realise the tears had started pouring, didn't realise you're breathing heavily, totally lost, unable to catch a breath.

"Calm down," he mumbles. "Y/N, calm down. I'm here. I've got you, pal, I've got you."

You close your eyes, leaning into his palm. He traces his thumbs along your cheeks before slowly, slowly, slowly running his hand over your ear, tucking a strand of hair back. His eyes never leave your face, despite the state you know you are in, how awful you must look.

"I'm sorry," you choke out. "I didn't mean to. . . to get so worked up."

"Don't be stupid," he replies. "Did she really say all that to you?"

"She's not in her right mind out here. She thinks she's one of you guys, that she can be part of the group just because-"

"Because she slept with Ares?"

You laugh, exhausted. "Yes, exactly."

Leo rolls his eyes, finally letting his hands drop back to his sides. "Honestly, everyone and their grandfather has probably slept with Ares. She's nothing special, and she needs to get that through her head." He pauses. The air crackles. "But - uh - you're, you know, special. Very special."

You blink, certain you heard him wrong. The words don't really make sense in this context, so you're trying to disentangle them.

Finally, you crack and say, "What?"

Leo rubs the back of his neck, glancing awkwardly over his shoulder. Over the hill, everything is silent as Half-Bloods sleep, unknowing to the panic attack that has just captured you, unknowing to the magic Leo has just cast to calm you down.

"I said you're special," he mumbles. "In a good way, I mean. Like, a really good way."

Your heart thunders. "Thank you?"

"You're welcome." He looks at you then, chirping up. "But seriously, don't let her get to you. She's just a love sick psycho who doesn't know when to back down. Clingy ex-girlfriend and all that."

He changes the topic so swiftly it nearly gives you whiplash. You stare at him for another moment, and just when you're about to open your mouth to continue the previous, deserted conversation, Leo stands and reaches his hand out. "Shall we go before Hedge thinks there's some funny business going on?"

You nod dumbly, taking his hand only because you don't know what you want to say in response to what he has just said - he called you special, and he said it like it was just. . . normal, like it was something you could slip in without any further questions being asked.

You try and let the subject drop as Leo leads you back into camp. He walks you to the door of the Ares cabin, and it is there that he turns to you and says, voice low, "You can sleep in my cabin if your mum is in there; Chiron won't mind, and I won't either."

"No, it's okay," you reply. "Mum's staying in the Big House; I'll just slip in next to Emma." You glance at him, his eyes meeting yours because he never looked away. He looks so sweet beneath the lantern light, flames dancing across his skin like they were always meant to be there, like Leo has lived his life in fire and came out smiling every time. "Thank you, Leo; you really didn't have to help me tonight."

He scoffs. "Don't be daft. Next time you have any issues, I want you to run to me instead of the river naiads, you hear?"

You smile and nod. "I hear."

And so, Leo and you bid each other goodnight, and you watch as he walks across camp, past the Hephaestus cabin, right in the direction of Bunker 9. Half of you wants to go after him, question him on his use of the word special earlier on, but you don't. Your limbs are heavy with exhaustion, and so you turn on your heel and head into the Ares cabin, unable to stop the tiny smile that forms on your face.

----

Bunker 9 looks very nice in the morning.

"Oh, the tin is just glistening!"

Leo yelps, dropping a spanner on the ground as he whirls around. His overalls are covered in oil, along with his face, arms, legs, and every other body part that is presented to you on this fine Monday morning. In your hand is a plate of steaming cinnamon buns that Leo's eyes immediately fix upon, his startled expression quickly being replaced by one of pure hunger. You're almost certain you see his mouth salivating.

You tug the plate back, holding one arm out. "Not so fast, Fire Boy."

He frowns. "What did you just call me?"

"No cinnamon buns for you until you tell me how many hours of sleep you got last night."

Leo raises a brow, a tiny smirk making an appearance. "Are you kidding?"

"Nope. I want the details, Valdez, or these cinnamon buns are all mine."

"That's really unfair, and very unnecessary. A body like mine was made to work off two hours sleep."

Your eyes widen. "Two hours? Leo!"

"Can you just hand me my breakfast already?"

You groan, but a promise is a promise. You set the plate down on a nearby toolbox before pushing yourself onto the counter, legs swinging. Leo dives for the plate, nudging your knee with his hip as he grabs the first cinnamon bun he can see and stuffs it in his mouth, nearly swallowing the thing whole.

"Watch you don't choke."

"Why are you so protective this morning?"

"Two hours sleep, Leo? That's awful."

He shrugs, fingers hovering over the plate as he searches for his next victim. "I'm used to it. I'm not even tired! It was a really refreshing two hours."

"You get worse, you know."

Leo rolls his eyes, looking up at you. "And how many hours of sleep did you get, Sleeping Beauty?"

"More than two hours."

He clicks his fingers. "I want the details."

You roll your eyes, swatting his hand away. "I had six hours, if you must know. I'm refreshed and ready for my day!"

"So am I."

"Liar."

"And what?"

You laugh, and Leo smiles, making the noise louder than it really is.

"But no," he continues. "Don't you go worrying about me, dear. Ol' Leo Valdez can handle himself."

"Ol' Leo Valdez needs to take a nap."

"A nap? Sounds cowardly." He grabs the spanner from the floor, spins it in the air, catches it with an ease that makes your breath catch. "How about I show you the new updates I've made to Festus?"

Festus, Leo's pride and joy, the one thing in the world he will talk about for hours upon hours on end; you've sat there and listened to him every single time, absorbing every word, even if you don't understand it. He talks about circuits and updates and tools you have never heard of, but he says it all with such enthusiasm it's almost impossible not to get involved. And even though you know you should be stubborn, insisting on him getting into bed right this instant, you want to see him in that state again. You always want to see him in that state, eyes glittering with passion, hands moving all over the place, smile brighter than anything.

