#but the truth is I just hate rendering so I almost never finish pictures

[jadeleechisagoodboy]

Sorry I haven’t posted any art or writing in awhile, here’s an unfinished picture to fill the void

[teamhook]

The Perfect Man :: Birthday Fic

Hello all! This story was written for the lovely amazing @searchingwardrobes for her birthday.

Story beta-ed by @ultraluckycatnd

FFN

AO3

Killian finds his way back to Granny's. The encounter with the three men has left him even more curious about Emma. She must be a special lass to have the attention and affection of so many men. Either that, or she was a siren, or perhaps she has bewitched them.

Killian is a perceptive man and he has a feeling in his gut that something is off. He had considered asking the men about Emma, but they had their hands full with their own issues.

Emma and the girls had finished practicing at the Blanchards’. Mary Margaret had gotten a call from David and they were getting all lovey-dovey. Emma left so they could have privacy, because there were things she never wanted to know about her brother.

She sits down on an old swing just taking in the scenery. She is having so much fun being Leo. She feels free; she doesn't have to be herself. Sometimes, the pressure from her family gets to her. David is the golden son. He is perfect and once he marries MM, his approval rate will be even higher. David’s currently away completing his training to be a Deputy Sheriff. That was one of the reasons she had agreed to date Sheriff Humbert, but that had not worked out. She knows the good Sheriff still has hope that she will come to her senses and give him another chance, but that is very unlikely. She misses both of her brothers and she hates feeling jealous of her brother James. She is so much more like him than David. She hopes to someday flee the little town just as he had. Small town, big hell. Her brother had craved to go out and conquer the world, so he left them behind and occasionally checked in, mostly with David; it must be a twin thing.

Then her thoughts traveled to Jones. She still has no idea why she flaked the moment she met him and gave him a fake identity. Once she realized who he was and why he was in town, she should have come clean and confessed, but her embarrassment clouded her mind. That, and he has very pretty eyes and luscious lips. She had gotten distracted by his looks. She has met good-looking men before, but there is something different about him. Maybe it was the fact that he appears to be well-traveled and experienced. She looks down at her watch. Perhaps if she goes home and changes quickly, she can finally apologize to him for making him travel to Storybrooke because of her dumb luck.

Killian was about to get ready for bed. His time in Storybrooke was coming to an end soon. Part of him is saddened by the thought, and the other part is upset because it appears Emma Nolan will remain a mystery. That thought surprisingly makes his heart hurt. There’s a soft knock on his door, one he almost misses. He can't imagine who it could be. The only people that know of him in the small town are the Nolan siblings. He opens the door and the first thing he sees is the most vibrant green orbs he had ever laid his eyes on. Long blonde wavy hair, with a dimpled chin graced by a hesitant smile on red full lips. He has seen many beautiful women in his life, but this one renders him speechless.

"Hello, I'm Emma Nolan." She pauses for a second. "Leo, my brother, passed on your message. I'm sorry you had to travel so far because of my very idiotic lack of attention. I was supposed to send an invitation to your family, not to cause any trouble. I'm sorry about Miss Blue as well. She can be difficult, but she meant no harm."

Killian raises his hand to pause her ramblings. "Lass, I'm sure it was an accident. However, my brother lacks any sense of humor. He is very uptight and an overbearing arse. Would you like to come in?"

Emma looks behind him and blushes as she notices the bed is ready for him. "Oh, no thank you. I just wanted to apologize in person. Leo said you were very nice, and I’ve been busy with school, and I wanted to come by earlier. I did, but I kept missing you."

"It's no problem. I'm sorry we had missed each other." He scratches behind his ear. "I stopped by your home earlier to chat with your brother, but I was told he wasn't home."

"Oh, yeah, did you want me to let him know?" Emma asks.

"Well, I would love to see him before I leave."

"Are you leaving so soon?"

He smiles. "I will be departing the enchanting town of Storybrooke in a couple of days. I just wanted to thank him for being so helpful."

She nods. "I will let him know." She winces. "I hate to ask, but would you please reconsider not withdrawing the support your family offers the school in donations because of my fault? That would help me avoid Miss Blue's bad side," she says as she works her bottom lip nervously.

He laughs and shakes his head. "Emma, I didn't mean it. I was upset and my mum would roll in her grave. She loved the school and this town."

"Oh, thank you. I already get on Miss Blue's bad side enough. I didn't need another way for her to be on my case. Thanks again. I will let Leo know and I'll let you rest. Goodnight Mr. Jones," Emma says as she turns to leave.

"Love, you can call me Killian." His bright smile makes her heart flutter.

Killian's final days in the small town his mother had grown up and left behind are spent with Emma Nolan showing him around in her free time. He is mesmerized by the beautiful lass and her free spirit which reminds him of his long-lost mum.

The night before he is set to depart, they spend it talking in his room with some room service and a subtle wink from Ruby in Emma’s direction.

“May I ask you a question, lass?” Killian asks as he is taking a bite of his grilled cheese sandwich, one he got at her recommendation.

“Sure, and you can call me Emma. I mean, you had to travel so far because of my fault,” she answers with a smile as she takes a bite of her fish and chips.

“Why write the letter?” He looks at her with curiosity.

She sighs. “I was thinking of the ideal man for me and for a brief moment, I had found him, but he was away from me.” She looks at him and shrugs.

He scratches behind his ear. “You are a beautiful lass and are clearly not lacking suitors.”

Emma looked at him with a high brow and tilt of the head. “Suitors?”

“Oh yes, a few nights ago, I went to your home to find your brother but instead, met three men outside arguing over you.”

Emma blushes profusely. “Ohh! But to get back to your question, I have yet to find such a man. I want something that seems to be unrealistic. Look, I have a pretty good idea of who you met. Each of those men has a quality I want, but not one of them has them all.”

He nods. “Emma, what are you looking for?” he asks curiously.

“I want… a man that will put the extra effort for me; that he lets it show I’m worth fighting for. He will be my best friend. We would be kindred spirits, open books. He will be romantic and full of passion. He will be mature and knows what he wants, and he won’t play games. He will be an adventurer and fun.”

“There’s nothing wrong with knowing what you want,” he says.

“What about you?” She asks because she’s curious, and perhaps a part of her is hoping she has some of the qualities he is looking for.

He looks away from her for a second. “To be honest, I hadn’t thought about it in quite some time. In my younger days, I wanted a lot of the same qualities you do.” He cringes as he realizes that Milah is nothing like what he had pictured himself with in his youth.

Emma notices the change in him. “What’s wrong?”

“I just realized how much my fiance lacks those qualities. Don’t misunderstand me, she is not a completely horrid person, but she is not always the easiest person to deal with.”

Emma’s heart sinks at his mention of the fiance. “Oh, I’m sure she isn’t that bad if she managed to get you.”

“To be honest, we fell into the engagement because it seemed like the logical next step in our relationship.”

“But you must love her?” Emma asks.

Their food is long forgotten.

“I just figured that true love wasn’t in the cards for me but--” He pauses for a second. “Perhaps we should change the subject.” He can’t let his mind wander into that territory.

Emma agrees and their conversation returns to Killian hearing stories shared by Ruth about Alice. They laugh at their mothers’ antics. Soon the night comes and their time together ends as they part reluctantly, both upset at the fact that they will most likely never see each other again. As a last attempt to keep a connection with Killian, Emma reminds him that he and his brother are invited to the annual play production. He smiles and nods.

After leaving Killian’s door, Emma sits down at the diner. She asks Granny for a hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon; she needs the little pick me up.

Ruby comes out of the kitchen with the cup for Emma and sits next to her. “Hey, stranger! So you have to tell me, how was he?”

Emma turns to Ruby confused. “Wait, what?”

“The hottie. You have been spending all your time with him for the last 48 hours or so and he is hot!” Ruby says as if it was the obvious conclusion.

“Nothing like that happened. Rubes, he is engaged.” Emma scoffs as she rolls her eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry honey. I know you like him.” Ruby scoots closer and hugs her friend.

Emma sighs. “I didn’t even tell him the truth about Leo . I wanted to, but he had been so nice to me already. I don’t know, I just didn’t want him to not want to spend time with me. Oh my God, Ruby I’m horrible!”

“Ems, you are not horrible. I think you might have met your match, though.”

“Okay, let’s say you are right. What does that mean for me? He is getting married. He is going home to her .” Emma puts her cup down and gets up to leave the diner.

Once Killian finally arrives back home, he explains to Liam that the letter they received was all a simple misunderstanding. Liam asks if it was all a simple misunderstanding, then why did he take so long to come back. Killian simply answers that he wanted the connection to their mother to last longer, which is something that Liam can completely understand.

Milah was a different story. She was not happy with his absence, and made him aware of it. As she talks about wedding plans and how grandiose the wedding is going to be, he can’t help but feel his stomach drop at the thought of spending the rest of his life with her.

Liam has noticed a change in his brother since coming back from Storybrooke several weeks ago; the way Killian cringes when Milah touches him, or tries to show any form of affection. So he decides to confront him about the change in behavior on a night when they are enjoying a night out together.

“Brother, may I ask you something?” Liam asks as they sit down to have a drink.

Killian smiles. “Aye, what is it?”

“Since your return, you have been acting strangely. You seem distant all the time, but it’s much worse when you are with Milah. I don’t know how she can be so oblivious,” Liam says.

“I’m not acting any different. Liam, I honestly don’t know what you are getting at,” Killian says defiantly.

“Brother, you might be able to lie to that strumpet you are to marry, but not to me. I know you and I know for a fact there’s something wrong, and I have a strong feeling it has to do with that letter and the lass that wrote it.” Liam states and sighs. “Remember that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets .”

Killian stares incredibly at his brother. “What are you saying?”

“Isn't it obvious? End your relationship with Milah and go after your girl!” Liam says smiling.

Killian doesn’t think twice and goes to face Milah.

The conversation consists of Milah yelling and throwing things at him once he said the words: It’s over. I just don’t love you.

In Storybrooke, Emma has talked to her suitors to let them know that there is no chance in them ever working out. She has decided that after school ended, she will take a break and travel. She didn’t need a man to be happy, and needs to get out of the small town.

On the day of the play, her nerves start to get the best of her. Part of her hopes for a miracle that perhaps Killian will take her up on her invitation.

Miss Blue has been pleasantly surprised at the creativity of the girls and after Emma had informed her that the Jones donation was going to continue, she calmed down.

On his flight back, Killian can't contain his excitement, but he feels a moment of panic and uncertainty. What if she doesn't feel the same? He has replayed their interactions over and over again in his mind since the engagement with Milah was called off. He is certain that Emma feels the same way towards him. Their conversation about their ideal mate makes him think she does. It’s a risk, but she is worth it. He will win her over no matter how long it takes.

Once his plane descends into Logan Airport, his nerves pick up again. He feels like a bloody schoolboy. He has decided to stay in Boston and then drive to Storybrooke the night of the play to surprise her. He has a feeling that if he were to stay at Granny's, his presence will not remain a secret for long.

He had been doing some shopping when he spotted the perfect dress for her. It was a pale pink dress with a bodice that would hug her curves and the neckline would give a tasteful, yet modest, view of what was hidden underneath. He just knows he has to get it for her.

The day of the play, he arrives a tad late in hopes to stay hidden in the shadows to properly surprise her. The production is in full swing and his eyes find his friend Leo and smiles fondly. It had been obvious that the school went to great lengths to provide an exceptional performance. After the final curtain, Killian finds his way backstage where a stunned Ruby greeted him with a wide smile.

"Hello, lass. I'm looking for--" Killian is interrupted by the girl.

"Oh, you're here! I know why you are here, just head to the last room in the hall." She smiles and winks at him.

Killian follows her instructions. He knocks softly and opens the door once he hears the familiar voice telling him to enter. He looks around and notices the stalls used to change outfits. He approaches the closed stall.

Killian starts talking, "I couldn't possibly miss this production."

Emma stops dressing on the other side of the stall, her heart beating so fast. Without thinking, she uses her Leo voice. "I'm happy you made it... There's something I should have told you before, but I was afraid--"

"There's nothing to fear," he says and she feels a box he pushed under the stall touch her feet. She picks it up and opens it, finding a dress inside.

Emma laughs. "You knew? All this time?"

Killian simply answers, "I'm a perceptive man, love. But the performance tonight confirmed my suspicions."

"Why aren’t you angry at me? I lied to you," Emma says as she looks at the dress. "And the dress?" she asks, biting her bottom lip.

"I figured you would tell me in time when you were ready. I hope it's not presumptuous of me to hope that perhaps you would like to go on a date with me?"

There’s a brief quiet moment when the stall opens, revealing Emma wearing the dress with a smile on her face.

“You look-” Killian says, speechless.

“I know,” Emma says with a smirk. “And I would love to go on a date with you, but what about your engagement?”

He nods. “I broke it off because this amazing lass wrote a letter that helped me find what I truly craved; true love.”

She closes the short distance between them and pulls him to her in a crashing kiss, one filled with the emotion his words caused to overflow from her heart.

In the end, Emma goes through with her plans of traveling. The difference is she does it with a man that loves her and makes her the happiest she has ever been. All by following in her future mother-in-law to be's footsteps, leaving Storybrooke behind for her new home.

Taglist:

@rumdrum91 @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx @hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @gingerchangeling @laschatzi @wellhellotragic @xemmaloveskillianx @courtorderedcake @pirateherokillian @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @andiirivera @djlbg  @nikkiemms  @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @donteattheappleshook @spacekrulesbians  @lassluna @carpedzem @captainodonoghue @killian-will-do @jarienn972 @tehgreeneyes  @demisexualemmaswan @queen-serena @swanslieutenant @tiganasummertree @whimsicallyenchantedrose @bethacaciakay @ohmakemeahercules @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @mariakov81 @sals86 @elizabeethan @brooke-to-broch @hookedonhiddles @onceratheart18 @the-darkdragonfly @veryverynotgoodwrites @jonesfandomfanatic @wefoundloveunderthelight @cocohook38  @karlyfr13s @beckettj  @chasedancer17 @lonelyspectator12 @batana54 @gingerpolyglot​

[prose-for-hire]

Sweet Hummingbird

Pairing: Lorne x chubby!reader

Request: Hi! Sooo excited that requests are open! May i please request a plussize reader x Lorne fic? She's a newby in Angel team and has a very goofy and flirty personality, and like immediately hit it off with Lorne by saying smth silly like "green's is my favorite color" *wink-wink*. And it's goes on like this and it's kinda playfull jokes until months later Lorne hear her sing for the first time and like... realizeTM. Sorry if it's too specific, feel free to cut any part. Thank you anyway ♥ LY!

Requested by: @russianbutchcrushing

You were new. You hated introductions, they made you nervous. First impressions always counted and despite your natural gregarious personality. When you were younger, you were almost embarrassed to take up space, because you assumed your larger frame meant you were already taking up too much space already. But you had grown to become more confident. In yourself, in the fact that people would like you no matter what. Because you were so easy to get along with.

Angel had found you one evening, you had power. A kind of power that you weren’t sure what to do with. Until he had insisted he could help. You had heard of Wolfram and Hart and been nervous about them. You had heard bad things. But now he was in charge, he insisted you would be okay. That he wanted you as part of his team.

You had power to revive people. To heal them with your touch. You had never understood it and it had just grown since you were younger. But now you were going to be assisted. Given the tools to be able to do more good. To understand yourself and how you could help.

Angel had made introductions. They all appeared friendly and you nodded, smiling around the room. You spoke animatedly and they already started to become fond of you. You turned and Angel introduced a green demon. You intake a large amount of breath. You almost had to revive yourself as your heart began to beat irregularly. He was the most beautiful person you had ever seen.

“Lorne”

“Oh, hi! Y/n” You introduced yourself, “Green’s my favourite colour” You hinted with a smile, your hand still in his. Once you may have shied away from something like that. From being so overt. But you liked him, found him cute and you wanted to be upfront about it.

His eyes just widened and he nodded. Not sure how to take your words. He wasn’t used to people doing much other than stare or make some kind of rude comment. He looked at the ground and you let go of his hand.

You were instantly besotted by him. The feeling growing further as you got to know him. Were allowed to discover his personality. He was outgoing too and you could get lost for hours just speaking. Laughing and comparing experiences you had shared.

“What’s the word, sweet hummingbird?” You had whispered in his ear one afternoon. He had been taken aback. He usually used nicknames for people to make them more comfortable in conversation. Nobody had ever done this for him before.

You had settled into the team well. Your goofy personality and the light-hearted nature you adopted just worked so well. You especially got on with Lorne. You were made for each other, everyone thought so. But they didn’t want to push you. Letting you figure it all out by yourselves.

He had seen your power at work, you had left him in awe at your nature. Your large frame knelt before the wounded lawyer. He had gotten too worked up and became skewered by his client. You pressed your hands to the wound, the entire time whispering your comfort to the man. You had healed him but it had taken a lot out of you.

You were exhausted for the next two days. Barely able to move from bed. But you would do it over again. And he found himself falling deeper in love with you. With your selflessness.

He brought you soup. You had fast become friends but he fantasised about more. He wished to embrace you, hold you and tell you how much you meant to him. How much the way you treated him and everyone else in your life meant so much. He still didn’t see the way that you truly meant your flirtatious words.

