#but dam i have too many thoughts and drafts and not enough time or brain power to put them into words

[bibibbon]

the ending is making my eye violently twitch. bc now i have my hands full with like 5 different fix-it fics sitting in my google drive and im also crying and sobbing and god why did i get so invested in this show- i literally saw one edit of rody and then was dragged back into the fandom after almost 5 years

I can definitely relate even though this ending sucked it has physically fueled me to start writing analysis posts but the problem is I have too many ideas, too many drafts and my brains malfunctioning to even try and put my ideas into words 😭😭.

Sigh it's always rody isn't it? I also came back to the fandom because of izuku and rody so I feel ya.

[schizomatic3000]

Judge My Diction, Not My Grammer

(my completed prose piece from multiple drafts i previously made)

Driving down the road only guessing how many you’ve been down. From Brooklyn to Montague; you’ll travel the world one day. Just me for miles: safe and content. The tiny volume dial spinning back and forth between my fingers getting more and more elated with every increase, the feel of the pedals beneath me, finally in control of something for once in my life. Stray coins fill the console thrashing about at every sharp turn without any damage at all. One day they’ll fall onto the floor, and never be found again. Lost under the seats like childhood dreams, I took too fast a turn to keep them safe. The car needs me as much as I need it. Without the other we’ll both just sit and rust away in some junkyard, but instead we arrive at my favorite place in the world. Gas stations. But the off-brand, run-down, days from bankruptcy kind. They’re perfect.

The broken lights make it hard to read the price on anything, forcing you to squint until you involuntarily cry from the effort. Flickering lights in the bathroom in sync with your now racing heart as you wash your hands reminding yourself the person in the mirror is just you . The creepy guy behind the counter who’s desperately trying to imagine what you’re wearing beneath your jacket making you subconsciously pull it tighter around yourself like a goodbye hug. Bittersweet and lingering for days. The smell of cigarette smoke and gasoline mixing in the air and pumping helium into your head, your brain floating up over the tiny shelves and right out the door. Longing to join the stars it bursts on a powerline, lighting up the sky and fulfilling its wish. Your body, a host without its parasite, stumbles about waiting for someone else to take control. Humming along with the crappy pop song barely audible in the background, taking your time in every aisle allowing yourself to just exist despite your fictitious truth. Gas stations. But the off-brand, run-down, days from bankruptcy kind. They’re home. 

As home as I’ll get in this body and brain of mine. With my ribs sticking out, begging for God to make me a companion, I breathe out giving life to the trees that surround me. Swaying in my breath they filter light from above casting a halo above my covetous head - my first sin. The apples of my eye float mockingly high, shining that shade of red that makes you feel warm and re-ignites the butterflies within your stomach. Beetles and spiders and wasps crawl around through mine, clicking and popping to scare off predators - am I not enough to protect you? With my twiggy arms squeezing tight around my core and giving life to the branches you reside on? I know there’s knicks and scratches and dents, but I thought you’d like them. I’m sorry I don’t know what you want. My brain is but a rock; dense and heavily within my skull. The cracks that wrap around have taken only moments to spawn, but now, years later, flowers sprout from the darkness. My heart is more a leaf than anything else. Jolting from side to side following the wind, even when they disagree. Rips line the edges making the original outline cryptic - the tree she came from I’ll never know. Frequently flooding Eden in my sorrows I make fruitless attempts to build protective dams around the garden. Waterfalls run down my face from the caves that are pretty only at a glance; the more you observe the worse a place they seem to be. Absorbed by the seeds of my skin; one day flowers will ornate my body turning me into the garden I know I am. Until then I’m just a spot in the forest, isolated and esoteric, praying for it all to burn down.

A charred ghost town sits lonely in my skull. The once excited inhabitants are long gone and scared to come back. I don’t remember when but the power plant exploded and all that’s left is mother nature. Evacuated, the citizens made home somewhere else. It’ll never be the same, but at least there’s a roof over their heads. And crime in the streets, corruption in politics, death in hospitals, and constant crying in schools.Where my hope went I don’t know, but in place of pride lies an alley located between my confidence and sorrow. Dim and putrid with noises of feral cats and unsteady dumpsters. The sidewalk in front is cracked and crumbing, callous to the weary feet that tremble past. The small pop-up shop that is my confidence has only a few items left in stock. The owner seems to always be in the back; leaving customers at the register long enough for them to give up and go somewhere else. How pretty the decor is, beautiful paintings and sculptures that no one cares to admire. To the left, a skyscraper reaching for the stars hoping to become one. The multitude of floors and departments and workers and management inside is as heavy as the steel and concrete used to create their home away from home. What makes this building so terrifying is that the farther you go up the more you can see. Except the building is so high it pokes out through the clouds and at a certain point all you can see is a white blanket of faux snow calling for you to become an angel. I’ve been to the top a few times and as ethereal as it was, nothing was more comforting than racing down the abundance of stairs and straight out the door. The air is not nearly as fresh down here but at least I’m not light-headed anymore. The cartography of my soul is still mostly undiscovered. I hope I can create the full map someday; maybe then I’ll know who I am. Maybe then I’ll be able to tell you who I am.

People try so hard to figure out what I am; but I don’t know. Listening to me talk about things that seem to spike my interest as my eyes stay dull and unfeeling. All I do is drone on and on while thinking over and over ¨be present, be present, be present¨. But I can’t: I’m preoccupied. Constantly aware of the fact that this isn’t who I want to be. Younger me would be so disappointed and it kills me to know I let her down. I was all she had and now, she has nothing. I could’ve been so much but instead I’m just hollow. Not empty or void or missing some important piece of me; I’m just hollow. There’s nothing inside me - yes - but nothing was ever meant to be. The cavity in my chest is not meant to hold a heart, but to allow birds to perch on my ribs and sing songs that echo throughout my body when they so please. I’m open to the world, yet hidden from society.

[fmdtaeyongarchive]

↬ my reality is a cruel fall without you.

date: august 2020.

location: ash’s living room / ash’s therapist’s office / ash’s apartment studio.

word count: 1,822 words, excluding lyrics.

summary: -

triggers: n/a.

notes: creative claims verification.

i.

ash has been through this exact writing process three times prior and he’s picked up some tricks. defining the seasons in the context of love had become easier for him as he finished their respective songs one by one.

winter had been the cold of the world driving two people together.

spring had been the honeymoon phase.

summer had been the oppressive weight of a long-term relationship taking its toll.

now, it’s time for him to write fall.

ii.

it’s been a year.

ash can’t remember anything in his life ever feeling quite as heavy as that promise ring had the night he’d slipped it off the chain around his neck and passed it out of his grasp for the last time, a mere six months after he’d put it on his finger and thought he’d had everything figured out.

“i love you so much, but we both know this isn’t working.” 

(i love you, but not in the way i thought i’d been looking for my whole life any more.)

if he’d looked at himself from the outside, he would have felt silly for feeling his entire core splitting in half as the silver ring clattered onto the table, his resolve too weak to thrust it directly into the other man’s hand, but there’d always been the unspoken understanding that the ring was more than a silly promise.

a public declaration of forever in a relationship as an active idol is, by most accounts, socially impossible. making that forever official in the form of government documents as a same-sex couple in south korea is, by all accounts, legally impossible.

forever had been a big thought to a barely twenty-three year-old, and it’d only grown more massive the longer it hung over ash’s head blissfully unacknowledged for the sake of his own happiness, for the sake of the idea of finally getting his own happy ending. he’d get there one day. then, it wouldn’t feel so all-encompassing, so terrifying, but months had passed and he’d felt like he was only getting farther away from that one day.

it hadn’t gone unnoticed to ash that, without fail, he’d been the one to deflect from the topic of forever when talk between them became too real. with time, it started to weigh him down. one day, he looked up and found he wasn’t on that cloud high above everything anymore.

he was in a different world and he couldn’t see a way he’d ever be able to climb back up to be on even ground.

so, it had ended at ash’s hand.

ash had once heard a person needs half the time they were in a relationship to get over it, so looking at the calendar and seeing august come around once again, that hill should officially be behind him now.

so why does he still think about it with sorrow at times like these?

how are you? how are you doing without me?

he has no intentions of writing a song about him for his fall single at first. he only wants to distract himself on the anniversary of the last ending he’d faced. the last one he’d ever face if he’d learned anything worthwhile.

but when does he ever learn?

his piano is an old friend at times like these. if the wood had any consciousness within it beyond what he projects into it in his most desperate times of need, it would surely judge him for how he goes back to it like clockwork in his times of emotional distress, but the rest of the world will judge him less for it than it will for turning to the bottles in his kitchen or the exes in his phone.

there’s a pattern to it now. sit down, straighten his back (the weight of the world on his shoulders is no excuse for poor playing posture), rest his phone on the bench next to him with an application recording every note he plays, and lay a blank notebook of music staves next to it in case he decides to be formal about anything workable that comes out of his idling.

nothing noteworthy comes to him at first, but the more he plays, the more fresh ideas begin swirling in a twister in his mind against his initial intentions of merely distracting himself. he messes around with chords, keys, arpeggios. he’s been forcing it a lot lately, and it hasn’t turned out in his favor. letting it slowly seep its way out of his pores might be the better course of action now instead.