He doesn't need an answer. You simply smile at him, slightly exasperated, and he says, "Alright!" before spinning on his heel, the very beginning of his lecture.

You listen to him talk like how you would listen to lo-fi music. Your legs swing back and forth, back and forth, a tiny smile gracing your features. Leo shows you different parts, illuminating the inside of Festus's new helmet with fire ignited in his calloused palm. It makes his grin impossibly brighter. It makes his curls that little bit darker. It's him.

Finally, he spins and says, "Cool, right?" and even though you were mildly distracted the entire time, you nod and say, "Very cool. As always."

"What are you doing here so early, anyway?" He strolls over, casually plucking another cinnamon roll off the plate and taking a bite.

"I saw you heading to Bunker 9 last night and just assumed this was where you slept. I thought you said you didn't sleep in here?"

He shrugs. "I sleep in here when I'm stressed; gets me away from the ruckus of everyone else, you know."

You raise a brow. "You were stressed?"

"Of course I was stressed." He looks at you, exasperated. "Do you not remember anything we discussed last night?"

You blink; it's not that you had forgotten - there's no way you'll be forgetting that night any time soon - but you thought for sure Leo had. Yes, he'd been there to help you through it, and he was the reason you went to bed smiling, but you were still a mortal, and your problems surely could never be as big as his. You genuinely sat in front of him and cried about feeling neglected by your mother when his own mother is dead, and his Dad doesn't even talk to him, too busy producing other godly children. But here he is, head tilted and eyes slashed with worry. You almost want to look away, but the colour in them has become so noticeably entrancing these past few weeks that you find it nearly impossible to do so.

"I didn't mean to stress you out," is all you can manage. "I was just ranting."

"You were crying."

"I was - I mean - like - yeah, I guess, but you don't have to stress."

Leo narrows his eyes. "You really are dense, aren't you?"

You open your mouth, ready to chastise him for saying such a thing, but your words are swallowed by the loud clang clang clang of the door opening. Leo stares at you for a second longer before glancing over his shoulder, sharing your shock at the sight of Will popping his head in the door. His lower lip is pulled between his teeth, movements slow and timid.

"Uh, sorry to interrupt," he says. "But we kind of need Y/N up at camp."

Those words are terrifying. They jolt you and Leo into action almost immediately; you slip off the counter, stumbling over a few discarded wrenches and old toolboxes. Leo catches you before you can fall, but neither of you comment on your suddenly linked hands before following Will out the door, curiosity getting the better of you.

You hear the commotion before you see it.

The sound of your mothers shrill voice is all-too familiar, and it echoes now. Bouncing off trees, sinking into the dirt, giving you a blistering headache that immediately makes you want to turn around and pretend you never heard it. But there's a crowd, an ocean of demigods, all with weapons and angry expressions trained on the woman who raised you - the woman who tried raising you - and despite the anger you once felt towards her, you pick up your pace, rush into the scene and say, "Ay! Get that spear out of my face!"

The demigod - you don't even know who she is - stumbles back, gaping at you. You don't give her the time of day, instead pivoting on your heel towards your mother.

There she is, stood in the middle of the clearing with her arms above her head, screaming up at the sky. Blood coats her elbows and knees. Chiron and Emma are beside her, but it seems like both of them have given up trying to make her see sense; they simply stare, Emma with tears in her eyes, Chiron looking like he's on the verge of booting her out of camp right this instant.

Leo stumbles to your side and grabs your arm. "What's wrong with her?"

You touch your mum's arm. "Mum, you're being proper embarrassing right now."

She spins. Her hair is matted, the product of having not been washed in weeks. Her eyes are dark, lips chapped and bitten, utterly destroyed. You've seen her when she's having one of her episodes, but this is worse. This is the worst you've ever seen it. It breaks your heart, even though it shouldn't. It was only last night she was basically calling you worthless, a mistake, the reason her little affair with a Greek god didn't work out.

You swallow. "Mum. . . It's me."

"Emma?"

You bite your lip, trying to ignore how much that hurts. "Uh. . . not quite, but nearly. Emma's over there."

"Don't get me involved in this," Emma spits, roughly swiping a hand across her cheek. "I don't want anything to do with her."

Your heart judders. Your mother's eyes narrow, like she's taking a little longer to process her first childs words. You decide to step in before she has a chance to.

"No, Mum, I'm not Emma, I'm Y/N. I'm here to - uh - take you home."

As soon as you say it, you want to curl in on yourself. It's a truth you've been trying to avoid these past few weeks, the idea of finally breaking away from camp and heading back to your shitty apartment with your shitty mother to live a shitty life of online classes and pretending everything is normal and okay. Behind you, Leo mumbles, "Sorry, what was that?" which hurts your heart even more. "Yeah," you continue, taking another timid step towards her. A branch cracks beneath your foot, and your mother flinches, looks up into the sky like the sound of a god appearing will be nothing more than a simple crack.

"Yeah, Mum, we're gonna go home, and you're gonna get some rest, okay? You look exhausted."

"Exhausted," she mumbles. "Home."

"Home, yeah. Remember home? We liked it there. Things were normal there."

Mum's nostrils flare. "Normal-"

"But our house is also where Ares thinks we are right now!" you barrel on. "He's got our address in his little address book - he doesn't actually know we're at Camp Half-Blood right now."

Her shoulders deflate, eyes brightening. "Oh. You're right. He's probably visited so many times and we haven't even been there! He's going to be so angry!"