He couldn’t dare hope, he just enjoyed being around you. Truth was that of course you adored him. Wanted to spend all of your time with him. His personality, he was so kind. Looked out for so many, cared for them.

Being an empath demon, he was (of course) naturally empathic. And your powers complimented each other. You were a healer. A caregiver. Someone that cared so deeply.

You began to slide into his office when you could. Seeking stolen moments with him. You always had a kind word for him.

“I love the jacket, it really brings out the colour of your eyes” You said softly. And he was rendered uncharacteristically speechless again, as he always was when you said these things.

You always greeted him with some kind of flirtatious comment, one he was used to by now but never truly understood. He always convinced himself you were merely being kind. That you greeted everyone in this way. But he still hung on to every word. Grasped to every syllable you spoke to him. At least, even if he knew it wasn’t real, he could pretend it was. He could curl up in bed, nestling comfortably in the thought of having you by his side. Really in love with him, not just being kind. Giddy with flirtation.

He felt caressed by just the thought of you. By your words. Finding solace in the way that you spoke to him, as if you believed you were truly equals. As if he wasn’t some light comedic relief that the humans could use to make themselves feel better.

Lorne didn’t realise you were being serious though. He wasn’t used to such attention. He assumed you were just like that, missing that you only ever directed these flirtations at him.

He was gazing at you again, you were stood near someone’s desk. He scanned his eyes over your plus-sized figure. He loved every inch of you, he was sure of it. Wished to cherish every inch. He didn’t understand how anybody could be anything other than in awe of you.

He walked up to you, rubbing his hands together. It was nerves today, he so wanted you to agree to what he was going to ask. Your face brightened as soon as you saw him approaching.

“It’s as if you want my heart to stop beating, beauty like yours should come with a warning sign” You smiled.

“Sing for me, sweetness?” He had asked it, more nervous than he had ever been before. He barely spoke above a whisper, with all of the noise going on around you. Busy bustling of the departments around you. People usually stared.

You both stood out to the others. To the ones that weren’t part of the core team. People were suspicious of you both, thought differently of you because of appearance or power. It didn’t matter why - they often would stare.

But you didn’t let it bother you, when you were stood with him nothing mattered. It was just you and him. So as soon as he said this you couldn’t help but become excited. He had never seemed to express an interest to reading you.

“Thought you would never ask!” You gushed with a giddy grin. You nodded, taking his hand and leading him away. There was a zap of energy in the contact between you. To have your hand in his, it was bliss. He would be happy the rest of his life just for this contact.

His face was a picture of shock when you lead him to the store-room. You slid into the small space turning to him when the door was closed.

“Uh, not that I don’t love the acoustics of the… store room, but my office would work just the same” He offered. Only in words, he was actually happy of the proximity. Wanted to be this close to you, but wouldn’t dare act on it.

“Privacy… I’m not a very good singer” You explained with a smile, “Only for you, Lorne”

You began to sing. Your voice wavering at first until you got more into the song. His eyes widened and he reached out for you subconsciously. His palm upturned for you. You reached back, lacing your fingers with his.

He gasped. To him, no matter the tone or pitch he was in awe of your voice. But it wasn’t just that, it was every element of you. Each beautiful component that encapsulated your larger form, of your beautiful mind. He truly saw you, your intentions.

He felt it then. It almost knocked him sideways with the force of it. With the strength of your feelings for him. You had never been more sure of anything in your life. You could only flirt and hope that he understood, expressing it any other way would have been much harder. You wouldn’t ever want to make him uncomfortable.

You were his, you were promised to him for the rest of your life. It was an emotional experience, made his eyes shine. When you finished the tune you looked back into those kind eyes. It was a revelation to him. That you truly meant it. Those words.

You leaned in, almost in-sync. Catching your lips with his. It was soft, tentative at first. As if he was afraid that you would pull away in horror at his action. But soon you weaved your arms around him, pulling him closer. You wanted to cherish him. Show him just how much you adored him.

You deepened the kiss, becoming lost in each other. His hands resting on each side of your body, feeling the soft skin there. Enjoying the sensation. Your lips glided over his, ensuring that he felt you in the present just the way he had felt your future together. The way you felt now was the same as now. The kiss was everything. Ground shifting. Life changing.

You broke apart, breathless. Laughter despite yourselves. At how long it had taken. At how much you truly meant to each other. How you felt finally spilling between you. Both of you talking at a fast pace, sharing your hearts between more soft kisses.

Your hands entwining, you were instantly comfortable with such natural gestures. Loving him was as easy as breathing, you had always known this – but being loved by him in return was just so sweet. You eventually slid out of the store cupboard to a waiting audience.

They had given you knowing looks as if to cheapen the beautiful experience you had just shared. But neither of you cared, you just kept your hands clasped together. Taking strength from the other. It was hot gossip around the office for the next few weeks. But neither of you thought about it more than once, you had finally discovered each other. Your reciprocated feelings. Nothing could change this feeling. This elation you felt when you were together.

[mhafiction]

Rain, Cats, and Coffee

Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi x Reader

Fluff

Synopsis: The fake-dating trope on a small scale with a dash of the rainy-day umbrella cliche. And there’s a cat cafe.

Note: Hitoshi is one of my favorites! I think this fic makes him look a little nicer than he actually is, haha -K.

Another slow day in class. Being a general studies student didn’t really carry the same allure of working as an aspiring hero, but you tended to look on the bright side of things. You always wanted to work in the hero course, but with a quirk like yours. . . well, let’s just say it was basically unheard of. You peeked at the window, watching the gloomy, overcast sky. You prayed that the weather would stay amicable enough; walking in a storm was rarely ever pleasant. As if on cue, a deluge of heavy rain pattered onto the school roof, the sound almost completely drowning out your teacher. You giggled, casting a glance to your desk mate.

Shinsou Hitoshi. To be fair, outside of school, you two weren’t terribly close. You didn’t really hang out on weekends or walk home together. But Hitoshi was your confidant, and the sole person who got you through class . You looked forward to the little interactions with him every day, whether it was a conversation before a lecture or a shared smile at a joke only the two of you knew. Hitoshi was a serious and aloof sort of person, but he had a sense of humor that only you seemed to see. The blunt and deadpan type. Everyone wondered how you got him to trust you and open up to you so quickly. The truth was, you both had the same ridiculous ambition: to be a hero. You found his quirk fascinating, and though you’d never say it out loud, you had developed quite a crush on the purple-haired boy.

Shinsou gave you one of his strange grins and nodded towards the teacher, handing you a note. You opened it and suppressed a laugh at Hitoshi’s rendering of him: a grotesque caricature. He had written below the picture in barely coherent writing and you tried to decipher it. BLEHG Y/N I’M DYING. I hate this class so much. How’d you do on the test yesterday?

You thought a bit, then quickly scribbled your response. The teacher turned around at the wrong minute and cocked an eyebrow at the two of you. He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Y/LN, Shinsou, if you have time to pass notes back and forth, I’m sure you have time to answer this question.”

When the bell rang, you almost bolted out of your seat, giving Shinsou a small wave. You had a study group after school, and as you opened the door to leave, you remembered the rain. Damnit. You watched other students open their multicolored umbrellas and bustle home. You rifled around in your bag for yours.

Wait, what? Where is it???

You dumped the contents of your bag out onto the ground. It wasn’t there. Great. Now I have to walk over to the cafe in the rain. Not deterred in the least, you held your bag over your head and took off running. The cafe was new, reportedly a cat themed one with cute little beverages and snacks. You had never been to the place, but as a lover of everything cute, you knew that it was meant for you. It’d be nice to enjoy a warm drink with some friends! Your phone buzzed.

Hey, I’m sorry guys I can’t make it to the group tonight. We had a club meeting I just found out about.

Oh you too?? I have a project I need to finish in the workshop today. I can’t go either

Ah, support course students. They didn’t seem to get any sleep. Well, that left you with-

Sorry! I’m home sick :(

Really?? Her too? You sighed. Well, you were already here. Might as well look at what they have.

The menu hung in the window, sufficiently cute enough for you. Latte art of cats, pastries in the shape of cat paws, cute little cat-pun names. The piece that pulled it all together was an introductory poster displaying all the cats that resided within the shop, each of them with little accessories. Your eyes caught on a couples deal they had. Pay half the price for the largest drink on the menu and get two free pastries on the side. What a deal! And so easy to exploit. If only your friends had been with you, then you really could have feasted like kings.

Still mulling this over, you noticed that the rain suddenly stopped. You looked up. No, it was an umbrella. You looked behind you, locking eyes with Shinsou. “Ah, Y/N. Where’s your umbrella?”

“I forgot it at home.”

“Oh, be careful. You could have gotten sick. If you ever need to, I’d be happy to-“

“Can I treat you to a drink, Hitoshi? Or maybe a snack?” You smiled. He was suprised, and it showed. Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned his head away in an attempt to draw attention away from his blushing face. “Oh, why not?”

“Okay, but we have to pretend we’re a couple.”

Shinsou choked. “What?” You were still smiling as brightly as ever. Not even embarrassed. Hitoshi was going bright red.

“Just go with it.” You grabbed his arm, putting away the umbrella. He stammered a little, flinching at your touch. But he couldn’t say no to you. Small droplets of water had collected on your hair. It was cute, he had to admit, and it’s not like he really minded having you cling to his arm like that. Or the fact that you had invited him on a date to a cat cafe. That was literally his dream date. Wait, was this a date? It didn’t matter. He was happy just to spend time with you.

The hostess looked up at the two of you, smiling a welcoming hello. You two signed some waivers and agreed to a time slot. You stated your orders to the hostess. “We’ll have your couples discount, ma’am.”

“Of course! You two are so cute together by the way, such a beautiful couple.”

You smile, looking over at a flustered Hitoshi. He grinned at the hostess. “Thank you.”

“How long have the two of you been together?”

He flicks his gaze to you. “Oh, I’ve lost track. Do you remember, kitten?”Though, he did seem to be enjoying himself. You almost burst out laughing at the pet name.

Once you were properly settled in, you apologized to Shinsou .

“I’m sorry to spring the whole fake-date thing on you,” you giggled, sipping your (very large) drink. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Shinsou smiled. A small kitten had fallen asleep in his lap, and he gently stroked it. How could he be upset at you? “It’s okay. I’ve been meaning to come to this place for a while, anyway.”

“Still, I do feel kind of bad though!” You whined. “Why didn’t you tell me you don’t like sweets?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, yeah. You like cats.”

“I like you, too.”

You looked back up at him, a little taken aback. Hitoshi grimaced. Did he say that out loud? Oh no.

Now you were going to think he was weird and clingy, and he’d have to go back to being that quiet hermit boy with a villain quirk. He just had to go and say something like that, huh?

“I like you too, Hitoshi!”

Hitoshi tries to hide his shock, and smiles. Good. You hadn’t thought he meant it in that way. He resumed his attention to the kitten, nibbling a bit on his crossaint. You watch him, taking in how calm and at ease he looked. It was nice to see him in his element. His eyes meet yours for a second, and you shoot up, looking around at the cafe. “Aha, look at this calico Hitoshi. She’s so cute!”

A cafe worker approaches the two of you with a decorated camera.

“Excuse me, would you two like to be on our photo wall?” He gestures to an overwhelmingly cutesy display near the counter. Lovers and friends with bright beams were pictured on every little Polaroid, decorated with stickers and phrases. You looked over to Hitoshi, who shrugged. Turning back to the worker, you nodded. “Yeah, sure!”

“Okay! Perhaps a kiss for the two lovers?” He lifts up the camera eagerly.

You freeze. Shinsou laughs. “Sure thing, mister.”

He leans over the table, eyes meeting yours. Was he really going to ...?

When you don’t pull away, he gives you a peck on the cheek. The camera flashes, and the worker lets out an ‘awwww’. He sighs, handing you one of the shots. “Young love!”

The picture sure came out nice. You touch your cheek. And the kiss wasn’t half bad, either. Shinsou watches your every move, worried that he had overstepped. You weren’t saying anything, and he couldn’t quite read your expression.

Once you finished your drink, you made an attempt at banter, which he half-heartedly returned. Usually, you two had no trouble talking, but their was a certain weight that hung in the air. Soon your slot was up, and you decided to head home.

As the two of you walk out into the rain, Hitoshi grabs your hand.

“Hey, Y/N.” You tense up a bit. Shinsou looks down at his feet.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have... you know.” He blushed, and you kept yourself from scooping him up in a hug then and there. Why are you so cute, Hitoshi?

“Don’t worry! It’s payback for the fake-date.” You winked, patting his hand gently. You kept it there for a little while.

Shinsou still seemed a bit bothered. He breathed in deeply, mustering his courage. He had to tell you. Now.

“Well, the thing is I do really like you. But not in the way you think. I just think...you’re pretty, and smart and just amazing, Y/N.” He looks at you, eyes shining. “I think you’re brilliant. And I love spending time with you, and sometimes I think about-“ he falters, growing a bit timid. “K-kissing you.” He stewed quietly awaiting your response. You seem to be in catatonic shock, and Hitoshi worries he’s ruined your friendship for good. He sighed. “I love you, Y/N-“You laugh, uproariously, and he’s a bit offended. Were you making fun of him? Mocking his feelings for you? He didn’t peg you as so heartless.

But before he can say anything, you pull him into a kiss. It’s soft and gentle, and it feels so right. Hitoshi lifts you up, pulling you deeper into the kiss till it turns into a frenzied passion. The rain falls hard and your umbrella is abandoned on the ground for the time being. You pull away, just for a moment, to breathe. He looks ethereal, covered in raindrops and looking into you with those beautiful eyes. You wished that there was a way to get a moment tattooed to your body. Hitoshi Shinsou, the boy you had been crushing on since you met him said that you were pretty. And brilliant. And he had just kissed you. Twice!

You press your forehead to his, sighing with contentment. “I love you too, Hitoshi.”

[hysteriium]

The Irony of Fate [1]

Gif not mine folks!

(A/N): HEY okay so I know this is kind of taboo considering the whole controversy surrounding this film and while I don’t agree with the labelling, I don’t wanna get political on my blog. I think Joaquin is an amazing actor, he’s a lovely person and I’ve completely fallen head over heels for his portrayal. I’ve loved the Joker ever since I was a kid (guess I’ve had coulrophillia for as long as I can remember lol), I’ve watched him evolve on screen, and in the comics, for as long as I can remember and I guess, as dumb as it sounds, it’s a character that’s been part of a large chunk of my life. So, in sum of my very long, convoluted message, I hope the people who may have a problem with me writing a fic/series on Arthur Fleck/Joker, are able to respect my position as I am with theirs; everyone’s entitled to hold their individual positions, and I won’t fight that, what you believe is totally okay and I’m not here to shoot it down. Thank you :) - Kat  

M A J O R   S P O I L E R  W A R N I N G S!!!  (IF YOU HAVEN’T SEEN IT ALREADY PLEASE DO NOT READ).

Summary: Arthur hated his life. That was no secret. He could pull out a list of the reasons why if someone had to ask. Perhaps he had pissed off fate really badly, a time he couldn't seem to recall. Or perhaps, not that he believed in it, in a past life he had behaved so reprehensively that he was cursed for the entirety of his reincarnated existence. At this point, anything would make more sense than his continual bad luck - make more sense than his life. Was he doomed to be miserable for the rest of his time on earth? Or would the woman he spotted from his window instigate a rapid spiral of change?

Word count: 2134

Warnings: none; let me know if you think there should be any. 

It was cold. 

The meandering, tickle of wind brushed against Arthur’s half-bare form, caressing the soft skin of his chest, while weary arms wrapped around his fragile body, riddled with goosebumps. The front of his neck, which was exposed as it rested against the top of his sofa had his head dangling off the rear of it. He ignored the chill that spread across his body, a shiver that travelled as swift as a racing river; icy and immersive. Encapsulating. 

It was the only thing he had felt in days.

Perhaps weeks. 

His hair was long and untamed, the fluffy strands which occasionally brushed up against the structure of his cheek, due to the wind, acted like a concerned friend.

Or at least that was what he thought. 

In all honesty, he wasn’t certain what friends felt like. 

The flashing of the tv screen before him was disregarded, as well as the noise it discharged; with its aim nothing more than to provide background noise to Arthur, he lost himself in the static it transmitted. Though the thought spirals, which occurred day after day, were far harsher, and unlike the little device in front of him, couldn’t be switched off. 

As he eyed the ceiling, he became conscious of the paint chipping away at the corners of the roof as well as the water damage caused by small leaks from the apartments above him. It had led to the discovery of discoloured small sections in the ceiling; sunken, and dark were the bubbles that formed. Most worrying of all, was the mould which peeked out from the fragmented paint, festering and collated. It strangely didn’t bother him, however, he couldn’t bring himself to care as his blue eyes raked across the surface of the cream, shabby ceiling. Vacant and void of emotion. Cold and uncaring. 

Another breeze crammed itself through the window, dancing its way to him. 

The cycle repeated. 

Shivers.

Goosebumps.

Thought spiral.

Wind. 

Everything was the same.

That was, until he heard something.

Something new. 