his mind is frantic but the music is slow and inspiration piles up inside of him until he decides to sit and think through a chord progression, then a top line melody, then he fleshes it out. the first step in the process is never perfect, but he isn’t stumped with where to go with it yet, and that’s a good sign. more and more, he’s felt defeated with his songwriting after idea after idea gets rejected by the only people whose opinions really matter if he ever wants his songs to make it out in the world. he could think a song is the best piece he’s ever crafted, but if it doesn’t appease the bc entertainment gods, it will never see the light of day.

he tries not to think about that while he works on this song. that’s the roadblock he’s run into too many times before trying to pluck out something he can be proud of on the strings of a guitar or on the black and white keys of a piano.

the end product is something jazzy but moody, laden with his unspoken emotions but in a way that lends itself to simplicity, but he ponders for days the right way to put words to it.

he can feel what he wants the lyrics to say. it’s when he attempts to put them into words with a rhyme scheme and an appropriate meter that he struggles. ash has become a master at packaging his emotions into a pretty song with structure and a story, but this time, it’s evading him. the feeling is emptiness, but it’s also missing something he doesn’t really want back. it’s wanting something he can’t have now and wanting to tear himself apart for wanting it. it’s looking down the dark path to his future and seeing only less and less light as it stretches out in front of him. it’s fear of the inevitable pitch black darkness at the very end of the path and how quickly it’s approaching.

iii.

it’s after his second therapy session with his new therapist that something occurs to ash that stays with him beyond the time he’d paid for.

it’s not something he brings up during the session itself, or says out loud to anyone. ash doesn’t talk about his romantic life in detail with any therapist he’s ever had, even though he’s well-aware refusing to bring it up is ignoring a festering wound that needs attention if it’s ever going to heal. he’s heard too many horror stories about professionals that were supposed to know better discovering the money for the gossip being better than adherence to the oath of confidentiality they’d made for him to find comfort in disclosing the intricacies of his private life.

there’s a part of him he’s still holding back, but he only finds comfort in not opening up completely even to the person he’s paying to allow him to do just that without too much outward judgment.

opening himself fully or not, the lyrics to the song come easier to him after that. putting what he’s feeling into words is no easy task, but he’s made progress on it already. possibilities don’t come flooding out like a broken dam, but they do trickle down through his brain steadily enough for him not to lose hope. the slow drops only come when he pries them out, but they come nonetheless.

iv.

the mood of the song evolves in a way ash hadn’t anticipated at first. it becomes sadder in tone, more wistful. that had been a given from the moment the lyrics began to flesh out, but playing around in cubase ends with him deciding the song works its best as a simple piano composition, stripped bare like his emotions.

the piano remains prominent even as he adds more percussion and the main instrumental piano track gets jazzed up more than the initial draft recording had been. in a world where his music reflects solely his gut instinct, the song would be even more bare bones than it becomes. he imagines he would have taken a direction similar to “the unknown guest” on his last album, purposefully under-produced and made to sound like something that isn’t radio friendly, but it’s still simple enough to sound stripped-down to an untrained ear. the more he works on the song, the more he understands he does want it to be played on the radio. then, maybe, he’ll be able to tell himself the right person had heard it and convince himself of the closure he needs.

there’s a feeling in his chest as he listens to the final draft version, with layers of his vocals put down and a thoroughness that only comes with a song that has found its final form, that feels a little like he’s at the top of a mountain. he can’t put a name to it other than thinness of air. it’s not disappointment or regret, and as much as he decides he does really like how it turned out, it isn’t pride either.

the song is different than he would have thought it would be when he began it — after all, at some point visions of his ex-boyfriend had begun to mix with visions of the current flame he held — but different in a way that he hopes does service to the song instead of taking away from it.

at first, it’d been about his past relationship, a love that had been suffocated by his own choice.

now?

in a way, the song is about that relationship, but, in ways, it’s about the one that had come before that. and the one before that. and then, at the end, it becomes about the next one. the one he’s not supposed to have, but the one he’s confessed to yearning for in secret in the lyrics.

i want to fall in love.

unlike so many other songs he’s written, he’s not really begging for love to return to him or cursing himself for wanting such a thing. it’s about something else.

then it hits him: it’s not any of his relationships, long passed or current or future, that he’s holding on to. it’s a lament pried out of him by the lover he’s taken up in the time since, one entirely separate, but also entirely connected that creeps in the corner of every room he enters: loneliness.

[smitten-miqitten]

Date

In which Era and Cid go on a date. Of the three chapters I mentioned working on, I ended up doing this one without waiting for people's picks. Sorry >.<

AO3 link here

"Alright, that's it. I'm done. This draft is finished, those orders are filled, and I'm done."

"Yes yes, you've done enough for today." Jessie sighed

"I've attended those damn investor meetings.."

"And even stayed awake!" She encouraged, clearly wishing this would become a more regular occurrence.

"And I finished those orders ahead of schedule. All while working on my own projects", Cid said proudly and somewhat defensively. He was fishing around for something in the drawer of his workstation and, upon finding it, swiftly pocketed the small ornamented box.

"You've done good Chief! So, whatcha got planned for tonight?" Wedge asked excitedly. It wasn't often one saw Cid so energized.

"Made a reservation at the Bismark..."

"Not with company funds I hope...", Jessie muttered

Cid continued as if he hadn't heard, "And afterwards we'll do a little flight through the Sea of Clouds..."

Biggs chuckled, busy tidying up his own workstation, "Nice and romantic, eh? Got something other than that coat picked out?"

"Of course! Was just about to get ready..."

The door to the workshop opened, and Era walked in. She was dressed in a lilac, airy shift with sparse flowers dotting the hem. Hair loose, with a ornamental clip to keep it out of her face. Far more girlish an outfit than she was often known to wear. Seeing the befuddled faces of everyone around, she asked "7:30, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but you're about an hour early..."

She pulled out a little pocket watch from a small handbag she carried, another uncommon wardrobe accessory for her. She seemed puzzled, but upon looking up at the chronometer on the wall, a look of understanding crossed her face. "Cid, that chronometer is slow. This watch just got wound, I'm certain it's accurate."

And so it was. Spurred on by their Chief's sudden increase in productivity, everyone had worked to the point that, of all the engineers that present in Cid's workshop, not a one had noticed the chronometer had needed repair for some two weeks now. Jessie, bless her poor overworked heart, was horrified. "But that means... oh gods, all the orders we got out on time were late! Every single bleedin one of them....." The woman looked near to tears.

Wedge tried to cheer her, "It's alright Jessie! None of our clients seemed bothered, else we'd have noticed wouldn't we? Probably didn't expect.."

"Probably didn't expect us to produce things on time?! That's alright is it? Seven hells..."

Era, feeling rather responsible for Jessie's sudden distress, tried to think of a way to right the issue. "If another day would be better..."

"No, absolutely not! This is the first day in damn near a month we've been able to meet! Jessie..", Cid began, turning to his second in command, "Though I doubt anyone is genuinely upset about items being an hour late I'll apologize to the clients tomorrow. No one noticed the bloody chronometer, it's nobody's fault. We've all been working hard, and you lot need to rest. Now", he said, turning back to Era, "If that clock is slow, we're going to be late if we don't leave for Limsa soon. Let me change and we'll be off."

"Might give your face a quick wash, you've got a bit of grease on your nose!" Biggs called after him as Cid made for the adjoining living quarters.The others slowly began to head off to their quarters, whether the adjoining ones or private apartments.

Cid returned wearing a white collared shirt, sleeves rolled at the elbow, first two or three buttons at the chest inevitably undone, and nice black pants and shoes (would it kill him to wear color?). His usual pendant was present, but to Era's surprise his forehead was devoid of his customary goggles. He claimed it 'killed the look', but Era suspected there was a little more to it than that. He almost never took them off, except when bathing or sleeping (unless he fell asleep at his desk, of course)... or when they were alone together. Perhaps it was a gesture, a 'this is me and you time' sort of thing. Or perhaps it really did just kill the look. He forgot the grease smudge Biggs mentioned, as she knew he would, so she dabbed at it with a damp towel she had at the ready.

..................................................................................

The flight to Limsa was largely uneventful. They both simply enjoyed the trip. Era loved flying, specifically Cid's flying, and had long since passed the point where she was embarrassed to admit as much. She used to dislike the cheeky grin he gave whenever she was too plainly excited about the trip, thinking he was making fun of her. In reality, as she came to learn, he was just pleased that she was so happy and was more than a little proud. Cid took a lot of pride in the things he did, for the most part, something that took Era a very long time to relate to but very little time to admire. For much of her time in Eorzea, her achievements had not felt like something earned, but rather things done by means of an unfair advantage. Cid had earned everything he had (which included her, she supposed), and she admired him immensely for it. Only once she began to feel responsible for her own accomplishments did she truly begin to understand that aspect of him, and one of the only real barriers between them finally break down. He was not unreachable, and she was not unworthy to be with him.