"So, so angry." You wrap your arm around her shoulder, gently drawing her away from the crowd of angry demigods, of sobbing sisters and confused centaurs. You meet Leo's eyes only once, and it's enough to shatter your being, enough for the burning of tears to erupt through your senses. You want to turn and run to him, tell him you're sorry, promise to never leave him, but the feelings are so extraordinary and so weird, unfamiliar, that you can't.

You turn your gaze to the floor and guide your mother through the crowd towards the Big House, uttering words about home and comfort, and going back to a life you want to abandon for good. You pretend it's all okay, because that's all you've ever known.

----

Leo finds you that same night.

You left your mother in Chiron's care. She fell asleep immediately, and you were free to do what you wanted after that, but the thought of parading through Camp Half-Blood after being in the centre of such a weird scene made your stomach curl, so you stayed by her side until you were positive most of the campers were in bed, sleeping.

Except Leo, of course.

He sits down in the grass, shoulder brushing yours. You don't look over; you know it's him just from the scent of oil, and the way he cracks his knuckles, and the way he awkwardly coughs into the darkness. These are all little things of him you have memorised. Each one makes your heart ache.

Finally, after what feels like forever, he speaks. "You don't have to do all that, you know."

"Do what?"

"Stick up for her. Make her comfortable.

" You shrug. "I know I don't."

"So why do you do it?"

"Because she's my mum."

"She's barely your mum. She doesn't even do the bare minimum for you."

True. Painfully, awkwardly true.

You shrug again. Leo sighs, tilting his head back. When you glance over, you see him gazing up at the stars, jaw clenched in a way that throws off the soft features of his face you have grown so used to seeing. You don't like it.

You reach over and poke his cheek in an attempt to make him loosen up. He closes his eyes. "I don't get it."

"What?"

"Why you have to be the one taking care of her when she's never taken care of you."

You swallow thickly. "I'm not. . . I'm not taking care of her. I'm just-"

"Then what was that back there?"

"That was me trying to make sure my mum didn't get a spear shoved down her throat. It's basic human decency, Leo."

He purses his lips, like this is something he has never heard of.

You sigh, slumping back against a tree. "I don't hate my mum, you know; she's done some fucked up stuff to me, but I don't hate her."

Leo stares at you. His eyes are lazors, flames, beams pouring into the side of your head, and you want to look at him, but you think it would be a very bad idea right now.

Neither of you say anything for what feels like forever, which is a big deal when sitting with someone like Leo Valdez. The only noise filling in the silence is the steady drip of rain drops rolling down the leaves, bouncing against the lakes surface. A few ocean creatures peak their heads up, examine the scene, duck back beneath the water.

And then, "Are you actually leaving?"

You bite back a sob. "You didn't expect me to stay here forever, did you?"

Leo doesn't respond.

"She's not well here," you continue, tilting your head back. The moon waves at you. The stars smile. "She was bad at home, but being here - around this kind of thing - it's going to drive her insane."

"She's a grown woman."

"Ares messed her up." It's the first time you've said it out loud, the truth. Your mother was okay before she met that man. You've heard stories from your grandparents, your aunts and uncles, of the days when your mum was winning medals for her skills in ballet, the days she was getting awards for her academic success, the days where she played mediator in a house full of people who could never see eye-to-eye on anything. You listened to them with only half-interest, because you never fully believed them. You had lived with the crazy side of her for too long by that point.

But it's true. Ares waltzed into her life, promised her the world, gave her this child with skills beyond human comprehension, gave her a taste of real love for the first time in her life - and then he left.

"Why do gods think they can just get away with that?" you find yourself asking before you can stop. "Mess with people's lives like that. Why do they think that's okay?"

Leo sighs. "They run the world. They can do whatever they want."

"That seems really unfair."

"Yeah, well, it's also unfair that you have to give up your own happiness for your mum."

You close your eyes; there it is again, the topic breached. Leo doesn't understand that this is all you've ever known - caring for her, making sure she's okay, being ignored and neglected because you're not the gods child. He doesn't understand that this has been your life from day one. You were never given a chance to mind it. You were never given a chance to know anything else.

"You know, I think this place could really benefit with someone like you."

You look at him. "You're just saying that."

He shrugs, picking up a pebble and lobbing it at the lake. Always keeping his hands moving, never being still. "Maybe. Maybe I'm just a little desperate for you to stay." He looks at you. "Is that weird?"

You swallow, unable to respond, because you want to tell him no, no of course it's not weird, please keep talking and I'll stay, I'll stay here with you, I'll never leave, I never wanted to leave in the first place.

Leo looks down at his hands, fingers fiddling with the threads dangling from his overalls. "Sorry. I - I didn't mean to - like - put you on the spot or anything. I just care about you. A lot. And I hate seeing you upset. It bothers me."

The way it says it, words spoken through gritted teeth, makes your heart stutter. Oddly, it reminds you of those days spent laughing in Bunker 9, calling him stupid as he tried so hard to keep you amused, like he wanted to keep your attention as firm as possible so you wouldn't get up and leave. For once in your life, someone wants you to stay.

And it's sad - heartbreaking, even - that you have been cursed with these circumstances, that the mere notion of staying at Camp Half-Blood is so beyond reality; you're no demigod. Even if your mother were to head home on her own, do you a favour for once, the chances of Chiron being allowed to let you stay are incredibly, incredibly slim. You won't entertain the idea. You won't get your hopes up like that. You won't play to your own feelings, because that has never done anything for you, nothing but leave you in a state of despair.

And so, you keep quiet, staring out over the lake with Leo by your side, his hands working, his mind probably racing, your heart a steady thump in the distance.