It was melodic, yet stifled as his thoughts suffocated him. It trickled inside from the alleys of Gotham, crossing his open, dilapidated window.

Singing. 

And it wasn’t the type of singing you heard every day - no it was touching; unique. And it came from deep within. From the heart. It was something rare, something Arthur had only heard a few times in his life. While he was often surrounded by music - his mother's influence - he rarely connected with any. 

This though...this was different. 

The tune wrapped around his form like a firm lead of rope, binding around his chest with a great, complex knot, one impossible to escape, and further, one impossible to unravel. The spell had been cast, and he had been enchanted. 

He lifted his head from its lazy hanging position, abruptly sitting upright, supporting his back against the couch while his fingers fiddled in his lap. Instantly, he found himself drawn to the window, hypnotised like a man in love as he stumbled towards it, scurrying. 

Another gust of wind. 

His hands were shaking. Whether it was from the sudden feeling of liveliness or nervousness he couldn’t distinguish, though they gripped the window frame tightly and he thrust his head out, first hitting the top of his head against the extendable part of the frame, before shaking the pain away and righting his position. Wild eyes darted across the filthy, littered Gotham streets, the busy, gloomy city sinking into his now sparkling, curious eyes, searching for a source. 

It took a few moments before he finally found it - a woman - just across the road from his apartment, meters away. She stood in front of a store, an acoustic guitar in her grasp, one hand sliding up and down the neck to find the perfect notes, while the other strummed. Her guitar case was fixed below her, open as bills, pennies and dimes were scattered inside it, tossed in by those absently walking by. In a way, the thought of those strolling past, who had yet to stop and appreciate her sheer talent, made the bushy brows at the top of his head crease into a frown. His blood boiled. No one appreciated art these days.

She wore a red dress, elegant and fitting, extremely well dressed for the streets of Gotham. Almost strangely formal. She was beautiful though, graceful even, as her form swayed with the music, completely invested in the lyrical masterpiece that passed her lips.

Arthur had to pinch herself to make sure she was real.

To him, she was otherworldly. Angelic.

He was frozen and rendered speechless as his breathing caught in his throat. Even though he was observing her from his dingy window like a common creep, he felt compelled to talk to her, to get to know her, to know every little detail about her. Was she kind? Was she as sweet as she looked? What was her favourite colour? Did she like comedy?

As he continued to mentally question her from above, he felt reality slipping from him. It was escaping from his grasp, melting like candle wax, or perhaps like putty in his hands, the goop raining down from the gaps of his fingers. He could feel the daydream occurring, the blurring of his vision as he zoned out on her form - and only her form. 

The only important thing illuminating the dull, insignificant seconds that plagued his life like a cancer. 

He’d walk up to her, a hand nervously fixing his hair, tugging at the strands if he encountered a knot. First, he’d wait for her to finish the rest of her song, standing nearby with an encouraging smile, one she’d promptly return. She’d continue the sway of her hips, a move he’d find hard to restrain his eyes from drinking in. Somehow he’d manage. 

He’d practically be bursting with excitement when she finally reached the climax of her song, clapping frantically. She’d bow, a large grin plastered on her face as she does so. 

“What’s your name?” She’d say. 

“A-Arthur. M-my-my name is Arthur.” He’d stutter out, the fidgeting of his fingers while noticeable, he’s thankful she ignores. 

“Nice to meet you, Arthur!” 

He’d perform a little dip of his head, an idiosyncrasy he couldn’t help as he laughed nervously, replying with a soft, “you too.” 

Next, he’d compliment her - on her singing. He’d be honest too, trying his best to articulate the feelings they evoked within him. It was a difficult task. Arthur learnt that the hard way as they carried on talking for a while. 

It remained this way, soft, sweet and casual - until he made her laugh.

It was the most beautiful, infectious sound he’d ever heard. It was something to add to his ever-growing list of likes. He was well and truly hooked, an addiction he wasn’t willing to shake off. 

Like a curse, something he could never stray too far from, he’d think about the dreaded, intrusive laughter that tended to emerge at the worst times. He’d obsess over its emergence, wondering just when exactly it would spontaneously occur. Would she accept the card he’d force into her hand? A simplistic explanation of his condition? Would she understand? Would she think him a freak?

Even in his mind, he couldn’t escape ridicule. 

The negative thought threw him off track. No longer was he able to picture her smiling eyes boring into his own, the large stretch of her grin, and the teeth that briefly bit into the bottom of her lip as she laughed, a small involuntary action. No longer was he able to picture himself smiling back, his lips pursed into his lips, the soft crinkle of his eyes and the subtle rise of his brows. It faded away like a fog, the happiness that bubbled in his stomach popping along with it as he snapped back to reality. Harsh and brutal. The upturn of his mouth deflated like a tire, slow and agonising once he was confronted with the truth. 

He hadn’t actually gone up to her. He was still centred at the window in his mother’s grossly, illegally defective apartment; trapped in a home he firmly believed had never met the standards, even in its inception. Along with the new outbreak of ‘super rats’, a phenomenon he was well acquainted with, things were only set to go further downhill.

Because of this, he’d have to settle for the next best thing.

He disappeared from the window, retreating into one of the other rooms. Hands gripped the wood of the chair - one precisely chosen for its comfort; a chair pleasant enough to sit down on without his backside turning numb. After he dragged it to the window, the continual, ear-piercing groan of wood against wood was a sound that had piqued his mother’s interest from the other room, an attraction Arthur quickly and almost desperately shot down. Once he found himself semi-relaxed in the chair, he rested his head against the window frame. The air which blew against his face, filtered through the lifeless room, lifting the curtains beside him.   

He didn’t know how long he sat by his window, absorbing the stunning tune which serenaded his ears. The setting sun had coloured Gotham by then, and the beautiful girl before him. Its orange glow sunk into her skin, somehow making her more dazzling in his eyes. All he knew was that he couldn’t peel himself away, nor his eyes, or attention. He was well and truly charmed.

All good things must come to an end though, a concept Arthur hated. When she finished her last song, his heart leapt out of his chest, and his gut churned with dread. Was he ever going to see her again?

This thought was promptly put aside when she finally looked up at him, their eyes locking. Although she was some distance away, he could still see the slow smile forming on her face and the small wave she gave him. 

He quickly, and rather nervously returned the acknowledgement, the mini-debate in his head promptly cut short as his mind blanked and he darted for the door. Turning the doorknob with extreme force, he threw the door open and slammed it behind him, running for the stairs. The elevator in his building had a bad track record, and had done nothing in the past but inconvenience him. He was sure to miss her if he took it - hell, he wasn’t even sure he’d catch her taking the stairs. 

Nevertheless, he persisted, shoving the thought away. 

His feet moved on their own accord, his hurried descent echoing throughout the empty stairwell. It was multiple, exhausting flights before he got to the bottom. His heart was racing and his breathing was ragged as sweat formed on his forehead; not only due to the strenuous workout he had endured but also because of the fear of her departure. In a burst of confidence only then had he decided to talk to her, a confidence that seemed to completely leave his disappointed form once he reached outside, slamming into the fire escape exit and into the littered streets. She had left, and he had been too slow. 

He sighed.

Off Arthur went, performing the walk of shame back to his apartment after searching for her red dress for the 100th time. He ascended the stairs, hair hanging low, along with his head fixed towards the ground. 

Oh, the irony of fate.

-----

It was a few days later when he saw her again. She popped up into his mind a lot, more than he’d like to admit. Her beauty, which was not something to sneeze at was often the first thing he thought of, followed by the songs she sang. It was this he remembered most and he often found himself replaying them, a calming mantra as he relished in her delivery. He found he did this when he was having an especially bad time. 

The effect she had on him was yet to dissipate. 

Considering the imprint she had left in his life, despite Arthur observing the woman for what had probably only been a few hours, he could recognise her voice anywhere. 

So, it was quite a shock to Arthur when he heard her voice on the television. At first, he hadn’t been able to pinpoint it, believing she was outside again. The thought had the blood rushing to his cheeks and the sweat glands in his palms working into overdrive. It took a few more seconds for Arthur to realise that the beautiful, unique voice that had once, for a short period, softly soothed his woes was in fact, right in front of him on the cubic form of entertainment.   

On the Murray Franklin show.

[realrollypratt]

[WIP Wednesday #1]

This is my first edition of Work in Progress Wednesday!

I’ve been working on this Dom!Casey one-shot for too long 4-5 months and it is mostly finished, but has been kicking up a storm during editing so it’s not quite ready for posting yet. I’m just too excited about it to wait any longer though, so here’s a snippet to give you a taste!

This passage contains 1,715 words (full version to be approximately 10k). Set ten years after George and Nora’s wedding.

Inspired by @wroteathingtoday​‘s story Es(Courting) which brought up the idea of Casey being a total Dom.

Lemme know your thoughts! :D

“Ten years, huh?”

Casey turned towards the voice, watching Derek saunter towards her with a wicked smile.

When he settled next to her, leaning against the railing with a bottle in his hand, she turned back to the view in front of her, unable to ward off the small smile on her own lips. He always sought her out at the end of an evening, no matter how much he’d insisted on ignoring her just hours before.

“Yeah,” she sighed, tucking a curl behind her ear. “I’m not sure if it feels like ten... or a hundred.”

He stayed silent for an instant, and all she could hear was the rustling of leaves in the wind and sirens resounding from a few blocks away. It made the moment feel surreal, somehow, calm, as if she was surrounded by a bubble and time just stretched on and on. From the corner of her eye, she saw him take a swig of his beer before answering.

“Probably a hundred,” Derek said, and leaned against his side to face her. “But in a good way.”

Moving her head slightly to the side, she caught his gaze. He wore an open expression, soft eyes catching the light from the city down below, as his lips curled up in his signature smirk.

She chuckled, shaking her head. “How is it a good thing?”

At her question, his eyebrow quirked up in consideration. “It’s one of those things, you know,” Derek said. “Like ‘gosh it’s like I’ve known you forever’.”

He emphasized the word and dipped forward to be on her eye level, bringing their faces closer. It wasn’t quite cold, but she still shivered when the soft breeze carried the scent of his cologne to her nose. She could smell the beer on his breath too.

“I’d have thought that knowing me forever would be like a death sentence to you,” Casey said, leaning in to whisper conspiringly.

His laugh then was low and deep, and a bit self-deprecating. “I adapted.”

“You’re adaptable?” Casey teased with a raised eyebrow.

“Eh,” Derek uttered, shrugging.

Casey rolled her eyes at his typical response and turned around to face the venue, crossing her arms over her chest protectively (though to protect herself from what, she wasn’t quite sure).

Through the archway she saw her mother and step-father dancing in the middle of the room, smiling in each other’s arms as they swayed to the music. Nora looked affectionately at George while sweeping cake icing from the corner of his mouth.

“At least they’re happy,” Casey said thoughtfully, unable to picture a world where Nora didn’t love George, but not quite able to make all the pieces fit together in her head either.

There was a scoff coming from him and she eyed him somewhat insulted.

“So you’re what, unhappy now?” Derek asked doubtfully, like she was being dramatic or something.

“No,” Casey defended, frowning, “I’m not. I just meant that however we feel about it, what matters is that they’re actually happy.”

Frowning in turn, Derek put his beer down on the flat railing in order to slowly step forward into her personal space, making her look up to hold eye contact with him. She would never shrink back against his towering height, which he knew, she wasn’t small or helpless, but his proximity still made her breathless, his radiating heat spreading to her neck and cheeks.

“How exactly do you feel about it?” Derek asked softly, his expression unreadable beyond the crease on his brow. 

Even though his physical presence didn’t scare her, and she was usually the first person to glorify communication as the solution to all problems, the thought of having an honest, truthful conversation - with him - was terrifying.

She was scared of what lay underneath, the things she never dared to put into words for fear of giving them form and having to face that they were real.

She looked away.

“It doesn’t matter,” Casey said weakly. “That’s the whole point.”

Needless to say, Derek wasn’t convinced. “This coming from the girl who almost broke the parents up because they didn’t consider her feelings.”

“Obviously,” she said, keeping her voice even through her gritted teeth, “I’ve grown.”

“And I’ve adapted, isn’t it great?”

Sighing in resignation, she looked back at him, finding his gaze instantly. He bore into her with an intensity she usually hated coming from him. It was so heated and earnest it made parts of her melt, her walls crumble, and she was seconds away from coming apart.

They’d been here before, and every time, she fell for his puppy eyes like she could actually believe that he needed her, that he was open and vulnerable in front of her. Every time, she found out, she’d been the fool falling on her knees with the leash in her hands.

“What do you want me to say?” Casey shrugged, hugging her arms to her sides. “That I resent my mom and your dad for bringing our families together, even though it was the best thing to happen to all of us, because I’m… selfish and ungrateful?”

His frown softened into an easy smile. “Yeah, that,” he said cheekily. “And also maybe something about how being so close to me ruined you for every other guys.”

She scoffed, once again rolling her eyes in exasperation. Of course he’d make some egotistical comment, making it all about him like she wasn’t opening herself up -

“Hey,” Derek uttered softly, breaking her out of her spiralling anger. He gently wrapped his hands around her upper arms, brushing his thumbs lightly against her skin. “I’m not exactly overjoyed either.”

Her skin prickled at his touch and she hated that it affected her so much that she softened against him. She especially hated the way his hands rubbing up and down her arms soothingly actually calmed her down.

“And I’m definitely not selfless,” he confided into her hair, his lips grazing the shell of her ear.

He’d pulled her against his chest, the contact making her shiver. Her face was tucked into his neck, from this close she discovered that he was using a new body spray, a sweeter, more subtle scent than before, with hints of cinnamon and sandalwood.

It was intoxicating. He was intoxicating.

Though her eyes were closed, she found enough strength to move her hand up to his chest, pushing him away reluctantly. “Derek,” she breathed, a sad attempt at sounding stern.

Reminding herself that catching her in her step-brother’s arms on their tenth anniversary was not quite the gift their parents were expecting, she pulled away, looking around self-consciously.

Catching her hand, Derek pulled her back against him, wrapping his other arm around her waist. “We’re just dancing,” he reassured, starting to sway them slowly to music that seemed too distant to hear. “What are they gonna say?”

Her free hand gripped onto his shoulder as she followed his movements, her head spinning. “We said we weren’t doing this anymore, Derek.’’

“Dancing?”

“Yes, dancing.”

Around the issues. Around each other.

He looked at her strangely, almost like he was surprised to be reminded of their agreement, or startled at being caught returning to a bad habit. His eyes moved to the archway behind her before he turned and tugged on her hand.

“C’mere,” Derek said, leading her to the side, away from view, and pushed her back against the wall between two tall junipers.

“De-rek!” Casey scolded.

“Just hear me out,” he said, his hand settling on her hip burning through her dress.

“Der-“ she started, intent on nipping whatever he was thinking right in the bud. But of course he didn’t let her finish.

“Come on,” Derek interrupted, “I’m just saying... we used to have fun. Didn’t we?”

Casey’s shoulders dropped, stomach sinking deep as she considered his beady eyes and alluring smile. This was the point in their dance when she always caved in, coaxed into yielding by the wistful memory of the way she used to feel. Fearless, beautiful, worshipped… and caring, and giving.

Until things got so mixed up that she couldn’t make sense of them anymore, and they were both hurt in the end.

Sometimes she wondered if pain was all they had to give each other.

“You know we can’t do that again,” Casey said, shaking her head sadly. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

She huffed, dismayed, releasing the last of the air she had in her lungs. “How many times did we go over this? You know why.”

Derek leaned closer, supporting his weight with one hand against the wall, and licked his lips, selecting his words carefully. “I wouldn’t be out here begging if I did.”

“That was you begging?” Casey asked, slightly skeptical.

“You tell me,” Derek said, his breath hot on her cheek. “You know what my begging looks like.”

She was burning up, her eyes glued to his like in a trance, remembering all too well just how good begging looked on him. She was tempted, really tempted, to make him do it all over again, knowing that she had that power, that she could make him look up at her from the heel of her foot, and that he would be keen to oblige - as if it wasn’t the only thing she could make him do voluntarily.

His hand skimmed up her side, travelling leisurely from her hip to her neck where he let his fingers plunge into her hair. There were the goosebumps again, softening all her hard edges, rendering her putty and pliant as he cradled the back of her neck and pulled her face to his.

“Why are you doing this?” Casey mumbled under her breath when their noses touched. To me, she almost added.

“Because,” Derek started, pausing to brush his lips against hers, a feather light touch. “No one makes it hurt like you do.”

Her soft gasp was silenced by his mouth fully covering hers, the kiss dizzying, but a bittersweet confirmation that he didn’t need her, just what she inflicted on him. She never thought that knowing how to reach in all of his tender spots was a bad thing until she discovered that he liked it, actually derived pleasure from it.

He didn’t like her, he just liked the pain.

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

my heart is thrilled by the still of your hand, chapter 1

Happy birthday to @bethanyactually! This first chapter is heavy on the internal monologue, but the next two have actual plot, and that plot is full of shippy dad!Schneider feels <3 so I think you’ll approve. I hope you have a great day!!

Penelope x Schneider, One Day At A Time. Also on AO3. Chapter 1/3.