She was grinning. Cid loved it when she did that. He had never been able to make good on his promise to get her memories back, but it seemed that her expressions had returned for the most part. It wasn't just his doing, of course, but he felt he could take some credit for the little things. The time she giggled at some asinine joke of his, and couldn't stop for damn near 20 minutes. The time, following a particularly, *ahem* energetic night, that she had an almost permanent smile on her face and blushed furiously when informed of it. When, after Cid had a unusually bad dream regarding Meteor and the events leading up to it, she lost her head and swore up and down she'd clock Gaius next she saw him and then the entire imperial family following. Perhaps because it's so blatant in her case that it sticks with him so. The fact that she loves him. She loves him to the point that such simple events broke down barriers set by (presumably) Hydelyn herself.

Of all the people who have ever claimed to care for him, markedly few have been genuine. Fewer still, when he tried to pursue any kind of relationship, were interested in much more than fame or looks. The early days in Eorzea were rife with such occurrences; he had been young and just fine with a few of the shorter term liaisons, but after a while it began to wear on him. Many of the ladies who approached him were either reluctant or outright refused to let him remove his goggles even. They liked his appearance and his reputation just enough to tolerate his heritage, but not enough to look at it. This had not been the case with Era. Their first intimate night together, she had removed them herself. It was 'silly' to leave them on, she said, thinking he had forgotten they were there. Her first time, nervous as could be though she'd not admit it, and she still had enough gumption to tear away a barrier that all others insisted on and called it silly.  This was the woman he was taking on a meticulously planned date this night, and for whom he had been working on a little project of his own for the past month.

..................................................................................

Their dinner too, was largely uneventful. Their conversations were composed of what details of the past month that could not be discussed over linkshell. Era's adventures, Cid's new inventions, the Scions' shenanigans and the latest in workshop gossip. Hands were held, loving looks exchanged. However, underneath all the sweet words, heartfelt glances, and romantic gestures, Cid seemed to be antsy. Was it because of that stupid chronometer? Despite his stubborn attitude, Era knew Cid took Jessie's concerns and advice to heart. She wouldn't be his number two if he did not. Era fully expected that come tomorrow the entire workshop would gang up on the poor lazy timepiece and modify it to the point it would never err again. She redoubled her efforts at sweet talk, so that she might take his mind off the matter. Still, as dinner drug on he grew increasingly restless.

..................................................................................

When finally they set off toward the Sea of Clouds, Era broached the subject. " Cid... Is there something the matter? You seem... well, I dunno. You seem like there's something on your mind."

Cid just looked at her for a bit, a curious expression on his face. And all of a sudden, it was filled with resolve. He made for the nearest island and set the ship to rest. "Era, I've been working on something I haven't told you about for some time now.  As much as I hate our long separations, it did provide me with the opportunity to finally do so." His hand was in his pocket, holding a small item of some kind.  "We've been together for some time now, and I like to think neither of us plan to change that, so I thought...thought that perhaps we might make it more official."

"What do you..." Era began, but stopped when Cid started to kneel. And in that moment, her brain was trying really very, very hard to process what was happening.

"Era Hess, would you be my..." Cid was taking the little box out of his pocket and had started to open it, but no sooner had the word "Wife" left his lips than two arms were flung around his neck, hugging him almost too tightly. She hadn't even looked at the dammed thing.

"Yes" was all she said. All she could say, with her head swimming so. Cid hugged her back, at a loss for words himself. He had been in a strange state the whole night, both expecting the answer she gave and fearing the one she did not. After a while, when he had come down somewhat from his elation, he chuckled and made to prise her from him.

"As flattered as I am that you didn't even pause, I really did work hard on this. Here.", He said grinning ear to ear, and handed her the box. Inside was a small silver ring of intricate metalwork. It was split in two halves, one resembling a vine with leaves and little flowers made of small blue gems. The other was a simple, straight bar with a streak of similar blue down the center, ending in both spots where it met the vine. In the very center was a flower, petals of more blue gems and a little glowing blue spot in the middle of it. An engraving similar to that of an Arcanist's book wound around the inside of the ring. "I had a little help with that part", he said as she looked at the engraving, trying to make sense of it. "It's a meant to draw upon your aether to cast a small, perpetual protection spell. In the event you can't use your aether, the tiny amount of Ceruleum in the flower and the surrounding water crystals should be able to pick up the slack."

"It's lovely". Era was in awe of it, it really was beautiful.

"It had to match its wearer", Cid said cheekily. After taking it from her and putting it on her finger, he hugged her once more, the two staying like that for what seemed to be ages, neither wanting or needing to speak. They reveled in the silence, as it seemed that all the world had disappeared from around them.

It was just them, the ship, and the endless sky.

[quarterfromcanon]

Rough Draft

Heather & Valencia - Femslash February - Day 14 - Love Letters [2,625 words]

The waking disorientation lasted for a shorter span of minutes with each new day Valencia spent in a bed that was not her own. She got used to the way the early sunlight fell through the window at an odd slant as the rays passed above wall outside; she grew accustomed to the layout of the room in the wan illumination and the cool slide of satin across her hips. 

What did not decrease in novelty was the sight of Heather sleeping beside her.

Valencia’s air kept getting lost somewhere inside her lungs, caught between the inhale and exhale, hitching just long enough to leave a sting before she remembered to release it again. That morning was no exception. Sixty hours in each other’s company, fifty-seven of which were in varying states of undress, and they’d reached the level of comfort where both fell asleep nude the previous night. The curve of Heather’s spine in the warm glow of dawn called to Valencia’s fingers like a persistent itch. Her slow, even breathing made the sheets crumple in a pool around her waist. The tattoo on Heather’s right arm smiled at Valencia with its crooked robot mouth. 

Good morning, Wilbur, she thought. Valencia traced its outline and reflected on the first occasion when she heard the story of her friend’s prominent body art, and just how much had happened since that afternoon on a different bed belonging to Heather. It felt equal parts inexplicable and inevitable, a course of events neither of them predicted but which seemed like the only logical conclusion once they were here.

Yet, despite their increasing intimate knowledge of one another, there was so much Valencia still wanted to say. Half an hour ticked by in which she wrestled with declarations and curiosities, so close to shaking Heather awake to share it all, but uncertainty stilled her hand. 

Valencia climbed off the mattress and searched for clothes. She found Heather’s before her own and allowed herself the indulgence of slipping the loose, comfortable fabric onto her frame. Her fists balled up the camisole under her nose and she inhaled deeply. Cedar, citrus, and sea salt - no one product produced the co-mingling aromas but they all embedded into anything that pressed against Heather’s skin. Valencia wondered if perhaps she was adopting the distinct scent now, too. The thought pleased her more than she chose to admit.

She opened the bedroom door and padded around the corner into the living room. The yoga mat she borrowed from Heather’s car waited beside the couch, left in place on the floor after multiple uses. Valencia went through her sun salutation but the state of undisturbed serenity kept receiving interference from the brush of Heather’s madras shorts against her legs. They were comfortable to move in, but a relentless distraction woven with memories of how they wound up by the closet for her to wear in the first place. 

When her morning routine was complete, Valencia went back to the open doorway. She leaned against the frame and gazed down at Heather for a few minutes, curls in her face and calves overlapped beneath the blanket. The terrible need to divulge the contents of her whirring mind rose once more. Valencia’s mouth opened as if to let some of those emotions escape, but she closed it before any sound from her might disturb Heather’s peaceful slumber.

She shivered and pulled the crochet duster cardigan off Heather’s chair for extra coverage. Her arms folded over her stomach while she contemplated how she might broach the subject of where they stood after the recent developments between the two of them. No introductory premise held much potential. She was sure to get tripped up in the delivery, and the embarrassment of wanting to talk at all burned from the imagined exchange alone. Maybe the reliance on speech was not the best call to begin with, and the written word could prove easier to control. 

Valencia fetched her purse from the corner and rummaged until she found her portable bullet journal and a pen. She curled up in the chair and flipped to a blank page. Just as with her practiced conversation, the question of where to start was the most daunting. There were so many options - a joke, an anecdote, an admission - but the ideal beginning existed somewhere in the middle. She touched pen to paper and tested a few lighthearted sentences in precise, steady-stroke cursive.

You’ve had me crying out this entire weekend (not just in literal tears). I mean sexually you’ve had me crying out. What if the whole neighborhood hears? But as I’m heaving my chest, struggling to catch my breath, there’s something I’ve got to bite my tongue not to confess: I’m so scared. I think I like you. I want to hide I think I like you. It’s reckless, but you make me weak in the knees, and it’s not just your mouth that’s got me begging please...

She gave a disgruntled sigh and tore the draft free. Valencia crumpled the first attempt and tossed it into the trash can beside Heather’s nightstand. A fresh set of empty lines stretched underneath, ready to be filled, but Valencia put off a second trial in favor of leaving a note to herself. Her pen dug into each letter with unnecessary force.

Remember: NO NO NO This is just about sex. NO NO NO Keep this longing in check!

Valencia flipped deeper into the journal and looped her contemplation across unused parchment in a stream-of-consciousness, which she partially edited upon review.

