#desperately trying to come up with a way to make ''rachel lives = rachel mind-reads crayak instead'' funny | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tllthesundies · 4 years ago

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Anonymous said:

hi! i love the entertainment fic :) can you please write the part when they are celebrating louis’ birthday together, from harry’s pov?

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Harry hears the front door open, then close.

He remains indifferent as he stirs the small pot with pesto sauce in it to keep it from burning. He, also, keeps his eye on the boiling noodles in the bigger pot. But he’s listening to Louis’s footsteps and the jingling of keys in his pocket.

“Okay, rockstar,” he hears Louis’s voice, becoming louder the closer he approaches. “I know I take care of everything, and I recognise that you live in the middle of no man’s land, but I didn't actually think I'd have to include a lesson plan on keeping your doors locked. Things happen, even out here.” He pauses, and although Harry keeps his vision on the food, he sees Louis in his peripheral lean against the counter beside him. He’s wearing his jean jacket, some grey band t-shirt on underneath, and pairing it with boyfriend jeans. “I mean, it's California.” Harry can’t help sparing him a brief look, anyhow, quirking an eyebrow as he stirs the pesto. He doesn't respond to Louis. Louis watches for a moment before pushing himself away from the counter to instead lean his hip against it. He sighs. “What are you doing?”

“Making dinner,” quietly and casually replies Harry. He turns the heat for the spaghetti off. “I thought we could eat while we plan. Are you hungry?”

Louis nods.

“Haven't had anything since lunch.”

Harry glances back at a cabinet somewhere behind Louis and points to it. “Do you mind grabbing plates for us and setting the table? They're in that cabinet.”

“Yeah, sure.” When Louis disappears, Harry takes the pot to drain the noodles. “Do you want a specific colour?” he decides to ask Harry.

“Um,” hums Harry over the sound of pouring hot water and wet noodles being dumped into a strainer. “Honestly? I'm feeling teal.”

As Harry finishes draining the noodles, pours pesto sauce on them and mixes them, and finishes the vegetables, he glances repeatedly, briefly, at Louis. He sees him with teal and olive green plates and sets them up on Harry’s table. He, also, tries offering help, but Harry shuts him down immediately, each time, and sends him to just sit at the table. His hands shake just a little bit when he puts each food back into their respective pots–the ends of his nerves are on burning ice and he can’t make himself look at Louis for very long, if at all. He’s just on edge for the truth he hasn’t told him, but he takes a silent breath to clear his head.

“Most of everything,” Harry says, after he’s set everything on the table and gently plops into the seat beside Louis.

Louis blinks up at him.

“What?”

Spooning noodles onto his plate carefully, Harry repeats, “Most. You take care of most things.” He offers the spoon to Louis with a small smirk ghosting his lips.

Louis breathes out a soft chuckle, taking the utensil from Harry.

He shakes his head in reply.

He waits until everything is on their plates to take off his jean jacket. Harry watches him remove paper from inside a pocket, then hangs it on the back of his chair. Louis unfolds it, glancing up at him. “I don't know what you've got planned,” he begins, “or anything, but I made a list, anyway, to help jumpstart ideas. You know Calista, so, I kind of presume you know what she likes. But—just in case.”

Tentatively, Harry takes the list Louis gives him. He swallows as invisible as possible, and his eyes roam over all of the ideas Louis’s written down: Frozen themed - extremely popular concept still; Pink strawberry theme; Typical animal zoo theme; the birthday party concepts keep going on and on, and the longer Harry continues reading the list, the more those icy ends of his nerves burn more. It becomes overwhelming for his chest, and–he has to tell the truth. There’s too much devotion and dedication in this list to keep his façade going. Leaning back into his chair, he finally gathers the courage to look at Louis, and says, “This list isn’t going to be useful. Don't be mad at me.” Eyebrows narrowing, a puzzled look comes across Louis’s face. “I lied to you.”

The fork in Louis’ hand halts.

He blinks slowly at Harry.

“What are you talking about?” he asks. “Why am I here, then?”

For a split second, Harry’s confidence wavers. There’s a hesitancy he can’t help having, and one he’s not used to controlling – and as observant as Louis is, he probably sees the moment he wavers. And the controlling side of Harry hates that possibility. But he looks Louis directly in the eye, runs a hand through his hair, and speaks in a quiet voice. “It’s your birthday in just a few days. I—I wanted to . . . give you some kind of celebration to show my”–the words continue getting stuck in his throat; he has to spit them out, to warm them up–“. . . appreciation for everything you’ve done.” He pauses, to gauge Louis’s reaction. He looks–unsure; wondering; still confused, albeit a little more understanding. “Look, I’m not the best at, uh—expressing my feelings for people. Not that I have feelings. But”—he rubs an eye with his knuckle, becoming frustrated with himself—“you know what I mean.”

He took Rachel’s advice, but maybe he went too far this time. He lied to get Louis to agree to this. He lied because he didn’t know any other way to go about this. He doesn’t know how to just–outright ask someone such a simple thing like hey, I want to celebrate your birthday, would you like to come over? And it’s far more awkward because he purposely hasn’t been the most pleasant to the exact person he wants to celebrate.

He’s trying.

Probably in his own twisted way, but he’s trying.

And the silence from Louis stretches for far too long – to the point Harry gets uncomfortable. But he doesn’t show it.

“I don’t know what to say,” Louis says, after some time, words just above a whisper.

“Say nothing,” Harry chooses for him. “Consider this a . . . I recognise your hard work, Louis. You’re always on time, prepared, and organised. I’ve never had to tell you how to do your job, and that takes a lot of pressure off of me. So, thank you.” That last part stings his throat when it comes out. But not in the wrong way. “Again, consider this a congratulatory party for two. Nothing more.”

Louis stares at him.

“How did you know?”

“Résumé,” Harry simply answers.

A small beat of silence.

Louis narrows his eyes at him. “I never put my age or date of birth on any résumé.”

“Résumé,” Harry repeats, intentionally curt.

Harry’s not going to tell him from which source he acquired the information from. He wouldn’t blow Niall’s cover like that. Niall had questioned him plenty enough when he had called him. Why do you want to know? Niall asked, even though he had already given the information to Harry. I just want to be nice, is all Harry answered with.

He wasn’t lying.

“Fine,” Louis replies cooly. “Creep.”

Harry puts on an unimpressed look, staring directly into Louis’s eyes as he chews his food. After swallowing, he says, “That’s a big accusation coming from someone I could fire.”

Louis smiles, smug.

“See, that’s the beautiful thing . . . you can’t fire me,” he retorts.

Harry shakes his head, and he fights the muscles in his face that are around his mouth that desperately are trying to lift his lips at Louis’s reply. He can’t let that happen. His mind races with other topics to bring; with other distractions.

“Listen,” Harry says, “I have a cake for you.”

“Where?”

Harry shakes his head again.

“We have to make it,” he tells him.

Louis looks cautious. “What flavour?”

“Chocolate.”

A pleasantly surprised look crosses his features. “That’s my favourite,” he says. “Lucky guess?”

“You could say that.”

Dinner continues quietly. The ends of Harry’s nerves have started to warm up, evaporating the icy burn and replacing it with a normal temperature. His heart stops beating inconsistently and begins functioning like a normal human being. However, the same icy feeling starts to show itself in Harry’s mouth; words flow uncontrollably out of his mouth. Harry’s not a talker. He knows how to talk. He knows how to respond to people, and how to maintain conversation, but he doesn’t generally start the conversations unless he has no choice. Louis looks a little amused by him, but he does his best to ignore it. He, also, tries to get Louis to talk about himself, so, that he has some semblance of control over his mouth, but it doesn’t work.

Harry notices Dolly sauntering into the kitchen in his peripheral as he loads the dishwasher. She has her mustard yellow turtleneck on still that Harry had put on her this morning, her collar matching impeccably. She comes right over to Harry and peers into the dishwasher, but Harry scratches behind her ear as a warning before gently swatting her away.

She mews loudly at him, offended, she wanders over Louis.

Harry rolls his eyes at her.

“Look what you've done,” Louis speaks up.

Harry looks over his shoulder at Louis as he messes with the controls on the top of the dishwasher.

Snorting, Harry opens a drawer and slings a clean dish cloth over his shoulder before making his way over to Louis. “She's just mad I wanted to keep her from hurting herself,” he tells Louis. “She'll come around in ten minutes and act like it never happened.” He lifts a hand and gently caresses Dolly’s neck. But Dolly tries to hide from him by burying her face into Louis's armpit.

Louis laughs, surprised.

“Oh, no.”

Harry just puckers his lips and gives her an air kiss, and chuckles, smiling. “She always comes back.”

Louis bends his head and drops his gaze to Dolly. Harry watches the gentle way he rubs the top of her head and the rest of her body. He’s so much more familiar with her than when he had first met Dolly. He had been jumpy, a little scared. Now, they’re friends. Harry turns his head away and walks to the pantry.

“So, I've got,” Harry begins, and stops. He grabs the chocolate cake box he sees hiding on the top shelf, and stretches his arm up to get it. The matching frosting container is nearby, and he grabs it, too. He reads the back of it before continuing speaking. “Chocolate frosting. And”—he draws out the word until Louis rolls his eyes, telling him to get on with it; Harry's composure breaks, a grin breaking across his face as he stammers out his words because of his breathy laugh—“could you get the eggs out, please?”

Louis probably thinks he’s annoying.

It’s all on purpose.

Louis squats down to release Dolly from his arms. She jumps out of his grip, but remains by his feet. He washes his hands, first, then puts the eggs he retrieved from the fridge on the island.

Harry comes up beside Louis who’s reading the instructions on the back very carefully, and just dumps the oil, cake mix box, and frosting next to the eggs

Harry finds his measuring cup, and gives it to Louis to use for the oil and water. Louis asks him senseless questions; if he wants to do the eggs, et cetera. Louis has him sniff the inside of the cake mix bake to see if it smells good. It’s very chocolatey. And while he lets Louis do whatever he wants with the cake, he searches through his playlist to find music to fill the silence, so, he doesn’t have to talk too much. He finds Louis a bowl, a pan to fit the mixture into, and preheats the oven.

Harry sticks his finger in the bowl last minute, making a pop sound upon releasing his finger from between his lips.

“That’s really tasty,” he says.

Louis’s unimpressed.

“Tell me that when you get salmonella.”

“Can't wait.”

Louis shakes his head.

As they wait for the cake to fully bake, they work together cleaning all of the dirty utensils and bowls. They clean the island. Dolly stays silently crowding their feet. Harry can feel Dolly rubbing her head against his ankles, then attempts to climb onto his feet to lay down on them. Harry internally sighs.

“Look,” murmurs Louis.

Harry hears a smile reflecting in his voice.

He doesn't remove his gaze from the whisk he's washing.

“I know she's there. I'm ignoring her.”

Then it happens very fast:

Harry feels a small puddle gather on his feet and the bottom of his pants that cling to his skin. He hears Louis’s shocked laughter, but he doesn’t look at him as he breathes in a sharp breath to calm himself. Every fucking time.

“She—”

Harry's eyes close in pain. “I know. I wish I could say this hasn't happened before.”

While Louis’s still giggling and picks Dolly up from his feet, Harry excuses himself to go change his pants, then reemerges to find Louis feeding Dolly from the palm of his hand.

Louis looks over his shoulder at Harry, a single eyebrow raised.

“Better?” he asks.

“No,” Harry answers immediately. He pulls out the chair beside Louis, turns it around to sit backwards in it. He crosses his arms on the back of it, and gives Dolly an annoyed look that she ignores entirely in favour of the food she nibbles on in Louis's outstretched hand.

Still highly amused, Louis smiles, looking at Harry. “She's fine. Why'd she do that?”

“She does it when I'm absent too much” Harry explains. “In her cat mind, she thinks if she vomits on me, I'll be forced to clean up after her and take care of her. I don't know. Cats are—they have strange minds. I just think it’s only my cat because she has anxiety problems.”

Closing his parted lips, Louis shifts his gaze over to Dolly. She's trying to bite down on a hard piece she got. Harry watches them both. “Did you want to, like, watch something?” Louis asks, glancing briefly at Harry. “While the cake bakes?”

Harry nods.

“What do you have in mind?”

Shrugging, once, feebly, Louis says, “I don't know. Maybe a movie? Comedies are nice.”

Harry stands from his chair, and pushes it back in normally. “It’s your birthday; you get all the privileges of picking and holding the remote.” He walks past behind Louis and into the front room, and sits down in the left corner of his settee.

After letting Dolly tackle the last couple of pieces of her cat food into her mouth, Louis picks her up and takes her with. He tucks his left leg underneath his right one when he sits down on the settee. There's a space between their bodies that isn’t too enclosed to make Harry uncomfortable; and he averts his gaze to the television, so, that he won’t continuously stare at Louis in his peripheral vision. He can’t keep doing that. He can’t keep–looking at him more than he needs to.

It’s dangerous.

Harry places the remote in Louis's outstretched palm.

Louis shifts through channels for too long; and when he enters Netflix, he spends too much time reading each and every description.

“By this rate,” says Harry, breaking their long held silence, “the cake will be ready before you settle on something.”

Louis turns his head, tilting his head in a look. “Well, I'm not much of a TV person, to be honest,” Louis admits. “What do you recommend?”

“I told you,” says Harry, staring straight at the television still, “your birthday, your choice. . . . But . . . if you really want a recommendation . . . There's Something About Mary is a very good romantic comedy.”

Louis blinks. “What's it about?”

“This guy Ted — Ben Stiller plays him — wants to reconnect with his old prom date back from high school he had a massive crush on, so, he hires somebody to track her down and . . . it's, like, really messy, but what rom-com isn’t? It's a hundred times better than it sounds,” Harry promises him.

Louis seems to consider it.

Then he nods.

“Sure. Let's watch that.”

Harry looks over his shoulder at Louis as he stands from the settee. “You sure?” he asks.

Harry kneels in front of his small but wide bookcase full of DVDs. He quickly looks over every case until he finds the one he’s looking for. Turning the player on and popping in the disc, he returns to his spot on the sofa. Harry’s seen this romcom a thousand times, so, though he keeps his eye on the television, he doesn’t try to catch up with everything that plays out. Instead, he listens to Louis’s laughter, and distracts himself by dragging his forefinger across his lips for something to do. When the stove timer goes off, he jumps up to get it, and Dolly follows behind him.

“It's done,” Harry calls out. After he puts the cake on the counter on top of a dish cloth, he tests the idle with a toothpick. When he looks up to see where Louis is, he finds him by Harry’s walls of picture frames, cradling Dolly in his arms as his gaze roams. Harry decides to act indifferent and let a hard feeling pass through his stomach, and raids through his pantry to find the frosting. “Louis. Where's the frosting?” Harry feels Louis come up beside him a moment later. “I gave it to you. Where could it have disappeared to?”

Taking a step back, Louis stretches an arm out to open the freezer door. He reaches in, and then he closes it to hold the small container of frosting towards Harry, in the air. “Right here,” he says, wiggling it when Harry looks at him, gaze falling on the container. “I put it in the freezer.”

Harry pauses, lips parting. “Why did you put it in the freezer?”

Louis raises both brows at him in a way that the answer should be obvious. “Because room temperature frosting is disgusting? It's only good when it's cold.”

Gently, he tosses it on the island.

Harry's eyebrows pull together as he steps back and pulls the pantry door closed. “Uh—I hate to inform you, but frosting is good no matter what temperature it is,” he says in a vaguely defensive voice.

“Now you're just being gross,” comments Louis, looking briefly at Harry when he situates himself in front the cake, his lightheartedness subtle. Harry chooses to just busy himself with removing the cake from the pan, turning his back to Louis. “Oh, no.”

Harry turns around.

“What?” Harry asks.

He sets the plate full of cake beside Louis on the island and peeks at what Louis has in his hand.