****

“The Alvarezes are gonna be okay. And so are we.”

It was the start of something, reaching for his hand.

She’d never done so before. Schneider was usually the one who did the reaching, the risking...and Penelope liked it that way.

But she needed the connection, and with their fight still echoing behind them, she knew Schneider wouldn’t invade her space unless she gave him the opening.

Besides, it helped--it made it a little easier to offer him the truth like a second apology. He was such a warm, present person; Schneider grounded her without even trying.

The least she could do was be honest. Make it clear that he mattered, that he was more than his father’s son. That he belonged to them just as much as the cold world he came from, if not more.

With his hand in hers, Schneider would listen, because he always listened. He always forgave. This was the worst fight they’d ever had, and Penelope was finally starting to see the cracks that got left behind when they just moved on instead of trying to repair the damage.

Schneider was really good at papering over them, the same way he brushed off his father’s abuse, his childhood neglect. But she wanted better for him than that. He deserved better. He deserved to know he was loved, to not have to doubt it.

It stuck with her, the way Schneider had protested when Penelope told him he wasn’t really family. The way he’d tried to approach her, to keep talking. She didn’t have to see his face as he left to know how he must have looked--like a kicked golden retriever, loyal and confused and scared but never, ever fighting back.

After Mateo finished going over her finances, giving her the breakdown along with some much-needed--if not entirely welcome--perspective, Penelope had remembered all the times Schneider let her into his apartment without hesitation, all the times she took him for granted because he seemed happy to let her.

She got so angry at herself for that, that it made her mad at him, too.

Why didn’t he stand up for himself? Why didn’t he ever? If Schneider had gotten mad back, told her off, she would’ve listened--if only because it would’ve been such a shock.

But no, he just went when she told him to go, and accepted when she came back to apologize, and looked at her with all that trust and hope swimming in his eyes. Just like always. 

It felt different this time, sitting there on his couch. She felt different. Because Schneider was important to her, and the possibility that he might not know it? That he might not trust it anymore?

That was on her.

So, she told him. 

“I like the man you are just fine.” 

Please don’t change, Penelope added silently, staring him down through her tears--hoping he got it. Please don’t let anyone, even me, convince you that you need fixing.

Schneider managed the tiniest of smiles in response, still gripping her hand, but mostly he stared back as though he was waiting for the other shoe. As though it might stop being true if he blinked. His expression was so open, so full of raw emotion...so Schneider...it was a relief when he pulled her in for a hug. 

Penelope didn’t have to look at him then, didn’t have to watch all his feelings as they happened, trying to tug at her own. For a guy with a gambling problem, he seriously had no poker face. 

She could feel the tension in their hug, where normally there was none. He was quick to offer her his arm or a shoulder, whenever she needed it, but in such a casual way--this was something else. This was because he needed it, because he needed to know they were really okay. 

So it mattered, that Penelope had initiated the contact first, that she’d made things right again, enough that Schneider could hold on even after his father came back into the room. 

She might not know Schneider’s father very well, but she could guess what he thought about ‘real men’ and hugging. It was her who let go first, drying her eyes while Schneider took another moment. His hand stayed on her back long enough that she was surprised his father didn’t comment.

Maybe he didn’t notice. Penelope was pretty sure Schneider’s dad had mentally lumped her in with the hired help as soon as he knew she wasn’t Avery, rendering her invisible.

Still, fading back to give Schneider space to talk to his father wasn’t easy. The protective part of her wanted to tell the man exactly where he could stick his ideas about Schneider and their building. 

And hearing her own thoughts, Penelope realized suddenly that was how she felt about it. Somehow, in the face of someone like Lawrence Schneider, she and Schneider had become a ‘they.’ She was itching to step in, to be a united front. 

It wasn’t her place--but the impulse was there. 

Penelope wished she could blame it on the hugging, the handholding, the whole freaking day. Nearly losing her best friend and finding out she was losing her home. Watching Schneider turn into someone else and realizing how much she hated it. Having to face what that meant, how much she really did appreciate who he was the rest of the time. 

If that was all it was, an emotional reaction to the closeness and the clearing of the air, then it would be a fluke, easily dismissed.

She really wished it could be dismissed that easily.

She used to be able to dismiss Schneider that easily. Brushing off his compliments, rejecting his flirtations, hinting that he was around too much. It used to make her feel slightly more in control of a life that had been spiraling. 

2016′s Penelope couldn’t save her marriage or keep her kids in line or ever get her Mami to listen, but she could lay down the law with her overly-involved landlord. 

Sometimes, it even worked.

They were so far past that now, Penelope knew there was no going back. Watching Schneider finally snap and kick his father out right in front of her made that clear.

She didn’t even get the chance to take her earrings off.

Even though Schneider was one of the most important people in her life, he had the oddest ability to be more like a mirror than a person, sometimes. 

He knew what made her panic, and what haunted her dreams--how to calm her down or how to cheer her up. And through all that, Penelope didn’t know him nearly as well as he knew her. She hadn’t even realized it until Schneider was standing there in his open-collar dress shirt, watching wide-eyed as his father left.

“That was freaking amazing! Where did that come from?!?”

Schneider was a lot of things, but tough was not a word she would have ever used to describe him. Until now.

Everything was changing this year. Avery was his first serious relationship, the first woman he’d ever let beneath the surface. Besides her.

And then his father came to visit, and it was like she finally, really saw him. Not just the cheerful geek with endless hobbies and unlimited compassion, but the man underneath that. Who struggled. Whose life was not easy, despite all the money.

Schneider was a different person around his dad, and not one she liked. But if anybody understood trying to live up to parental expectations, wilting under family judgement, holding on to any chance of a future...it was Penelope.

As much as it sucked to watch her best friend disappear into a suit and his best corporate manners, it was something else, to see him come back. Stronger. 

Penelope would have been the first to admit that Schneider possessed a quiet, unassuming sort of strength. The kind that kept him sober for the last eight years, that kept him going. It was appealing, in the same sweet way he was.

She had no idea he could be the man who kicked his jerk of a father out without hesitating. For just a second, it was like Schneider filled up the room.

And though she would die before admitting it to anyone else, that was even sexier than Quinces Schneider. So she couldn’t blame her feelings on a fluke. 

Maybe the real start had been months earlier when Schneider became her best defense against anxiety attacks, always ready with animal memes or to rush to her side when she needed it.

Or before that, when she hurt his feelings and he forgave her--the first time, when it wasn’t even really an argument so much as Schneider letting her lash out without defending himself.

Or when she saw him without the beard and glasses and realized he could actually look like a guy. The kind of guy she would grab a drink with...and maybe make it to a seventh date.

Or when he brought Alex back safe and acted like he deserved to be banished forever because he couldn’t keep a teenager from looking for trouble.

Or, or, or.

It was easy to get tangled up in the history between them, the gradual shift from acquaintances to friends to family, and lose sight of the bigger picture. However much things had changed since she met him--and re-met him--they were changing again whether Penelope welcomed it or not.

“Family's everything.”

There was so much weight in Schneider’s words, in his smile, in the way he was able to look sad and happy simultaneously like no one else she had ever met.

The handholding and the hugging were more than enough for one day--too much, even. What Penelope needed to do was move things back to steady ground. To the familiar.

But he was so full of love standing there, with no expectation of anything. It radiated out of him. 

It pulled her in. 

Schneider had been her safe space for a long time now, but he’d never had a gravitational pull all his own. That had to be why she felt off-balance, right?

It was hard to pull herself out of the hug, when all Penelope wanted was to stay instead. And wanting that was so weird after the day they’d had, she stepped back again, almost immediately.

“Hey, you want to come over for dinner?”

Even that was new, actually inviting him. Usually, it was enough, waiting to see if he would show up. Usually, he did. 

But after the fight, and the talk, and the all-of-it, Penelope wasn’t willing to wait and see. She didn’t want to leave open the possibility of him spending his night somewhere else. 

She didn’t want to spend her night without him.

Penelope could still feel the warmth of his arms around her, the realization hitting her nearly as hard as that Ice Bucket Challenge after Schneider had talked her into it: she had actually been underselling it, when she told Schneider she liked who he was. 

She liked him so much more than she ever could’ve predicted she would. 

As quickly as her mind, and heart, veered into new and alarming territory, the cold shock of reality followed, bringing her back to her senses.

He was her best friend. He was her family.

He was with somebody else.

“You can invite Avery.” 

Penelope hurried to add that on, segueing into a promise of cookies and her family’s company, hoping he might not notice her slight flush. 

Hoping it wasn’t written all over her face how much she needed him to say yes.

She had to tell her Mami and the kids the good news, and make sure they set enough places at the table. She had to give herself a stern talking to about mixing friendship and attraction and stress and love together and getting it all confused. 

Penelope was too caught up in her own thoughts to worry about Schneider staying behind. 

Later, she would remember seeing the case his father gave him, still sitting in his living room.

Later, she would remember that Schneider didn’t sing and dance along with her as she left. 

There would be plenty of time for her to catalog all the red flags she should have noticed, once it was too late. 

And making lists in her head at night, of all the ways she’d failed him as a friend when he’d needed her most...well, at least that kept her from thinking about how Schneider had pulled her into him, how she had wanted to keep holding on.

For a while, anyway.

[shimmershaewrites]

Waltzing's for Dreamers, Chapter 21 (a Walking Dead story, Caryl AU).

Title: Waltzing's for Dreamers

Rating:  PG, maybe. 

Warnings:  some angst. 

Characters/Pairings:  Carol/Daryl, Lori/Rick, Sophia Peletier, Carl Grimes, Glenn Rhee, mentions of Andrea Harrison, Philip Blake, Tara Chambler, T-Dog, Shane Walsh, Michonne, Ed Peletier, Merle Dixon. 

 Excuse any typos and the generalized suckiness of this chapter.  I kinda hate it, but maybe you'll find some redeeming qualities, lol.  This chapter brought to you by the power of insomnia. 

   Waltzing’s for Dreamers

    Seven years after Vegas.  Late May. 

      It’s muggy outside.  Downright sticky. 

  Nothing all that unusual for Georgia in the month of May and yet?  When Carol ducks into the quiet coolness of Rick and Lori’s half bath, she’s shocked at the state of her hair.  Frizzy and more than a little wild, it’s 90’s era Julia Roberts big, and there’s no taming it.  Not really.  So she doesn’t even bother.  Just tucks it behind her ears and wanders into the kitchen.  Looks for something to occupy her time, some small way she can help her friend.  Lori was kind enough to host this annual shindig, after all, and if it comes with the added bonus of shielding her from a certain impenetrable blue gaze?  Well, then.  All the better.   Unfortunately, her method of distraction is short-lived.  She stills her restless hands on the kitchen counter when she hears the telltale shuffle of tired feet and an unmistakable sigh.  The babbling apology that’s sincere, yes.  But not entirely true. 

  “Carol.  Sweetie, I’m so sorry.  Rick invited him.  I found out when you did.” 

  Lori’s all baby belly and quite possibly the only person more miserable today than Carol herself, so she lets the slight fudging of the truth slide.  For the time being anyway.  Offers her friend a thin flicker of a smile as she lets her off the hook.  Starts rearranging all the forks and spoons before her into neat rows.  “It’s okay.” 

  “Is it?  Really?”

  Carol stops fiddling with the plastic silverware and meets her friend’s earnest brown eyes.  Releases a sigh of her own then half-mumbles a response that’s entirely unconvincing.  “Gotta be.”  She’s not lying, even if her delivery is somewhat lacking.  Couldn’t even if she wanted to, not to Lori.  Everything has to be okay.  She has to be okay because Daryl’s decided to stay.  Replant some roots and get to know the beautiful little soul he helped create.  It’s what she’d wanted when she had Michonne draw up those papers for her, the ones that offered him a place in their son’s life if he desired it.  Sophia’s too, if that’s what her sensitive, headstrong little girl wished.  Free and clear of any restrictions.  It’s what she’d hoped for.  Still.  Wanting something and actually being prepared for the reality of it?  Two different animals altogether.  Surviving the rest of the school year had been nothing compared to this.  All of the stress and second guessing must show on her face because Lori’s crossing the room and opening her arms, cooing sympathetically, and Carol’s all but crumpling at the gesture of sisterly concern. 

  “Oh, Honey.  Come here.” 

  Her friend’s hug is awkward but heartfelt and Carol laughs, gathering tears be damned, when the baby trapped between them kicks on cue, doing wonders for her mood and reminding her to get over mopey self.  Pulling back, she places her palms over Lori’s swollen belly and smiles.  “Hi, Sweetheart.  Nap-time over?” 

  “Nap-time?” Lori rolls her eyes with a grin.  “What is this nap-time you speak of?  This little one,” she says, pausing to direct Carol’s hand to the insistent press of a little foot before continuing, “she never sleeps.” 

  “She?  I thought you and Rick wanted to be surprised.” 

  “Carl,” Lori corrects her.  “Carl wants to be surprised.  Rick and I, well.  We’re humoring him.  Besides.  What’s one more surprise?  Right?” she quips, absently following the movements of her child with her hand still covering Carol’s hand before eventually letting it go.   

  “She, though?”  Pulling out the nearest barstool, she nudges her friend until she takes a seat.  Encourages her to kick off her sandals before doing the same.  She drops into the seat next to her and curls her pink-tipped toes around the rung of the stool, props her chin in her hand as her gaze flits back to Lori.  Smirks before allowing another question to tumble free.  “You sure you haven’t peeked?”   

  “I hope that’s not an accusation.” 

  “Sheesh.  Guilty much?”  Giddy, girlish laughter peels from Carol’s lips at the wide eyed, open mouthed expression that accompanies that statement.  “Relax.  I’m just kidding.  Mostly.”  When Lori snorts at that little addendum, she loses all composure again.  They both do.  Especially when Rick walks into the kitchen and promptly backpedals, his hands held up signaling his ultimate surrender to his wife’s current mood, whatever that may be.  They’re so unpredictable these days.  “Poor Rick,” she muses. 

  “Listen to you.  Poor Rick.  Mostly.  Some friend you are.” 

  The words are meant to tease, but Carol takes them to heart.  Sobers.  Thinks about how much she’s relied on the two of them, Lori and Rick.  Oh, Michonne was there.  Andrea, too, to a lesser extent.  But Lori and Rick?  She’s leaned hard on them.  The last few years especially, finding herself right back in a position she never thought she’d be in again:  single parenthood.  Rearing a helpless baby boy and trying her best to put a heartbroken little girl back together.  And it feels selfish, to keep dumping her wonders and woes on them when Daryl’s back in the picture.  Because Carl’s birth had been a difficult one and this pregnancy hasn’t exactly been a cakewalk.  They have their own worries that they hide behind braves faces and here she is.  Letting herself drown without even attempting to save herself and swim toward the shore.  “Yeah.  Some friend.” 

  “Hey,” Lori softly entreats.  “You know I’m kidding, right?” 

  “And I’m just being melodramatic.” 

  “Seriously?  Is your name Andrea?  Because her life is a complete soap opera.” 

  Carol looks up in surprise.  It’s the first time in more than a month that anybody has been bold enough to even utter Andrea’s name in her presence and Lori does it so casually she almost forgets the residual anger that makes her clench her hands into tight fists.  Makes her gut churn and her heart beat hot and heavy behind her breastbone.  Makes her throat go dry and her tongue feel too thick in her mouth and she’s reminded anew of the faces that are missing from the day’s backyard celebration.  “Lori.” 

  “She didn’t have the right to do what she did.  You and Daryl…” 

  “Might have still ended up apart.  We might have,” she insists.  “Merle is his brother and Daryl loves him.  More than anything in this world.” 

  “Not anything.  Not you and Sophia and…” 

  Pushing back from the bar, Carol stands up.  Cuts her off before she can say anything more.  Paces around the kitchen that suddenly feels less like a safe haven and more like a trap.  Its walls closing in and the oxygen growing thin because it would seem that pregnancy has obliterated whatever semblance of a filter Lori might have claimed in the past.  She’s stubbornly determined to lance all of Carol’s festering wounds.  Expose them and let them breathe.  Force them to heal when she would be just as content to keep the band-aids on a little while longer.  “Daryl has his code.  Merle needed him.  He nearly died in that wreck.” 

  “And whose fault is that?” Lori mutters.  More to herself than anything. 

  Carol answers her anyway.  Wearily but with conviction.  “I’m not arguing culpability with you.  I’m not.  What happened?  Happened.  Daryl chose his brother.  And, he chose him before Andrea ever put those divorce papers in his hands.”     

  “Divorce papers that he never finished signing.  Divorce papers that were never filed.” 

  The pointed reminder does what it’s designed to do.  It renders Carol temporarily mute as her friend launches into a passionate dissertation of the so-called facts as she sees them and to be honest?  Her viewpoint strikes an uncomfortable chord. 

  “Merle needed him, but you needed him more.  Only he didn’t know that, did he?  He thought you wanted nothing to do with him because Andrea saw her chance and she seized it.  Anything to assuage her guilt.  Think about it, Carol.  Who pushed the hardest for you and Daryl to stay married in the first place?  Andrea.  She thought it would get Ed off your back and for the most part?  It did.  For a while anyway.  But we all knew he was a cockroach so that’s beside the point.  The point being she felt responsible, even before she got mixed up with that scumbag Blake.  The good and the bad.  She felt like it was her doing.” 