I see you in nothing but that old blouse with the doughnut stain, and just like that, all I’m thinking again is holy crap, I think I like you. Don’t hate me. I think I like you. Why can’t I get lost in bumping and grinding like your face disappears inside my thighs? ’Cause as I’m returning the favor and you’re on your back, I want to see myself through your eyes. Then you curl your finger, beckon me to the brink, and suddenly it’s like way down deep I think I like you. Secretly, I think I like you. Can’t help falling harder every day. You’ve got me knotted up... not in a foreplaying way.

“Whatcha workin’ on, buddy?” Heather inquired.

Valencia jumped so hard that her notebook nearly went airborne. She shut it with a snap and tucked it under the cushion of the chair. “Oh, just finding things to do until you woke up,” she answered in a casual tone that directly contradicted her unusual behavior. 

Heather, much to Valencia’s relief, was too disoriented to detect anything suspicious.

“Thanks for letting me sleep in.” Heather tilted her phone, checked the clock, and rubbed her eyelids. “They don’t even need me at Home Base until ten, but I’d better go ahead and shower, though. What about you? Any plans for today?”

Valencia shrugged. “I’m wide open.”

A mischievous smirk formed at the corner of Heather’s lips. “Good to know.”

Valencia blushed and smiled in return. “Is it okay if I stay here while you’re gone?”

“Sure, of course. Mi casa and all that. You’ve got some of your stuff here to begin with, and anything else that comes up, you can just borrow mine --” Her gaze scanned Valencia’s outfit. “-- which I see you’re already doing. Are those all my clothes?”

Valencia self-consciously rubbed her kneecaps. “Yeah, they are. I got a little cold.”

“Shoulda never left the bed. I could’ve warmed you up.” Heather held out her hand. “C’mere.”

Valencia fell into the embrace and blanketed Heather’s body with her own. She hummed appreciatively and trailed her hands down Heather’s front. “How are you so much toastier than me when I’m in layers and you’re still naked?”

Heather nosed the cardigan aside and scraped one of her cuspids along Valencia’s shoulder. “There’s actually a scientific reason for that, but it’s way too nerdy and un-sexy to explain while you’re playing with my nipples.”

Valencia snorted and cradled Heather close. “I don’t know about that. I think the way your mind works is pretty hot.”

“Dude, careful. I’ve got like a decade’s worth of Gen. Ed. crap up there. You don’t wanna sit through all that.”

“Depends where I’m sitting.” Valencia caught Heather’s lower lip between her teeth and tugged.

Heather groaned. “Your wordplay game has seriously leveled up now that you’re all out-and-proud. I’m gonna have to sharpen my skills.”

She wriggled one hand under the back of Valencia’s waistband while the other inched up the cami. “Did you put on my underwear, too?” she asked just before her touch advanced far enough to reveal there was no sign of them. Valencia shook her head to answer regardless. Heather’s nails scratched with deliberate pressure over the expanse until Valencia shuddered and arched. “You even wear my clothes the same way I do,” Heather remarked. “Commando’s out of the norm for you. I appreciate your commitment to accurate imitation.”

“It’s the sincerest form of flattery.” 

“Mm, and the most helpful.” 

The madras was midway up Heather’s forearm by the time her fingers reached their target. Valencia rolled her hips. She gripped both sides of Heather’s face and kissed her until they both swayed dizzily. They worked together to discard the duster and Heather coaxed Valencia flat against the pillows.

Time unfurled outside of their awareness, the passage of an hour they were both happy to lose, and when Heather finally returned to her side of the bed, the purloined ensemble was scattered around the room where it began. 

“Okay,” Heather panted. “Now, for real, I have to shower.”

Valencia pressed one last kiss to Heather’s arm before she departed for the bathroom. What little oxygen Valencia had to spare left her in a dazed chuckle as she finger-combed her matted hair. She hugged her knees and rested her chin on them. The numbers on the cell phone screen blinked and changed several times before she retrieved the notebook and jotted down a third paragraph, but the fuzzy giddiness of her brain produced admittedly ridiculous results. 

Are there dental dams to block out this keening? Is there a strap-on long enough to thrust some space between my crotch and heart? Take out the batteries before I vibrate into ecstasy fantasizing an apartment, and maybe a pet, and then we get to ride on a Pride float...

Valencia held the journal away from herself with a grimace. “Oh my God!”

I think I like you. Her hand trembled, but she resisted the urge to cross out the truth. What to do? I think I like you.

She turned back to the old page, doodled her lover’s name, and retraced the reminder.

~*~ Heather ~*~

NO NO NO

NO NO NO

NO NO NO

NO NO NO

Valencia grumbled and ripped away the lot. She dropped them into the trash can and restored the journal to her purse.

Her own clothes turned out to be beneath the bed in a pile. Valencia put them on and went to the kitchen to rummage through the fridge. She was scrutinizing the expiry dates on some of Rebecca’s choices when Heather reemerged from the bathroom. 

“I’m making something to eat real quick before I head out. I can add enough for two servings, if you want in on it,” Heather offered. “Let me just dry my hair and then... ah crap. This happens every time.”

“What’s wrong?” Valencia called from where she now sat beside the island.

“Nothing major. I went to unplug my phone and knocked it into the trash. I’ve seriously done that like five times already. I’ve really gotta move this thing.”

The blood drained from Valencia’s face. She dropped off the stool and raced toward the bedroom. Her ribs collided with the door as she skidded to halt. 

Too late.

“There’s a whole stack of paper scraps in here,” Heather said, hands full of tattered sheets. “This is your handwriting, isn’t it?” 

She glanced at the uppermost piece and her eyebrows lifted. Valencia froze. 

“You made my name look really pretty.” Heather held up the rest of the pages. “Was this gonna be for me?”

“Please don’t read any more,” Valencia pleaded.

“Okay.” Heather gently restored the discarded musings to their place. “That’s the only thing I really saw, so, whatever you don’t want me to know is safe.”

She plugged in her hairdryer and sat on the bed. Valencia could feel the shift in the air between them. While Heather guided the gusts of heat in systematic lines from scalp to end, Valencia perched at the foot of the mattress. She clasped her hands atop her legs and fought off the tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. Heather glanced her way for a fraction of a second when she paused to press the snowflake button in the middle of the dryer, but her stare was inscrutable and she said nothing. Valencia’s throat ached and her fingers twitched with the desire to reach out and hold Heather’s hand in her own.

Heather slid the plastic bar to ‘off,’ unplugged, and rolled up the cord. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes,” Valencia permitted in a quavering voice. “Anything.”

“The secret... which, by the way, suckiest hiding place ever... is it a good thing or a bad thing?” Heather busied herself with reluctantly putting on a bra and briefs to go beneath her work outfit.

“Good. I think. I hope.” Valencia hugged herself and crossed her ankles. “I just don’t know if it’s something you want to hear.”

The tension left Heather’s body as if she’d been holding her breath. “All right. Well, I respect your privacy so, I mean, I’m not gonna pry. Just know you can always talk to me, if you want to.” She buttoned up a blouse and stepped into a pair of slacks. “I won’t judge you or anything. Scout’s honor although, to be fair, that doesn’t count for as much as it could because I only went to like two meetings during cookie season.”

Valencia laughed, and a relieved smile brightened Heather’s face. She leaned down and brushed a soft kiss across Valencia’s cheek. Their eyes met when Heather pulled away. The revelation flew from Valencia’s mouth before she could stop it.

“I like you.”

“Good. It’d put a different spin on the last few days if you told me we were hatefucking this whole time.”

Heather gave Valencia’s shoulder a little shove and then walked out of the room. Valencia followed so quickly that it startled Heather when she turned around and found her standing there. 

“I don’t think you understand.” Valencia’s features were gravely serious. “I like you.”

“I like you, too. Do you want pancakes?”

“No, I mean I like like you,” Valencia clarified with wide eyes.

“As opposed to unlike liking me?” Heather prepped the skillet and set the temperature for the burner.

“Heathe...” Valencia’s expression was a unique blend of reprimanding scowl and petulant frown as she popped onto her earlier seat. 

Heather laughed but, upon seeing Valencia’s continued genuine distress, she relented. “I get it, V. Don’t worry. I just like teasing you. Y’know, to be flirty.”

“Would it be so hard to make this easy on me?” 

Heather pulled Valencia nearer, counter stool and all. She cupped Valencia’s face in her hands and kissed her. “Like that?” she joked. Heather leaned in until their noses and foreheads touched. “Was that easier?”

Valencia tried to look sullen but the facade wouldn’t stay in place. She locked her legs against Heather’s back pockets, draped both arms around her neck, and found Heather’s lips again with hers. “It’s not a bad start.”

[skeletonscribbles]

Wishes - Chapter 6

we’re back and better than ever with a Ben chapter!!!

Rating: T (some people are having sex, but they’re not physically present in the chapter) Summary: “We’re good.” Bev shook her head, smiling softly. “You don’t have to ask my permission to be kind to people, Ben. And I really do appreciate you being kind.”

“Most people are kind,” Ben shrugged, cutting into his chicken in an attempt to alleviate his embarrassment.