---

The next day, you are ready to leave.

You packed all your things the night before. You said all your goodbyes the night before. You and Emma got into a brutal argument the night before, and now you're stood before her, trembling from head to toe as you patiently wait for Chiron to lead your mother to Thalia's pine tree so the both of you can finally be let go.

Emma stares at you. She's been doing that since last night, her hands balled into fists, jaw strong, so she looks a little bit like her father; you can say that now. You hate him. You think you'd punch him in the face if you ever saw him.

"I can't believe you're actually doing this for her."

"I never understood why you hate her so much - you're the one she actually cares about."

Emma grits her teeth, looking to the ground in that way she so often does when she's trying not to punch you square in the face. "That's not the point."

"You don't even deny it any more," you scoff. "You've just come to terms with the fact that she basically worships the ground you walk on. How about you start understanding how lucky you are rather than giving me grief for taking care of her?"

"Taking care of her?" Emma bursts. "She's your mother! She should be taking care of you!"

"Right, but that's not the way things have turned out, so we might as well cut the shit now before-"

"Leo spoke to me, you know." You freeze. Your mouth stays open, eyes widening; Leo is the absolute last thing you want to talk about right now, not after last night, not after hearing the hint of heartbreak in his voice when he realised it was too late, you were too far gone, there was no keeping you.

Emma nods, even though you haven't said anything, even though you can do nothing but stare at her in complete shock and bewilderment. "Yeah, Leo Valdez, the boy you're head over heels in love with."

You splutter. "What?"

"Oh, don't play dumb! I've seen the way you are with each other. I've seen the way you look at him. I've seen the way he looks at you, and for fuck sake Y/N, you shouldn't have to give all that up for someone like her!"

"That person you're on about is our mother!"

"And what? That means you have to put your entire life on hold for her?" Emma drops her sword in a move close to desperation, startling you when she barrels forward and grabs your shoulders. She holds you at arms length, eyes like fire. "You're my only little sibling, Y/N; it's my job more than anything else to look after you, and I'm not going to sit back and let your selflessness ruin your whole life."

You blink, and only then do the tears make an appearance. You think of Leo, even though you hate it, even though you've already said your goodbyes to him and you should just leave it at that. He hugged you, and you hugged him, and you apologised and he told you there was nothing to be sorry for - it was the perfect potential ending, but you don't want it to be over.

Emma is right; you're jeopardising your own happiness for this woman.

Emma stares at you, the tears leaking from your eyes. Her own lower lip trembles, but she's Emma, so she won't start crying. Not properly.

You inhale shakily, ducking your head down. "I can't let her go home on her own, Em. She'll never make it. She'll never agree to go if she doesn't have someone with her."

"So I'll go."

You freeze. "What?"

Emma tilts her head forward, catching your eye. "I said, I'll go. I'll take her home, get her settled, and then I'll get someone to come take care of her - a professional. Someone who should have been there for her a long bloody time ago. You can stay here for a while."

Your heart thunders. You're certain you've heard her wrong, because this isn't right - none of this is right. Emma's the demigod. She should be the one staying here whilst you get shipped off back home with your mother. That's how things have always been, how things were always meant to be. But when you look back at your older sister now, there is no glimmer of amusement in her eyes; she's being serious, more serious than you've ever seen her before.

She squeezes your shoulders, curling her stubby nails into the fabric of your hoodie. "I mean it, Y/N. If you want to stay here-"

"I do," you croak out. "I really, really do."

"For Leo?"

You blink.

Emma grins. "For Leo." She pats your shoulder, nearly knocking you off your feet. "Go, before her and Chiron make an appearance. I think Valdez is-"

But you don't let her finish. You know where Leo is even without her input, and so you throw yourself into her arms, squeal a thank you in her ear before sprinting off down the hill towards Bunker 9.

The gods should be yelling at you right now, casting lightning and rain and every other deadly element down upon you, because this must be so far out of the rule book. This must be going entirely against everything they have ever set up, every rule they have laid out - a mortal in one of their demigod camps? A mortal hanging around their children like their even close to being equal. Complete blasphemy.

But you don't care. Not when you round the corner to see the door to Bunker 9 already wide open, little flashes of Leo Valdez skimming past the entryway.

You pause in the trees, craning your neck to catch a glimpse of what he is doing, and it is only then do you see the spanner smash against one of the windows. The glass doesn't shatter, but it shakes and it makes a loud noise, and it's followed closely by Leo yelling out a curse that would get him blown to smithereens if his father were to hear it.

You sprint towards the door. "Leo?"

He spins around, eyes widening. He grips his hand, blood seeping from one of his fingers, dribbling down his wrist and landing upon his boots. He doesn't seem to care, though, simply staring at you in shock.

And then, "Y/N?"

You throw yourself forward, grabbing his wrist. The blood from his gets caught beneath your fingers, but you don't care. You stare at it, shaking your head, whispering his name over and over, and all he can do is stare at you, dumbfounded, before he exclaims, "Hey, wait!" and stumbles back, yanking his hand from your grip in the process.

"Leo, let me have a look at that-"

"You shouldn't be here right now!"

"Okay, Leo, yes, we'll discuss that later, but please, let me look at your hand. What the hell did you even do?"

You reach for him, but he's like a wild animal, startled and afraid. He stumbles back, nearly tripping over a toolbox discarded on the floor. You notice the mess that wasn't there this morning, the tools laying everywhere, sheets of torn paper thrown left, right and centre, broken glass littering the hard floor.

"Jesus, Leo," you gasp. "What have you been doing in here?"

"Why are you back? Why aren't you away yet?"