  “Lori.” 

  “No,” Lori shakes her head.  “Let me finish.  Sweetie, you need to hear this, whether you want to or not.”    

  Carol doesn’t tell her she’s rehashing old news.  That would take more energy than she possesses, at least in that exact moment.  So she just stands there and takes it.  Listens in the hopes that this is it.  The last time she’s confronted with the mistakes of her past.  She relents.  “Fine.”    

  “Merle did nearly die in that wreck.  And it was awful and scary and you were a basket case, remember?” 

  She merely nods.  Of course, she remembers.  She couldn’t forget if she wanted to because the unrelenting worry she’d felt for her husband and her troubled brother-in-law had landed her in a hospital bed just two floors removed, with monitors hooked up to her and alarms shrieking and keeping her on constant edge.  It’d been one of the scariest experiences she’d ever endured and she’d endured it largely alone.  Only in the last couple of months had she found out why and it had been worse than her desperate imaginings. 

  “You were a basket case.  Worried sick for Merle and for Daryl and then you ended up in the hospital yourself.  That was Andrea’s tipping point.” 

  “I don’t…” 

  “She suspected Blake had played a part in Merle’s accident even then and she felt guilty.  Irrationally guilty.  So irrationally guilty, she decided to make things right.  Only she went about it completely the wrong way because all she managed to do was screw things up even more.  I’m still fuzzy on the details, but somehow, when Daryl finally surfaced from Merle’s bedside and was told what had happened with you and the baby, he assumed the worst.  He assumed…” 

  “I know what he assumed.  I know what Andrea let him assume.  What she told him in some misguided effort to protect me and the kids and I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Lori.  The past is in the past.  It can’t be changed and I’m tired of dwelling on it.” 

  “But don’t you want to make sense of it?” 

  “Sense of it?  Lori, Andrea said so herself.  She was clear on one thing and one thing only.”   

  “Ain’t no makin’ sense of it.” 

  Carol’s agitated steps stutter to a stop and her eyes lock with those of the man who, for all intents and purposes, is still her husband because there’s another set of divorce papers out there that he’s holding onto.  A set she’d had drawn up and left for him, along with a simple band of gold.  Irony of all ironies, history is repeating itself.  Only this time, her signature’s lacking and she hasn’t stopped running long enough to do anything about it.  She’s afraid of what will happen if she does.  Doesn’t know if she has it in herself to be brave enough to find out.  She’s done that once before, gone against her own nature.  Walked the safe route and tried for a while to pretend she had what she wanted and needed in her ill-fated relationship with Tobin, but the truth was?  It’d always had an expiration date and deep down?  She’d known it.  That said, she’s going to need a helluva lot more convincing to take that kind of risk with her heart again and one of the most important reasons for her reticence is standing less than five feet away.   But maybe it’s time to take a chance. 

  “Mama?”  Sophia eyes them all with suspicion. 

  “Sophia?”  Lori attempts to divert the little girl’s attention.  “Where’s your brother?” 

  The forthcoming answer is polite and to the point.  Distracted as she zeroes in on Carol’s face.  “Outside.  With Tara and Uncle T.” 

  Mercifully oblivious, Carl is intent on seeking his mother out with a problem he claims is life and death.  As only an adolescent can. 

  Before Lori has a chance to excuse herself, Glenn arrives to save the day.  Reading the tension fraught room and taking the preoccupied boy by the shoulders.  Steering him back the way he’d come.    

  “Cool!  Really?  How’d you know what to do?” 

  “Sometimes, being a complete nerd comes in handy.” 

  “Mama,” Sophia persists.  “What’s going on?” 

  Barely a glance from Carol, and Lori’s sliding from her seat.  Forcing her swollen feet back into her sandals and grabbing a pitcher of lemonade from the counter, not even giving Sophia a chance to protest before all but pushing it into her small, fidgeting hands.  “How are those burgers coming?  Shane and Rick fighting over the grill again?” 

  “Yes, Ma’am.  But…” 

  “I bet everybody’s thirsty.” 

  “But…” 

  “Thank you so much for your help, Sweetie,” Lori declares with exaggerated cheerfulness as she nudges the child forward.  “Carl and the rest of the guys are just useless.”

  Finally, they hear the patio door shut, and it’s just the two of them and Carol has nowhere left to run.  At least that’s what she tells herself as she takes a deep, fortifying breath.  Straightens to her full height and meets Daryl’s narrowed blue gaze head on. 

  “What’s this all about?” 

  “You and me.”  She takes a step closer and another.  The distance between them makes her ache, makes it hard for her to expand her lungs and find her voice. 

  “Me and you?  You said…”

  She interrupts him because she doesn’t want to hear her own words echoed back to her.  They’d hurt plenty enough saying them.  Hearing them the first time.  “You were right.  Nobody knows me like you do.  Nobody has.  Nobody ever will.” 

  “Hell you playin’ at here?  Cruel to give a man hope where there ain’t none.” 

  This time, he takes a step closer and it’s all Carol can do to stand her ground.  Her heart’s in her throat and it feels like it’s grown wings.  Feels like it’s going to take flight without her consent and that’s a terrifying proposition because what if it falls again?  What if it plummets back to Earth and she shatters into a million tiny, unrecognizable pieces?  But oh.  What if it flies?  What if…

  “Carol.” 

  His hands are on her face and they’re so gentle, so careful, and shit.  She’s crying.  When did that happen? 

  “Just me.” 

  “I know.” 

  “Can tell me anything.  Anything.” 

  “You really mean that, don’t you?” 

  “Do.” 

  “Can tell me to crawl straight back to Hell, need be.  Be a short trip but I’ll take it if that’s what you’re askin’.  Just…” 

  His scruff is rough beneath the pads of her thumbs but his mouth is soft and it trembles when she silences him with her own careful touch.  “Daryl?” 

  “Yeah?” he rumbles.                                           

  “I never stopped.”  His eyes spark with a hope so pure it’s painful at those simple words, and she knows he knows what she’s talking about.  Knows he remembers that conversation on that crumbling porch.  Knows he recalls the sweet heavy mist of the falling rain as they made love, but she doesn’t want there to be any lingering doubts.  So she says it again.  Murmurs it as a promise.  “I never stopped and I never will.”

  “Me and you?” 

                                                                               “Trying.  That’s all I can promise.” 

  “All I want, Sweetheart.  All I need.” 

[whatliesabove-blog1]

small, quiet room

Chapter fourteen | ao3

Hopper spends his time brooding around the cabin as soon as Joyce drops the news on him. 

After the initial revelation, he didn't know what to do with himself; he left the precinct, gruffly telling Flo he's taking a few days off before speeding home. Maybe taking a few days off was a bit rash, but he’s never been informed of a secret child before either, so what the fuck does he know?

He needs time. To himself, to stop. He may not be able to make time stop, but he can arrange to spend some time by himself. El's suspicion about his suggestion she spend a night or two at the Wheeler's is overpowered by the pure excitement over getting to have a sleepover, and he’s in the clear.

He calls Karen ahead of time and asks if it'd be okay, at least had the presence of mind to do that much, and though she's understandably confused, she thankfully seems to get the picture. He doesn't want to talk about it, and she doesn't ask. He just needs El out of the cabin and away from him, because he knows he isn't going to be the best of company.

In his dazed state he still manages to dish out some rules: no sleeping in the kid's room, and the rest of their little friends are going to be there too. It’ll be her first slumber party and she’s over the moon.

With her gone, he immediately goes for the fridge and pulls out a beer. He’s about to head back into the living room when he spins around again and grabs a second. The first will go down like water, he knows, and he’s just saving himself the time.

Two beers turns into three, three into four, and the cycle continues until he’s out of beer. He’s not smashed, but he’s drunk enough to know he can’t go buy some more from the store.

In the alcohol’s absence, he’s forced to drink water. Oddly enough, it goes down with more of a struggle than the beer.

Nearly twenty four hours later, a whole day between Joyce’s truth bomb and his current state, he still hasn't gone out to get more beer. It’s mostly because he doesn't want to leave the cabin, but the fact that he’s still slumped on the floor with his back against the couch also has something to do with it.

He's gone through an entire array of feelings in the past day. Anger. Confusion. Frustration. Sadness. Shock. All of them intertwine with each other, blend into one giant mess of emotions he doesn't know how to navigate.

A kid.

He and Joyce have a kid. Not just a kid, but a teenager. He has a fucking teenager.

And not just any teenager, but one he already knows. One he's watched grow and mature over the past two years. Jonathan. Joyce's boy, the one who stood up to him because he wanted to help find his little brother in the place of his mother. Only he isn't just Joyce's boy, he's his too.

His head is spinning.

He almost wishes it wasn’t Jonathan. Not because there’s something wrong with the kid, but because it’s so fucking weird. It’s jarring, completely surreal, and maybe if it was some random kid he’s never met before it’d be easier. A kid who doesn’t have an opinion of him already.

Jonathan doesn’t hate him, he’s at least fairly certain of that, but he’s under no impression that he’s on his top five people list either. He doesn’t have to be, he supposes, but knowing where he stands would be nice.

Hopper squeezes his eyes shut, pinches at the bridge of his nose until the dizziness passes. He should eat something, can’t actually remember the last time he shoved something other than drinks down his throat, but he doesn't have the energy to make it. Or microwave it, really, because hell if he'd actually cook something right now.

Jesus Christ.

Maybe he's stupid for not figuring it out sooner. Now that he knows, knows Jonathan's his son, he can see it. The teen looks like him in ways he doesn't look like Joyce or Lonnie, in ways that, to the best of Hopper’s knowledge, he never did. But until almost two years ago, he'd only seen the kid a handful of times.

The first time he saw him was when he was, what, eight years old?

He wonders if Jonathan looked like him as a small child. Maybe he did, and maybe if he'd run into Joyce earlier it would've been more obvious.

Maybe it would’ve jumped right out to him, he would’ve confronted Joyce, and the last fifteen or so years of his life would’ve panned out differently. Or maybe it wouldn't have. Maybe it would've just been another big mess of its own.

Hopper knows when it happened.

It was at Karen's post-graduation party, the night the two of them got sentimental and a little drunk and slept together in the back of his father's car. They were close enough to the house party to hear the music floating through the air and inebriated yells from their classmates, but far enough so that none of them even thought to wander to where he'd parked.

He doesn’t remember much from graduation but he remembers that night clearly, every moment of it. From the conversations they'd had in that car, to the first lingering glance and the way he'd leaned into her. She didn't tell him to stop, just sank into his chest, grabbed onto his hair and pulled him closer. It spiraled from there, the two of them lost in a haze of strewn clothing, messy kisses and sweaty bodies.

That night in the backseat wasn't the first time they'd slept together, but it is the only time that makes any sense for the conception.

The first time was under the bleachers in the start of junior year. It'd started as a dare he thought Joyce would be too chicken to follow through on—to kiss him. He said it as a joke, but he should've known better than to underestimate just how dedicated, and competitive, she was. She'd raised a cocky eyebrow and grabbed his face. The kiss turned into what was their first time, and looking back he can only laugh at how fitting it seems that it was under those damn bleachers.

The second time was after junior prom, after enough spiked punch to lower their inhibitions, to allow them to act on their shared desires, but not enough to render them incapable of remembering their actions.

“I know exactly what I’m doing, Hop,” Joyce had told him with dark eyes after he tried to slow it down, after he made the mistake of telling her you’re drunk, Joyce.

And maybe she did know exactly what she was doing. Hell, maybe she wasn’t drunk at all.

Who knows anymore.

But no, despite their reckless actions, neither of those would make sense. Joyce would've been pregnant senior year if he’d knocked her up either time, and she wasn’t.

So, Karen's graduation party is where it happened. They hadn't used anything and he curses inwardly, his head slamming against the couch cushion. They were too preoccupied with anything and everything else in that moment.

Hopper lets out a low groan, and then, despite himself, laughs. There's nothing he can do about it now, so grumbling over not using a condom seventeen years ago won't do him any good.

Doesn't mean he won't sulk, though.

And he thinks he has every right to sulk, thank you very much. He's never been this angry at Joyce, not ever, not even when she'd asked him to one of the dances sophomore year and then never showed. She never did tell him why, only that something had come up and she was sorry, but he felt like an idiot standing outside the school (because she insisted he not pick her up; it wasn't a date), dressed in a monkey suit with a stupid bouquet of flowers he'd picked up on a whim.

But now... now he's angry.

Seventeen years. She's known that he has another child, their child, for seventeen years and did nothing. Didn't tell him, not so much as a hint. He hates riddles but he would've preferred some awkward clues that led him to the realization on his own over... well, this.

Finishing off the soda in his hand, the second to last can he finds in the back of the fridge—he really needs to do some grocery shopping—he slumps down a bit more and leans his head back, eyes facing the ceiling.

"Fuck," he mutters to himself.

Hopper forces his eyes closed and tries to take a few calming breaths, but he feels nothing even resembling calm. Not even a semblance of calm anywhere in his body.

He's on edge, his heart racing and his mind whirling with thought after thought, each more confusing than the last.

He wants to know why. He wants to know if she ever planned on telling him, though he's certain he already knows the answer. On her deathbed, maybe, but before that seems doubtful.

He wants to know what the fuck he's supposed to do now.

It's not everyday you wake up with a teenager. With El it was different; it was a slow burn and months of searching for her out in those damn woods. He knew all along that he had the cabin, that if he could just get her to come out that he'd take her here to keep her safe.

He knew that; it was his decision from the start, and he had time to come to it.

This? No, this is nothing at all like El. This is like being doused in ice water when you least expect it. You stand there, frozen, eyes screwed so tightly you think they might push back into your skull. They don’t, but you wish maybe they would. You’re turned to stone, not knowing what to do. You could move, but you're in such shock that your body shuts down a little and refuses to function at all.

Except he can move. He has function enough to pull himself to his feet, stumble into the kitchen, and grab the final soda.

Jonathan.

Hopper wonders if she gave any thought to what he'd have wanted to name the baby. He doesn't dislike the name, and he doesn't actually have any better ones in mind, but he's curious. He imagines a young Joyce lying in a hospital bed, sweat peppering her skin and her hair, cradling a tiny bundle of blue in her arms.

He groans, digs the heel of his hand into his eyes. He regrets the thought as soon as it pops into his mind, but then it won't go away. Joyce, exactly as he remembers her all those years ago, but with a baby clutched tightly against her chest. His baby, their baby.

Fuck.

Swallowing half of the can in two quick gulps, he heaves out a sigh. The soda isn’t doing a damn thing to help, but he still doesn’t want to go to the damn store. There are people in the store and he doesn’t want to deal with people.

Instead, he goes for the next best thing. Unscrewing the cap from the bottle of pills on the coffee table, he pops two or three into his mouth and swallows.

He lost his little girl, his precious Sara, and he was sure he'd never have another kid. It's too painful, and if he's the reason she got sick in the first place, then he wouldn't dare risk that with another child. But he does have another; he's had another kid right under his nose this entire time.

One that isn't sick.

He doesn't allow himself to think about what that means about his role in Sara's death. Jonathan isn't sick, Jonathan is his. Sara got sick, Sara's also his. One healthy, one sick. The room begins to spin and he shakes his head, shakes away every thought about Sara. Now's not the time and unless he wants to drown himself in that entire bottle of pills, just as he did after her death, he can't even think about the correlation right now.

He missed out on all of the important years with Jonathan, and hell, he's not even sure if he'll be there for any of the rest. Not in any capacity that's more than it is right now. He doesn't know what the kid wants, and he sure as hell doesn't know what he wants either.

Coughing a little, he sits up straighter, peels his eyes open.

He blames Joyce for hiding this from him, for keeping such a huge fucking secret from him for so long, but as he wallows in his self-pity and stupid soda and pills, he tries desperately to imagine what it would have been like if she had told him.

He'd have been freaked out. He was just eighteen, she was seventeen, and he would've been in a foreign country when she found out. If she had told him when he returned, showed up on his doorstep with a baby, he might've passed out.

Hopper would like to think he'd have handled it well from the start, but he knows what he was like. He knows his mouth, and he’s not proud of the quip about how do we even know it's mine he no doubt would’ve made. Joyce would've gotten upset and hated him and he would've started off by fucking it all up.

That's not a reason to not tell him, though, and he's positive he would've come around. Once the shock wore off, he would've been there. Sure, they were both young as hell, and sure, he didn't plan on having a kid while still in his teens, but they would've made it work.

Joyce was his best friend and he wouldn't have turned her, or their kid, away. He's half the reason she even got pregnant, so there's no way he would have made her deal with it alone. He wouldn't have been the best father ever, not back then, but he would've tried.

Downing the last of the can, he decides that's what bothers him the most.

The lying and betrayal aside, he's pissed that she didn't feel it important enough to tell him, to let him be a father. Because he wouldn't have been good enough? Because Lonnie was a better choice? Jonathan grew up watching that rat bastard abuse his mother, punch her and toss her around like trash. The man he believed to be his father was shit to him and Will, too, if all the reports from before he came to Hawkins are true.