“No,” Bev said. She reached across the table and touched his hand meaningfully. “They’re not.”

Warnings: Ben’s eating is pretty disordered, Richie’s got some mental stuff going on

Read on Ao3! Taglist:  @roobarrtrashmouth @jem-carstairs-is-perfection @tozier-club @aizeninlefox @stanheartsbill@latinxrichie@softeds@pretzelstoday@melancholypurple@wheezygreens @ayyyymichele @loser-marsh

Ben Hanscom had never considered himself a lucky person, per-se.

Sure, he had a pretty fabulous job, all things considered. Most people would consider that lucky. Ben knew better. He’d trained to be an Imagineer pretty much all his life, or at least since he got his hands on Han Solo at Stars’ End as a kid and lost himself to dreams of space and fantasy. He devoted his life first to model spaceships and Lego sets, and then to drafting classes in high school, and eventually to his architecture major at Notre Dame, where he’d put together an impressive series of whimsical, artistic building designs as a final portfolio. His professors hadn’t been incredibly enthusiastic about it, but Disney had been, and he was offered a job pretty immediately. Hard work paid off some of the time, as it turned out.

Socially, he’d actually been incredibly unlucky. He’d never had much time for friends or relationships in the face of his work, and it showed - when he was put into social situations, he really had no idea how to make good conversation. He went through intense periods of fixation (his Star Wars obsession never died, but he’d cycled through Miyazaki, Lord of the Rings, and many other things on the side), and so it followed that he had a difficult time talking about anything but his current passion, which left most people out to dry when they tried to speak with him. The most luck he’d had with friends, until recently, was with his roommate Mike Hanlon, who tolerated his fixations and occasionally played along.

That was what brought upon his desire to lose weight, if he was being honest with himself. It wasn’t health or fitness motivated; it was really just an attempt to make himself into someone that other people would be excited to be friends with.

All of this being the case, he’d never really had a date before, let alone one with someone as incredible as Beverly Marsh, so it was maybe safe to say his luck was turning (or that his weight-loss was paying off, one of the two).

Well, no. It was really too soon to tell about the luck turning. He’d reassess after the date had actually transpired.

It was going well so far, as far as he could tell. He’d picked her up at her place, and she’d been dressed in a breathtaking green shimmery shirt and dress pants that he hadn’t been able to keep himself from staring at. She’d caught him, which had freaked him out a little, but she’d immediately assuaged his nerves by laughing it off - apparently she thought it was cute. He had a feeling she was lying, but they proceeded anyway. By the time they’d gotten to the Polynesian she’d laughed at six out of seven of his jokes, which he felt was a pretty good average, statistically speaking. Not that he meant to be counting, of course, but he was so freaking nervous he couldn’t help but catalogue everything. Even now, after having spent the last five minutes standing in the Tambu lounge with her joking about the pineapple glasses they were sipping out of, he was hyper-conscious of every movement she made, every calorie he consumed, every syllable that came out of his mouth. Anything could screw this up. He had to be vigilant.

“I don’t think I’ve ever eaten here for dinner before,” she was saying, looking around the lobby with interest. “I’m not even sure I’ve been here since they renovated. Didn’t they have a waterfall downstairs before?”

“Yeah, I kind of liked that, to be honest,” Ben replied, following her gaze over to the gift shop across the way. “This wasn’t my project.”

“If it were, it’d look a lot cooler than this, I bet.” Bev turned back to face him, meeting his eyes and smiling sweetly. He clutched his pineapple drink a little tighter. He’d barely had any of it, and it sloshed around dangerously in his hand, but he couldn’t help himself. She was smiling at him…

“I’m not super talented or anything, I promise,” he managed, smiling back shyly, “but I’d have at least kept the waterfall.”

The buzzer in his pocket began to go off, flashing red and vibrating crazily. Bev looked down at where it was lighting up in his pants and put her hand over her mouth, obviously stifling a laugh.

“Either our food’s ready to go or you’re happier to be on this date than I ever imagined,” she chortled, standing up and offering him a hand, presumably to pull him to his feet.

Ben allowed himself a moment of embarrassment, and then took the hand she was offering. She pulled much harder than he was anticipating, and he tumbled to his feet, spilling his drink a little bit in the process. Nothing got on either of them, but he was still mortified as he flagged down cast members to help clean up. That was surely points against him - maybe enough to be the beginning of the end for this date.

But somehow, Beverly still wasn’t upset. In fact, she was looking at him more warmly now than she had been a few minutes ago. He really had absolutely no read on her at all.

They entered the restaurant in easy silence, following their over-enthusiastic CP host A’mya (pronounced Ah-Maya, as she explained to them three separate times) to a table in the back corner of the main room, by the window. That much, at least, was perfect - he’d timed dinner to align with the Halloween Party exclusive fireworks show, Hallowishes, and this table would allow them to both participate in the fun main dining room activities and have a perfect view of the show when the time came. Being detail-oriented was hopefully going to work in his favor this time.

A’mya dropped off a loaf of Hawaiian pineapple bread, and then they were alone again. Both of them stared at the bread hesitantly. Ben wondered if Bev was also nervous about overindulging and looking like a pig. He figured she probably wasn’t; food paranoia had kind of become a personal issue for him, and it was becoming clearer by the second that he needed to get the hell over immediately or else the rest of this date was going to go to shit before it even really started.

He reached for the loaf of bread and tore off a piece, and watched her eyes light up green.

His taking the piece of bread had opened up the conversation like a dam breaking. Suddenly, everything was funny and nothing was awkward. He was telling stories about going through guest survey data without feeling like he was being boring, and she was telling stories about having a collection of name tags with weird names (lost name tags were always returned to costuming) that he was totally and completely engaged in. The waiter brought out vegetables and noodles and everything under the sun, and Ben was okay with it. He’d almost forgotten how nice it felt to eat like a normal person.

The luau lady that led small children and drunk adults around the main room in dances and games had appeared in the time between the potstickers and the main meat course, and Bev was well on her way to falling in that ‘drunk adult’ category (she was almost finished with her second pineapple drink at that point), so after she finished telling the story about the nametags, she grabbed Ben’s hand and gestured with her chin towards the lady. Ben wasn’t usually a ‘draw attention to himself’ guy, but she made him feel a little fearless. He scooted backwards in his chair and stood up, ready to lead them over.

He was so focused on heading down to join the parade of hulaing kids that he almost missed the person catapulting towards them through said parade. It took an angry exclamation from a parent to make Ben look towards the end of the train of children, but when he did, he immediately sat back down in surprise. Bev stayed standing. She picked up her drink again and took a long swallow, obviously bracing herself.

“What are you doing here, Richie?” she asked as soon as he was within earshot.

Richie looked more out of sorts than Ben had ever seen him, which was really saying something, because Richie was always kind of out of sorts. He was carrying most of his Wall-E outerwear, which left him in a white t-shirt that was soaked through with sweat and a pair of brown dance pants that were basically leggings. He still had his costume boots and gloves on. The tourist families around them couldn’t keep their eyes off of him. One mother with a particularly conservative haircut had turned her daughter’s chair away.

“I have a problem,” Richie said, voice wavering in a dangerously teary way.

“Yeah, I bet.” Bev offered her chair. “Sit.”

Richie moved over and sat in the chair robotically, as if someone had turned off his brain. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“What happened to you?” Ben asked, taking stock of the slight redness of Richie’s eyes and the remnants of lip gloss near the corners of his mouth. Bev had described her makeup plans for the rest of the crew to Ben on their ride over, and Ben couldn’t for the life of him remember who she’d decided to put lip gloss on, except that he knew it wasn’t Richie. Her plan for Richie had just been to smear bronzer and black pencil all over his face and call it a day. Most of that had either been wiped or sweat off, but the lipgloss remained, somehow.

“I fucked up,” Richie said flatly, staring down at Bev’s half-eaten vegetables.

“We got that,” Bev said, probably harsher than she meant to. She hovered over his chair, obviously concerned but not really knowing how to show it. “How? Where’s Eddie?”

Richie inhaled slowly and picked up Bev’s fork, moving her vegetables around on her plate. “Yeah, that’s the problem.”

Ben watched him push the food around, and suddenly felt the weight of what he had eaten like bricks in his stomach. “Start from the beginning, okay?”

Richie nodded numbly. “We got to the party, and I took Eds to meet my Skip friends. He was kind of into it, but not really, and I should have just...the dance competition started right away once we got there, though, and I really love that shit, you know?”

Ben had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but Bev was nodding understandingly, so he just copied her, figuring it would be easier to pretend.

“And I won this year!” This was the first thing that seemed to knock Richie out of his haze. He smiled a small smile, obviously proud of his victory. Bev patted him softly on the back. “Eds didn’t want to compete, but Mike did, and Mike’s awesome at dancing.”

“He sure is,” Ben confirmed, smiling at the memory of Mike busting out his best Michael Jackson on one of the first days they’d spent together in the apartment. They’d been decorating the walls, and Mike had felt like he needed to pay particular homage to his Captain EO poster. Ben was a terrible dancer himself, so he’d laughed and let Mike do all the work on that front.