Louis turns his body in an angle, towards Harry, and demonstrates the issue. Holding a knife in his hand to scope some of the chocolate frosting out, he goes at it — but he's stopped, and it's impossible to get any, because the knife is met with nothing but brick. “It's frozen,” Louis says.

Harry blinks a few times.

“Really?”

“Shut up,” he retorts. He glances around before walking over to a cabinet to retrieve a bowl. “Couldn't we use a microwave? Unless you're willing to wait an hour for it to thaw. I know I rather not.” Setting the bowl down, next to the frosting, Louis takes it in his hands and attempts to shake it out into the bowl first. Harry just watches him – and he pauses for a second, because he notices a small freckle on the upper part of the side of his neck. He’s lost count, now, how many freckles Louis has.

“I thought you hated warm frosting.”

“I do, but if we put it in for just a few seconds it won't matter,” Louis reasons.

Harry watches him shake it and realise that method doesn’t work. He proceeds to lay it upside down on the lid and hits it hard. Then he tries squeezing it before attempting to pry the container from the edges of the frosting.

The corners of his mouth tilt downwards in a frown.

“It's going to take more than a few seconds,” Harry comments, and takes the frosting from Louis. He bangs it against the edge of the island, the sound visibly startling Louis. The solid block of frosting falls right into the bowl Louis had gotten. Harry gives him a smile as he walks past Louis to the microwave that sits on the counter to the left of the refrigerator and slides it in. Harry doesn't take it out until it looks like it's thawed entirely, then pulls it out with a hot pad. Coming up beside Louis, he pokes his index finger in the frosting and sucks it into his mouth. “Not that warm.”

He pokes another finger in it.

Louis waves his fingers away from the frosting, and he uses the knife from before to taste it. The temperature appears to be okay with him, judging by the pleased look on his face.

“It's really good,” he confesses quietly to Harry. He puts his knife in the dishwasher full of other dirty utensils and grabs clean knives and forks to use and separate plates for Harry and him. “I don't want to put any frosting on it, by the way,” he adds.

Harry pauses.

“What? Why?” He pulls his eyebrows together in confusion, and looks at Louis instead of the cake. What kind of person doesn’t want frosting on their cake?

“I prefer to have it on the side and dip the cake in the frosting,” Louis explains. “It tastes better to me that way.”

For a few moments, Harry stares at him, and Louis stares back, a little challenge in his face. His assistant is weird. But he can work around it. So, he nods, saying, “We can do that, no problem.” Then he remembers: “Wait.” He walks over to a drawer a few feet from them and rummages through it until he pulls out two things: a large pack of single candle sticks, and candle numbers 2 and 7. “Can't forget these.” Harry sticks the numbers right in the centre, then surrounds it with twenty-seven of the fifty count of blue candles. It's a very crowded cake, and crumbly and has new cracks added into the old ones because of the force of all the candles. It’s ugly, in Harry’s opinion; the cake, the stereotypical candles, how bare and destroyed it all is – but when he lifts his head to look at Louis, into his blue eyes that have specks of green and grey, his chest eases. Stops. Momentarily. This . . . isn’t so ugly.

Quickly, he lights all of the candles. “Okay,” he says upon lighting the last one, and sets down the lighter. “Make a wish.”

Louis ends up staring at his face instead of blowing out the candles right away. He searches Harry’s face. And Harry doesn’t know what to do besides stare right back. Finally, Louis tears his eyes away and leans down, blowing out the candles. They leave a trail of smoke in the air and a very distinct candle stench that Harry hates. But Harry pretends, and chooses to clap him for and whistle. Louis laughs at him, something soft and something high that pulls at Harry’s chest. He starts picking the candles out of the cake, and Harry notices a soft tinge of pink colouring the apples of his cheeks.

Harry doesn’t know why, so, he ignores it.

Louis cuts the cake and gives the first slice to Harry, then gives one to himself. Harry suffocates his slice in frosting very carelessly. Dolly retreats back to them and tries to rub her face in the bowl of chocolate and what's on their plates, but Harry grabs her with both of his hands and tucks her underneath his arm. She struggles to free herself the entire time; Harry ignores it. Even when they sit back down on the sofa to continue watching their movie. Harry doesn’t see it coming when Dolly whips her paw around and slashes at his skin, causing a long and bright red scratch down his forearm. He lets her go immediately, pissed off.

He sees Dolly strut right into Louis's lap, and walks in circles before settling down to rest on his thighs. Her relaxed exterior pisses him off more.

“Are you okay?” Louis asks, concerned, eyes full of concern.

Harry’s jaw tenses. “It burns,” he answers truthfully, “but I’m fine. She's just in a mood today.” He rolls his eyes.

There’s a frown on Louis’s face when he glances down at Dolly, but he doesn’t say anything further. Harry chooses to suck it up and finish eating his cake while ignoring Dolly. The scratch thankfully never bleeds, as they finish the rest of their movie, eating the entire cake by themselves. Louis doesn’t finish the next slice he eats, but Harry has no problem eating the rest of it for the both of them.

Harry's licking the icing off his fork when he looks at Louis. The half piece of pure cake is still there on Louis’s plate. “What did you think?”

Louis's eyes flicker up at him, meeting his gaze. Breathing in a soft breath, he nods his head.

“It was good; I liked it. I love Cameron Diaz.”

“Me, too,” Harry admits. “She's very nice.”

“Have you met her?”

Humming, Harry nods once. “Met her on the red carpet at some award show. I think I have a picture.” Louis huffs out a chuckle. “Do you want to watch another movie?”

Louis stays silent for a moment, then shrugs and rests a hand on Dolly, whom lays sleeping in his lap. “Sure. But you pick this time.”

“It's still your choice,” Harry reminds him.

Breathing out a purposely heavy annoyed sigh, he says, “I choose you to pick the next thing we watch.”

“That's not how it works.”

“Sure, it is. It's my birthday.”

Harry stares at Louis, pressing his lips together. It becomes a staring contest between them. It goes on for several moments until Harry blinks and looks away. “I can't argue that,” he says, finally.

“Exactly,” quips Louis, as he gently drops the remote in Harry's outstretched hand, palm turned up.

They watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s, then when Harry turns on Meet the Parents, he notices Louis’s eyes start closing. He repetitively glances out of the corner of his eyes at Louis, watching him nod off until he’s sound asleep. Harry’s chest grows soft as he stares at Louis’s tired, pale face. His thin lips are slightly parted, like he should be snoring. Him and Dolly both sound asleep on each other is a rather humourous sight. He decides to leave Louis be and turns his attention to the television to watch the movie. There’s something . . . oddly comforting about the silence; Louis sleeping beside him, the hum of the telly, the filling sensation that encompasses the silence. It’s not so lonely–not so what Harry’s used to. By the end of the movie, he grabs his own plate and stands up, then does his best to grab Louis’s without disturbing him. But Louis’s eyes flutter open at the accidental brush of contact that Harry internally curses himself for. Louis straightens out his very tilted sleeping position, and looks up at him through squinted eyes.

Harry gives Louis a genuine apologetic look, and quietly says, “Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you.”

Louis delicately rubs his eye with the back of his right hand, and stretches his legs, breathing out a tired sigh. He blinks his eyes a few times to adjust. “It's fine,” he rasps. “Sorry I'm falling asleep.”

“Don't apologise,” Harry gently tells him.

He continues off to the kitchen. After scraping off pieces into the rubbish and rinsing off their plates, he lays them on the counter, then hesitates. The image of the gift bag still in the other room floats to the forefront of his mind. He looks over his shoulder at Louis, and finds him distracted by Dolly, and makes a quick decision. Harry speed walks to the other room on silent heels and grabs Louis’ gift bag, then makes his way back into the front room. Louis looks up the exact moment Harry approaches him, and the movements of his hand combing Dolly’s fur stop when his eyes fall down and spot a white bag in Harry's left hand.

“What ‘ave you got there?” His tone is careful.

Harry sets the shopping bag right in his spot, close enough for Louis to reach into. Harry sits on the edge of the settee on the other side of Louis, at an angle facing Louis, and he looks him directly in the eyes. “I thought I'd give this to you, before you completely black out on me,” he says. “It's not really a celebration without gifts, too.”

Louis pushes himself up to sit straighter. “Harry . . .” He looks at a loss for words – lips parted on nothing; uncertainty scaling his face and eyes; touching the bag’s thin, black handles like it’ll burn him. “You didn't have to get me anything. Dinner, movies, the cake, I'm perfectly content just with that.”

Harry presses his lips together lightly and nods. “I know,” he says, forcing his gaze to not leave Louis's. “But I want to do this for you. Don’t make me repeat myself; I’m not good with complimenting people. Just accept it.”

“Harry—”

“Fucking accept it,” he says.

Glancing between Harry's face and the bag, Louis touches it again.

He leans forward and peeks inside. It’s covered by black, decorative tissue paper, and Harry watches him use both hands to remove all the tissue paper.

He knows the second Louis sees it. He pauses, gaze unblinking and widening just enough for Harry to catch. He sees the backpack from Givenchy Harry had gotten him. That was . . . another thing he managed to get out of Niall. Louis’s allegedly been so back and forth about buying it for himself that Harry decided to choose for him. It was extremely easy to find, and even easier to buy. It was probably the easiest gift Harry’s ever had to shop for. But–he didn’t think it was enough; he had bought a bag of Reese’s, as well as wrote a check out for Louis and put that in the backpack for him. Maybe it would make up for everything, Harry’s hoping–maybe it’ll . . . Harry shouldn’t be hoping for anything, really. But after Rachel had a talk with him and made him feel like a shitty person, he’s hoping this’ll convey Harry’s guilt. Or apology. Louis might not recognise it as that, but that’s okay.

“Open it,” Harry instructs softly.

Louis quits just staring at the bag and unzips it. Suddenly, he looks up at Harry and smiles at him, face glowing in happiness. Harry can’t help the smile he gives him in return. Louis backs down and–a little laugh is pulled out of him. Harry’s eyebrow furrow, a little, in wonder.

“What's so funny?” Harry asks.

Louis pulls the bag of candy out to show Harry, without speaking.

Harry's gaze shifts from Louis to the treat, a confused but amused smile splitting across his lips. He . . . doesn’t understand. It’s candy. Harry shrugs like what about it? and Louis shakes his head in response and mumbles never mind. Setting the candy down beside Dolly, he grabs the check.

Louis scoffs, shaking his head as he begins to read it, and asks, “How much is this?”

But he abruptly stops, face falling.

“Five thousand dollars,” Harry casually answers, despite his heart picking up pace again. Louis lifts his head to look at him, but he doesn't say anything. Is it too much? Is it too forward? Did Harry cross a line? Maybe he was wrong for buying Louis his dream backpack and a check. But if he just stuck with the candy, then Harry would look like he put in the least amount of effort in. And this is the line he struggles with: either going too far, or not doing enough. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” Louis answers immediately. Then he releases a breath, knowing he’s full of it. “This is too much, Harry.”

Harry blinks, then stamps on his racing heart and pulls out his detached face. “Louis,” he begins, stern, “don’t even start. That?”—he points to the check—“That is pocket change to me. We’ve gone over this. I have more money than I’ll ever know what to do with. I don’t see better use for it than for charity and for using it to buy whatever you want. Don’t feel bad about me using my own money. Eat the rich, or whatever they say.”

“Do you even know what that means?” Louis asks.

Harry pauses.

“Yes and no. But that’s a different conversation for another day.”

Louis blinks, breaking his gaze from Harry. Harry watches him closely, and waits for something. Louis’s face is concentrated; furrowed eyebrows, a far away look in his crystal clear eyes. He’s thinking something, and as much as Harry would love to get inside that pretty little head of his, he merely settles for waiting. Dolly comes poking through, however, weaving herself effortlessly and expertly through Louis's arms. She throws her arms up to cling to the opened backpack, and stands on her hind legs to peer inside. She stuffs her entire head in it, and it breaks Louis out of whatever it was, making him chuckle.

Harry just shakes his head.

Louis wraps his fingers around her legs to pull her back out of his backpack, but she clings hard. Harry finds himself laughing softly at the image before him, and he intervenes quickly. He softly scratches behind Dolly's head, then transitions into wrapping his hands around her bottom. He picks her up upside down, successfully having Dolly let go.

Harry pulls her to his chest.

Louis's small chuckle turns into a giggle, and he shakes his head. He reaches for his phone on the coffee table, and Harry watches his face change to realisation.

“I have to go,” he announces.

Dolly falls out of Harry’s grip and runs away.

He looks at Harry.

Harry puts on an unreadable face. “You have to go?” he repeats.

“Yeah,” Louis responds as he stands up. “I have a flight in the morning. Remember? I have to get up really early, and triple check all my belongings. It’s a long flight, so, I’ll need some proper rest.”

“All right,” Harry agrees. He walks first to the door, with Louis following suit, after placing his backpack back into the bag, along with the check. “When's your flight?”

“Hm,” Louis hums. “I think 7.45 in the morning.”

“Harsh,” Harry comments lightly. He lifts his hand to rub at his neck a moment. “I hope it's good. Tell your mum I said hello.”

Louis nods. “I will. And I hope it is, too.” There's a slightly awkward pause, on Louis's end. But it doesn’t last. “Listen . . . I want to thank you for—”

Harry interrupts him.

“No problem.”

“You didn't have to,” Louis points out. He's clearly not going to let Harry wave it off. “You didn't have to do anything at all, but you did. I just want you to know that it's one of the nicest things someone's ever done for me, and that I really, really appreciate it.”

Louis looks at with the most serene face, conviction in his tone. It causes Harry to be temporarily weak.

“You're welcome,” he says in response, hands clasped behind his back for something to hold on to.

Harry doesn’t see it coming – Louis steps forward with confidence, coming into Harry’s personal space, and raises himself onto his toes to wrap his arms around Harry’s shoulders. Those icy nerves return alight and burn him. He’s paralysed for several moments; all he registers is the faint scent of floral notes reaching into his nostrils and brushing against his nose hairs. It’s not overwhelming; it’s the perfect aroma of flowers and fruitiness. Based on his own colognes he’s sampled and bought before, this one could be YSL – or maybe it’s ones he’s seen, such as Lancome. They carry a lot of floral perfumes. Either way, it’s very pleasing. And before he can think, he sneaks his arms around Louis’s small waist–it’s much smaller and slimmer than it looks–and spreads his fingers across the bottom of his spine and the middle of his back.

It’s only a moment later Louis pulls back.

Even though Louis doesn’t look at him, he can’t stop staring at Louis, completely dumbfounded.

“I'll see you in a couple weeks,” says Louis, smiling, when he looks up at Harry. “I'm a text and phone call away if you need anything, okay?” Louis raises a pointed eyebrow at him, giving Harry a look. “Don't hesitate, okay? I won't mind.”

Harry nods.

He’s not going to, but he’ll pretend for Louis.

“Got it,” he says, pressing his lips together.

The pointed look remains on Louis's face.

“I mean it,” he presses, to ensure his message is across.

Harry rolls his eyes and straightens out his posture. “I know,” he sighs. “I’ve survived nearly a decade without you, so, I don't think anything I can't handle is going to happen in the time you'll be gone.”

Louis throws his hands up in surrender.

“Hey, I didn't say you couldn't handle any one thing. I implied quite the opposite, actually,” he corrects.

Harry plays along.

“No need to rub my already swollen ego.”

Louis smiles, huffing out a small laugh. It’s the softest expression he’s ever seen on a face. It’s so caring. Harry doesn’t–understand how he can be so gentle. “Never happy with anything, are you?” he teases.

Harry smiles. “Nope,” he says. “Comes with being a perfectionist. And just being me, in general.”

“I see.” There's silence that falls over them like a blanket. Harry’s hoping Louis will take the cue and leave, but he stays. “What do you plan to do for Christmas?”