He’s inclined to believe them over the half-assed write-ups that document nothing but Joyce trying to cover for that jackass.

His fists ball at his sides. That boy could've grown up in a house with two parents who, while dysfunctional and a little out-of-whack at times, would've been a hell of a lot better and not at all abusive.

Shaking his head, he forces it all away. He can't do this anymore, can't imagine all of these what-ifs in his mind when it means fuck all. Joyce still lied, Jonathan's still his almost-adult son, and he still missed seventeen years of his life.

With a grunt he stands, tosses the can into the trash where it clinks off of the rest of the pile, and moves into his bedroom. Collapsing onto the bed, he shoves his face into the pillow with a silent prayer that he falls into a dreamless sleep.

[s-ephiroth]

Sekirura Week [Day 5]

I stared at the prompt for today (Memory Loss/Amnesia) and I thought of both ‘Memento’ and... Robot AU. I blame @rp-cloud for the latter. Bless Robot AUs.

This is a different Robot AU though, so no further context is needed for this one ´v´~

[On AO3] || [Ko-fi]

System Malfunction

If (OS version == JENOVA 7.7) Then {

 Choose Partner Machine  Activate Memory.Deleter Routine

}

It starts as a small thing.

A minor malfunction of his memory card, they tell him when they catch it in a routine maintenance. A problem rather common among the infantry units who were assigned to work with the SOLDIER models. He shoots a look at Sephiroth, who’s watching from outside the room, without any access to that particular conversation. He prays that this doesn’t mean he’s to be taken away from his partner.

(Something about the Jenova OS having a conflicting feature introduced with the most recent update.)

They back up all of his data just in case the issue becomes worse, in case they end up needing to format his hard drive. It’s a process Cloud hates, as he can feel most of his data generating applications being shut down while still retaining consciousness; feeling bits of himself being pulled out even though they remain in his system.

Thankfully, Sephiroth is just out there afterwards, ready to take him into his arms for a much needed hug; ready to let him sink in and accept the comfort that resonates with every wave Sephiroth sends him.

Sephiroth’s the kind of android that's prone to go rogue; a bird bred in captivity who’s more than ready to see the unknown that awaits outside. An unstable SOLDIER prototype who requires a partnership with another machine both to keep him on a leash, never to leave the company, and to allow him to remain operational.

He knows those things very well.

And that’s why he holds onto Cloud; falling into Shinra’s trap out of fear that doing otherwise will mean his own destruction, that obeying no rule will only compromise the system for others who are unrelated to his particular issues.

(Eventually he falls for this little cage holding him stable, making Cloud’s safety even more of a priority.)

He does nothing but one thing that goes against what's expected of him, discreetly hacking into the system during the maintenance process and copying Cloud’s data from the bank for his own, personal backup, intending to minimize the need of an intervention in the case something serious comes to happen; never trusting the company to always repair Cloud instead of simply replacing him.

Sephiroth realizes a problem exists just as he reaches the additional information file, after he finishes copying what he needs.

It shakes him right down to his core.

When he hugs Cloud after the maintenance, it’s both to comfort his partner and himself.

“I hate backups so much,” Cloud whispers, as he always does, even if Sephiroth knows it very well; the information archived in his system as something of high priority, along other small things. The fact Cloud loves sweets, for one, even though the only real use for food they have is the speed up of the charging process by converting such things into electricity.

(The fact Cloud likes to curl up against him while charging; the feeling of their hands touching one another during the process.)

“It’s okay. I’m here,” he says, running a hand through messy spikes of golden hair, “I’m here.”

Sephiroth lets a process run to remind himself that everything will be alright, despite the forty-six percent chance that things might go very wrong.

(It really is a small thing. But all small things tend to escalate quickly.)

Cloud awakens out of his expected time, the movement and echo of multiple applications returning from their standing by state causing Sephiroth to wake up as well, catching concern in glowing, sky blue eyes.

“Where are we?”

Sephiroth watches him, not exactly confused as he half expected it from the moment he detected the issue, but still having a hard time processing it.

“Home,” he says, a small smile forming on his lips when Cloud seems to take the information well and recall whatever is missing of it on his own. Sephiroth gets reminded that they have an assignment tomorrow, as it’s also the function of an infantry unit to organize their SOLDIER partner’s schedule; being more planners and snipers than front fighters themselves.

Hopefully it’s the day the district of Wutai will finally fall and the war will end. If it isn’t, well, Sephiroth’s not sure how much time will pass with them away from home once they’re deployed.

“Home,” Cloud repeats after a while, “I’ll miss it when we leave.”

And just like that, he falls asleep again as though he didn’t just forget a small yet big detail, needing to be reminded of it. Sephiroth sighs, trying to shut down his concern so he can follow suit.

Wutai surely falls, but along with it goes Cloud, eyes flashing red and an expression of panic on his face. At first, it looks as if he’d been shot, even though they got every human, monster and machine in the area down. Turns out it’s really not the case.

Sephiroth dashes to him and holds him close, trying to keep calm but failing, overheating as he runs a simple scan to know what’s wrong. He comes up with no results to show for it, being interrupted halfway through the process by a kiss.

His own vision flashes red and then… there’s nothing.

(But there’s also something, something big.)

Cloud looks up at him the way he did when they first met, but different.

“Unit 0811 ready, awaiting name designation and instructions.”

Sephiroth’s refrigeration system takes just a little bit more of memory to prevent his body from warming up further and causing stability issues. He lets out a breath, taking Cloud’s hand and forcibly connecting to overwrite the contents of the memory card with the backup he has of him.

Cloud hates backups, or just the overall touching of his files by those who aren’t him; the feeling of someone else pulling on the various strings of data.

So when he comes back, not only he’s confused as to what just happened to him, he’s also crying, growing alarmingly hotter as his attempts to understand the situation just failed. He needs Sephiroth to comfort him, to fill in the gaps of everything that wasn’t backed up, to assure him they’re safe even if they’re in enemy grounds.

They both feel the great battery drain from overheating, but all that matters is that they’re both cooling down; that they won this battle and are going home proud, hopefully to a system update that will prevent another situation of major data loss from happening ever again.

There’s something that’s never told to them.

Sephiroth finds it on accident while looking through data he shouldn’t be touching; data that should’ve been protected better but that wasn’t, open to anyone who could hack and do it well.

It’s a virus, spread among the infantry units and made to react to the latest update of Jenova. A data destroying button, meant to dispose of the infantrymen so only the SOLDIER units would remain active, being sent to Nibelheim in an assignment to a supposed new mission… only to be destroyed by the update itself driving them into madness.

The war they fought would be erased from everyone’s memory, along the existence of everyone directly involved in it.

Just as the whole history of Gaia had been, once, at least partially.

The more Sephiroth downloads, the more horrified he is with the things he learns, the pictures he looks at, the data available to him. Of a different Shinra which practically ruled the Planet so long ago, of a Sephiroth who was born a human being but wished for greatness, for godhood and the stars. A Sephiroth he’s a copy attempt of.

He doesn’t quite know how to break such information to Cloud, but he feels he must do so before anyone can realize his intentions and take some manner of “corrective” action.

Cloud looks at him as though he’s the nobody who became a hero in a distant past, but still himself. Still not human, as he’ll never be, but never a simple machine.

Sephiroth thinks it’s a silly decision that Shinra decided to have such a post-war plan of complete data elimination while somewhat recreating the hero who helped bringing them down the first time around, and the unstable general who almost destroyed the world as it used to be. And even worse, that Cloud had planning as one of his main functions.

They sit together on a rooftop in the old robot city of Kalm, watching — just as many other survivors of the incident — as Shinra burns down in the distance. Cloud holds his hand, leaning against his shoulder and whispering words of comfort, sweet nothings filled with hope and dreams.

(Androids, such as themselves, aren’t supposed to dream. But there’s no one left to remind them of that.)

Sephiroth thinks about how much of what happened was a last minute solution. (With a fail rate very close to fifty percent.) The code they managed to come with hadn’t been fully tested, corrupting some way earlier than it should happen, erasing the memory and rendering others without recover.

He wonders what they’ll do now that they have no masters or the rules they used to follow but comes up with nothing. That was the only life he knew and most likely, that was also the truth for the Sephiroth he was based on. He looks at his side and smiles at his partner, squeezing his hand and feeling glad that, no matter the path ahead of them, Cloud’s still by his side.

And with that, he vows not to forget all of which they’ve lost.

[anaceinthecrowd]

Let’s get personal. 100 Questions!

1: 6 of the songs you listen to most?

"I'm Only Sleeping" by The Beatles

"No Exit" by Childish Gambino

"Friend" by C418

"Beauty" by Tim Minchin 

The old NBC Olympics closing credits mix by various artists

"Rey's Theme" by John Williams

2: If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

Damn! I was hoping to meet someone from another Earth. Well I guess if I have to meet someone from THIS Earth it would have to be Stephen Colbert. He seems like a super nice guy. He's also smart and hilarious.

3: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17.

“him.” How to Talk to Anyone, Anytime, Anywhere by Larry King

4: What do you think about most?

If I'm wasting my life doing what I'm doing.

5: What does your latest text message from someone else say?

"Ask Alexa to play Valentine music. It's good and grandma will love it" from my mom.

6: Do you sleep with or without clothes on?

With

7: What's your strangest talent?

Idk if this is a talent but I have a near-encyclopedic of all things Disney World.

8: Girls... (finish the sentence); Boys... (finish the sentence)

Boys are good but some are assholes. Girls are good but some are assholes.

9: Ever had a poem or song written about you?

Idk but I don't wanna say no just in case someone did and I just forgot xD.

10: When is the last time you played the air guitar?

Today

11: Do you have any strange phobias?

I have an immense fear of missing out.

12: Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose?

Yes

13: What's your religion?

Not religious, nor spiritual.

14: If you are outside, what are you most likely doing?

Going for long walks

15: Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?

Behind

16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band?

The Beatles. Almost every song they ever put out was great. They became the biggest influencers on music in the last century and they did it in just a few years. Most musicians work their whole lives to have an ounce of the influence and raw talent each of them had. Plus they had an incredible effect on culture, notably helping facilitate the change that came from youth for the first time having enough money to buy what they wanted, not what they got from older people. The youth got to decide what they wanted and they wanted the Beatles. Not just the music but their fashion, art, movies and so on. 

17: What was the last lie you told?

I've never told a lie! (He says as his nose doubles in length)

18: Do you believe in karma?

I used to.

19: What does your URL mean?

It's a pun on "a face in the crowd" which is a saying about being unknown and hidden in plain sight and I felt like this applied to my experience with being asexual. Also I typed "ace" into a pun generating website.

20: What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength?

My greatest weakness is fast food. My greatest strength is n/a I'm weak as hell.

21: Who is your celebrity crush?

I like some famous people but I don't really have crushes on any.

22: Have you ever gone skinny dipping?

Yeah but I didn't like it.

23: How do you vent your anger?

Complaining to friends (still not sure why they put up with it)

24: Do you have a collection of anything?

Mistakes? XD   I used to collect snow globes but they started to brake and get green water so I stopped.

25: Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

I'm so damn lonely I'll take anything. I wish that were a joke.

26: Are you happy with the person you've become?

I hope to be one day.

27: What's a sound you hate; sound you love?

A sound I hate is the smoke detector going off when I'm cooking and a sound I love is that sound (like I think only Disney world fans will get this) when you're out in front of test track and the cars go by on the track above. 

28: What's your biggest "what if"?

What if I'm actually the villain of my story?

29: Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens?

No and yes

30: Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm.

Right: fan. Left: laptop.

31: Smell the air. What do you smell?

Pine scented candle. I love scented candles.

32: What's the worst place you have ever been to?

My middle School. It was the border between two gang territories. We'd have gun and bomb threats every day.

33: Choose: East Coast or West Coast?

I live on the east coast but I gotta go with West coast just because I've been to more of it. 

34: Most attractive singer of your opposite gender?

Idk

35: To you, what is the meaning of life?

To find what you live to do and do it as much as you can.

36: Define Art.

If someone makes anything and calls it art, it's art. I think that's how it works now. 

37: Do you believe in luck?

I believe I don't have it.

38: What's the weather like right now?

Sunny and in the 80s. Way too hot for winter.

39: What time is it?

9:33pm EST

40: Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed?

Yes and no

41: What was the last book you read?

Steve jobs by Walter Isaacson

42: Do you like the smell of gasoline?

I shouldn't but yeah xD

43: Do you have any nicknames?

Drew

44: What was the last film you saw?

I saw Chris Rock's new stand-up special this morning. It was really good!

45: What's the worst injury you've ever had?

I ran on the top of some bleachers, tripped, and fell all the way down, breaking my collarbone along the way. 

46: Have you ever caught a butterfly?

I can't remember

47: Do you have any obsessions right now?

My most recent obsession has been with anything made by Donald Glover/Childish Gambino

48: What's your sexual orientation?

Ace. I mean... It's in the name.

49: Ever had a rumour spread about you?

Many

50: Do you believe in magic?

Depends on what you mean by "believe" and "magic". I like magicians xD

51: Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong?

Yes

52: What is your astrological sign?

Idk and I'm sick of googling it every time I'm asked about it.

53: Do you save money or spend it?

A bit of both

54: What's the last thing you purchased?

10 piece chicken nugget meal and a vanilla Coke from Wendy's.

55: Love or lust?

Love

56: In a relationship?

No. Happy Valentine's day!

57: How many relationships have you had?

0 58: Can you touch your nose with your tongue?

No

59: Where were you yesterday?

Home Depot

60: Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you?

A strawberry scented candle.

61: Are you wearing socks right now?

No

62: What's your favourite animal?

Cotton-Top Tamarin

63: What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you?

The Scarab Gun from Halo 2 is a pretty good secret weapon I guess. JK just be yourself. 

64: Where is your best friend?

Oregon

65: Give me your top 5 favourite blogs on Tumblr.

As of writing this I don't follow anyone yet so let me get back to you on that.

66: What is your heritage?

A little bit of native American but primarily white eruopean as far back in history as you can go.

67: What were you doing last night at 12AM?

Sleeping

68: What do you think is Satan's last name?

Trump

69: Be honest. Ever gotten yourself off?

I'm not answering that question.

70: Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend?

Idk.

71: You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do?

Save the dog.

72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid?

Honestly this question is so fucking depressing I'm skipping it.

73: You can only have one of these things; trust or love.

What is love without trust?

74: What's a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?

(Once again only people who've been to Disney World will get it) the music at Soarin' (over California (it's just better)) 

75: What are the last four digits in your cell phone number?

Like I'm gonna put my phone number on here. Ha.

76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship?

For me... Having one would be just fantastic.

77: How can I win your heart?

Tell me something I Don't know. I love learning.

78: Can insanity bring on more creativity?

I'm not sure it brings on more creativity, but any change in mental state in a creative person will bring on a different kind of creativity.

79: What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far?

Picking the high school I went to.

80: What size shoes do you wear?

10.5

81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone?

I want it to be blank just to fuck with people.

82: What is your favourite word?

Actually...

83: Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart.

Barracuda

84: What is a saying you say a lot?

Here's the thing...

85: What's the last song you listened to?

"Me and your mama" by Childish Gambino

86: Basic question; what's your favourite colour/colours?

Black, silver and light blue are a few favorites.

87: What is your current desktop picture?

Artists rendering of Epcot.

88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be?

Satan Trump. #callback #comedy

89: What would be a question you'd be afraid to tell the truth on?

When my family asks me why I don't have a girlfriend yet I'm always afraid to come out and tell the truth to them... That I'm asexual and have no interest in dating anyone except another ace, and because of the rarity of aces its really difficult to find someone. I have no interest in coming out though. It wouldn't change anything.

90: One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren't really doing anything, they're just standing around your bed. What do you do?

Laugh my head off because I'm obviously being punk'd. Where's Ashton?!?

91: You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what's even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power?

I mean the obvious superpower I now have is the ability to digest radioactive material. But if I could have any power I'd want to be able to travel through space and time.

92: You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?

See now this is why that superpower would come in handy! You wouldn't have to choose! (See how I dodged that question. That's my real superpower!)

93: You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

Idk but if I could live my life just as it happened but without being overweight, that would be great.

94: You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be?

If I say John Lennon will it bring him back to life? Cause if so then yes, John Lennon. Final answer.

95: You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go?

My mind says south Korea because the Olympics but my heart says to go to Oregon to see my friends.

96: Do you have any relatives in jail?

Not that I know of.

97: Have you ever thrown up in the car?

Yes

98: Ever been on a plane?

Many

99: If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say?

"Can't we all just get along?"

100. Age?

21

101. What’s a good way to spend a Valentine’s Day when you’re single, lonely and bored?

This. 

[bulletandsophia]

How We Live Now (1)

Read it in AO3

**I just realized I haven’t uploaded this fic in here yet!!!**

Jon inhales another lungful from his cigarette.

The air around him is slightly cold but is also almost stuffy and damp because of the slight drizzle a few hours ago. The asphalt road is still gleaming orange from the light of the streetlamp and there is a chatty atmosphere behind him where a short queue of people is still waiting to be allowed entry to the gala opening of the exhibit.