You lift your gaze, narrowing your eyes. "If you want me to go, you can just say so." And right now, looking at the scene around you and the state of Leo's hand, and his startled expression, you don't even feel bad that he very well might just ask you to turn and leave. Your mind is preoccupied, wanting nothing more than to grab him and force him to shut up so you can pay some attention to the gaping wound on the tip of his finger. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. He's staring at you, unable to move, small of his back pressed against the workbench. The blood welling in his fingertip looks to only be getting worse.

"Leo," you say softly. "Please, can we talk about this later?"

He doesn't respond, but he doesn't run away when you take a step towards him, either. His eyes never leave your own as you reach for his hand and pull him towards a chair in the corner, slowly pushing him into it. You softly ask him to reach into that magic toolbelt of his to pull out some medical supplies, and he does so with trembling hands, never saying a word, never really needing to.

You get to work in silence, trying to ignore the thumping of your own heart, the tremble of your own hands, the desperate need you have to just apologise over and over and over for scaring him so bad, for startling him to the point where he can't even form a full sentence, to the point where he was willing to run away from you.

You clean the wound and bandage it the best way you can, remembering all those times as a child when you would cut yourself by accident and your mum would be too dazed or too neglectful to take you to the hospital or do anything about it herself.

Leo watches your hands working wonders until it's all finally complete and you step back, admiring your handiwork with a pleased grin on your face. "Not too shabby."

Leo swallows. Finally you take the time to look at him, his pale face and startled eyes; he looks like he's on the verge of tears, which really isn't the reaction you were hoping to receive when you walked back into Bunker 9.

You fold your arms over your chest, nibbling your bottom lip as you say, "I'm staying."

Leo exhales shakily. "I don't get it. Last night you were so adamant-"

"I know. I know I was, but I never wanted to go in the first place."

"So why-"

"Emma made me realise some things." You push yourself onto the workbench behind you, the very same spot you always found yourself sitting when Leo is working away on one of his projects. You used to sit with your legs pulled beneath you, watching him work in silence.

He stares at you. "I fully prepared myself to never see you again."

You wince. "I'm sorry."

And then he's scrambling out of his chair, stumbling between your legs, grabbing your hands, tugging them into his chest, all in that order. You gasp at the touch, the rough fabric of his plaster rubbing against your wrist, the forever warm touch of his skin so familiar yet you crave it so badly.

He's shaking his head, mumbling "No," on repeat beneath his breath

. "Leo. . ."

"I didn't mean to make you feel bad," he says. "So don't apologise to me again, alright? I don't want it. I don't need it - all that matters now is that you're here, and you - you said you're staying." He looks up, almost timid. "Did I hear that right?"

You nod, dazed; he's not mad. He's happy. He's smiling, and his eyes are doing that thing again where they glint and they crease into crescents, and he looks so cute, so happy, so like the Leo you've come to know and love so deeply. It makes your heart stutter. It makes this entire thing so, so worth it.

He grins. "Oh gods, Y/N, you scared the shit out of me. I nearly tore this place to the ground-"

"I can see that," you croak.

He winces, glancing awkwardly over his shoulder. "I didn't mean to - It was honestly an accident, but-"

"It's okay, Leo." His head snaps back round.

"It's okay?"

"It's all okay."

You reach forward, winding your arm around his neck, dragging him closer. His curls flood through your fingers, his eyes fluttering closed for a split second before he opens them again and says, "Can I kiss you?"

You nod, because of course he can. He does just that, pressing his lips to yours delicately, so, so delicately, like he's afraid you'll shatter. His hands are tender on your hips, thumbs rubbing gentle, mindless circles into the fabric of your shirt, and it's all so slow, all so gentle, but your heart is exploding into constellations, sprinkling over your being in a way you have never experienced before.

For someone who is never still, never calm, never quiet, his kisses are like a warm summer afternoon spent wading along a beach. They are aquamarine waters and birds chirping around a morning sunrise. They are everything and nothing and more than enough but never enough all in the same breath.

He pulls away first, uncertain, glancing nervously into your eyes as he slowly releases you. He takes a steady step back, rubbing the back of his neck, and it takes everything in you not to pull him back in.

Instead you laugh, swinging your legs back and forth like a giddy child. "Don't look so sheepish or I'll think you've poisoned me."

"I'm not very good at that," he mumbles. "Machines don't usually need kissed, so I don't tend to do it that often."

"I'd hope not." You grab his hand, pulling him back between your knees. "I'm sorry for scaring you earlier."

He opens his mouth, ready to protest your apologies once again, but you cut him off with five fingertips pressed to his lips. His eyes cross over as he glares at them, making you giggle. "I know you said I shouldn't apologise, but I shouldn't have been so. . . hasty. I shouldn't have lost my temper with you. I should have let you speak-"

"I don't say very interesting things."

"You say the most interesting things." You drop your hand, intertwine your fingers with his. "But I'm staying, Leo. I promise." He exhales shakily, like this is what he has been waiting to hear for a while now; it breaks your heart, rejuvenates you at the same time, and you realise suddenly just how awful it would have been to pack up your stuff and head home, to live a life without Leo Valdez in it.

---

Your mother looks a little better. A little healthier. A little happier.

Emma sits beside her, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, a denim jacket over the top. She looks happy, too, a little exhausted, but you never expected anything less. She's still smiling, though, and when her face appears in the Iris message, she lets out a happy sigh of relief.

"I thought you two would fuck it up."

"Go to hell, Emma," says Leo.

You chuckle, leaning back in your seat; it's been two weeks since Mum and Emma went back to the flat together, two weeks since you agreed to spend the rest of your summer at Camp Half-Blood, working on a relationship with Leo Valdez. It's been a grand two weeks, yes, but you still have responsibilities back in the real world.