Harry blinks.

“I don't know,” he answers. “I don't do much for Christmas, really. I don't celebrate it.”

Louis raises an inquiring brow. “Because of religious reasons, or . . . ?”

Harry shrugs. He doesn’t talk about it with anyone. He’s certainly not going to discuss it with Louis. “Nah. Just don't celebrate it, that's all,” he answers, giving Louis a small smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Not even with your parents?” Harry shakes his head, choosing not to say anything more. With that, Louis drops the subject. “Don't forget to—”

“I'm kicking you out,” Harry says, tone flat, and a finger pointed to the door behind Louis.

He walks around him and opens it.

“You're kicking me out?” Louis repeats,, smiling and now standing so close to the door frame, as he keeps his gaze on Harry, whom now leans against the side of the red door, arms crossed and one foot hooked around the other.

Harry nods vigorously, eyebrows risen.

“Get out. Right now.”

“Fine, I'll leave,” says Louis, raising his hands as he walks out onto the stone walkway, “but not because you're threatening me; but because I want to.” He keeps on walking down the small set of stone steps and across the path leading to the driveway.

“Louis,” Harry calls out without thinking, just going on the feeling of restricted air in his chest. Louis looks over his shoulder, as his hand pulls his car keys out of his pants pocket, and his strides slow. He stares at Harry with patience, and it’s the last thing Harry wants to see in his face, because he won’t be seeing him for a while. “Merry Christmas. Happy birthday. Have a safe flight.”

Louis’s mouth curves up in a gentle, genuine smile.

“Thank you. Happy New Year,” he calls back.

Harry closes the door two-thirds of the way, not willing to let go of the sight of Louis quite yet. He needs to see him get safely in his car and drive away – he can’t let that feeling go. The restriction in his chest worsens when he watches Louis open his car door, but it eases slowly when Louis looks back. In fear of coming off creepy, he closes the door. But he stays behind it to listen to the engine start – to see the red lights reflect against the windows and the distant sound of his car fade until Harry can’t hear anything anymore. Then he turns around, inhaling a deep breath when his vision lands on Dolly sitting on her bum patiently by the stairs, watching him.

“Dolly,” he says – she tilts her head – “Am I too much?”

Dolly mews and walks off.

He’s always changing himself, changing his style, his image. He’s either always too much or not enough; there’s no healthy balance. Maybe he’ll try working on it in Louis’s absence, so, he doesn’t have to fret over it every time he says or does something he’s not familiar with. He doesn’t want to scare Louis off.

#drabbles #hiiii i hope this doesn't disappoint! i had a headache while doing this lol so i hope it turns out decent-ish!

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thehopeofitalll · 3 years ago

Text

you've been stressed out lately (yeah, me too)

read it on ao3!!

Percy wakes up with a dull throbbing in his head. It’s how he wakes up most of the time these days. He gazes at the stars above him, the faint snores of his friends nearby creating a cozy atmosphere.

He shifts to his side with a grunt, beginning to close his eyes to try and doze off when he notices a silhouette in front of him.

He sits up straight and squints. “...Annabeth?”

She jumps, clearly startled. Turning around to see him, she says, “Oh good, you’re awake too.” Even in the darkness, he could feel Annabeth roll her eyes.

“What are you doing?” He asks, scooting towards where she sat, on the soft grass.

“Couldn’t sleep, so...I was just sitting here and thinking,” she replies, glancing at him for a second.

“Thinking?”

“Yeah...quest stuff, you know?” Annabeth shrugs.

Percy knew how rare it was to have peaceful conversations with her. Lately, all the times they talked ended up in a fight. He hesitates briefly, not wanting this talk to end up with them storming away from each other again.

“Wise Girl…” he begins, noticing the way her eyes soften at the nickname as she stares at the stars (and him gazing at her), and desperately trying to ignore the familiar knot in his stomach. “I know you. And I know you aren’t just thinking about the quest.”

She takes in a sharp breath. “I’m...scared.”

“Scared?”

Percy could think of a million words to describe Annabeth Chase: she was smart, wise, annoyingly right most of the time, and one of the bravest people he’d ever seen.

But scared? He’d never thought of her like that.

“Scared of what?” he asks.

“I...never mind, it’s nothing,” she mumbles, turning away from him. “Go back to sleep, Percy. You don’t need to hear me ramble in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I do,” he says, placing his hand on her shoulder, gently forcing her to look at him. “Annabeth, you can tell me anything. Even the most stupid things you think about.”

“I just feel so useless,” she says, her fingers pulling at the grass they’re sitting on. “A huge war is coming on our way, and I can’t do anything to stop it.”

“Annabeth, that isn’t your fault,” he replies. “You strategize and lead quests that make us win. You are helping, even if you can’t stop the war.”

She sighs. Percy doesn’t know what she does. He doesn’t know about how Luke had come to her, unarmed. If she’d just done something, anything, they wouldn’t be facing Kronos now.

The prophecy that kills Percy wouldn’t be coming true.

“Hey…” he continues, his voice barely a whisper. “You aren’t blaming yourself right?”

“Yeah, no, I’m fine,” she answers. “A bit...worried, I guess.”

“Worried about who?”

Annabeth meets his eyes. “You.”

Percy’s eyes widen, as if he hadn’t expected that answer. Annabeth was suddenly very aware of his hand still resting on her shoulder, brushing against her neck.

The moment felt far too intimate, considering the way they’d nearly strangled each other the past few months. And maybe , she thinks, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

“And...this war, Luke, and the campers and everyone, of course,” she hastily adds.

“Yeah, Luke,” Percy mutters, his hand leaving her shoulder. Annabeth missed the warmth almost immediately.

“We don’t know what’s going to happen in the upcoming battles,” she says. “Any of us could die.”

“I know,” Percy says, lying down on the grass.

Annabeth glances at him, before lying down beside him. “We could die.”

“I know,” he simply repeats.

He said it with such ease, as if he was prepared. It pained Annabeth to know that he would actually die, according to the quest.

She didn’t know who she was mad at this point.

She hated herself, hated him and the rest of the world. She hated the Fates for making her fall for him, despite knowing that he was a dead man walking.

Annabeth thought she was numb to pain. She was used to seeing important people in her life leave. Her father, no matter how much they tried to reconcile, was still distant. Her mother was a Greek goddess, whom she could never contact even if she wanted to.

She lost Thalia when she was seven. She spent years walking to the pine tree, sitting down and recounting whatever happened as if Thalia could hear.

Now, Thalia was back. But she was still so far away, a Hunter of Artemis.

She lost Luke. Lost him when she decided to waste her chance to save him when he came to see her. She still hoped, hopes , but somewhere deep down she knew he was doomed.

And now, Annabeth was slowly losing Percy. She was tired of chasing him, and trying to reach out only to realize that she’d lost him since the day they met. All because of some stupid prophecy.

Percy doesn’t deserve to die, she thinks, as the familiar sinking feeling starts. He needs to live.

“I’m so tired, Percy,” she says. “Everything feels so hopeless. It’s like there’s this darkness around us that we can never escape.”

“I know.”

She pauses, choosing her next words carefully. “I’m also tired of fighting. With you,” she continues. “I miss us.”

“I hate this too,” he replies. “I don’t want to fight with you. I just want to go back to being friends.”

Annabeth ignores the twinge of disappointment she felt. She didn’t want to be just friends, and she wishes she could tell him that, but she pushes the urge away.

“Gods, I’m so stupid,” she mumbles, softly laughing. “Talking about all this when we have to continue our quest tomorrow.”

He smiles. “I don’t think it’s stupid. Maybe talking about your feelings helps?”

“Really cheesy, Seaweed Brain,” she says, his smile mirroring on her face.

“Well Rachel’s cheesy all the time, I think I’ve been spending too much time with her,” Percy says, grinning.

And there it was. One of the reasons why she kept pushing Percy away, even if she wanted to spend time with him. It hurt, knowing that he was with Rachel way more than he’d been with her for months now.

He slightly tenses up, and Annabeth wonders if he was bracing himself for a fight, since it’s all they ever do.

“Yeah, you have,” she replies, hoping that he doesn’t notice the bitter undertone to her seemingly well remark.

(And he doesn’t because he’s so oblivious, she sometimes wonders how she ever fell in love with him.)

“But maybe you are right,” Annabeth continues. “I do feel strangely a little bit calmer after that rant.”

“Aha! Who’s the wise one now?”

“Still me,” she says, smirking as she bumps his shoulder playfully. “Also, thanks. You could’ve gone back to sleep, instead of sitting here with me.”

“Nah, I probably couldn’t have slept. I’d have just stared at nothing till either the sun rises or I get tired and fall asleep.”

“I’m trying to say a nice thing, Percy!”

“Of course,” he says, trying hard not to grin. “Continue.”

She takes a deep breath. “What I’m saying is that...it means a lot to me, that you sat here, listened to my ramblings and didn’t judge me.”

“I’ve never judged you,” he says, shrugging.

“Twelve year old Percy would disagree,” she says.

“Hey! Twelve year old Percy was the most respectful boy you’d ever see!” Percy exclaims.

“Sure,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Just...thank you. For everything.”

“Anytime, Wise Girl. And…” he begins. “There’s always going to be some things that you can’t control.”

“Ugh, I hate those kinds of things.”

He smiles softly. “I know. But you can’t blame yourself for how those things went down, you can’t try to control them either. And even though you’ve never told me about it, I have a gut feeling that you worry about things like that a lot.”

“Wow,” Annabeth says, impressed. “That was really wise.”

“So, who’s the wise one now? ” he asks.

She shakes her head and laughed. “It’s still me. But you are getting closer.”

“And that’s a victory as far as I’m concerned.”

She rolls her eyes again. “Of course it is, you dork,” she mumbles, feeling the most peaceful she has in months.

She watches the stars twinkle as they settle into a comfortable silence. She turns, finding Percy’s nose an inch away from hers. He’s closing his eyes, and she thanks all the gods he doesn’t see her ears rapidly turning pink.

She almost thinks he’s fallen asleep, but then his hand falls on hers, and he gives it a slight squeeze.

Annabeth smiles, and squeezes his hand three times. I love you. She doubts she’ll ever say it to him, but for now she doesn’t mind just talking with him for hours.

—

something gave you the nerve to touch my hand, it’s nice to have a friend.

#percabeth #annabeth chase #percy jackson #percabeth fic #post botl #pre tlo #fluff and angst #i just love them so much 😩#it's nice to have a friend

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hadtochangemyurlquick · 4 years ago

Note

when toni and shelby reunite and toni compliments shelby’s buzz cut and shelby blushes then what

you: here’s a cute prompt of shelby and toni reuniting :)

me: thx! here’s a 1.4k meditation on solitary confinement and paranoid schizophrenia, tw for all that stuff.

you: did you get dumped again or something

Solitary, Shelby knew, was decided to be an inhumane punishment by the pilgrims in the 1600s. They originally thought criminals would take the time to study the bible and reflect on their misdeeds. Instead, well meaning judges would open the cell doors after even the shortest of sentences and find a wholly different person than the one they locked in there.  

There were a number of physical manifestations solitary can cause. A shrunken hippocampus, Shelby was pretty sure was one. Or perhaps that was just general trauma. She couldn’t remember.  

She was pretty sure having difficulty remembering things was another effect of trauma.

But there was other stuff too: insomnia, damaged speech patterns, mood swings, hallucinations, delusions, to name a couple.

See, in the ninth grade they read of Mice and Men and had to research mental health practices in that era. It was a group assignment and while others researched electro-shock therapy and lobotomies, Shelby was put on solitary confinement. It was a reoccurring nightmare for years after, just sitting in a room alone. Alone. Alone.

The “reintegration” therapy her father put her through in junior year was what later Martha would call “love-bombing.”

“It’s a cult thing,” Martha explained. “They get you involved by being like—the nicest ever. Like nicer and more social than any group of people ever normally would be.”

“Baby girl, how do you know so much about cults?” Fatin asked.

Martha shrugged. “Netflix documentaries.”

So the Bible sessions were mostly her father praying for her mortal soul, holding her, telling her how much he loved her, and getting others in the church to do the same. And it made her nightmares worse, her alone with her mind in that big empty room.

Loss made her fear that much more palpable, she supposed.

The real thing, the real and actual thing of being locked in her room, was not what she had imagined.

For one it was worse. Even with Dr. Faber coming in at least once a day she found herself confronting a migraine regularly. Voices faded in and out and a few times she caught Becca whispering for her to end it. She was sure the place was infested with mice but despite her turning over her bed and destroying her room, she never found pellets.

The worst was before they decided to break out. She had jolted up from her bed, bugs crawling all over her body, eating her alive.

She had scraped her skin raw, desperately hoping her panic hadn’t shown on camera.

After her allergic reaction, Dr. Faber no longer came to see her. She heard Young walk by on occasion, but she could no longer trust her hearing.

She didn’t know how many days passed, maybe it was a week or so, before the sounds of dozens of footsteps slammed through hallways and her door fell off its hinges beneath a military grade boot.

There was a lot of shouting and commands, so many hands touching her, around her, a shock blanket wrapped around her shoulders, people wearing white with red crosses asking her questions she couldn’t understand, the pounding of the ocean in her ears, struggling to find air, like everyone around was using too much.

A slight pinching in her arm told her it was done.

When she woke up again she was in a new room, lights dimmed like it was night, and two figures sat on either side of her.

Her hands told her the sheet was a different one, her eyes told her the room was a different one, hell even her memory was happy to recount what was more than likely a rescue. None of it was real, none of it was—

“Shelby?” One of the figures stirred. They got to their feet and took her hand, interlacing their fingers. “Hey.”

Reasonably, Shelby could deduct from the brown hair, brown eyes, tan skin, and dimpled smile that it was Toni. It could’ve been Becca wearing a mask, but it was likely Toni.

“Toni?” She asked, just to make sure.

“Yeah,” Toni said. “It’s me.” She smiled. “I missed you.”

“What’s happening?” Shelby asked.

“We got rescued, again,” Toni said. “The actual FBI came and fucked shit up. They got you but said you passed out from the stress, so we’re sitting in a hospital in California. Apparently we weren’t far.”

“California?” Shelby asked.

“Yeah,” Toni said. “By the bay actually. Near where Leah lives. I think.”

“Oh,” Shelby said. She tried to sort through her mind but it felt more cluttered than usual. “The others?”

“Leah had a similar thing, so she’s in a different room with Fatin keeping an eye. Rachel’s getting her hand looked at and Nora and Martha are with her. And Dot’s over there.”

Toni nodded at the other person in the room who chose that moment to stand up.

Dot asked her a question and Shelby tried to think of an answer. Toni was still holding her hand and with both of them in the room it was hard to remember which one to look at. Should she look at either? She should look at the person talking, that she remembered, but if neither were talking who was she supposed to look at?

“Shelby,” Toni squeezed her hand.

Shelby looked at her, “Yeah?”

“Dot asked you about your haircut,” Toni said.

Shelby had shaved it so the bugs that had woken her up wouldn’t get caught in it. She told the nurse it was a new look.

“Oh,” Shelby said. She kept her eyes on Toni. “You like it?”

Toni smiled. “Fuck yeah. It’s really you, you know?”

A heat rose to Shelby’s cheeks. It hadn’t been, before Toni said it, but there was a look in her eyes, and in an instant it was the truest thing there ever was. Toni was always able to see beneath the bullshit and—and she did look real in a way she never had with the haircut. She felt like she had nothing to hide. Not anymore.

“Yeah dude,” Dot added. “You look badass.”

“Thanks,” Shelby said. “How are—how are you two doing?”

“We’re okay,” Dot said. “Glad to see your ugly face again.”

“When you didn’t show up after the—after that stupid fucking plan—“ toni looked away. “I was worried.”