He tucks his hands inside the pocket of his jeans and leans instead onto the lamppost, wishing never to part from it again, deciding that he is happy here—alone, with his cigarette, and in an also very lonely night—more than he could be happy there.

The prospect of coming to the gala is a dread he has been carrying around since the day Sansa has mentioned it. He remembers it clearly only for the way she excitedly smiled and handed over the acceptance letter, still with paint marks on her fingertips as she just stood up from her tableau on the hardwood floor, working on a new piece, before striding the length of their apartment to greet him. Jon can still even feel too the smoothness of the paper underneath his own fingertips, as if a reminder of certain truths that no matter how delicate on the outside, can also be venomous on the inside.

Right now, as he stands meters away from the gallery where more people in fancy dresses line up to get to her exhibit, it is her words instead that darkly resonate in him.

“I made it. I finally made it.”

Jon exhales an excessive billow of smoke that spirals out from both his mouth and nostrils. He watches as it disappears above and into the vast sky, noticing the few stars that scatter and taint the darkness it holds above, wishing he’d just stayed home to finish the months-old manuscript he has been trying to revise and submit to his agent.

Guilt is the only reason he has come, Jon knows for sure. That and the harsh slam of the door when Sansa left their apartment earlier. The disappointment on her face after seeing him still slumped in his chair, only in his boxer shorts and tattered shirt that glaringly displayed his dislike in going to tonight’s gala, was a picture he has tucked inside his head for posterity simply because he has made a fool of himself again.

And yet despite this simmering guilt, he’s still standing outside the gallery for more than an hour now, still debating in his head whether to simply call Sansa and let her know he can’t make it in time (or at all) or kick himself in the back, swallow his pride and finally just walk inside. He might not be as bright and as intelligent as her but Jon knows which of the two choices is the right path to take in this given circumstance. It is absurd not to be inside with his girlfriend in possibly the most important moment of her career. But the notion of going in and gods forbid, make small talks, already nauseates and suffocates Jon to his core for he doesn’t know where to derive such pleasantries when in the first place, he does not even feel like basking in the glory of it.

He keeps on denying this too but his surroundings now—the marquee lights of the different shops, the fairy lights in the small garden square, the bricked buildings, the still ongoing chatter from the crowd—just feel too much like her all at once, as if a scenario made simply to still torture him so because how can this all feel so… thriving and alive?

Jon flicks his cigarette away, cursing himself because what an idiotic thing to even ponder about. But he cannot deny too the nagging feeling as he looks around again because while he hates it now, he knows, once upon a time he is like this too.

Invincible.

Almost ethereal in his daydreams, as if floating; pulling Sansa alongside him for her to feel the ecstasy of it, of him.

But sometime after he turned twenty-eight, that certain restlessness left him only to be replaced by weariness and the slight fear in realizing that perhaps, he is too late. That he has embarked instead on creating the ideal life in his head but ultimately succumbed into the deceitful quotidian ways of living he has actually forgotten how to live; when concert tickets suddenly became household bills and travel backpacks turned into folders and leather satchels; where night outs turned into lengthy sleeps or nightly (unsuccessful) writing sessions.

In this world—in this moment as he gazes back to the gallery filled with people in suits and black dresses and noisy with careless laughter—he realizes, he does not belong here anymore.

Because if Jon is being honest, and not only to Sansa but importantly to himself, this scene, this scenario, only actually makes him envious and tired with jealousy. And then there fittingly too, as his gaze never leaves the gallery, walking past the room and now perfectly pictured behind the thinly framed squared window, he sees her and Jon all the more feels the despair because contrary to his sullen, wasted youth, Sansa still glows brightly like the sun; still like that girl he has first fallen in love with, still with that light in her eyes that forever makes him speechless, still like that person he met at the university who effortlessly turned his world upside down, rendering it to become the beginning of his everything.

Sansa.

His Sansa.

Elbows now resting on a cocktail table, chatting animatedly to one of her guests, chin looking delicate; a soft smile on her face, her red dress vibrant under the pin lights and this bitter truth comes to him again, hard and fast especially in days like this that he feels useless in her presence for he isn’t his twenty year-old self that could spare this night from the self-pity.

Jon knows he can’t go inside the gallery without feeling like the biggest disappointment in her life.

In another world—in another time—he would proclaim that the night still presents the promise of exuberance. But right now, as he scratches his head and runs his hand through his curly hair, standing up finally from his lazy posture beside the lamppost, all he could think of is, how could the night still not be over yet?

Jon doesn’t want to look back but guilt has once again forced him otherwise and then something strikes him like some heavy brick for whatever loneliness he disposes of the situation, it does not, nor can it ever, deter the truth of this one ultimate fact:

That she is just so lovely.

In many ways than one. She is a breathtaking picture of grace with her chin now resting on her hand, arms slight but long—like her neck, a reminder of her elegance hidden behind a now sleek but once wild long hair. This picture of her as the window frames her perfectly is a picture he also selfishly wants to keep for himself.

Mine, mine, mine. Her face, her smile, her talented mind.

But as the swarm of people envelope her and the spotlight they carry only makes her glow far too brightly for his naked eye, this picture of Sansa—where she is content and happy—is a picture Jon can only also look at now from afar.

He is losing her. Hopelessly, quickly.

And he cannot keep up.

Decidedly, unable to take whatever pain he is feeling right now, Jon walks away from his spot and across the street, forcing himself not to look back because in the scheme of things, she probably would not have realized that he is not even there at all. Those few minutes he allowed himself to just stare might be enough for him to cherish whatever is left of them.

He’s grappling at scraps at this point and the reasons he has been listing in his head are thinning and fading out and the fear crawls in his veins because how soon will it be before she realizes it too? And how soon will she gather enough courage for the both of them and finally take away the agony, the gaping distance, and the quiet resentment and just end it?

Jon takes a deep breath. From afar, he sees the bright pink neon lights of a small pub and the notions of smoke and beer allure him to walk faster. Numbing the pain in his chest is the only cure for now. The pub is dark and heavy with the smell of alcohol but it’s full enough for him not to be the center of attention. He orders a bottle of beer and sits on an empty stool at the bar, running his hands on his hair again from frustration.

The barman grumbles as he hands the bottle and Jon exchanges it with his bill. Weirdly, the noise of the pub is endearing enough simply because it cancels out the also noisy thoughts in his head. Behind him is a group of friends seemingly of the younger crowd and Jon can’t help but feel the slight nostalgia, remembering how he laughed similarly with Robb and Theon during their night outs after classes. But that, too, is gone now. Robb is busy with the Starks’ family business all the same with Theon and his gallivanting ways abroad to the amusement of his sister, Yara. That is another thought that pierces something deep inside him, this realization that both Robb and Theon has perfectly moved on too, that Jon despairingly picks up his phone to check his email in case some miracle has happened and his agent has some good news to finally share with him. But as he logged in, an inbox empty of new messages still welcomes him so. For two months straight now.

Jon takes a swig of his beer to wash away his disappointment. ­He promises to only drink one more before going straight home to the apartment, decidedly keeping his narrative of an excuse to Sansa that he did not have the time to go to her exhibit. Perhaps, that should be enough for her.

For tonight, at least.

The pub door’s bell rings as he is about to call the barman again for another round and Jon turns his head just for the sake of it, as most people does. But as the door closes and the woman walks in and past him to the other end of the bar, Jon, at this moment in time where any sort of remorse still does not present itself, does not notice anything peculiar yet with the way she blatantly stares.

Only, he cannot help but also stare back for those set of bright lilac eyes pierces, hovers, and never takes its hold away from him.

Read it in AO3

[booksncoffee]

how you get the boy - seventeen

“He found out that we went on a date and he.. dunno, got a bit weird ‘bout it.”

“How weird?” He quizzed, confusing me with that question, “Niall Horan sort of weird or Tenley Beckworth sort of weird?”

read below // story page 

I didn't actually recognise the number when it appeared on my mobile phone. But since I was preparing a cup of chamomile tea, I wasn't really in the mood to play the guessing game.

Sliding my thumb over the screen whilst reminding myself to save these digits after this conversation ended, I clicked the loudspeaker option and put it down on the counter before I poured hot water into the cup.

“Tee, you like cupcakes, right?” Harry asked before I got the chance to say a word, his voice familiar in every way it shouldn't. Behind my closed lids, I could make out a clear picture of him with a lopsided smile, eyes glinting with mischief. I pushed that image away immediately, for I didn't even want to think how I’d managed to conjure that up in my head; I refused to believe that I remembered every inch of his face.

“Yeah, but not as much as you do,” I replied as I picked up the device and held it in one hand.

For the past week, since the night Harry saved my number in his mobile, he had been sending me abundance of text messages and against my better judgment, I replied to most of them. Originally, I had thought that talking to him through text messages would be boring, but I was proved wrong because he was anything but boring. As a matter of fact, I found him quite an entertaining texter.

Much like when we were face to face, Harry was good at keeping the conversation going. I didn't know how he did it, but I wasn't going to complain because I did enjoy talking to him although sometimes he asked too many questions.

There’s a laugh and a sound of shuffling accompanying it before Harry let out an exasperated sigh, “Niall’s with me and he thinks this place Jo’s working at makes better cupcakes than Crumbles.”

Again, I could imagine how he looked like at the moment, his bottom lip jutted out, creating a pout and dissatisfied frown adorned his forehead. I pushed that image to the back of my mind quickly.

“And you don't agree with him,” I said pointedly before I brought the cup up to my lips and took a sip of the hot tea. I relaxed against the cabinet, a sigh of relief escaping my lips.  

Almost immediately, a loud scoff came from the speaker. “Course not!” He exclaimed, “Are you mental?”

At that, I let out an amused chuckle. Despite the fact that I was aware of his love towards cupcakes, I didn't know he was capable of getting overly defensive over them too. “’m not. But-“

I didn't get to finish my sentence as Niall’s voice came into the speaker. He probably had snatched Harry’s mobile from his hand, for I could distinctly pick out the sound of Harry’s groan in the background. “Tee, don’t listen to H.”

I felt my brows furrowing in confusion although corners of my lips twitched. Then, before I could ask him why, Harry’s voice returned. “No, don’t listen to Niall,” he told me, “He’s only saying this cos he wants to woo Jo.”

“Am not!” Niall shouted.

“Shut up, Ni,” Harry said next and I could hear the sound of a slap. I could only assume that Harry had just slapped Niall – not on his face, I was sure – for his inability to give people some privacy. But then again, Harry sort of deserved it considering he was all the same. “Oh and Tee, could you come to my place later?”

Upon hearing the front door opening and closing, I disabled the loudspeaker and pressed my mobile phone against my ear, “Hmm?”

“Come to my place in about thirty minutes?” Harry repeated his question and added, “Niall and I need you to tell us which cupcake’s better.”

Soon, Louis appeared in the kitchen, his dark blue beanie pulled down to cover his ears. It must’ve been cold out there, I thought. “Okay.”

“Love you, Tee!” Niall shouted from behind Harry, followed by, “C’mon, H, tell her you love her too.”

“Fuck off,” Harry snarled almost too quickly, most likely giving Niall the bird and his infamous scowl right about now, “Ignore him, bunny, I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure.” I replied with a nod although I was aware that he wouldn't be able to see that. After ending the call, I looked up to see Louis kinking an eyebrow at me as he took of his beanie and ruffled his hair. Next, he shrugged off his jacket and placed it on the counter. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiled though it didn't quite reach his eyes. Eyes fixed on my mobile phone, he asked, “Talking to Harry?”

I’d like to think that I was just imagining the venom lilting his voice as he said Harry’s name, but I was almost 100% positive that I wasn't because his feature changed slightly when I nodded, “Yeah. And Niall.”

Taking a bottle of beer out from the fridge, Louis took a sip of it before he continued, “Heard you went on a date with Harry the other night.”

Although I shouldn't be surprised given that he would find out about this sooner or later, I couldn't lie and say that I wasn't taken aback when he brought the topic up. It had been two days since Harry and I’s date night and a part of me thought he’d forgotten about it; or rather, a part of me wished he wouldn't question me about it. I supposed he deserved some sort of explanation since he was the one who opened the door when Harry dropped me off at my flat at around 1 am as I’d forgotten to bring my key with me.

“I did,” I answered.

“Thought you hate him or summat,” Louis mentioned before he chugged down the beer. I didn’t like the tone he was using as he said those words, so naturally it wasn't my fault that I turned on my defensive mode.

“I’m just giving him a chance.” I countered. As I crossed my arms in front of chest, I pretended that they were shielding me from his words; words that I knew would hurt me in spite my subconscious telling me again and again that I shouldn't take it to heart.

“The way you gave me a chance?” Louis chuckled menacingly and I hoped he was drunk, but a bottle of beer wouldn't be enough to get someone like him drunk unless he’d had drinks before. But I doubted that as his schedule was packed today and I was pretty certain he went home straight after his last class. Scoffing, he added under his breath, “Sounds convenient.”

He must have thought that I wouldn't hear those two words, but I did and it made my blood boil with anger. Not even a sip of this chamomile tea could calm me down. “I’ve been giving you lots of chances, Lou, but you’ve never taken it.”

For a moment, he looked puzzled as though he had no clue what I was hinting at. So he asked, “What do you mean?”

“I think you know the answer, Lou,” I replied with a scoff and a roll of my eyes.

“What? That you like me? Is that the answer?” He sounded so mean, so unlike of him that for a couple of seconds, I was scared of him. In fact, I was quite sure that I flinched the entire time he was speaking, “Well, Tee, s’hard to believe you since you’re not doing a good job at showing it to me, especially with you running to Harry at every chance you get.”

My brows furrowed with both confusion and anger and I clenched my fist, hoping that it could lessen the anger flowing in my veins. I put down the cup I was holding and took a few steps towards Louis. “What? Are you seriously saying those things to me right now?”

“Face it, Tee, that’s the truth,” he said as he walked around me to throw the beer bottle into the trashcan. Shrugging, he added whilst making his way out of the kitchen, “What else do you want me to say?”

I wasn't going to let him get away after saying such things to me. Back then, the hopelessly, madly in love with Louis me would’ve let that comment slip away, but not this time.

I stood in front of him, halting him in his tracks, “Y’know, s’funny coming from you cos you’re the last person who has the right to judge me. You’re bloody brilliant at making poor choices, anyway.”

“Yeah?” He challenged me, to which I nodded my head bravely. A voice inside my head told me that doing that, it was a bad decision. “Well, s’pose taking you in as a flatmate is one of them, innit?”

His bluntness rendered me temporarily speechless. Louis took my surprise as an advantage for him to step aside and walk into his room. I heard him turning the lock on his door and I had half the heart to shout at him, telling him that I didn't even want to talk to him anymore. As a matter of fact, I couldn't even look at him.

Stomping my feet back to the kitchen, I finished my chamomile tea, eager to get the hell out of this flat. All of sudden, I felt suffocated, like every single atom in my body felt like I didn't belong here. Like this wasn't my place, after all, even though by right, it was. His words kept ringing in my head, reminding me again and again that this place belonged to him and I was just renting it. And choosing me as his flatmate was one of the poor choices that he’d made in his life.

It hurt tremendously to hear Louis say those things to me, for if there were one person I didn't expect to hear it from, it’d be him. For so long I created a version of him that made me fall so in love with him and for so long I didn't realise that who he really was wasn't the same as the person in my head.

I guessed this was reality slapping me hard in the face – something that I needed.

After washing the cup, I quickly made my way out of the flat, desperate to forget everything he said to me. It didn't work, unfortunately, as they followed me out to the hallway where I paced back and forth in front of Harry’s flat. And when my feet had grown tired, I sat cross-legged on the floor, my back against the wall as I waited for Harry and Niall.  

Luckily I didn't have to wait until my arse was numb. They arrived a few minutes later. Niall’s booming voice was the first thing I heard, followed by Harry’s, but I couldn't quite make out what they were talking about.

Upon seeing someone sitting on the floor in front of Harry’s door, both of them stopped walking, eyes nearly bulged from their heads. However, when they realised that it was just me, a smirk tugged at the corners of Niall’s lips whereas Harry shot me a questioning look.

I stood up from the floor and brushed away the figmental dust, ignoring the look Harry was giving me. He was probably wondering why was I sitting on the floor, in front of his flat. Good thing, Niall’s with us so Harry must have decided to hold off the question until there was just the two of us.

“I expect you boys have cupcakes for me.” I said, my eyes drifting to the two boxes Niall was holding, securing them like they were the most important things in his life.

“Of course,” Niall answered, a smug grin approaching his thin lips as he gave Harry’s shoulder a nudge, “Any last word before you lose?”

Harry gave Niall a sideway glance as he unlocked his front door, “You’re bloody annoying.”

His head was thrown back as he let out a loud, contagious laugh that managed to make me laugh too despite the sadness splashed across my chest. “Not something I’d want to hear, but I understand that it’s just your wounded ego talking.”

Harry gave his friend a middle finger one more time before he walked into his flat. He went straight to the kitchen so the two of us followed suit. Niall placed two boxes of cupcakes on the island, rubbing his palms together as if he was eager to get a taste of them. Then he looked at me, his penetrating gaze almost made me listen to him, “Remember, Tee, no matter how much you like Harry, you need to be fair.”