“So after we win, I’m jazzed, right?” Richie’s voice had fallen again. He was back to the concerning monotone. “Totally fueled on adrenaline. I see Mike go over to Stan and Bill, who are the most ridiculous, horniest fuckers on this whole property, by the way, and behind them I see this tiny kid in white, right? And from behind, hopped up on endorphins, my idiot brain is like, ‘it’s Eds, he went to go stand with people he knew while I was dancing’.”

Ben’s heart sank. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“So I went over to this guy,” Richie continued, volume rapidly decreasing, “and Eds and I haven’t kissed or done anything yet because we’re both nervous wrecks, but I figure why not, right, returning champion. So I spin this guy around and kiss him right on the mouth.”

“It wasn’t Eddie, was it?” asked Ben, trying to soften the blow of actually having to say the transgression out loud for Richie.

“It was not,” Richie confirmed, dropping Bev’s fork and sliding forward to rest his head in his hands. His elbow almost landed in the potsticker dish, but Bev was quick, and slid the dish away before too much damage could be done. “His name was Isaiah, according to Stan. Entertainment cast, friends with Peter Pan. He was dressed as a Stormtrooper, which is basically the same freaking costume that Eddie had on. I couldn’t catch a fucking break if I tried.”

“So Eddie’s mad at you,” Bev postulated, frowning.

“He won’t even talk to me,” Richie confirmed, still not raising his head. “He saw me do it, and ran out pretty much immediately. No conversation, no phone communication, no nothing.”

“All right.” Bev nodded slowly, clearly taking inventory of the situation. “So, first of all...why are you here?”

Richie shifted his head a little bit so that he could peek up at Ben from under his glasses.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he said softly. “Bill, Stan, and Mike were long gone by the time I’d come back from chasing after Eddie, and I couldn’t...my Jungle friends aren’t…”

Ben understood what he was trying to say. Work friends were all right, but there was something more meaningful about connections made with people that were able to consciously choose to befriend you. The people you knew at work were people you were somewhat forced to interact with.

“I know what you mean,” Ben said, trying to project warmth into his tone. He reached across the table and tenuously put his hand on Richie’s, hoping that he wasn’t overstepping his boundaries. To his great relief, Richie seemed more than okay with the contact. He grabbed Ben’s hand quickly and immediately after initial contact was made and held tight.

Their waiter, Kevin, had snuck back around Bev and had apparently been waiting for a good time to come through with a skewer of shrimp. Given that this crisis had so far offered no good shrimp break opportunities, Kevin was forced to choose this moment to return to offer out food.

“Excuse me,” he said to Bev, who jumped a little when she realized he was behind her. “This is your seat, right? Who is this other gentleman?”

“I’m Richie,” Richie introduced himself, apparently unable to keep himself from speaking. “I’ll be out of everyone’s hair in a sec. In the meantime, load ‘er up for Bev here.” He offered up Bev’s plate, and Kevin began to slide shrimp off of the skewer and into the space next to Bev’s vegetables.

“And you, sir?” Kevin asked Ben after Richie had decided that Bev had enough shrimp. (There were at least 10 shrimp on Bev’s plate. Richie was a true agent of chaos.)

“I’ll take two, please,” Ben said meekly, and with a relieved smile, Kevin delivered the shrimp and scurried off.

Bev stared down at her plate. “Richie, I don’t eat seafood.”

Richie shrugged. “I’ll take one for the team, then.”

“Rich--” she began to protest, but he was already digging into the first shrimp. Bev shared an exasperated look with Ben, but they seemed to be in agreeance not to stop him. He’d had a rough night.

“So how can we help you with this?” Ben asked, poking at his own shrimp with a fork.

“Do either of you have Eddie’s number?” Richie asked through a mouthful of shrimp. “He won’t talk to me, but he might talk to one of you.”

“I do,” Bev volunteered, pulling out her phone. “He gave it to me so that I could send him advice and articles on skin-care. Apparently, Florida water doesn’t agree with his delicate complexion, or whatever his mother told him that he had.”

“He has great skin,” Richie protested. “Tell him he doesn’t need any products.”

Bev shot him an unenthused look. “Not a priority right now, Richie. I’m gonna text him that Bill wants to meet him at DAK* tomorrow morning. He said yesterday that his weekend starts tomorrow, right?”

“I think?” Richie looked up from his shrimp, trying to sort things out in his head. “But why does Bill want to meet him at DAK? Bill complains about DAK all the time. Too hot, kinda boring, too many guests in Pandora…”

“Bill doesn’t want to meet him at DAK,” Bev said, staring at Richie’s forehead as if willing Richie to get the message. “You’re gonna meet him at DAK. It’s his favorite park. He told me that once while he was looking at the Jungle rack in MK costuming.”

“Oh.” Bev’s plan was coming together in Ben’s mind. It was simple, but honestly pretty genius. “Eddie will agree to go with Bill because he trusts Bill, right? He probably wants to vent about what happened tonight.”

“Right,” Bev agreed, “but when Eddie actually shows up, Richie’ll be there, and they’ll be forced to talk.”

“That’s kinda mean,” Ben pointed out. “What if he genuinely needs space?”

“It’s healthier for the two of them to talk it out while it’s still fresh, I think,” Bev looked thoughtful. “I get what you’re saying, but this doesn’t seem like the kind of situation that will be made better by space, you know?”

Richie had been watching the two of them go back and forth like he was a spectator at a tennis match, but he wasn’t good at staying quiet for long, and so jumped back in with aplomb. “I’m still here, you know. You don’t have to talk around me.”

“Sorry,” Bev said, “but do you disagree?”

Richie shook his head. Half of his curls were still plastered down with sweat, but the rest of them swayed side to side with the rest of him. “No, I think it’s worth a shot.”

“Good, because I already sent the text. Also, Kevin’s coming back. Switch with me.” She yanked Richie up and out of the chair, and reclaimed her spot. Kevin kept his visit brief, looking at Richie with clear unease in his eyes while he slid chicken down skewers and then darting away again, presumably to get more meat.

“Did he respond?” Richie asked immediately once Kevin was gone.

Bev pulled her phone out again. “He wants to know why Bill doesn’t ask him himself.”

“Type ‘because he’s having sex’,” Richie told her, peering down over her shoulder.

“Speaking of Bill,” Ben cut in, thinking of ways to get back to his regularly scheduled date now that Richie’s situation was almost taken care of, “don’t you need a ride? Can you afford an Uber from here?”

“I didn’t bring money,” Richie admitted. “I didn’t think I’d have to.”

Ben considered their options. “Well, we could call Stan and see if he’s available.”

Richie bit down on one of his knuckles to stifle a laugh. “Yeah, okay, Benny Boy. You go ahead and do that.” He tore his eyes from Bev’s cellphone for a moment and looked at Ben with glee in his eyes. Ben was relieved to see a little bit of laughter back in his friend’s expression. Richie wasn’t a person that was well suited to melancholy.

Ben steeled himself, and then picked up his own phone and dialed his roommate. He put the phone on speaker, and as soon as it started ringing, Richie’s attention was glued to it, as if it were a bad car accident waiting to happen. Ben made a mental note to never get in the car with Richie if this was how he was going to be about little distractions.

The phone rang for long enough that Ben began to think Mike wouldn’t pick up, but he did - on the last ring.

“This better be important.” Mike’s voice was low and rough, and his breathing was heavy. Ben looked up at Richie, who was shaking with suppressed laughter, and then back down to the phone.

“Uh. Richie’s here.” Ben began, looking from Bev to Richie in an attempt to try and figure out how he wanted to word his request.

“On your date?” Mike asked. In the background, Stan and Bill’s protests were audible - Stan’s moreso than Bill’s. “Dude, I didn’t think you were into that kind of thing.”

“Ben here’s a real swinger.” Richie couldn’t help but chime in. “No, but I’m trying to make a grand exit here, so, uh, could you put Stan my man on the phone, Mikey?”

There was the distinct sound of Mike fumbling with the phone, and a loud “Fuck no” from Stan.

“Yeah, he’ll be right on,” Mike said after a moment. “Make it QUICK, though, Tozier.”

“Eddie says he’ll meet you,” Bev said, still engrossed in her own text conversation. “But you have to buy him a cream cheese pretzel.”

“Those things are like $4.99,” Richie protested.

Ben waved a hand in front of his face. “Focus, Rich. I wouldn’t put it past Stan to know how to kill you over the phone.”

“If not, I’ll certainly kill him when I see him next.” Stan was on the line, and it sounded like his teeth were gritted. Whatever mood the three of them had struck up was almost certainly dead now. “Richie, did you hear that? You’re dead.”

“Great,” Richie said agreeably, “but in the meantime, I need a ride.”

Stan’s responding sigh was so deep and long it made a crackling noise through the phone. “I thought you and Eddie would go with your Jungle friends.”

“Yeah, about me and Eddie…” Richie was obviously more nervous to tell Stan about his goof than he had been in telling Ben and Bev. Ben wondered offhandedly what that meant about Richie’s relationship with Stan.