“Show up?” Toni asked.

“Yeah the—they let us all hang out, a week or so after Leah tried to escape,” Toni said. “They told us you were recovering but…”

“No it was just—it was just a punishment,” Shelby said. She tried to think. “Wait, what—what day is it?”

“November fifteenth,” Dot said. “You and Toni missed couples costumes for halloween.”

“Shut up,” Toni told her and “Shelby, are you okay?”

Oh, her fingernails had been digging into Toni’s hand. “Sorry.” She had been alone for months. Months.

Hadn’t been that bad, could barely remember it.

Difficulty forming new memories is an unfortunate side effect of solitary confinement.

Months of her life. Months.

Toni stood over her, saying something in garbled English. Shelby tried to focus on her, and decided it wasn’t quite worth it and that she’d prefer to pass out. She was tired from passing out earlier, anyway.

Toni didn’t let her, forcing her to breathe in and out, keeping her eyes focused and steady until the pounding of the ocean receding into the same dull pain she was used to preceding migraines.

Toni kissed her forehead, and her cheek is warm and damp from tears. She dragged a chair and settled beside Shelby, so they were on equal ground. Dot was no longer in the room, and Shelby tried to figure out if she left while Shelby was suffocating or after, and how long Shelby’d been dying with Toni trying to reteach her how to breathe.

They’d been separated for months, the two of them. Were they still—this was embarrassing right? Sobbing and dying in front of the girl you liked. Shelby was pretty sure they had said I love you but she was accounting for the months of separation.

“Nothing else is gonna happen,” Toni told her. She pressed a kiss to Shelby’s hand. “Fatin’s gonna buy us a big ass house with her one-percenter money, we’re gonna get our GEDs and maybe go to college, and we’re gonna sleep on a bed not made of sticks together. Every single night until we die.”

Shelby closed her eyes, nodding. “Hold me to it?”

“I won’t do anything else.”

#i'm so sorry i haven't even read this #gus answers #gus writes #the wilds fanfic #shoni #goodfoe fanfic #goodfoe

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kurts-still-here · 3 years ago

Text

What’s Love? Glee TOT Challenge FanFiction

@celery-elliry @useless-fanfictions @gleethisorthatchallenge

Hi everyone, this is my fourth fic for the Glee TOT Challenge and the prompt I choose was Platonic Love because I have way to many Kurt ships that I love but even if Kurt can't love all of them as a partner, he can love them as a friend :) Hope everyone enjoys and tells me what they thought of it etheir on here, A03 OR FanFiction.Net. Happy reading 🤗🤗😁😁

Archive Of Our Own

FanFiction.Net

Mercedes

“I’m gay,” Kurt admitted to Mercedes, tears in his eyes. She was the first person he had ever told and this was the first time he had ever admitted it out loud.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Mercedes asked sympathetically.

“Because I’ve... never told anyone actually,” Kurt shrugged.

“You shouldn't be ashamed of who you are, Kurt,” She told him, shaking her head. “You should just tell people. Especially the kids in glee. The whole point of the club is about expressing what’s really inside you. Remember?”

“I can’t,” Kurt said, ashamed of himself. “I’m just not that confident, I guess,”

He started to walk away from her with his head held high but then he turned around to look at her again.

“But I still love you Mercedes,” He told her, the tears streaming down his face. “You’re the first friend I’ve ever made as pathetic as that sounds. I just want you to know that,”

“Of course boo,” Mercedes smiled. “I love you too, I guess just a little bit more than you love me. But I’ll get over it,”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt apologized. “I shouldn't have lied to you. I’ve just had a lot of trouble… ya know… accepting it,”

“You don’t have to explain yourself or apologize Kurt,” Mercedes assured him. “You are who you are and you like who you like and I’m not mad at you at all for that. I’m glad you felt like you could tell me. Thank you,”

“Okay,” Kurt said quietly before turning around and walking away from her.

He had known he was different for a long time now and he had discovered he was gay not long after but he knew how the LGBT+ community was viewed in his community. It wasn’t approved of and he got enough harassment for his voice and choices of clothing, he couldn’t imagine what he would have to endure if he came out to the public. He just couldn’t do it yet. He was hoping that maybe one day people would be more accepting of gay people or that he would gather enough courage to not think of what they thought but he wasn’t there yet. He wasn’t necessarily ashamed of himself but he wasn’t proud either. He felt like a coward for hiding who he really was, especially from his dad. He was just scared of how his dad would react. He loved him so much and he didn’t want to ruin their relationship in the case that he wouldn’t accept him. He would do it eventually though because he didn’t want to hide the real him from the person he loved most in the world

Finn

Both boys were sitting in the basement on the couch watching a movie together. Finn had his arm wrapped around Kurt’s shoulder and they were snuggled close together. Finn’s behavior seemed a little weird to Kurt seeing that Finn usually avoided physical contact with him but he just brushed it off thinking that Finn was just trying to make up for the “faggy lamp incident”. Besides Kurt didn’t exactly hate the hug, it felt nice.

The credits started rolling on the movie and Finn turned to face Kurt.

“That was nice,” Finn said with a goofy smile on his face.

“Yeah it was,” Kurt smiled back. “Do you want to watch another one?”

“Sure,” Finn said, his expression changing to a pained look. “Wait though. Before we do I want to talk to you,”

“Okay. What is it?” Kurt asked. “I hope it’s nothing bad,”

“No no, nothing bad,” Finn said, getting nervous. At least I hope you don’t think it’s bad,”

“Well just tell me Finn,” Kurt encouraged him. “Chances are I won’t judge you,”

“Okay, here goes nothing,” Finn said. “I’m just going to come out and say this but… I think I’m gay,”

“Oh,” Kurt said, his eyes widening. “That’s great Finn. I’m glad you told me. So who’s the lucky guy?”

“Um… you?” Finn said, looking down at his hands.

“Me?” Kurt breathed.

“Yeah, I don’t know, it’s just I feel like I love anyone. Like I liked Quinn before the baygate thing because she was pretty and I like Rachel because she’s nice to me and because she’s pretty and then I like you because you’re really nice and you don’t think I’m stupid and you’re pretty cute but then I like Puck because he’s my bro and he has nice muscles and abs and… I don’t know… it’s frustrating,” Finn sighed, turning red.

“It sounds like you’re bisexual,” Kurt told him. “It means you're attracted to both genders,”

“Oh, so I’m not crazy,” Finn said to himself, making Kurt laugh. “I also like it when you laugh. I like it when you’re happy and I’m sorry about you’re lamp,”

“Finn, you don’t have to apologize to me again. I know you’re sorry,” Kurt assured him, still blushing from Finn’s comment.

“But I do,” Finn groaned, frustrated with himself. “I was a real douche and it wasn’t fair to you and I was just angry because I couldn’t accept myself like you can,”

“Well you’re accepting yourself now,” Kurt told him. “By telling me,”

“I guess so,” Finn shrugged. “But what do you think? About… me,”

“Oh,” Kurt said, his face turning from pink to white. “Finn you know I love you but I think it’s just… as a friend or as a brother,”

“Oh,” Finn said, tears coming to his eyes. “That’s fine,”

“Finn it’s not you trust me,” Kurt said, placing his hand on Finn’s arm. “Any guy or girl would be lucky to have you, including me. It’s just that I’m not that lucky guy. You’ll find someone better,”

“Nah I don’t think I will,” Finn said, quickly wiping his tears. “I mean I ruined things with Quinn and then with Rachel and I’m pretty sure Puck’s straight so you were kind of my last hope, not to make you feel bad. I think I should… I should just go,”

“Finn please don’t do this,” Kurt begged him as Finn stood up. “Let’s just talk about this, I don’t want you to be mad at me,”

“No I’m not mad Kurt,” Finn told him. “I just need some time to myself. But I’m sorry that I told you all of this. And I’m sorry you don’t love me back,”

“Finn you don’t have to apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Kurt said, wiping the tears that were now on his face too. “And I do love you, you’re my friend,”

“You know what I mean Kurt,” Finn said with a sad smile. “But it’s fine really, don’t worry about it. And thanks for clearing the bi thing up for me, it means a lot to me,”

“Your welcome,” Kurt whispered as Finn went up the stairs. He had just ruined a friendship that he really cherished but he would’ve ruined it even more if he told Finn that he loved him when he really didn’t. Sure there was the little crush that he had had on him a couple of months ago but it had faded and now he saw Finn as nothing more than a friend. He just didn’t know what love really felt like, what the difference between romantic love and platonic love really was. Yes he loved his dad and Carol and Mercdes and the rest of the glee club but as friends and family, not as partners. Love was complicated, it was messy and Kurt was still trying to come to terms with being gay and accepting himself, he wasn’t ready for a relationship yet.

Puck

The New Directions were over at the Hudmel house for a get together and Kurt was in the kitchen, gathering snacks for everyone when Puck walked with that smirk that he always wore on his face.

“Hey babe,” He said, looking down at Kurt's ass. “You need any help?”

“I’m good Noah,” Kurt said, annoyed. Was Puck so desperate now that he was flirting with boys? “And since when am I babe?”

“Since this,” Puck said before walking up to Kurt, taking him by surprise and kissing him hard on the lips. Kurt didn’t know what to do since Puck had a strong grip on him so he just stayed leaned back with Puck’s lips on his until Noah came back up for some air.

“So what did you think?” Puck asked, raising an eyebrow. “Did I blow you’re gay little mind?”

“Um… no?” Kurt said in a questioning tone. “I just… are you gay?”

“Yeah something like that,” Puck said, waving his hand in the air. “I think I like anything but I forget what it’s called,”

“You mean your pan, pansexual?” Kurt asked. “You don’t care about gender or gender identity. It actually makes a lot of sense,”

“Well anyway,” Puck interrupted, frowning. “Do you love me?”

“Noah, I'm not doing this right now,” Kurt said, shaking his head. It was Finn and Mercedes all over again. “We’re friends and that’s probably all we’ll ever be. I guess I could say I love you but as a friend, not as a lover. I’m not ready for a relationship yet,”

“But you had a crush on Finn?” Puck pointed out. “What gives?”

“Like you said, it was a crush that went away. And unlike you Finn was nice to me but I doubt I ever had romantic feelings for him in any way. I’ve already had this conversation with him,” Kurt explained.

“Wait so Finn’s gay too?” Puck asked. “I might have to tap that,”

“Actually you should, he likes you.” Kurt said. “Something about your muscles and abs,”

“But what do you think about my muscles and abs babe?” Puck asked with a mischievous smile. “Isn’t it hot?”

“Sure,” Kurt said sarcastically. “But like I said Noah, I’m flattered, I really am but the answer is no,”

“Fine then,” Puck huffed. “But trust me, I’m not going to give up so easily. One day you’ll be begging for me to take you and I’ll make you suffer and wait,”

“God do you always have to be so cheesy?” Kurt asked. “It makes me sick,”

“You know you love it Princess,” Puck yelled back at him as he walked back into the living room with everyone else.

“Yeah right,” Kurt said under his breath as he gathered up all the trays of food and brought them out to the living room. This was the third time now and if he hadn’t loved Finn in that way then he definitely didn’t love Puck in that. He sighed as he placed everything out on the table before rubbing his face with his hands in exhaustion.

“Are you okay Kurt?” Quinn asked him.

“I’m fine,” Kurt said, smiling at the group. Then he saw Puck’s smirk again and decided that he needed some space. “I just… forgot something upstairs in my room. I’ll be back,”

He left the room and walked upstairs before walking into his room and closing the door behind him, sinking down against the door. It shouldn’t bother him so much but it did. There were three people now that had “loved” and he didn’t love them back. It just made him wonder if he was ever going to find true love at all and if he was ever even going to know what love felt like.

Sam

“I love you,” Sam admitted and Kurt internally groaned. Not again.

“Sam,” Kurt started to say but Sam interrupted him, taking Kurt’s hands in his.

“Shh, don’t say anything and just let me explain,” Sam said but this time Kurt interpreted him.

“Sam, you’re my friend, god I say that a lot,” He added sarcastically. “But I’m not ready for a relationship right now. I love you platonically and that’s that. Please don’t make me feel even worse than I already do by trying to persuade me into going out with you. I’ve been through this plenty of times before,”

Sam looked down, ashamed and disappointed and now Kurt wished that he would say something instead of just looking defeated.

“Hey don’t be upset Sam please,” Kurt begged him. “It’s not you, you’re perfect and I’m really flattered but I’m still figuring things out for myself and it wouldn’t be fair to you to be with me when I not sure of anything,”

“No I get it,” Sam said, looking up at Kurt with tears in his eyes. God, why did they always have to cry?” “Really I do it’s just that you’re so nice and cute and I had the stupid idea that maybe you’d like me too but it’s stupid really. And I guess I’m not really sure about anything either. I don’t know what I am, if I’m bi or if I just like boys. It’s hard,”

“I know it is,” Kurt assured him, rubbing Sam’s back. “Trust me, I knew I was gay since I was six years old and I’m still trying to fully accept myself. But you aren’t alone Sam. I’m here if you ever want to talk and Finn and Puck seem like they have whatever’s going on with them figured out so you can talk to them too. We’re all here for you,”

“I know,” Sam said, smiling at Kurt and wiping his tears. “Thanks,”

“You’ll find someone,” Kurt told him, giving Sam a hug. “But just remember you come first,”

“Yeah, I will,” Sam told him, returning the hug.

Kurt told himself that what he told Sam also applied to him. He was going to figure out what love really felt like and he was going to find someone that loved him and someone who loved him back. He had to, he wanted to know the feeling. Now just wasn’t the right time and once again, he had to put himself first.

Blaine

“I love you,” Blaine said dreamily, staring at Kurt with his handsome eyes and making Kurt choke on his coffee a little. Why does this always happen to me?

Blaine still had his eyes on Kurt and was waiting for Kurt to respond with an “I love you too,” so Kurt was relieved when Mercedes and Sam walked in with one another making Blaine turn around.

“Oh hey, what are you guys doing here?” Blaine asked, having moved on from the previous discussion.

“I’m just getting a coffee,” Sam said, swaying back and forth on his feet.

“Yeah we ran into each other in the parking lot,” Mercedes added. ‘Hmm, sure you did,’ Kurt thought to himself he had noticed how smiley they were acting towards each other lately. They were in love and Kurt was happy for them, especially since they had both had a crush on him and now they had each other. At least Sam now knew that he was bi and they both had their love lives together. It was more than he could say for himself.

Blaine started talking about his summer plans with them while Kurt tried to figure out what he was going to say about Blaine’s “I love you,” when Mercedes and Sam walked away and Blaine turned his focus back onto Kurt.

“Hey cutie,” He smiled again.

“Umm. hi,” Kurt said nervously. “I’m really sorry Blaine but I just remembered that I promised my dad that I would help him… at the garage so we’re going to have to cut this coffee date short,”

“Oh yeah,” Blaine said, wearing a smile even though Kurt could tell he was disappointed. “That’s okay. A promise is a promise,”

“Yeah,” Kurt said, standing up and grabbing his cup and bag. “See you later,”

He then rushed out of the coffee shop and with his luck of course it was raining outside. He started crying. He liked Blaine, that’s why they were dating and he had spent so long pining after him and now he was going to ruin the good thing going on between them because he couldn’t say three simple words. I love you. Of course he could say them but he just didn’t want to lie. He didn’t want to say those words and then have it turn out that he didn’t love Blaine and ruin their friendship. He loved Blaine but… once again, maybe it was just platonic. And maybe he just wasn’t meant to love anyone.

Elliot

“I love you,” Kurt found himself saying to Elliot once they reached his apartment. They had been really good friends for a while now and Elliot had just taken him out on their first date to a nice restaurant.

“Like as a friend or as more?” Elliot asked, obviously joking with a smile on his face. Elliot knew how Kurt had felt about love and partners in the past and had been patient with him even though he loved Kurt romantically.