"So, how's it going?" you ask. "Mum, you're still going to therapy, aren't you?"

"Yes," Mum mumbles, sounding more like an anguished teenager than anything else. "I've told you both already, I don't need it - I got over Ares years ago. I have my own family now - he can go to hell."

"Tartarus," Leo corrects.

"Whatever."

You grin. It's been so long - so long - since you've heard your mum mention you in the same context as Emma, including your name in the same sentence as the word family. Leo must notice your sudden shift in mood, as he chuckles, placing a gentle hand on the small of your back. He does that sometimes, letting you know he's there, like you'd ever forget. You reach behind you and tangle your fingers with his, subtly placing your joined hands in your lap.

"A few more weeks," you tell her. "That's all you have to endure, and then they're putting you on that trial, aren't they?"

"Apparently," Mum replies. "I was thinking of coming to visit you."

You and Emma share a look - the last time your mother was at Camp Half-Blood, things didn't exactly go well. The energy of this place drove her insane, reminded her of days with Ares, reminded her she'd been abandoned by the one man she ever loved.

Leo cuts in. "Oh, no! I was hoping Y/N and I could come out there and visit you guys for the week!"

Your head whips round. "You were?"

"Well, yeah." Leo rolls his eyes, faux exasperation. "I did tell you about it. I haven't been back to your house since the giant threw that boulder through your window." He rubs his finger along your scarred, damaged knuckles, forever torn from the boulder that destroyed all your nerve endings. "I think it would be a grand old time, personally."

"I agree," Emma chimes in. "And it would be less stressful for us - we can just wait here for them to arrive, and you still get to see Y/N!"

Mum hums, thoughtful, and for just a second, you're certain she's going to revert back to her old ways. She's going to call you scum, pretend you don't exist, make you feel like shit all over again; judging by the sudden grip Leo has on your hand, he thinks the exact same thing. You thought this was over with. You thought your Mum had gotten better, that she finally realised you are her child, too, and-

"I guess it would be a lot less hassle."

Leo exhales. "Great! It's a date."

"For you two, maybe," Emma grumbles. "Look, we have to leave in two minutes, so this is goodbye."

"Jeez, Em, tell us how you really feel."

"See you in a few weeks, assholes!" And before you or Leo can respond, the Iris message is flickering to a close, leaving you and Leo alone in Bunker 9.

It's silent for a few seconds. Leo grips your hand, running his thumb along your knuckles, and it suddenly feels so, so hard not to cry.

"She's getting so much better," you choke out.

Leo's head snaps round, eyes widening at the crack in your voice. "Hey, no. Don't you start crying on me, okay? This is a good thing! Good!" He cups your face, forcing you to look at him. He has that goofy look, his eyebrows stitched together, his lips pursed; it makes you laugh every time.

You reach up, wrapping your hands around his wrists just to keep the feel of him against you for a little longer. "I'm not going to cry. I'm not a bitch."

"It's all good here, Y/N," he says. "I always told you it's all good here."

And with his hands on your face, his eyes gazing into your own, the sweet weather of Camp Half-Blood flourishing outside, you know he's telling the truth. It's all good.

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dawninlatin · 4 years ago

Text

Queen of Peace, chapter 13

A manorian high school AU

Words: 2563

AO3 Link

Masterlist

Summary: Manon Blackbeak is flawless, untouchable. From the outside at least. Her grandmother pushes her to achieve greatness, and she doesn’t let anyone get too close in fear of being hurt. How can anyone love her when not even her parents could?

Dorian Havilliard has always felt safe and confident around his friends. He might not have the greatest of families, but with Aelin and Chaol by his side, nothing can go wrong. That is until he tries keeping his greatest secret from them.

What will happen when Dorian and Manon gets to know one another? Can two lost souls find their way back together?

Oh, the queen of peace

Always does her best to please

But is it any use?

Somebody’s gotta lose

-Florence + The Machine, Queen of Peace

The music roared out of the speakers, and Manon moved her body to the rhythm, letting herself get lost in the upbeat tones. She had done this a dozen times by now, memorized this choreography weeks ago.

But then she turned to the right, and it wasn’t Asterin dancing beside her - as it had always been - it was Sorrel.

It startled her enough that she halted and messed up a few steps. Manon caught up with the others, but she was unable to pour her heart into it like she usually did. Her mind was too busy thinking about Asterin, worrying whether she was okay or not after their grandmother had kicked her out.

Manon had seen her at school a few times in the following weeks, but they hadn’t talked, and she doubted they would. Asterin probably hated her now, after all the horrible things Manon had said to her.

Getting kicked out is the least you deserve after getting yourself knocked up by a boy who will leave at the first sign of some real responsibility. Don’t come crawling to me when you find yourself homeless and heartbroken. You’re off the dance team, by the way.

Manon hadn’t meant what she said, not really, but maybe this was for the better…

Her grandmother had made it very clear that she was not to talk with Asterin anymore, and Asterin avoiding her, hating her, made everything much easier.

Yet, if it made things easier, why did it also make her so sad? The house had been awfully quiet these weeks, so quiet it was near-stifling. Manon hadn’t realized how different, how empty, home would be without Asterin there.

Stop moping around you sad, pathetic fool!

Manon mentally scolded herself, forcing her attention back to the dancing. She couldn’t keep letting this distract her. Asterin was simply an obstacle who no longer stood in the way of her future.

Finishing the rest of the choreography, she ignored the desperate, disappointed voice inside her head that whispered; you’re beginning to sound like her.