“I saw what happened,” Stan said simply. “It wasn’t your fault, okay? Don’t get in your head about that.”

Richie grabbed the phone, as if being closer to it would make his point clearer to Stan. “But--”

“No but. It was an accident that hurt his feelings. You don’t freak out when you have accidents that hurt my feelings, so you can chill out about this.”

“This is important, Stan,” Richie said quietly, mouth just about pressed to the phone.

“I don’t know why you’re prioritizing this all of a sudden.” Stan was picking up speed. Apparently, he wasn’t finished being angry with Richie after all. “I like that he makes you happy, Richie, but you can’t expect any one thing to bring you out of whatever mental funk you’re in. Dating Eddie Kaspbrak isn’t going to save your life. Why don’t you try auditioning for stuff maybe, like you moved down here to do - or applying for trainer or coordinator? It doesn’t all have to be about--”

“Can you pick me up?” Richie interrupted. Stan’s little monologue had zapped him back into robot mode. “Or do you know anyone that can? I feel bad about intruding on Benverly for as long as I have.”

“I’ll come.” A new voice was on the phone, now - Bill had taken over from Stan. “Meet you by check-in in 20 minutes, okay Rich?”

“Roger,” Richie said neutrally. “Thanks, Billiam.”

“You’ll pay me for it in tours,” Bill said, apparently nonplussed. Apparently, they’d all had enough time to cool off regarding their sexual exploits. “Bev, you okay?”

Ben’s chest seized as he looked over to gauge her reaction, but he had nothing to worry about. She was smiling. “I’m great, honey. Thanks for askin’.”

“Love you,” he said. The sound of shuffling was apparent on the other end of the phone; he was putting clothes on. “Richie, 20 minutes.”

“Thanks,” Richie said dully, and the connection beeped out. Bill had hung up.

There was a moment of silence after that. Richie handed Ben his phone back, and Ben took it wordlessly, biting back the avalanche of questions that he had after hearing Stan on the phone.

Bev was bolder than him. “This isn’t just about Eddie, is it?”

“It’s a lot about Eddie,” Richie said, picking at his fingernails.

“You genuinely like him, right?” Bev asked, holding out her phone for emphasis. “I don’t want to be a part of this if you’re just stringing him along for the sake of your self-esteem.”

“He’s the best thing in my life right now,” Richie responded honestly, looking at her in a way that made Ben momentarily jealous - not of anything romantic, but of the understanding that seemed to transpire between them.

“It’s gonna be okay, Richie,” Ben found himself saying. He had no idea what compelled those words to fall out of his mouth, but he was committed enough to finishing his sentence that he pushed on. “Whatever you need, we’re here, okay?”

Richie looked between the two of them contemplatively. For once, he wasn’t trying to contort his face in a way that would mask what he was really feeling; no, his expression was just open, and...tired.

“I’m sorry that I got in the way of your date,” he said again. “I’m not sorry for eating your shrimp, though, Bev.”

Bev shrugged. “I’m always down to offer a shrimp to a friend in need.”

At that, Richie looked over the rest of the table with mild interest. “How about a potsticker?”

“Goodbye, Richie,” Bev said quickly, pulling the rest of the potstickers in towards her.

“You gonna be okay?” Ben asked before Richie could turn to leave. Richie caught his eye briefly and smiled - a genuine smile, as far as Ben could tell.

“I just can’t get out of my own way,” he said, “but Bill’s got me now. Carry on, Ben Handsome.”

“Godspeed, Richie Tozier,” Ben called, waving fondly as Richie pushed back through the restaurant, drawing stares and whispers from the guests that had just been seated.

“Ten o’clock tomorrow!” Bev yelled. “Don’t be late!” Richie shot her a quick thumbs up, but didn’t turn around. They watched him until he’d left the restaurant, presumably to loiter in one of the gift shops until Bill showed up.

As soon as he was gone, Ben felt a coldness settle in his stomach. How was he supposed to bring the date back from this?

“That was really cool of you,” Bev said quietly, before he could lose himself in anxious thoughts. “Not many guys would have been okay with helping someone else like that in the middle of a date.”

“I’m really sorry,” Ben tried, “I should have asked you--”

“We’re good.” Bev shook her head, smiling softly. “You don’t have to ask my permission to be kind to people, Ben. And I really do appreciate you being kind.”

“Most people are kind,” Ben shrugged, cutting into his chicken in an attempt to alleviate his embarrassment.

“No,” Bev said. She reached across the table and touched his hand meaningfully. “They’re not.”

“Dessert’s here,” called Kevin from a couple of tables away. He was headed over with a delicious looking bread pudding, some caramel banana sauce, and two spoons. Ben was a little surprised (and sad) that they were at the dessert stage of things already, but when he checked his phone, he saw that it was indeed nine o’clock.

The music began to play before he was able to register fully what nine o’clock meant.

“Serpents, spiders...tail of a rat…” Madame Leota’s voice boomed through the hotel speakers. Bev turned towards the window in wonder and delight.

“Will we be able to see…?!” she asked breathlessly, and immediately had her question answered by the first firework lighting its way up and over Cinderella’s Castle in the distance. Kevin set down the pudding, and Ben smiled into his plate.

Luck was pretty relative, and less important or applicable than compassion and hard work, but even in spite of all of the shit that had gotten in the way tonight, Ben Hanscom could pretty safely say that his luck was turning around.

When Beverly reached across to grab his hands during the Ursula section of the fireworks, he upgraded his thought. His luck was definitely better now than it had ever been before.

He hoped with all his heart that said luck would spread itself over the rest of his friends, too.

Notes:

*DAK = Disney's Animal Kingdom. Just a little employee shorthand :)

[ellipsesarefun]

Otayuri Fic Recs #2

References: Summary, Thoughts, * (Complete) Note: This has been sitting in drafts for quite some time and the ones that were WIP are now complete. If you do want an Otayuri Fic Mayhem for the day, or week, or month for your vacation, here’s the second fic rec!

First Fic Rec is HERE.

1. A Heart Beats At Night by  magicalyoyo  >>  Otabek’s heart was pounding a sickening, dizzying rhythm, but he schooled his face into stoicism as he pulled his helmet off to get a better look. “Yuri Plisetsky died two years ago,” he growled. “What the hell are you?” >> ANGST, ANGST, DRAMA, THEN FLUFF. Full of supernatural beings and jargon. I might re-read this again, because I skipped some parts to gush and weep over the Otayuri angst and fluff moments. I missed the other portion of the story, but this is a great read! Several chapters to look forward to.

2. * Anatomical Accuracy by  Fayina (Dayea)  >>  Yuri has a secret talent in drawing, and he'd be damned if Otabek finds out about his shameful collection of the Kazakh's portraits. Oh and his skype call with Mila and Sara is getting out of hand. >> This suits me. Why? Because I’m a sucker for anatomy (and because I’m in a Bio course with a slight art enthusiasm that I would be completely immersed into AU’s such as this one) and because I love College and Roommate AU’s. With Pining, of course. 

3. Break Me Down, Down, Down by  legolifesaver >> Yuri refused to let anyone call his videos “pointless”. He spent too much of his time on them and he wasn’t about to let some asshole question him.orYuri runs a fashion channel, Otabek makes covers, and they both meet in the middle. >> A Youtube AU. This AU’s rare for this pairing, but i’m not sure.. I’ll probably scavenge for more if I missed any. Three chapters in and my brains already spewing daydreams all over the place for this couple!!

4. More Than He Bargained For by  FollowYourDreams  >> Yuri made one mistake. One. But, since it resulted in police bringing him home, his parents put their foot down. Now, he's being sent away for the summer to learn his place. He'll be staying with the Altin family and learning from their son, Otabek.Aka, the one where Yuri is a rebellious shit and ends up spending the summer with Otabek and falling in love and shit. >> First heavy fic I’ve read for this pairing. There is a ton of dense and tear-drenched backstory for Yuri and he needs all the XOXO’s he can get and that’s from Beka himself. My heart kept tearing itself in pieces for my smol little son. Also, I adore a literature enthusiast Beka. Brilliant mentions for Jane Austen and Ernest Hemmingway (if you do want some classics, you could dive in to Ernest Hemmingway’s stories; maybe even a John Steinbeck?).

5. On the Cusp of Dawn by  LoveActually_rps  >> Otabek bowed to the new Prince and offered the flower crown that his sister, Sabrina, had made and a basket full of fresh cherries which he'd collected from their small farm on the cusp of dawn. Carefully, he set them down on the overflowing heap of gifts. The Prince, who’d just turned six, frowned at the basket for a long moment before raising his hand and shoving a fistful in his mouth. Otabek blinked at him, totally taken aback. “Mmm-hum… ” the Prince hummed, closing his eyes, as he chomped on the bites of the plump fruits in his mouth. He opened his eyes, fixing his crystal green glare on Otabek. “Bring me more tomorrow,” he ordered, taking a few more from the basket. “Y-yes, your highness,” Otabek stuttered, bowing again before he was shoved away by a royal guard to clear the area. He hadn’t missed the way the Prince had shot a burning look at the guard. [Aka, AU where Yuri is a Prince and ranked highest among Omegas, whose life has revolved around his childhood friend, Otabek, who holds the lowest rank among Alphas. Their worlds suddenly comes shattering down after a loss they both isn’t prepared for] >> What got me into this fic is the fresh concept of omegaverse. There’s a level of Alphas, Omegas and Betas, with a hierarchy that (idk if there’s a proper wording for this but I’m just word vomitting) dictates how people treat other people and it’s apparent here and it seems to relate in the society we’ve been living in for a while now. I like this concept, and it just sparks a rich dynamic between Otabek and Yuri. Otabek’s determination is also pleasing to read. Here you have an Alpha of the lowest rank who’s trained for years and it’s finally paying (which is fucking awesome). I’m excited for more chapters to come!