“I think… as more,” Kurt confessed. “I’m really nervous and have a weird feeling in my stomach, not like I’m sick or anything but...I think I love you Elliot. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before and for once...I think I honestly know exactly how I feel about someone,”

They paused for a moment, Kurt with tears of joy in his eyes before Elliot leant in and kissed Kurt. And Kurt had only been kissed twice before, once by Puck and once by Blaine but when he kissed Elliot he felt a spark of energy between them and he knew he loved him, the feeling was confirmed.

When they pulled away from each other, they held each other’s hands and Kurt had never been happier in his life before. He had spent a huge part of his life worrying that he would never find someone who felt the same way as he did, who he loved and here he was, he had finally found Elliot. It all felt amazing.

#glee #glee fanfiction #kurt hummel #elliot starchild gilbert #kelliot

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iamkidfish · 4 years ago

Note

Would you be at all interested in writing a prompt based off a quote? I've been reading On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous and got destroyed by the line "sometimes being offered tenderness feels like the very proof that you’ve been ruined". I feel like it's a line that works for both Leah and Fatin, and I would love to read your interpretation of it!

have a little angst this morning

Read on ao3!

It shouldn’t be a big deal. 50 days on the island. 50 days of fighting for their lives against the elements, against each other, against themselves.

It shouldn’t be a big deal, except it is.

50 days pass for eight girls barely surviving on an island when there should be nine.

There’s a choked sob, like someone is trying to muffle the sound, and then another and Leah wakes to the sound of Fatin crying. It surprises her more than it should, Fatin crying. She hasn’t seen Fatin cry, not at school, not on the first day, not when Fatin held Leah in her arms on the beach, not even after Nora pulled Rachel’s unconscious body from the ocean, her bloodied arm looking like it got sent through a wood chipper.

She turns over, trying to look for Fatin’s body by the shine of the moonlight. As the weeks went by, they all started sleeping closer and closer together, kind of like a group of seals on a dock, so it’s impossible to discern Fatin from the others. Shelby’s blonde hair catches Leah’s eye and she focuses in, noticing how Shelby’s left hand is gently curled around the inside of Toni’s elbow. Leah smiles, in spite of herself.

Past Shelby, Martha and Dot are curled together, with Dot lying on her back, mouth open, and Martha tucked into her side. Near them, Nora and Rachel are wrapped up so tightly Leah can’t really determine who’s body is who’s. They’ve slept like that ever since the accident and every time Leah looks at Rachel her eyes can’t help but slide down her arm to what’s left of her wrist. It’s mostly a mangled stump, but considering the limited supplies, it looks at least stable. Rachel’s been highly medicated most everyday and every few hours Dot pours their quickly depleting supply of vodka on it.

A noise behind her makes Leah turn around. She maneuvers around their campsite, the best she can in the dark, stepping over water bottles, pieces of driftwood, even Martha’s suitcase, before she reaches Fatin.

She’s curled tightly, more like a ball than the fetal position, and away from Leah so she can’t see her face. It’s not particularly cold out, but Fatin’s shaking.

Leah drops to her knees, hands hovering over Fatin’s side, unsure if she can touch, then switches direction to lie behind Fatin. She tries to ignore the butterflies in her stomach, the ones that have been there since around day 29, as they try to flutter awake. For a second, Leah pauses before wrapping her arms around Fatin. The other girl doesn’t protest at the contact, but she also doesn’t acknowledge or lean into it, just continues shivering.

It’s hard but she tries not to notice how well their bodies fit together. They’ve slept close together before (Fatin actually has been insistent about Leah sleeping near her ever since “Leah’s second Virginia Woolf moment” as Rachel dubbed it accordingly), but never this close, with her front pressed up against Fatin’s back. They’re basically spooning.

As if she heard Leah’s thoughts, Fatin mumbles, “I’m the little spoon. God, how embarrassing.”

She lets out a pained laugh and Leah freezes. She wasn’t expecting for Fatin to react, let directly acknowledge what’s happening.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t spooned someone before, Rilke,” Fatin’s voice cracks but still manages to have her signature teasing lilt.

“Of course I have,” Leah says into Fatin’s shoulder, her face heating up against her will. Thank God, Fatin isn’t looking at her.

“Well then you know you have to commit,” Fatin says, moving Leah’s arm so it’s curled against Fatin’s stomach. Leah counts to 100 by 7’s twice to resist the urge of flexing her fingers against Fatin’s skin. Not the time.

Her brain blurts out the first thing she thinks of, “Ironic, how you’re talking to me about commitment.”

(Smooth Leah, real smooth)

Fatin doesn’t respond to her stupid ass comment, doesn’t talk for a long time. She is not crying as much, at least not that Leah can hear, the tears could still be falling down her face silently, she reminds herself.

“You know, my dad didn’t let me say goodbye to my brothers,” Fatin finally says. “At the airport. Didn’t even let them come, they had to stay home with my mom. He said they had ‘too much homework’ which was bullshit. School was almost over by the end of May. I knew he just didn’t want me to see them and now…”

Fatin takes a shuddering breath and dissolves into fresh sobs.

“It’s been fifty days and...and I don’t know if I’m ever going to see them again,” she hiccups.

“Fatin you don’t…” but the reassurance dies in Leah’s throat. After fifty days, dying on the island seems like a very real possibility, as real of a possibility when Leah was losing her mind over the realization and tried to run into the ocean a month ago, maybe even more so now, with their collective fear growing each day about how purposeful everything feels, how a group of (seemingly) random strangers arbitrarily came to be stuck on an island, depending on each other. The day they saw the plane fly over doesn’t even register in Leah’s mind as significant anymore, just another circumstance on her list proving that something is fucking wrong.

It hits her, Leah’s bad at this. Being there for someone, let alone comforting them. It feels alien to her, as much as her cell phone or Ian, a thousand miles away, desperately insignificant to her, to what’s on this island. Honestly, she can’t remember the last time she’s touched someone like this before the island, especially someone she cares about. Leah was never a particularly touchy kid but after him, when she started to flinch at her mother’s touch or shunned away from her father’s hugs, her tolerance for physical contact plummeted, pretty much becoming nonexistent.

The feeling rises from her chest into her throat like bile and Leah becomes acutely aware of how her body is positioned, how she’s holding Fatin, just like how he held her: from behind, chin tucked into shoulder, arms snaking around her waist. She always found it comforting but now, in the haze of the memory, she wonders if he did that to keep her in place, to hold her down. Leah stiffens, she can’t help it, as the pressing, suffocating feeling settles again over her body.

But Fatin isn’t him, and neither is she. Leah knows that, knows it in the way Fatin’s hair smells like pears and sand and salt, knows it in the spaces that she's hesitant and timid, Fatin is unselfishly bold, knows it by the way Fatin’s fingers never rest, even now tapping out a slow melody on her arm, knows it because Fatin’s been there for her since the plane crash (well, close enough), holding her and crying with her, and a tiny, persistent voice in the back of Leah’s head whispers loving—

Still, Leah gently extracts her hands from around Fatin’s waist and tugs on her shoulders until Fatin is turning over to face her.

“You will. We will get back home, we have to.”

Maybe it’s the darkness that makes her bold, but Leah leans forward, just enough, to brush her lips against Fatin’s forehead. She tries to ignore the hitch in her chest or the memory of Fatin doing the same to her after she ran into the ocean, thinking Leah was still knocked out from the pills instead of just dozing.

“You probably just got sand in your mouth, dummy,” the weight of the insult is weakened by the way Fatin’s voice breaks.

“I don’t care,” and Leah doesn’t. She has more important things to think/worry about than a few grains of sand, like keeping everyone she knows alive, keeping herself mostly sane, and not screwing up and saying something incredibly stupid in front of this girl she’s holding in her arms.

Fatin sucks in a breath and maybe, just maybe, thanks to the light from the full moon above them, Leah sees Fatin’s lips quiver. It takes her a second to look back up at Fatin and the other girl is already looking at her, the air thick with tension, thick with an unspoken something.

Leah’s nose tickles as Fatin nudges it ever so slightly with her own. It feels like an invitation and maybe in another life without deserted islands and broken girls Leah would understand and kiss Fatin until they’re both breathless, but she looks at Fatin again, still with tears on her face, and wonders if Fatin expects it because that’s all she’s ever known: people using her body for their own motivations. And it’s not that Leah doesn’t want to kiss her, because God, she does, but she wants to do it right, and wants it to last this time.

She leans in because she can’t completely resist the hedonistic (self-destructive) pull in her stomach, the curiosity of how Fatin’s skin feels against her lips, and presses her lips into the corner of Fatin’s cheek, just close enough to her mouth to say I want this too, but not now. Leah knows she’s lingering, but the mix of perfume and salt is almost addictive and it just feels so fucking good to touch someone, knowing Fatin won’t break. (Is it because they’re both broken already, who knows?)

Leah pulls back and Fatin’s looking at her with more tears streaking silently down her cheeks, but Leah’s pretty sure she understands.

She wipes a tear from the side of Fatin’s eye and maybe, she thinks for a moment Fatin is going to make a comment about messing up her mascara, but then thinks better of it, because this moment, where they’re both staring into each others eyes under the moonlight on an empty beach feels too heavy for any words.

Instead, Fatin just tucks her face into the crook in Leah’s collarbone and shudders and shakes with silently sobs, but Leah holds her, all through the night, even when she’s too exhausted to open her eyes anymore, and falls asleep too.

Thankfully, when Dot finds them in the morning still curled into each other, she waits until they walk back to camp with the others before nodding and passing a water bottle to Fatin.

#the wilds #the wilds!fic #leah rilke #fatin jadmani #leah x fatin #leatin #leatin fic #leatin breakdown hours #my brain decided to finally finish this prompt and i absolutely love it <33 #whoever sent this in thank YOU i'm sorry it's like a month late #the void

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freedom-of-writing · 4 years ago

Text

Life turned her that way

Just a nice heart to heart between Nicole and Wynonna taking place after the intervention at the beginning of episode 4x10

“Do you want me to stay?”

“No, you have to go.”

Nicole leaves the house with a heavy heart. Today’s her first day back as sheriff. She didn’t think she had it in her to walk in those shoes again. In the past, her uniform had always made her feel strong and in control, but for 18 months all she could feel was alone, and completely lost. Wynonna went into the Garden to save Waverly, and Doc, while she had to go home, alone and broken. Literally broken. And, yes, it’s true, she wasn’t actually alone, Rachel was with her. But half her family was gone. And then Black Badge showed up, Nedley disappeared, and Jeremy went MIA. Little by little, she’d lost everything: her job, her dignity, her hope. Her heart. Waverly Earp was her heart, and she was beginning to fear she’d lost her forever. At last, she was so afraid of losing Rachel as well that she put all her strength into protecting her, to the point that it was consuming her. Growing up she had always been a loner. She was used to being independent, but here in Purgatory she had finally found a team to work and fight with. And yet in that moment, she was all alone against the world. Again. She had nobody to talk to about the darkness inside her, because Rachel was still just a kid, who’d gone through a lot herself, and she didn’t want her to deal with her own shit as well. In the end, she was so blinded by fear and despair that she couldn’t even see it was Nedley she’d been haunting for so long. And she even traded Doc to the Clantons to get Waverly back. She knew he would’ve been able to take care of himself, he always does, but still. If she weren’t so desperate, she would’ve looked for some more options for sure. She’s not the type to betray her friends and family like that. But 18 months is a long time to be alone. And she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t sleep anymore. She could barely live. The only thing keeping her going was Rachel. That kid was the only reason to get out of bed every morning, and not let herself slip away.

Nicole is about to get into her car to go to the station, when she hears some noises coming from the barn. For a second she tells herself that Wynonna needs time, and she should just leave her alone. But then a voice inside her head makes her change her mind. You might lose her again, and you didn’t even try. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she walks to the barn door, and knocks lightly calling for her friend.

“Wynonna…”

“Get back to your perfect life, Haught!” A voice answers from the inside in a very harsh tone.

Nicole ignores it, and lets herself in. Screw time, she is not going to risk losing her best friend again, not when she can try and save her. Once she’s in, she finds Wynonna sitting on her bed and playing with a bullet in her hands.

“Perfect… if you really think my life is perfect, then you don’t know me at all.”

“What do you want from me, huh?” Wynonna tries to sound annoyed, but the emotion in her voice makes her sound more broken than anything. “I thought me storming out was a clear sign of ‘intervention’s over’.”

“Wynonna, we’re just worried about you...”

“Well, you can stop worrying now because I’m fine.” The small crack in her voice made her sound all but convincing.

“Sure you are…” Nicole says with a scoff as she moves to sit on the bed next to Wynonna.

“Can you just leave, please?” Wynonna begs in the smallest of voices as tears come streaming down her face.

Nicole looks at her for a moment, and then she turns to stare at somewhere in front of her. She takes a deep breath, gathering the strength to say what she’s about to say. It’s a secret she’s been keeping from everybody, even Waverly. But maybe talking about it could help both her and Wynonna. Ignoring her friend’s request, she starts speaking.

“I wake up every day in the middle of the night and have to check on Waverly and Rachel to see if they’re still with me. I even check on you most nights.” She pauses a second, waiting for Wynonna’s reaction. She expected her to say something mean, or to tell her to leave again, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t need to turn towards her to see that her words have gotten Wynonna’s attention, and she’s now looking at her. Taking that as an invitation to continue, she takes a deep breath and she resumes her tale. “One night it was 4am and you weren’t in your bed… I panicked so bad I couldn’t breathe. Then I looked better and saw you were passed out on the floor in a corner of the barn. I didn’t want to wake you, so I got the blanket from your bed to cover you up, and then, I put the pillow under your head. The truth is, you were so out of it, I don’t think a bomb could’ve waken you. But my heart was racing so bad, my hands were shaking, and it was still hard for me to breathe. So I left you there on the floor, and went back to sleep. Well, to bed. I forced myself to stay awake. I just didn’t want to see it again.” Nicole’s voice is so small and broken when she says that last part.

Wynonna doesn’t need to see the look in her eyes to know Nicole’s lost somewhere in her mind. And by the sound of her voice, it must be a really dark place that she’s in. All of a sudden, a rush of worry hits her, because she’s never seen Nicole like this. Not even when she was vomiting frogs all over the place.

“How bad is Nicole?”

“She was alone for a really long time.”

As she recalls Rachel’s words, her attention moves from Nicole’s face down to her hand on her thigh. It’s curled up in a fist, and her nails are digging hard into the flesh of her palm. As gently as she can, Wynonna slips her hand under her friend’s forcing her own fingers into the fist. She waits for Nicole to let go of the tight grip, and when she does she clasps her hand giving it a reassuring squeeze. She would like to say something to bring her friend back to reality, but she doesn’t know what to say. She has absolutely no idea what is happening inside her head, or what she meant when she said she didn’t want to see it again. But at least the touch seems to have worked because she can feel Nicole squeezing back lightly. Wynonna doesn’t push her to continue, she just waits for her to be ready to speak again. At last, with a deep breath, Nicole goes on with her story.

“I have the same nightmare every night... I’m at the homestead, it’s morning and I’m making breakfast. I go upstairs to wake Rachel up, but she’s not in her room. So I start calling out for her, but I get no answer. I start panicking as I look for her in every room of the house. But I can’t find her anywhere. She’s not there. It’s just me. I’m alone. By then, I can hardly breathe, but I still take the shotgun and start looking for her outside. I don’t know where I’m going. My eyes are blurred with tears, and my lungs are burning, but I keep running, and calling... And then suddenly I’m on Dolls’s grave. I take a step back in confusion, and I see there are other tombstones next to his. I start reading the names: you, Doc, Jeremy, Nedley... I’m afraid to look but there’s two more. Rachel... and Waverly. Then a voice comes out of nowhere: They’re all dead because you were too weak to even try to save them. They trusted you, and you did nothing to protect them. You deserve to be alone. You were never worthy of their love. I turn to see where it’s coming from, but... all I see are the ghosts of the people I love. But when I take a step towards you, you all disappear. All but Waverly. She stands there, looking at me with tears in her eyes. Why? I thought you loved me... So why didn’t you fight? She asks, and then she’s gone too.” Nicole becomes suddenly aware of the wetness on her cheeks.