When the music faded into nothing and her body stopped moving, Manon put on her usual mask of cold, calculating boredom and turned towards her team. She immediately knew something was up, as they were all looking at her as if they had something to say, but didn’t dare say it.

«What,» Manon said, more an order than a question. If they had all decided to gang up against her, she only wanted to get it over with.

The girls exchanged wary glances, before Sorrel took a step forward and said, «We need Asterin on this choreo.» Manon was surprised when Vesta, who leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, stayed silent for once.

With a sigh, Manon answered Sorrel, «And why the hell do we need Asterin?»

Yet again did they all look at each other, as if this was something they’d discussed behind her back. The icy feeling of betrayal snaked its way up Manon’s spine.

«Because it’s always been the thirteen of us. We’re off-balance without Asterin.» It was Ghislaine who spoke this time.

«You’ve said it yourself,» Briar shot in from the back of the room. «If just one of us is missing, the entire team falls apart!»

It was when Vesta finally opened her mouth that she snapped. «And you slipped up today, Manon. Several times!»

«I have no idea what you’re talking about,» Manon hissed, clenching her fists so hard it hurt. «You have been distracted today, hell, you’ve been distracted, lazy and off-beat all week!»

«Because Asterin-» Vesta begun, but Manon didn’t let her finish.

«I don’t wanna hear another word about Asterin! It was her own stupidity that got her kicked off the team, and if you, all of you, don’t start working a bit harder, I won’t hesitate to replace you with someone else!»

The room was unbearably quiet when she was done talking, and Manon could hear her own heart thundering inside her chest. She had to stay calm, couldn’t let them see her fall apart, even if that was what she felt like doing right now. She was losing control, she was-

«I can talk to Asterin today if-»

«GET OUT!»

Manon’s blood was boiling at the audacity of Vesta. Why couldn’t they understand that Asterin, with her carelessness, was jeopardizing everything they had worked towards?

Her grandmother had been clear in her orders: everything had to be perfect, so they had to win nationals, which they couldn’t do when one of the teammates first of all didn’t bother showing up to half of the rehearsals, and second of all, would be heavily pregnant come spring.

When everyone had left, and Manon was alone once more, she didn’t let herself brood over the fight they’d just had, didn’t let herself recognize how awful this made her feel. She simply turned the music back on, and forgot.

She forgot everything she’d promised her grandmother, forgot the math test she’d butchered earlier today, forgot the fact that her whole dance team had probably just quit, forgot that she had no control over anything in her life anymore.

Yet as she kept moving her exhausted body, one thought remained. One of piercing blue eyes and soft lips.

And when she remembered that she had an actual date with him the next day, Manon smiled, despite everything.

«Why are you looking at me like that?»

How am I supposed to not look at you? Dorian wondered. Manon was radiant where she sat with her body leaned back, eyes closed, face tipped towards the sky. She was smiling softly, the autumn sun making her white-blonde hair glow.

Instead of telling her that, Dorian went with: «I’m just wondering what you’re thinking. You went quiet all of a sudden.»

She had. They’d been sitting here for hours now, under the huge oak tree in the park, eating and laughing and talking, but now she was silent, a calm, contemplating aura around her.

Manon hummed in answer, before opening her eyes and twisting towards him. «I’m just…savoring the moment, I guess.» Her mouth quirked to the side, the movement making her nose scrunch, and Dorian had to let out a chuckle.

«Now who’s the cliché?»

She’d been playfully mocking him for his picnic this whole time, even asking him if he was aware that they weren’t in every high school movie ever made. Dorian had begged to differ, telling her that the only reason it was a cliché, was because it worked.

And it did. After a while, Manon had reluctantly agreed that yes, maybe it was a little romantic. The admission had been accompanied by an eye-roll, of course, but what else could you expect?

«What time is it?» Manon asked after a moment.

Dorian scrambled for his phone, finding it half-lodged under the picnic basket. «It’s almost 3pm,» he said, marveling over how much time had passed. He could spend all day like this, just talking about all and nothing with Manon. No matter what they discussed, she surprised him with her answers, whether it be a funny joke or an unusually deep thought, offering a new perspective on things.

«I should head home soon,» she sighed, but Manon made no sign of getting up. Instead she laid down, Dorian joining her. «My grandmother will start to ask questions if I’m late.»

From what he’d gathered, Manon’s grandmother was very strict, especially when it came to boys, and Manon had told her she was studying at the library today. She rarely talked about her family, and whenever they touched on the subject, she quickly started talking about something else. Dorian knew not to ask questions, though. She would open up when and if she was ready, and those moments often came at the most unexpected times.

«I had a lot of fun today, you know. Even if I still think you just googled date ideas and went with the first hit.» Dorian laughed at that, his stomach filling with what could only be described as butterflies.

«Does that mean you would want to do it again?» They were lying on their backs, face to face, and all Dorian could think about was how badly he wanted to kiss her.

It had been weeks since their kiss in the library, but they hadn’t been able to do it again. All they’d gotten was stolen moments in between classes and late-night texts, their busy schedules making sure of that. Until now, that was.

«I would love to,» Manon offered, answering his question. «But next time I decide what we’re doing.»

«Deal,» Dorian grinned, his eyes staying fixed on her lips as she spoke.

Moments passed, the tension between them tangible, and then Manon whispered, «Is it weird that I really wanna kiss you right now?»

That was all it took for Dorian to crash his lips into hers.

The kiss was exploring at first, her lips so soft and so perfect. He’d thought about their moment in the library constantly in the past weeks, but his memory could never do it justice, he knew now. This was the real thing, the real Manon, and she was bewitching. No other word could describe the experience that was kissing her.