6. * I’ll take in stride, the consequences of falling by  harajukucrepes  >> He wanted to ask to be touched, because in times like this intimacy would break him, and if he was broken enough, Otabek would finally see that he wasn’t ok. Stop having faith in me, stop idealising me, I’m not perfect.But Otabek would kiss him like he was the most wondrous thing to have happened to him, the most treasured, most beloved, and if there was one thing that would make him feel the worst he could humanly be is to be loved like that, because he would only want to lock this feeling, hide Otabek away and crush him underfoot if he could.He would bury his thoughts, destroy his voice, vanquish his own colours. >> Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful MASTERPIECE. At least for me, it is. It’s just an awe-inspiring work of art! It’s familiar that it almost felt like a Haruki Murakami tale and I don’t see words, I see feelings, music, anything that explores the relationship of these two people. I just love how this author blends all timelines together without disrupting the mood of the story (I think that’s what you call it, I’m not sure). I LOVE THIS PIECE and I love it so bad. This deserves more than one kudos from me!

7. Fly by  foreverhalo  >>  Otabek Altin, CEO of Altin's Aviation Academy has a secret business not many know about. He meets Yuri Plisetsky and offers him a chance to become a pilot, a long awaited dream ready to be fulfilled. With no questions asked, Yuri accepts but he doesn't know what awaits him beyond a simple act of kindness. Then again, Otabek wasn't expecting for Yuri to open a side of him he wasn't aware of. >> This deserves more attention. This fic is AWESOME. It’s a shady business in the guise of an aviation academy that features a darker, much more sinister (maybe? but the author seems to be leaning towards it, idk) Otabek. I haven’t really explored fics with a Dark!Otabek but this is a start. Maybe it’s a mild Dark!Beka for now, but it’s only been a few chapters and I love it. I love the story plot and how Yuri is dragged into this mess. I’m predicting it’s gonna be a bumpy ride for these two idiots. 

8. * They're All Long Gone (It's Only You and Me) by  JennaFlare  >>  Five years after the show, Otabek visits Yuri in Russia and dredges up what Yuri thought was long-dead history. >> Unrequited love dugged up into something reciprocated after a few years of friendship. My kind of tale, actually. This was an indirect inspiration to my fic ‘now i gotta wash my hands out with soap’ and ‘Reunions’.Maybe because of the events that occurred in my life or maybe because it’s absolutely relatable topic on a daily basis, I love this fic.

9. * Of Monsters and Men by  RoseAnthem  >> Ever since the day dark, mysterious, and endearing Otabek Altin told Yuri Plisetsky that he had the eyes of a soldier, Yuri hasn't been able to stop thinking about him, the boy who saw him as something other than a beautiful, delicate fairy. Now three years later, Otabek has moved to Russia to live with Mila, his new fiancee and Yuri's skating accomplice, and train under their coach Yakov.Yuri knows that his skating career is more important, but he can't seem to ignore the tightness in his chest when he sees Otabek and Mila kiss or the tug at his heart when Otabek smiles sweetly at him. He knows that he isn't in love, so why does he feel this way? Yuri decides to bury his foreign emotions as he always does and focus on what makes him happy, but as they grow closer, he cannot ignore the pain in his heart; and neither can Otabek.This is a story about the tough choices of love and the sacrifices you have to make to be happy. The story about two boys who don't know their fate, because their futures are standing in the way. This is a story about love and life. >> OtaMila is my NOTP. Friends are... fine, but essentially, I don’t really like otamila (sorry). But I love this story. So much drama! So much self-hate! So much self-deprecation! DAMN this is a monstrous fic! My waterworks filled a dam in my heart. This is so BEAUTIFUL YOU HAVE TO READ THIS FIC. If you want to of course and if you want drama, angst, and all that with a tinge of happy ending, this is your fic. 

10. * Frayed String by  Errolina  >>  Nikolai Plisetsky always told his grandson that he was the one that got to make his fate and not a string. Yuri always hated the fact that he was always reminded that he didn't have a soulmate. Otabek always did want to defy what was left of his string and make his own fate. >> Now this fic takes a bumpy turn on the concept of Red Strings of Fate Soulmates. It’s a fresh concept, one that I adore very much and love how it’s used in this three-shot. Go check this out if you’re up for some tears and fluff in the end. But there’s some angst too. 

(For some reason, most of the fics involve pining, angst with happy endings, and more pining)

11. * Talk Flower To Me by  ABoyWorthFightingFor  >> "Can I help you?" A voice asked, shocking him back into reality. Yuri gave a small jump at the sudden words, cursing under his breath for being startled."Otabek Altin?" He asked. The bassoonist gave a nod, but didn't offer anymore words, so he spoke on. "I'm Yuri. You're accompanying me, or whatever.""I know who you are," he spoke, starting to disassemble his instrument. "You're in my math class." Oh. So that's where the name's familiar. The black haired teen looked amused. "You didn't know? You sit right in front of me. Every single day." The Russian only scoffed with a roll of his eyes to try and hide his embarrassment. >> In my own Filipino language, “Nakakakilig ‘to”. It’s so giddy and it’s full of fluff everywhere! This is a unique way to spice up the use of flower language. Happy endings coming your way! Read this if you’re having a bad day or nothing seems to get right. This cheers me up!

12. Watch Out for This by  dovesnroses  >> “It could have been your guardian angel, ya know?” Georgi observes as he’s testing the soda dispensers the next night. Yuri reaches over the bar and takes an olive.“No such thing as guardian angels in this part of the city,” he retorts stuffing the olive in his mouth. Georgi gives him an amused look.“Well if they’d been planning on raping and or murdering you, they would have done it. ”Or: Otabek DJs at the club Yuri works at, and everything goes from there. >> Awesome piece of work! I’m loving the dynamics of not just Otayuri but other people as well. I can’t really predict what’s gonna happen in this fanfic, because recently there was some angst, and while that angst was resolved, I’m not entirely sure it’s gonna stay that way.. After all it’s still a WIP, so I’ve got a feeling there’s more! After all, what’s a happy ending if there’s no angst? HAHA kidding kidding.. But I love this fic. I re-read the sentences over and over again until the plot’s in my memory cabinet. Go check this fic out!

13. crystallofolia by  RennieOnIceCream (Hitsugi_Zirkus)  >> Yuri stared at the flower, utterly paralyzed, ignoring Viktor’s scandalized, “Oh my!”“What the fuck is this?” My eyes aren’t beautiful .Without wavering, Otabek continued to hold the flower out. “I call it a tulip. As well as an offer of friendship.”AU in which Viktor is a florist looking to start a family, Otabek is a flower vendor dreaming of home, and Yuri is an orphan wrapped in seven layers of teen angst that he can only get out by screaming profanities and shoving flowers in people's faces. >> What other way to spice up the language of flowers than to put a gallon of angst, backstory, and more angst. It’s like embedding the scientific name of a parade craniates in a fanfic that has an involvement with the feelings, the plot.. everything! If you want a dose of new flowers per paragraph and chapter, this is the fic you’re looking for.

14. * Reaching out for Silver Linings by  Muspell  >> There’s a whole life he didn’t know. A whole person he didn’t know. A whole person Yuri considered his best friend. But who the fuck is he? Is anything Yuri thinks he knows actually true? Who the fuck is Otabek Altin, after all? Has he ever even known who his best friend was?------------------------------------------- Warnings are there for a reason, please have that in mind.Second part of the KazGang series, sequel to To Judge a Book by its Cover. >> Angst... So. Much. Angst. So much misunderstandings... I’ve been treading lightly when this fic first came out because I knew how I can’t get over an angsty fic easily, so I waited till the angst wavered for a bit before reading it. And it was mind blowing. Still mind blowing. I’m planning to read this again because I like how Otabek’s dark history was portrayed here. So mysterious... 

15. * A Stiller Doom by  Tessa on Ice (tessacrowley)  >>  “It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquility: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows how many rebellions ... ferment in the masses of life which people earth.” Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre >> I saved the best for last. It revolves around the OmegaVerse, the major differences on how people treat alphas, omegas and betas and how it influences Yuri as a omega skater amongst the crowd of alpha dominant field of skaters. What I do love this if most is how the politics blends in chapter by chapter. It’s rare that I read such and I love how the socio-political aspect was dealt with in this fanfic. This is a great read, and if you are into stuff like this, you could try this out!