“Nicole...” Wynonna tries to call her back to reality. She can hear her ragged breathing as she’s struggling to get air into her lungs. She’s never seen Nicole so broken before, and it is scaring her. She doesn’t know what to do, how to help, she’s usually the broken one.

“You’re all dead because of me...” Nicole’s voice is barely above a whisper, but Wynonna hears it loud and clear, and those words break her heart.

That’s it. She has to bring her back. She can’t take seeing her best friend like this anymore. Without letting go of Nicole’s hand, she falls onto her knees in front of her. Then she brings her free hand up to her chin to tilt her head up gently.

“Nicole, hey, look at me.” Nothing.

“Haught!” She screams this time, and at last, Nicole snaps out of it. “We’re not dead. Do you hear me? No one. Is dead.” She says staring straight into Nicole’s eyes, which are completely welled up in tears.

As gently as she can, she brushes her thumb onto her cheeks to wipe away the tears that keep streaming down her face. She can feel the tears forming in her eyes as well, but she doesn’t let them fall. She can’t cry now. Nicole needs her to be strong.

“We’re here.” Wynonna says grabbing both of Nicole’s hands and giving them a squeeze. She hopes the touch will further prove her words. “I’m here.”

She takes a sigh of relief when she sees Nicole’s eyes starting to focus on hers. She’s back.

“You can breathe now.”

And with that, Nicole slumps forward into Wynonna’s arms, sobbing hard in the crook of her neck. Everything she’s been holding back in the past 18 months, the pain, the loss, the fear, the despair... all that she’s been hiding from both Waverly and Rachel has finally come to the surface. And it’s the strangest feeling ever, because for the first time in so long, she can actually breathe again, even if the sobs are wrecking and chocking her.

“I’m here. We’re all here.” Wynonna says over and over in her ear in an attempt to calm her down.

And it is in that moment, as she holds a broken Nicole in her arms, that Wynonna makes a promise to herself and to her friends: no matter how hard it is, she will overcome this darkness inside her and she will start to take care of herself, because her family is worth staying for.

“We’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

#Wynonna Earp #nicole haught #wynhaught #wynaught #fan fiction #fanfic #angst #4x10

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a-hundred-jewels · 3 years ago

Text

cruel summer ch 12: i have these lucid dreams

Ao3 Wattpad

Summary: sabrina starr, pegasuses, and oh no! the fourth wall broke! do we have a carpenter in the audience?

Word Count: 9000 ish

Tags: Rachel Elizabeth Dare/Jane Penderwick, Rosalind Penderwick/Tommy Geiger, Nico di Angelo/Will Solace, Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Jane Penderwick, Rachel Elizabeth Dare, Rosalind Penderwick, Skye Penderwick, Chiron (Percy Jackson), Martin Penderwick, Elizabeth "Batty" Penderwick, Elizabeth Penderwick (senior), Iantha Aaronson-Penderwick, Ben Aaronson-Penderwick, Nico di Angelo, Will Solace, Annabeth Chase, Jeffrey Tifton-McGrath, Percy Jackson, Demeter (Percy Jackson), Apollo (Percy Jackson), Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), Camp Half-Blood AU, Demigods, demeter!elizabeth penderwick, demeter!rosalind (second generation), demeter!batty (second generation), apollo!alec mcgrath, apollo!jeffrey (second generation), demeter!jane (second generation), demeter!skye (second generation), all of that's in no particular order, main focus is on jane because i love her and she's so so fun to write, tomsalind is there (and stuff will happen - i can't really say what, it will really be eventful though), yes of course there's solangelo, takes place right before Penderwicks In Spring, After Trials of Apollo, more tags to come??, Minor Swearing

Notes and Full Chapter below cut:

Hello everyone and welcome back! I'll admit, this is a little later today than I'd been planning to post (was hoping to get an early start), but hey! If the Puppet History season 4 finale can be late, then so can I!

First off, a massive massive thank you to waterbottle_stickers for being the best beta reader ever. This chapter would be a mess without you. Also, if you haven't already, please check out their enola holmes fic wherever you stray, i follow it's truly wonderful.

If you've been following me on tumblr, then you'll know that, in addition to reblogging an alarming quantity of good omens fanart, I've been making some plans for fics this month. The original plan from back in august was to post every day of the month, but... ahhh.... I just don't work that fast lmao. I'll have to be content with just posting a fair amount this month. Happy october! Anyway, stay tuned.

On this fine day, we've got two lovely QUEER fanfic recommendations that I'm very excited to share. Up first is one from the tumblr blog izzielizzie (which you should all absolutely check out! especially if you're into the one of us is lying fandom!). it centers around the skye/melissa pairing and their senior prom, which Skye is said to have only gone to last minute, and also wearing a lab coat, in a passage of the penderwicks at last. featuring some oblivious lesbians and also jane. once again a massive thanks to izzielizzie, as this fic is one of my favourites!. click here to take a look! (also keep an eye on her blog in general bc her penderwicks fics are awesome!)

The second fanfic is also one I'm very fond of, as it focuses on the siblinghood of skye and jane, which is one of my favourite topics on earth. check out rolling down the ancient high street by hanchewie/ramblemadlyon (tumblr and ao3 respectively) for the sibling antics of aroace skye and bisexual jane when the latter visits the former at her college in california! and, if you like it, ramblemadlyon has two other penderwicks fics from the past couple days that look fantastic as well, and that I look forward to reading.

This chapter is dedicated to my therapist, since I've decided this will be the month of oddly specific dedications. thank you for telling me to stop referring to cruel summer as my "trash baby" and help me recognize the true worth that it holds in my life.

Disclaimer: not my characters, you know the drill. Jeanne Birdsall and Rick Riordan are lucky ducks indeed. chapter title is (obviously) from "lucid dreams" by Juice WRLD.

FROM THE POV OF JANE PENDERWICK

The woods loomed around me, seeming as tall as buildings as they invited me in further. I took another step, the sharp pain of a pinecone digging into my foot barely registered in my mind. I kept walking. A crack sounded throughout the air, and, behind me, a tree splintered round its base and fell down, only inches away from crushing me dead, and completely blocking the path out.

Frightened, I began to run, looking for a way out of the forest. But no matter which way I went, there were only trees in front of me. Where was the path? Where was the grassy hill I had walked down to get in here in the first place. Had I even walked down that hill to begin with? Now that I thought about it, I wasn’t sure I remembered coming here. I wasn’t sure I remembered waking up this morning, or going to bed last night, or anything besides existing in the forest. Who was I? What was I doing here? How could I get out?

Panicking, I stood in the middle of a clearing, looking frantically at the trees around me, trying to find something familiar. Nothing. I was exhausted. How long had I been here? An hour? A day? A lifetime? I collapsed at the base of a tree, sobbing as I tried to remember. Something. Anything.

Then, a voice echoed around me. “Welcome,” it said, and my mind went black.

I bolt upright in bed, a scream halfway out of my throat. I clamp it back, not wanting to wake my cabinmates. Thin light whimpers through the window--enough for me to see my white-knuckle grip on the sheets, but not enough to pass as daylight.

What time is it?

Our cell phones don’t really work here--that was one of the first things Miranda told us when we arrived, and Batty’s been gleefully lording it over us that her Mp3 player will still play music and, like, function, while our smart phones recline sadly in our duffel bags. That being said, I don’t feel quite brave enough to get out of my bed just yet and tiptoe over to the big analog clock that Rio bought at a pawn shop in Colorado. Maybe my phone will at least show the time.

I reach under my bed and fumble for my duffel, hooking my pinky through the zipper loop and yanking it out onto my floor. My phone’s in the front pocket, buried under two pairs of headphones, several gum wrappers, and some strawberry leaves (?????). A piece of gum peels off the screen as I disentangle my phone, and I mentally chide my past self for being so messy.

My phone does not turn on. Big clock it is.

I tiptoe across the cold tile and peer around the tree.

5:45 .

Jesus Pagan Christ.

It’s too early to wake anyone up (as I think this, Batty lets out a snore to rival any crabby Tyrannosaurus Rex), so I wrap a blanket around myself like a criminally attractive burrito, and creep out onto the porch, with my notebook and pen tucked into my shirt.

As long as I live, I will never get tired of summer mornings. There’s something deeply lovely about the soft light of the still-sleepy, pink lemonade sun, the quiet anticipation of the cool air, damp from dew and preparing for the upcoming heat. At home in Cameron, Skye’s woken me up many an early morning to go for a run or do soccer drills or for a grueling “Seven Minute Workout Except You Don’t Follow The Rules And Torture Your Sister by Making It Actually A Forty-Nine Minute Workout.” (But it’s okay, I’m not bitter). But, as delightful as those experiences have all been, I don’t think Skye really gets it. The beauty of the summer morning is not what it can do for your workout schedule, but rather in its gentle softening of an otherwise boiling day. It is to be appreciated in the way that I am now, sitting curled up on this frighteningly creaky porch (I mean, seriously, who built this?) and calling up the Sabrina Starr section of my brain to try and write away the residual panic from my nightmare.

Sabrina sighed as the plane took off. She wasn’t sure if she should have followed the voice in her head telling her to come here. Saying it out loud--even just thinking it--made it sound ridiculous. A dream, a voice in her mind. Barely more than a whim.

Worse than that, Sabrina wasn’t even sure where this whim was taking her. On a napkin in her pocket, she’d scrawled everything she remembered about the dream from the night before. The dark sky, lit only with spiderwebs of lightning, the shadowy figure huddled on a beach and soaked through with rain. The voice crying for help.

And a name. Aeaea.

After she’d woken up, Sabrina had looked up Aeaea, too tired to fully connect why the name felt familiar. Her heart had sunk further after reading the Wikipedia entry, and a breath of hopelessness had left her lips. According to the internet, Aeaea was not a real place. It had been the island prison of Circe. Fiction wasn’t new to Sabrina, and neither was mythology (she recalled an adventure spent with a ghost called Rainbow from a few years back).

Fictional places, though, were another matter. How could she get somewhere if she didn’t know where she was going? Was she trusting her gut with too much this time?

Sabrina folded up the napkin and put it back in her pocket. There was no point in worrying about that now. She’d looked at enough maps to make a guess at where Aeaea might be if it was real. When she got there, she could get more information. Sabrina Starr had survived this long in her career of rescues and whims. She could survive one more adventure. Worst case scenario, she said to herself, I spend a few days running around for nothing and have to brush up on my Greek.

She repeated it to herself like a promise. Worst case scenario, worst case scenario… Eventually, tired out from all her anxieties, and from trying desperately not to worry about what would come next, Sabrina fell asleep.

FROM THE POV OF RACHEL ELIZABETH DARE

“Okay, I give up. Tell me what’s wrong.” Annabeth’s voice startles me away from my plate of eggs, which I had been pushing around with a fork. Anxiety bubbles in my throat, just as it had been since I woke up, and food just doesn’t sound like a good idea.

“I--what?”

Annabeth waves her hand impatiently. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve been talking to you for five minutes and I don’t think you’ve looked up once. Also you’re always hungry in the mornings, so unless you, like, ate an entire cow before I got here, this ,” she gestures to my uneaten eggs, “is unusual behaviour.”

I give her a look. Sometimes, I get the feeling that Annabeth exists as a part of multiple different dimensions at once, like she’s having four other conversations that I can’t hear, and is still ten steps ahead of me in the one I’m actually a part of.

Or maybe I’m just easy to read.

“Nothing’s wrong.” I don’t want to talk about it. “I’m fine.” I’m terrified.

Annabeth sighs. “Is this about the prophecy?”

“No,” I spear another piece of egg, and don’t eat it. “Maybe. Yes.” I feel like going back to my cave and staying there for the rest of my life. Waiting with a book and some paints for the prophecy to get bored and go away. Maybe I’d take Jane with me, or Nico, for some company. That sounds nice.

My plate is pulled away from me as I aim my fork again. “I can’t pay attention when you do that,” Annabeth huffs. I think I wouldn’t invite her to stay in my cave. She’s too on the nose when I want to mope. Then again, she says the same about me.

“Fine,” I turn and face her. “Let’s talk feelings.” Connor Stoll, who had been making his way towards our table, abruptly turns around and walks the other way. I should get Chiron to hire a therapist. Gods know we need it.

Further proving my point, Annabeth’s eyes widen a little, before she remembers it is I who will be spilling. (I make a point to corner her later. It’s a routine we have). “Wow. You broke fast.”

I nod. “I’m tired and you’re annoying.” (False. We both know it. Another routine). “Like you said, I’m nervous about the prophecy.”

Annabeth nods. “And?”

I frown. “What do you mean, and ? There’s no and.”

Annabeth frowns back at me. A mirror, a mime, an annoyance. The nerve to look disappointed in me. “I thought you were spilling, Red.”

I roll my head back and study the roof of the pavilion, which Annabeth designed, and slowly lean my head down to stare at the table. I really don’t want to have this conversation. I go along anyways. “I’m worried about Jane.”

Annabeth leans back, triumphant. “Ah, yes. Your girlfriend.”

Maybe if I try reeeeeeeally hard, I can activate the Oracle of Delphi and freak Annabeth out enough to make her go away. “ Not my girlfriend. You know that.”

“You called Percy my boyfriend for weeks before we actually officially decided.”

I wave my hand dissmissively. “That’s different, you guys were dancing around each other for like three years. You needed a bit of a push. Jane and I kissed once! Over a week ago! And nothing came of it.” We actually haven’t really talked about it. We’re in this sort of in-between zone where we spend a ton of time together, but don’t have a label for it. Honestly, it’s been nice.

Annabeth grins, apparently reading my thoughts. “You’ve been eating lunch with the Demeter cabin, like, every other day. I saw you doing archery together yesterday. Both of you were awful at it, but you stayed there for hours. I’ve never seen you focus on something that long outside of your paintings.”

I stare at the ceiling again. Maybe Annabeth designed it so that a single square foot of rock might fall down onto my head and relieve me from this conversation. “Yes, fine, we spend a lot of time together. But that doesn’t make us a couple, and has nothing to do with what I’m actually worried about!” I can see in her face that Annabeth is more serious now, and is about to fully listen to me, when Percy and Malcolm show up, sliding into the seats across from us, and clanging several plates of pancakes down onto the table in front of them.

“Made them ourselves! Wanna share?” Percy gives Annabeth heart eyes and a kiss on the cheek when she folds a large blue pancake into thirds and bites it like a burrito. I roll my eyes at them because they are a horrifying and disgusting couple and also I kind of want to be them when I grow up. Malcolm ignores them, instead turning to me. “Were you talking about Jane?” he asks, pushing wire rimmed glasses up his nose.

I frown. “Sort of. Why?”

He shrugs, sheepish. “You know. Just, uh, just wondering.”

I narrow my eyes at him, then Percy, who tears himself away from looking at Annabeth to sigh dramatically. “Malcolm wants to ask out Jane’s sister. You know, the blond one.”

I snort. “ Skye? Seriously?”

Malcolm looks vaguely offended. “What’s so weird about that?”

“Sorry, it’s not weird.” I reach over the table to pat him on the shoulder with my fork. “Perfectly normal teenage hormones.” He glares at me and I smile sweetly back. “I just can’t imagine Skye going out with anyone, that’s all.”

Malcolm stares down at his pancake, disappointed. “Oh. You sure?”