Dorian pulled her closer, and Manon placed her hands in his hair. He had to continuously remind himself that they were outside, in the middle of a park, and anyone could walk by at any moment.

Yet he couldn’t stop either. Their mouths had gone from searching to ravenous, both of them trying to get closer to the other. Manon nudged him with her tongue, and he opened up for her, the taste of her exquisite.

His blood heated, skin becoming incredibly tight all of a sudden. He could keep doing this forever.

But they had to pull apart at some point to simply just breathe. And they did.

Manon let her forehead rest against his as they both panted slightly, Dorian reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of her face. «I really should go now,» she murmured against his lips, leaning in to kiss him once more.

It was Dorian who pulled away this time, stroking her cheek. «I’ll see you later then.»

«Yeah,» she sighed, standing up in one smooth movement. The air around Dorian suddenly became unbearably cold.

After Manon had picked up her jacket, ready to leave, she halted for a moment, and said, «I meant it when I said today was fun.»

Then she leaned down to place a swift kiss on his cheek, stood back up and walked away, leaving him alone, all flustered.

Dorian had to wait a moment before he could get up himself, because his pants had just become very tight. His face was burning at the fact, but he forced himself to think of dead puppies and his parents fighting and his gym teacher in those tiny shorts he insisted on wearing.

That last image was particularly horrifying, but it seemed to do the trick. Then, Dorian picked up his phone, only to find fifty new messages from Aelin in their group chat.

Sighing, he began to skim through the thread.

Aelin: Do you guys have plans for today?

Aelin: Rowan is busy

Aelin: And I’m bored

Aelin: Hellooooo

Chaol: I’m guessing I have plans now…

Aelin: I can actually hear how hard you’re sighing right now Chaol

Aelin: We’re seeing a movie today

Chaol: When?

Then there was a lot of planning back and forth, and both Chaol and Aelin trying to reach Dorian. The last message he got was a selfie of his best friends glaring at him, the text reading: Come hang out with us loser.

So Dorian stood, feeling lighter than ever, and began calling Aelin to hear where they were.

Stepping into the narrow hallway of her home, Manon carefully closed the door behind her, trying to stay as quiet as possible in case her grandmother was working.

She hung her coat on the rack and turned her phone on silent. She rarely got any notifications, but that was before Dorian. Now they sent messages back and forth at all hours, most of it silly nonsense.

«Manon, is that you?» her grandmother called from the kitchen. Letting out a shaky breath, Manon made her facial expression that of someone who had studied in a library for hours and definitely hadn’t just made out with a hot boy.

Listen to yourself, you sound like some lovesick girl from those movies you hate so much, Manon mentally yelled, rolling her eyes at how annoying her internal monologue was becoming.

«Yeah, I’m back.» She stopped by the doorway to the kitchen on the way to her room, where her grandmother was sitting by the table, laptop open in front of her.

The woman glanced up at the clock on the wall, before looking back at Manon, her eyes searching. «You stayed at the library for a long time.»

Manon had to fight to stay fully still, to not flinch at her grandmothers words. She couldn’t know, could she? Putting on a fake smile, Manon said, «I just got into a really good workflow, didn’t wanna quit.»

Her breaths were getting faster, and she could feel the panic sneaking up on her.

Just keep it together until you’re alone! She always asks questions like these.

«I’m almost done with the history assignment,» she added to make sure her grandmother bought it. Even if it was all a lie. She hadn’t even started on the history paper.

«Good. I already made dinner, but there are some leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry.» Her grandmother’s tone was pleasant, almost happy. She had to be in a good mood today, then. The whole thing felt deeply unsettling.

At least she was safe, for now.

«Thanks, but I’m not hungry. I’ll be in my room,» Manon said before turning and hurrying down the hall. Once she’d closed the door, she finally let out the breath of relief she’d benne holding, throwing away all pretense.

She couldn’t keep lying to her grandmother like this…

Not only did it make her feel awful, but the consequences would also be too great. She was putting her whole future at risk when she was acting like this, sneaking around and prioritizing boys over her schoolwork.

Frustrated, she threw herself down on her bed, startling Abraxos who was sleeping on her pillow. Dorian made everything so much more complicated. Agreeing to go out with him had been a mistake. A huge, huge mistake.

Yet she’d felt better today, happier, than she’d had in a long time. She’d even managed to forget the catastrophe that was her dance team, if only for a few hours. And with this light, fluttery feeling, everything seemed more manageable.

For now, she could do this, wanted to do this. The thought of not being with Dorian anymore… It didn’t feel right, and she was actually looking forward to Monday, when she would see him again.

She knew this, they, would have to end one way or another, but she couldn’t let go just yet.

A/N: That break really got longer than I anticipated...

It's been nearly a year now, since I first got the idea for this fic and started writing it, and here I was, believing I could be done with it by summer 2020. In all honesty, it feels like I posted chapter 12, blinked, and then 4 months had passed. But here it is, at least:) We have reached the halfway point, and a little progress is better than none. I'm still not making any promises regarding this fic, other than I will finish it, someday, whether that be in 2 months or 2 years. And to all of you who still read, from the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU SO MUCH<3<3 I could not have done it without you!

All the love, Aurora<3

Taglist: @fireheartdreamerstarborn @bookishwitchling @hellasblessed @kit-12 @onfma @ireallyshouldsleeprn @sayosdreams @rowaelinismyotp

I keep a separate taglist for each ship, so let me know if you want to be on any of them!

#dawninlatin QoP #manorian #manorian fic #manorian fanfiction #manorian au #manon x dorian #dorian x manon #manon blackbeak #dorian havilliard #sjm #sarah j maas #throne of glass #tog #throne of glass au

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