I opened my mouth, ready to deny his statement. I closed it a second later, though, because everyone – excluding Harry, I hoped – knew I would only be wasting my energy in trying to convince Niall that I didn't like Harry.

I nodded my head, “Fine. ‘m all ‘bout being fair, anyway.”

At that, both Harry and Niall scoffed like they didn't believe me. For a moment I wondered what had I done to not deserve their trust, but before I could come up with an answer, Harry tied a piece of cloth around my head, blindfolding me.

“It’s a blind test,” Harry whispered in my ear, his deep voice sending shivers down my spine – I wished neither Harry nor Niall noticed that – as he gave my shoulders a squeeze. “This is to prevent you from cheating.”

I laughed, amused that this whole thing was happening. Who would’ve thought that two grown blokes would ask me to become a judge in their ridiculous competition? Hint: not me. “You lads are taking this thing seriously.”

“We take everything seriously,” Niall corrected me, poking my rib. It was a fruitless attempt at convincing me because regardless what he said I knew it wasn't true, especially since it came from Niall. “C’mon, Tee, stop wasting our time. We need to know whose cupcake’s better.”

“Obviously Crumbles’,” Harry said rather confidently, those simple words had the power to annoy Niall. It was true when they said that your other senses came to live when your eyes were blinded. Because right now, I was pretty sure that Niall was glaring at Harry and Harry was shooting him his infamous, irritating smirk. “But Niall’s right, bunny, stop wasting our time and stop sniffing the cupcake.”

Caught red-handed, I nearly dropped the dessert I was holding; it wasn't my fault that the smell of this thing was so strong that I couldn't possibly push away the urge to sniff it. My cheeks warmed in embarrassment and under their unwavering gazes, I took a bite of the first chocolate cupcake.

There was no telling whether this cupcake was from Crumbles or the other bakery, but one thing I was certain of, it was bloody delicious. The chocolate melted on my tongue the second it got into my mouth and although I wasn't exactly a big fan of chocolate, I wouldn't mind eating this thing again and again. I could feel the cream on top it leaving a mess on my mouth, but I didn't care. That proved you did enjoy the cupcake, didn't it?

However, before I could take another bite, the cupcake in my hand was replaced with another one. I could hear Niall saying something about how the wait was killing him under his breath. I brought the dessert up to my lips and ate it.

Unlike the first cupcake, this one was less sweet and less chocolate-y. Nonetheless, it was still good. Perhaps it couldn't beat the richness of the first one, but I liked how it didn't assault my senses with the sweetness of chocolate. It had traces of salted caramel that added and complimented the chocolate taste and I liked it. Better than I could have baked, to be honest.

As soon as I put down the cupcake, Harry moved to stand behind me and took off the blindfold. Almost instantly, I came face to face with an eager yet anxious looking Niall who was chewing on his nails. I slapped his hand away.

“So?” He asked with a kink of an eyebrow. “The first one or the second one?”

I could sense that the air had shifted as my eyes darted from Niall’s face to Harry’s, both of them looking like they were ready to jump off of a building whilst I mulled over my decision. “I still can’t believe you two are taking this thing seriously.”

Whereas Harry let out a frustrated groan, Niall ran a hand down his face, both clearly had had enough of the waiting.

“Fine, fine,” I chuckled, holding both hands up in defeat, “I think I like the first cupcake better.”

Upon hearing my decision, Harry had a surprised look written all over his face that soon morphed into a huge smile when he pulled me into his arms. He left a couple of kisses on top of my head, his lips then moving to my cheeks where he peppered kisses all over them, clearly overjoyed that I had chosen his cupcake – not that I knew it was in the first place.

When I glanced to look at Niall, he rolled his eyes and muttered, “You’re only letting H win cos you like him.”

“That sounds a lot like the loser talking,” Harry commented which further irritated Niall, to which he received a death glare in return. “Besides, it’s a blind test, Ni.”

“Honest to God, you two deserve each other,” Niall said grimly as he reached for another cupcake from the box and shoved it into his mouth. As far as I was concerned, he had never liked it when he lost and I could only assume that he wasn't taking this well. Hopping onto the island, he then looked at us, his eyes lingering on Harry’s hand that was wrapped around my shoulder. “Which reminds me, how’s the date?”

“I told you, we’re not telling you anything, Ni,” Harry said as he moved away from me to take out three bottles of beer from the fridge. Handing one of them to me and another one to Niall, he then occupied the stool next to me. His shoulders and thighs brushed against mine and I held in my breath.

Trying to ignore the effect he had on me, I smiled at Niall, “Yeah, Ni. We don't do this whole kiss and tell thing.”

It was a mistake saying that because immediately, he smirked and leant forward, “So you kissed then?” When no one answered him, he continued, “What ‘bout Louis? S’he taking the news well? Not that I cared bout him or anything.”

The mention of Louis’ name made it seemed as though someone had just dumped an ice cold water over my head when it was just merely a question that I didn't even have to answer if I didn't want to. My grip on the beer bottle had tightened slightly and though I wished no one had noticed the change in my body language and expression, Harry had. And right now, he was looking at me concernedly. I knew there were numbers of questions on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't articulate any of them.

Instead, his hand drifted to my knee and he gave it a gentle squeeze before he placed his palm on top of mine and intertwined our fingers. Then, he looked up and squinted his eyes at Niall. “Stop being nosy, will you?”

Rolling his eyes and sticking his tongue out at Harry – a real mature move – he made his way to the living room where he turned on the television and made himself comfortable there. But not before he took another bottle of beer from the fridge and took the rest of the cupcakes with him.

Once he was truly out of our sights and hopefully, hearings too, Harry swivelled his body until he was facing me. The concerned look had returned and I knew he wanted to hear the explanation he’d been waiting for since he saw me on the floor.

“What happened?” He asked softly as he brought his hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. His hand lingered there for a moment and I swallowed the lump that had thickened in my throat. “Y’know you can confide in me, yeah?”

He’s right; I knew I could. But the thing is, I wasn't sure if I wanted him to know about my argument with Louis and how his little outburst bothered me until now. It was my problem with Louis, not Harry. By right, I should handle it alone, but with Harry being in such a close proximity, looking at me with sincere and kind eyes, along with that little reassuring smile, I sighed and said, “It’s Louis.”

Almost instantly, two deep lines appeared between his furrowed brows. I had to fight the urge to try and erase them with my fingertips so I casted my gaze elsewhere. Conveniently, my eyes were attracted to his lips that were pressed together, creating a thin line.

“We sort of got into an argument, but s’nothing big,” I added when I realised that he was waiting for something more than just the name of the person that managed to occupy my mind – not in a good way. “I’ll get over it.”

Harry’s grip tightened slightly and I looked at our clasped hands, at the way his hand nearly engulfing mine. We hardly held hands before, but looking at it felt almost natural. However, that was the least of my concern because Harry wasn't satisfied with my answer. “What’d he say?”

I sighed, “S’noth-“

Harry shook his head, his voice firm as he said, “Bunny.”

“Fine,” I relented and ran my fingers through my hair before I opened my mouth to speak the truth, “He found out that we went on a date and he.. dunno, got a bit weird ‘bout it.”

“How weird?” He quizzed, confusing me with that question, “Niall Horan sort of weird or Tenley Beckworth sort of weird?”

I snorted at his attempt to inject humour into a situation that wasn't funny. He meant well, I was aware of that, as it’s typical for Harry to make things lighter whilst I was tense – something I didn't realise before. Sighing, I smiled sadly, “Not that kind of weird. S’just.. I don’t know.”

Sensing that this matter might be more serious than he initially thought, Harry scooted closer to me and put his arms around my shoulders, “What’s wrong, bunny?”

The warmth he was providing to me made me feel a tad better, but that didn't stop the bitter chuckle from escaping my throat as I murmured, “He said taking me in as his flatmate is one of the poor choices he’s made.”

At that, I felt Harry’s body tense and purely out of instinct, I pressed my lips to his shoulder that was fortunately – unfortunately – covered with his white t-shirt. I was hoping that it could help drain the tension from his body, but it didn't. Instead, he gently pushed me away from him so he could look me in the eyes, “Tell me you didn't let him walk away after saying that to you.”

“He got into his room before I could stop him.” I shrugged, pressing my fingertips against the spot between his brows, wishing that I could make his frown disappear. But I couldn't.

Harry wrapped his hand around my wrist, bringing my hand down to his lap. “Bunny, what he said..” he trailed off, his eyes darting from my face to our hands, as he shook his head, “You don’t deserve that.”

I placed my other hand on top of his, giving him a reassuring smile, “As I’ve said earlier, s’fine. I’ll get ov-“

“You’ll get over it, I know. That doesn't mean he can get away with that,” He nodded his head and swallowed thickly before adding, “Bunny, I know you, uh, love him but he’s a fucking idiot. And if he doesn't like living with you anymore then you can just move in here.”

I let out a chuckle, “I thought you like living alone.”

“I did,” he said and I didn't miss the way he’d used the past tense instead of the present tense. Because of that, I couldn't help but wonder what made him change his mind. “You can take the room next to mine. It’s almost always vacant.”

“Almost?” I kinked an eyebrow at him and colours began to bloom his cheeks.

“Unless my sister comes to visit me, no one has ever slept in that room.” He said with a shrug, his answer far different from what I had in my mind.

“I appreciate the offer, button, but s’okay,” I patted his knee and got up from the stool, “Everything will be alright.”

He followed me out of the kitchen and before we reached the living room, he asked, “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

&&

I should have known better than to be confident that things would be alright.

When I returned to my flat after watching a couple of movies with Harry and Niall – I didn't know how they managed to convince me to stay, but they did – Louis hardly looked at me, let alone talked to me. In fact, as soon as he heard me walking through the front door, he left the living room to return to the confinement of his bedroom.

This morning was no different. He left before I had the chance to catch him in the kitchen for breakfast. Although by right I was the one who should be avoiding him after what he said to me, it appeared as though the roles were reversed.

“I thought he couldn't get any stupider but he just proved me wrong,” Shiloh mentioned, distaste lilting each and every word that slipped past her lips whilst we made our way to a restaurant not too far from our campus for lunch. “Honestly, Tee, you should ditch him.”

“S’not that easy,” I muttered under my breath as I pushed open the door to get us inside. I let my eyes wander around the place in search of an empty table and I instantly caught one by the corner. I dragged Shiloh with me, hoping that with food around us, she would drop the subject.

Much to my dismay, she refused to. “Does Harry know about this?”

Flipping open the menu, I nodded. “Yeah, told him last night.”

“I’m gonna save this whole ‘I can’t believe you told him before you told me’ speech cos I’m curious,” she said in one breath, reaching out to snatch the menu from my hand so I couldn't hide behind it. Eyes glinting with interest, she asked, “What’d he say?”

“Said Louis’ a fucking idiot,” I quoted Harry’s words to her and at that, Shiloh agreed with a nod of her head and a small smirk, “And offered me his place.”

“And you said no,” she stated, slightly disappointed by that piece of information she’d deduced herself. Knowing full well that I wasn't going to delve further into this topic anymore, she sighed and handed the menu back to me. “You’re my best friend, Tee, and I just want the best for you.”

“I know,” I said with a sincere smile gracing my lips, “And right now the best thing for me is a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of caramel macchiato.”

Luckily, when the waiter came over to our table to take our orders, Shiloh decided to drop the subject and started talking about her day. I listened to her, suddenly wishing that my life were as simple as hers – minus the abundance of assignments she had – and wishing that I hadn’t gotten myself tangled in this web of mess I’d created myself.

As soon as we had finished our lunch, Shiloh returned to our campus as she had one more class for the day. I, on the other hand, went straight home. I took a deep breath before my hand found the knob, all of sudden I was afraid to walk in and face Louis when earlier I was intent on straightening things out between us.

Once I did find the courage, I opened the door and stepped inside quietly, for I didn't want to make a sound. The flat, surprisingly, wasn't as quiet as it always was. There were two distinct voices talking over one another and I felt a frown making its way up to my forehead as I followed the sources of the sound.

Soon enough, Harry and Louis came into my vision. Whereas Louis was sitting on the couch comfortably, Harry was standing in front of him, his lips moving animatedly as he spoke. I didn't catch what he was talking about at first, however, but the nearer I was to them, the more I hear. Since the two of them were invested with each other, throwing words after words, neither noticed that I was only a few feet away from me.

“Tenley’s an amazing person and you’re a fucking idiot for treating her like that,” Harry spat, his voice even as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.  

“Fuck off, Harry,” Louis muttered under his breath like he didn't even want to talk to him. But if there’s one thing I knew about Harry, he’s persistent and even if you didn't want to talk to him, he’d make you talk.

“You need to apologise to her,” Harry said through his gritted teeth and those words seemed to catch Louis’ attention. Turning off the television, Louis tilted his head to take one good look at Harry before he opened his mouth to speak.

“I said,” Louis drawled, heaving himself off of the couch so he was standing as well, jabbing the other boy’s chest with his finger, “Fuck off, Harry.”

Then everything happened so fast that it wasn't until it had happened that I finally surged forward, a futile attempt to stop it. Harry’s clenched fist made contact with Louis’ face, an action that he saw coming but still, it caught him off guard. However, almost stumbling on my own feet, I didn't get to stop Louis before he threw a punch at Harry, hitting him right on the nose. Despite the fact that he was a bit smaller than Harry, his punch still jolted him backwards and I took that as an opportunity for me to stand between them.

“Stop,” I hissed at them before I added, “Fucking stop this.”

Louis looked at me or rather, glared at me, his hand clutching one side of his face though he shouldn't because a direct contact with the bruise only made him wince in pain. Glancing through my shoulder, I saw that Harry was doing the same, except he was touching his nose, wiping the blood with the sleeve of his shirt.

“I’m gonna get ice now,” I told them, my eyes darting from Harry to Louis, both of them refused to look at me. “I need you two to stay as far away from each other as possible.”

With that being said, I ran to the kitchen, heading straight to the fridge. I could barely get my grip on the handle because my hands were shaking, numbing me from getting a proper grip. Closing my eyes, I willed myself to get my shit together. It was hard to do so, though, considering that every time I closed my eyes, I saw both Harry and Louis punching, all bloody nose and bruised face and I found myself worrying. And worse, I began to blame myself for everything that happened.

When I returned to the living room, Harry was no longer around and there was only Louis who’s pacing back and forth. Upon seeing me from the corner of his eyes, he stopped and took the ice pack from my hand. Before I could open my mouth and say something to him, he’d already turned and bolted from the room.

Sighing, I made my way out of the flat because as much as I was worried about Louis, I was worried about Harry too.

Though any other days – since I started coming over to his place every now and then, that is – I wouldn't knock on his door, given what had just happened, I gave it two knocks before I opened the door and walked in. Just like the first time I popped up in his place, he looked alarmed when he heard the click of the door.

Hesitation was evident with every step that I took, afraid to get a closer look at Harry’s face and he seemed to notice that because a second later, he offered me a small smile – one that didn't reach his eyes. A part of me was prompted to come forward, whereas another part of me wanted to flee. I was, after all, the reason why he and Louis got into that fist fight and the reason for the blood tainting his –t-shirt.  

“Hi,” I approached him with a smile, occupying the spot next to him on the couch as he scooted over. Without waiting for him to say anything in reply, I leant forward to place the ice pack against the side of his nose, taking his hand in mine and replacing my hand with his.

“S’not broken, bunny, don’t worry,” he told me, a smug smirk touching his lips. At that, I let out a relieved sigh and my body visibly relaxed. “Were you worried ‘bout me?”

I gave him a sideway glance, taking in the curve of his lips and the dimples indenting both sides of his cheeks. “Maybe,” I admitted under my breath. “What were you thinking?”

“That you wouldn't come home to see all that,” he answered sincerely, a look of guilt flashing in his green eyes. Putting down the ice, he let out a sigh as he faced me, “I can’t believe he refused to apologise to you.”

Just like yesterday, I told him the same thing, “Harry, s’fine.”

“No, it’s not,” he countered with a shake of his head. He ran his fingers through his hair, a frustrated groan escaping his throat, “Tenley, you need to stop giving him chances. He doesn't deserve it, fuck, he doesn't deserve you.”

The last sentence was barely audible, but thanks to the silence, I heard him clearly. Looking at him, all I saw was sincerity and concern. He was truly concerned about me and I appreciated that, but I was an adult and I knew what or who deserved and didn't deserve me. I didn't need anyone to provide me guidance in regards to that.

I offered him a smile as I got up from his couch, “Thank you for sticking up for me, Harry, but I need to go and see Louis now.”  

At the mention of Louis’ name, his face dropped and he didn't bother to hide it. Nodding his head, he took the ice and pressed it against his nose, casting his gaze elsewhere as though he didn't want to watch me walk away. I gave him one last look before I turned around and left his flat to return to mine.

Once I was positive that I was ready to face Louis, I took a deep breath and knocked on his bedroom door. When there was no respond from the other side of the door, I turned the knob, noticing that it’s unlocked and stepped inside.

The room was empty. And that’s when realisation dawned on me, one that hit me hard: he ran away each time things became complicated for him.