I nod, feeling a little more normal with my friends and less doom-related breakfast conversation. My eggs are past the threshold of “warm and appetizing” but I take a bite anyway. “Pretty sure. Jane told me that she’s aroace and, based on past occurrences, there’s a seventy percent chance she’ll punch anyone who asks her out. Anyway, why the interest? I didn’t know you guys talked.”

Malcolm shrugs. “We don’t, really. She just seems cool.”

Percy pipes in, “He’s been practically obsessed with her since she won that soccer game against the Nike kids and made them cry.”

I nod approvingly. “Well, Malcolm, at least we know you have good taste.”

Annabeth pats him on the head, ignoring his complaints that her hand is covered in blue maple syrup. “Better luck next time, brother of mine.”

Piper and Leo join us next, contributing an alarming volume of grapes and a single hardboiled egg to the breakfast display. Leo grabs a pancake and wraps it around some grapes, before taking a big bite. “I hear you’re discussing Malcolm’s romantic failures,” he says around the world’s worst breakfast burrito. Piper gasps in mock offense, then swallows the unpeeled hardboiled egg whole, like a snake. (This is a regular morning routine. She’s trying to work up to being a sword swallower, since her dad did it in a movie once and she thought it looked like fun). “ Malcolm, why didn’t you come to me? I could have given you a verdict within five minutes!”

“I wanted advice on whether I should ask out that Heaphestus boy two weeks ago and you told me to fuck off.”

Piper pouts at him. “That’s on you, you caught me at a bad time.”

Annabeth holds up a pancake with the air of a respected royal and we turn to her. “As delightful as this is, Rachel and I were initially talking about her romantic prospects and also her worries and fears, and I feel that we should get back to that before she slinks off and avoids the rest of the conversation.”

I glare at her. “Why would you bring this away from the very nice conversation we were having about everyone else’s problems? Do you hate me?” Annabeth rolls her eyes. “No, dumbass, I’m just not letting you walk away from a potential breakthrough. Now, where were we? You were saying that you’re worried about Jane but it has nothing whatsoever to do with your relationship, or lack thereof.”

I give a long suffering sigh, and try to communicate telepathically with Piper that she needs to Save Me Now, but she’s looking at me in interest with her chin resting in her hands, her long fingers adorned with rings sent to her from her Mortal girlfriend, Shel, who bought them at a vintage punk store. The traitor. Defeated, I turn back to Annabeth.

“It’s just that, whatever ends up happening with this prophecy, I don’t want it to fuck her up, in the way the quests have sometimes done to us. Like, we’re used to this by now, but it hasn’t been a smooth road. I don’t exactly like going on quests, and at first I was really worried at the prospect of being included in a prophecy, since that’s fairly abnormal, but Jane was only made aware of her heritage a couple months ago! What if this turns out like Silena or Beckendorf or-or Jason, and the prophecy destroys her, and it’s all my fault because I’m the one who pulled her into all this?”

Everyone tenses up at the mention of Jason, but they continue to look at me with a mixture of concern and love that makes something soften inside of me. For the hundredth time, I think of how lucky I am to have these people who love me unconditionally. Even if they really, really need therapy.

“I know that I didn’t plan any of this, but we’re both tied in now, especially since both Chiron and I had the prophetic dream and I actually gave the prophecy that day in the woods, and, well, this isn’t her world yet. She’s only got a little bit of ichor in her, and she grew up knowing nothing of any of this. In a way, I did too, and I have no ichor, but I had clear sight. For me, it was ineffable, but she could technically leave any time, if it weren’t for the prophecy. She can leave, and I feel like it’s up to me to make sure that doesn’t change.”

“Oh, Rachel.” Annabeth reaches her arms out to me and I let myself be pulled into an embrace. “Jane’s going to be okay. We’ll make sure of it.”

Sabrina stood in line at the boat rental hut, her arms crossed and a frown plastered on her face. It had not been a successful afternoon. For hours, she’d been searching the coastal towns near where her plane landed, looking for some trace of Aeaea, or anything else she’d seen in her dream. She was used to working with dregs. It was normal for her to have to squint a little at the evidence, have to shuffle things together around big holes of “Maybe,” like she was working a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing.

But this was something else.

Sabrina had read about places where mythology shaped the culture. Places where the tourist draws were events that had supposedly happened thousands of years ago, or creatures that only existed in grainy photographs and people’s imaginations. Hell, she’d met the Loch Ness monster. Was it insane for her to have assumed she’d be able to find the same kind of thing here? All her training and years of experience had told her that, if you sniff around long enough, you’ll find a conspiracy theorist or a slightly off-the-rails guidebook.

So far, though, Sabrina had found nothing. Absolutely nothing. She hunted around, searching up library catalogs, checking every store on the street. “Aeaea,” “Circe,” even “the Odyssey.”

Nothing.

The line edged along slowly, and Sabrina ran her hands up and down her arms. The air was chilly from its proximity to the cold sea water. There were three people in front of her now. She just had to wait a little longer, then she would have a boat and be able to explore these waters herself.

Something was wrong with this place. Something was wrong with all of these places. And Sabrina was going to figure out what.

Later, Jane and I are taking our time walking to the pegasus stables to watch the riding lesson that Rosalind has reluctantly agreed to let Batty take (provided that Percy, who’s teaching today, doesn’t let her fly high enough that she’ll die if she falls off, and that Batty wears all of the necessary protective gear). Jane looks lovely, wearing a sunshine-y yellow bandana that sets off her dark curls and warm sepia skin. She has on her Camp Half-Blood shirt again, and a short green skirt, and all of it should clash horribly, but it doesn’t.

We’ve decided to cut through the strawberry fields, and I swallow a sun-warmed strawberry while Jane tells me about the dream she had last night. I think back to my conversation with Annabeth this morning when she tells me of the dark woods and the feeling of drowning, the memory warping and the echoing voice. At some point we sit down in a patch of grass, a simple circle amidst strawberry plants with a couple logs where the campers and satyrs take their breaks when they work here. Jane finishes her story and we sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, only broken by the grunts of annoyance Jane makes while trying to get her plant powers to activate again. She’s been doing that a lot.

“Well that sucks,” I say finally. “Have you been having other dreams like it?”

Jane shrugs, the neon orange fabric of her shirt wrinkling on her shoulders. “One or two, I think. Last night’s was the first one I really remembered. ” She smiles out of the corner of her mouth. “I hardly ever remember my dreams. It used to upset me. I thought I was losing potential writing material.”

I laugh. It’s such a Jane thing to think, that I can’t help it. She goes quiet, like she’s reminiscing, and I picture a tiny version of Jane, sitting crossed-legged on her summer quilt, writing. I look at her now, scrunched up nose and big brown eyes. Oh gods, she must have been an adorable child.

“My mother used to say that my imagination was the eighth wonder of the world,” Jane says. She’s looking down the hill at the cabins, plant powers temporarily forgotten, and I remember her telling me about her mother, the first Elizabeth Penderwick, who came here and was a daughter of Demeter and loved opera. The Penderwick siblings’ beloved mother who died so young.

I move closer to Jane on the log. “I can understand why she’d say that.”

Jane smiles again, a little sad this time, a little absent, but full to the brim with love.

“Bet you she’s in Elysium,” I say softly. I explained the Underworld to Jane a couple weeks ago, and she’d gotten this same absent look on her face, that I now know means she’s thinking about her mother. Jane nods, now, then turns to me. “Could we talk about something else?” Her voice is quiet, her eyes a little shiny.

“Course,” I say. “Shall I regale you with tales of dimwittery at this camp in the years past?” I told her last week about the time some Hermes kids tried to order pizza to the camp, accidently causing Chiron to think we were under attack. Jane had nearly fallen off the bench laughing.

She grins now, but shakes her head. “Tell me what it’s like being an Oracle.” I give her a look. She’s asked me before and I never really know what to say. When I give prophecies, it’s like I black out. I’m taken over by another entity who shares my body. (“Like that lady in Suicide Squad ,” Leo had said when I tried to explain it to him once, but I’d refused to be compared to such a gods-fucking-awful movie). So, in a way, I don’t know what it’s like to be the Oracle.

As if reading my thoughts, Jane shakes her head. “Not that part. I’ve seen you all green and smokey, and I know you can’t feel it. I mean the other stuff. How did you know it was you? What did you have to do to become the Oracle? That kind of thing.” I relax a little. Jane’s asked me all sorts of weird questions about Greek mythology and the gods recently. She calls it “research for her book,” but sometimes I think she’s just nosy. It’s cute.

Jane shrugs and looks off into the distance. If you tilt your head a little you can kind of see the stables from here. We have fifteen more minutes to get there, according to my watch. I decide to take it easy. “Delphi is this weird ethereal spirit,” Jane continues, “but there’s also just everyday, Oracle you, who likes paint and denim and bagels.” At that, I laugh. “I actually don’t like bagels that much. I’m just late to breakfast so often that they’re usually the only things available.”

Jane pouts at me and plays with the bracelet tied around my wrist--the one she gave me. “You know what I mean! You know all this weird shit about me because my siblings don’t shut up at lunch, and I know stuff about you, like the denim thing, which I still think is funny by the way. But you’re also the freaking Oracle! Your dormant self lies waiting!” I laugh at her, and she rolls her eyes, but I see the corner of her mouth tilting up. “Rachel, that’s very cool!”

I give in. “Honestly, there’s not much to say, that’s why I don’t talk about it.” I pause. “Well no, it’s that a lot of the stuff beyond the obvious is actually sort of creepy and weird, and not in a good way. There’s stuff I try not to think about, is what I mean.”

The edge of her yellow bandana sticks up as Jane tilts her head at me. “That makes sense. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

I shake my head. “No, it feels okay right now.” I mean it. Now that I’ve gotten into the swing of it, I do want to talk about it. Still, a small sigh escapes me. “I like being the Oracle, because that’s what brought me to a place where I feel like I belong and I have people who love me. It’s nice to know that I’m fulfilling my purpose in life.”

Jane pulls her knees up to her chest. “But?”

“But I also get lonely.” It comes out in a rush. “There are other oracles, but I didn’t know about any of them until the Apollo thing happened, and even then, they’re all supernatural beings--I know, I know, but not in the way I am. It’s not the same. Also, there are all these weird rules. Like I have to stay an unmarried virgin my whole life.”

“That’s fucked,” Jane says softly.

“I know! Chiron won’t even tell me why, just that it’s ‘the rules’” I let out an annoyed huff. “And, like, it’s not even that the idea itself bothers me. That’s pretty much what I was planning to do with my life anyway.”

“Same.”

“But it’s the principle of the thing!” I flick a strand of hair out of my face, offhandedly noticing that the tip of my pinky finger is slightly green. I ignore it. It’s not important. “Just because I don’t want to have sex or get married doesn’t mean it’s a fair rule to impose on me! Besides, why is it always the women in these things whose identities are tied up in who they do or don’t fuck? Last I checked, Grover didn’t have to sign an ‘I shalt not fornicate’ contract when he became Lord of the Wild!”

“Exactly!” Jane raises her hands and shouts up to the sky. “Don’t you fuckers realize we’re more than that?”

“The Hunters of Artemis, too!” I’m a jack-in-the-box, and something’s winding me up. “Thalia and Reyna send me letters all the time, and they seem really happy! Which is great!” I pause to emphasize the greatness of their happiness. My pinky is completely green, now. “But, they also had to make a stupid ‘ode of chastity,’ like I did!”

“Are you kidding me?” Jane’s hair flips as she turns to me. “I thought Artemis was one of the good ones!”

My voice lowers to a husky rumble, and I stare into the distance towards you, the reader. “In a broken system, there are no good ones. Abolish the police.” I clear my throat and my voice turns back to normal. “Sorry, zoned out for a second.” My green pinky has begun to vibrate.

“Happens to the best of us,” Jane’s voice is light and nonchalant. “And yeah, I know. Pretty much all of the gods have skeletons sitting on their shoulders, but it just seems out of character for her. I thought all of Artemis’s groups were supposed to be safe havens, not oppressive structures in their own right.”

I frown. “Yeah you’re right, that is weird. I’d never thought of it much beyond the gods having weird rules, but I wonder if something bigger is at play. The gods might be fucked up in the way that regular people are, and are undoubtedly responsible for all sorts of crap. But then there's more personal things, like the ‘chastity vows’ the Hunters and I had to take, and the fact that Nico was initially outed by Eros, and the weird unexplained eye condition that Piper had during some of her quests that made her eyes a bunch of bright, Eurocentric colors, rather than their natural brown. All sorts of other stuff, too.”

“Wow!” Jane says, sitting up straight on the grass. Her hand moves from where it was resting in her lap to cover her heart. “It’s almost like a bunch of genuinely good and inspiring material, such as including prominent queer people and characters of color in fun children’s fantasy, as well as having an immortal group of warrior women who support each other and are free from the gaze of men, was taken into the hands of a cis white man armed with unchecked misogyny and a fair amount of white Twitter feminism, both of which really showed when he tried to create an inclusive and empowering book series for children! Like yeah, it had its moments, and definitely some good characters, but overall, a lack of meaningful research in certain areas really made it fall flat!” Once again, I stare through the bindings of URLs and internet coding, now joined by Jane as we lock eyes with you, the reader. This time, we hold eye contact for nearly a minute, giving you time to read and process the long tangent spat out by this fanfic’s author, who, if we’re being honest, has gone just a tad off the rails right now. Finally, Jane and I look away from you, and resume our roles as fictional characters, still shaking off that strange cloud that comes with staring into the soul of those who give you life.

“Ugh, what’s going on with me today?” Jane groans at the same time I mutter, “What’s Twitter?” We turn to each other, blinking in the sunlight, then grin. This is normal. We’re fine. Jane looks up at the sky again. “I wonder if the gods are watching us. Maybe we should make them think we suck so they’ll leave you alone.”

I laugh as she sticks her tongue out, grinning wickedly at a nearby cloud. “Better yet, make them think we’re too powerful to be messed with,” I say. Jane sees me watching her and opens her mouth, sucking the cloud in between her teeth. The sky seems bluer in the space where it had been, and Jane’s eyes glitter with mirth as she swallows. “Mmm, tastes like sugar.” I giggle, feeling a small shiver on the top of my head. When I peer up, I see another cloud has floated over to me. I open my own mouth, and take it in, just as Jane did hers. “Sugar, yes. But there’s a touch of blood, too,” I say. Jane nods sagely. “What were we talking about?”

“The inherent misogyny in much of Greek mythology and the world of Camp Half-Blood in general.”

Jane nods again. “Right. A very important topic. It makes it weird when I’m writing sometimes. You know, cause I want to bring in Circe and Zeus and Apollo and all these fascinating characters, but there’s just so much bad stuff tied up with them that comes up when I research.” She looks down at our feet, which are standing in the midst of a strawberry patch. We seem to have been walking, crushing sweet summer strawberries as we go, which is odd because I don’t remember getting up. “You know Rachel, I’m feeling a bit strange.”

I look at her, and see an odd blankness in her warm brown eyes. “Now that you mention it, Jane, so am I.”

“My thoughts and words are my own,” Jane says, “But there’s something up with my body. I can’t really feel it.”

“I agree, I’ve honestly gone a bit numb.” I try to glance down at my fingers, wondering idly if they’ve gotten any more green, but find that my neck won’t bend.

Jane’s eyebrows furrow. “Yet, at the same time, I feel as though I could do anything. Grow another grass blade. Grow a flower. Grow a tree. Bend the world to my will if I wanted to.”

“Or is it the world bending me to its will.” I grin at my own philosophical point, but find that the smile won’t go away. Pretty fucking inconvenient, since the next thing I was going to bring up was part of the whole serious misogyny conversation. I decide to go for it anyway. “And I’m not the only one with weird rules!” Jane nods, as if this is a perfectly normal segway, and the only extraneous thought that floats through my mind as we find ourselves walking down a hill is how unfair it is that she still has control over her neck and I don’t. “Remember when I told you about the Hunters of Artemis?”

“Oh yeah! Your friends Reyna and Thalia, right?”

“Yeah, them! They send me letters sometimes, and seem really happy, which is great.” I pause, meaning to add emphasis, when I’m hit with a great sensation of deja-vu. “Wait a second, we already talked about this, didn’t we?” I try to remember, but something in my mind is rapidly melting. I cannot find it. I cannot find anything.

“Jane?” My voice quivers, and I squeeze my eyes shut. Oh gods, please let this be a dream. For a moment, I try to convince myself that it’s the Oracle of Delphi taking over, just like she did the other day and generally does a couple times a year. But I know that I’m lying. This is not what that feels like. “Jane, where are you?” I can barely move my mouth to say the words. I can feel nothing but the frozen fear of paralysis, of lost control. When I open my eyes, this other thing in my body has brought me to the edge of the forest. “Jane? Jane?” She could be right beside me, unable to speak, and I wouldn’t know because I can’t turn my head, can’t move my eyes, can barely even hear right now.

It’s okay, something says.

“Jane?” It’s not her voice. It’s no one’s voice.

It’s okay. You’re home.

With every cut the wooden oars made through the choppy ocean water, Sabrina knew she was getting closer. She could feel it in her bones, in her brain, a little voice that whispered in her ear. It had been three hours. Her body was worn down, energy levels dipping dangerously low, when she felt something scrape the bottom of her boat.

A rock.

Frantically, she peered through the fog that had begun to surround her boat a mile ago. The island. Had she finally made it?

As if answering her call, a peel of thunder rang out, and Sabrina’s boat began to fill with rain that pounded down from the sky. The storm from her dream. She rowed even faster, then, fear sparking a renewed strength in her tired muscles.

Just as Sabrina was about to reach the shore, a massive wave crashed over her, and her boat capsized. She came back up, sputtering, holding her sopping wet bag above her head. Another wave swept against Sabrina’s face, and she found herself spitting out a mouthful of saltwater. Finally, she washed up on the shore, heaving breaths raking through her lungs.

Sabrina blinked, pushing herself up onto her elbows. It was real. She was here.

She had made it.

FROM THE POV OF ROSALIND PENDERWICK

It’s been a pleasant day so far. Breakfast with my siblings and some of the Demeter cabin (though Jane did seem a bit absent-minded). Miranda, Florien, and Rio convinced me to practice some plant magic with them for a couple hours and I built up to growing a small sunflower. Lunch (again with Jane seeming distracted, though Rachel ate with us this time, which appeared to help). Then, Skye and Jeffrey disappeared with some of the older campers (supposedly for a regular game of soccer, but the unsettling gleam in their eyes had me doubting that was all there was too it), Jane and Rachel went to take a walk in the strawberry fields, and Batty and I were left to prepare for a pegasus riding lesson. If it had been up to Batty, the latter could have easily taken up the entire afternoon, but changing into durable pants and finding a bandana can only take so long.

After a somewhat restless hour, during which I grew three peonies and Batty rhapsodized about the stable of unicorns that another demigod camp apparently has, Batty and I arrive at the stable. We’re ten minutes early, and she’s been talking a mile a minute the whole time, not stopping from before. I swear I now know as much about pegasuses as she does. According to Rachel, the teacher today is Percy, her friend, who’s very responsible “when he puts his mind to it.” I wasn’t sure how to tell her that’s actually not very comforting, but Batty looked so excited and I figured there will be plenty of other people there, so. Why not. She’s been spending so much time there anyway.

Needless to say, I very much regret my decision now.

The stables are modest, made of wood and painted green, and I’ve been there several times by now. There’s a long line of stalls visible when we first walk in, but Batty skips straight to the far end, where a massive pegasus the color of a carrot pokes its head over the door and nuzzles Batty’s hair. She looks up at me with a smile that could melt anyone’s heart, and pats the horse on the nose. “Rosy, this is Queen Lotus Flower. Percy said we have a impenetrable bond.”

I look at the two of them with a questioning gaze. How can they both have the exact same puppy-dog eyes? I swear to god. The gods. All of them. “Batty, sweetheart. That horse is like ten feet tall.”

She nods enthusiastically. “I know, she’s so much taller than any other horse I’ve seen. Percy says she has the biggest wingspan of any horse at camp.”

I nod, slowly, wondering why my sister picked the biggest pegasus to fall in love with. At that moment, Percy pushes the door open. “Hey Batty! Ready for your lesson?” Batty leaves her post by Queen Lotus Flower to wrap her arms around my waist and nod. I look Percy over. He’s a few inches taller than me, with brown skin and curly hair. A beaded camp necklace, orange tshirt, and jeans. Weird arm tattoo aside, he’s one of the most normal-looking people at camp. I’ve only met him a couple times before, but, my nerves over Batty flying around on massive horses aside, I do trust him. Rachel seems to have a good taste in friends. Also, Batty likes him, and she’s still shy around a good number of Skye and Jane’s friends back in Cameron.

For the next few minutes, I watch as Percy instructs Batty on buckling Queen Lotus Flower’s giant saddle and looping the bridle over her nose. Not wavering a bit from the “lesson” aspect of all this, he steps back to let her show what she’s already learned from hanging around the stables so often, only stooping in to guide her when she gets confused. As the minutes tick by, more people show up for the lesson: three other students, and a good sized crowd of people who just like watching the pegasuses. By then, I’m seated on the grass outside the stables, soaking in the blistering sun and watching as Percy (seated atop a wiry black pegasus who Batty pointed out as Blackjack) darts around the large dusty enclosure, making final preparations for the lesson.

Skye and Jeffrey show up then, and sit on either side of me. I want to ask them where Jane and Rachel are, but they’re talking non-stop about a game they just played in the woods with some of the other campers, only switching the subject when Percy and Blackjack return and they begin discussing whether or not it should be scientifically possible for a horse to fly.

Just as Batty and Queen Lotus Flower begin a gentle trot around the enclosure, I feel a tap on my shoulder, and hear the familiar sound of Tommy’s chuckle. “She’s got a weird knack for that,” he says. I nod, grinning.

It’s been good with us. We’ve had breakfast together a few times, even played a game of basketball one afternoon. Our conversations aren’t the same as they used to be, and there’s a sense of newness that feels cold and strange every so often. But it’s good. It feels right. At least for now, this feels like where we’re supposed to be.

As Percy starts demonstrating how to take flight, I look around again. Jane and Rachel still aren’t here. They promised to come. (“For moral support!” Jane had said. “Wouldn’t miss it,” Rachel had added with a smile). I try to push it out of my head. This lesson is a big deal. Batty’s going to be flying.

She leans forward on Queen Lotus Flower’s neck.

They begin to run, moving together like a single being.

Just as they burst into the air, Batty’s euphoric smile lighting up the sky, Katie grabs my shoulders from behind. I shush her so I can lean forward and watch Batty silhouetted against the pegasus’s wide orange wings.

“Rosalind. Rosalind, guys. ” Something about the panic in Katie’s voice makes me turn around. Her usually tied back hair is loose and her clothes rumpled, giving the impression that she was dragged out of bed for this. (Some part of my brain distantly remembers her saying she was going to take a nap). Skye and Jeffrey turn around, too.

“What, what’s happening?” I reach out my hands, trying to calm her as she collapses into a squat, breathing heavily.

“Billie… found me in the cabin… had been looking for you guys… been running all over the camp… lucky I remembered about the riding lesson…”

Jeffrey leans over and puts his hands on her shoulders. She stares down at the dirt while her breathing levels.

“Katie, what are you saying? Why were you and Billie looking for us?”

She looks up, and I see that her forehead is drawn into well-worn creases of worry. “Jane and Rachel have gone into the woods.”

Something was wrong. Sabrina crouched on the wet sand, straining to see through the heavy rain. In her dream there had definitely been someone else on the island. She remembered the hunched figure, the sound of sobs leaking through the rain.

But she’d circled the shore at least twice by now, and there was nobody to be found. “Am I late or something?” she wondered aloud. Somehow, she’d gotten that dream It felt like it had been sent to her. Why did it show a person when there was no one?

Sabrina sighed and began to traipse inland, tucking a knife in her pocket. It wasn’t a big island, and she might as well find some shelter aside from her boat, which was now overturned somewhere on the beach. Circe lived here, didn’t she? There must be some sort of roof, especially if this kind of weather was standard.

Or maybe this was just a random island and there was no Aeaea and Sabrina’s dream had just been the unhinged work of her unconscious mind.

There was a small grassy hill set aside from the sand, which Sabrina crawled up with the determination of a dying warrior. Something was pushing her back. An invisible force, a last crumb of survival instinct, plain old fatigue, she wasn’t sure. But something wanted her out of here, and it pushed back harder and harder as she climbed.

She let out a cry of frustration, clawing at the ground, at the air, at whatever this goddamn thing was, and found a renewed burst of strength that pulled her to the top of the hill. Once there, the force that pushed back ebbed a little, like it was giving up. Sabrina let herself relax, and simply took in the view for a moment.

The hill she lay on top of gave way to a deep valley, sprawling and green. In one corner, there was a cluster of trees that looked healthy and comfortable, despite being on a random Greek island in the middle of the ocean. A modest garden lay next to it, somehow appearing unaffected by the rain, and a narrow river wound around the whole scene.

There was also a house.

Sabrina wasn’t sure what she might have expected from the lair of an infamous Greek enchantress, but it wasn’t this.

She hauled herself up on the hill and started down, rushing through the rain onto a wide wooden porch. There was a large stone vat of something dark and crumbly, with a heavy looking staff of sorts leaning against it. The door to the house was short, and Sabrina heard it scrape on the floor when she pushed it open.

The scene awaiting her was surprisingly cozy when she stepped inside. There was a fire in the hearth and rows upon rows of little viles arranged on a set of shelves beside it. A broom leaned against the wall. Sabrina looked around, noting the way that the rain didn’t make any sound as it thrashed against the roof and window, and the almost drug-like stupor that threatened to take over her brain, whispering that everything was fine, she was safe, nothing bad could happen to her.

Sabrina had encountered hypnosis before, and it only ever made her more jittery.

There was an open hatch in the floor with stairs that lead into darkness. She followed them down, feeling the air grow cooler with every step. Sabrina was quiet, taking tiny steps on her toes, and wincing when one of the stairs creaked. She didn’t know what was down there, and she didn’t want to find out the hard way. But there were no arrows flying up from the space below, no sounds of footsteps or slashes of swords.

Sabrina stepped onto a dirt floor and let herself exhale, shuffling along until her toe hit something hard. Only seasoned reflexes made her reach for the knife in her pocket instead of crying out in fear. She knelt down and squinted in the darkness, trying to see what she’d hit.

A leg.

She frowned, shaking it until she heard a low growl. “Stop that.” She stopped.

“Who are you?” Sabrina leaned closer. If they hadn’t killed her yet she was probably safe.

Instead of answering, they reached out a hand. Sabrina could see a gold ring on the thumb that glinted in a little sliver of light that had crept down from the room above. “Pull me up,” the figure said. “I’ve been paralyzed by the witch.”

Helping the stranger sit turned out to be no simple feat. They were tall and muscular, wearing a cape and a heavy metal chest plate. “The witch?” she questioned, propping them up against one of the cellar’s dirt walls. Her eyes were beginning to adust to the dark, and she could just make out their sharp chin sticking out as their head lolled back.

The figure made a noise. “The witch, the sorceress, the woman. Whatever you want to call her. I figure she sent you down too?” They snorted. “Good luck. I told Zeus not to sent mortals, but does he ever listen? You’re gonna die.”

Sabrina tried to piece together what she could from all this. The witch must be Circe, unless she’d wound up on an entirely different island. And if Circe was going around paralyzing people, then something must be going on. She must be hiding something. As for the person in front of her, Sabrina wasn’t sure who they were. By the way they talked about Zeus, and casually said “mortals,” she’d guess some sort of god? As if that narrowed it down. She’d have to be careful.

“Why did she paralyze you?”

Another weird gutteral noise. “She didn’t like my offer. It’s not the first time this has happened.”

She was growing impatient. Why’d he have to be so vague? “What?”

“Yeah, I don’t know why he always sends me. I don’t think he trusts me. He’d rather me stay her paralysed in the basement of a witch than come back home.”

Sabrina let out an exasperated sigh. This wasn’t working and she needed answers. A whole coast of people with mythology-shaped holes in their memories awaited her. “You’re going to need to be a little more specific. I don’t think we’re on the same page.”

The figure sounded confused. “What do you mean? Don’t you know who I am?”

She leaned forward and inspected them in the darkness. “No. No I don’t.”

They slid their eyes down to her face. “I am the god Apollo. I came here for Circe and she did this to me.”

“What? Why?”

The stairs creaked behind Sabrina and she felt a long nail drag up her back. “I just want to be left alone,” said a voice as deep and powerful as the smell of red wine. “You don’t mind, do you?” Before Sabrina could grab her knife and turn around, before she could even scream, strong arms had surrounded her shoulders and a hand was clamping a damp cloth over her nose and mouth. Shock made her breath in, sharply, and she smelled the sweetness of sleeping drugs.

A heartbeat, a brief struggle, and Sabrina Starr was gone.

#cruel summer fic #cameron writes #the penderwicks #penderwicks #camp half blood #camp half-blood #rachel elizabeth dare #jane penderwick #rosalind penderwick

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blissfulalchemist · 4 years ago

Text

A Chance for Faith Ch. 7 “Finding You”

Look at that a non-prompt chapter for you. This takes place after the “I’m Not A Savior” piece that can be read here below the cut or on

Ao3

I hope you enjoy! master list

Faith walked into the trailer, taking it’s dark green carpet and faux dark wood walls, leaving her shoes at the door. Her brothers sat around the singular table, a map to Hope County spread out on top, another hanging on the wall with red string criss crossing it. The latest in their weekly meetings, all to make sure none of them had or would lose control of their sanctioned land. These meetings had always bored Faith, more so since their sister died, as her brothers didn’t seem to listen to her or care what she had to say, the support she once had gone months ago. Besides the only faction of resistance were holed up in the jail, while the rest of the county feared stepping foot in the Hebane, none wanted to risk losing their minds.

Joseph was in the middle of questioning John about their supplies by the time Faith walked in. “Sister,” Joseph greeted Faith as she took her seat between John and Jacob, “Glad you could join us tonight.”

“Always my pleasure, Joseph,” Faith gave him a warm smile.

“Right, now let’s get started shall we?” Joseph sat facing the map on the wall letting Jacob take the stage.

Jacob grunted as he stood to make his presentation, “Now we need to start focusing efforts more on securing the valley because someone kept letting the Deputy slip through their fingers,” Jacob growled looking pointedly at John, narrowing his eyes in return.

“My people are taking back what’s been lost to us in recent weeks,” John argued.

“Brothers,” Joseph’s calm voice chastised.

Faith rolled her eyes, scoffing quietly, “I didn’t know you’ve been able to do that,” Jacob responded wearily.

“Yeah,” John leaned back in his chair flippantly, “well no one’s heard from the Deputy in almost a month now.” Faith quickly looked at John and his news, “Even I haven’t heard from him and he typically has a sarcastic remark now and then.”

Chance would never allow for that much time between his insults to John, “You’re sure none of resistance has heard from him?” She asked the worry starting to creep in the back of her mind.

“Of course I’m sure. I think they figured Jacob here got to him,” John smirked to his oldest brother.

“Is this true Jacob,” Joseph interjected.

Jacob rolled his eyes crossing his arms, “You think I would kill him and not tell you? I know you want him alive. And even if I did kill him on accident, Chance would have been used as an example at this point.”

“So he just,” Faith spoke up, “disappeared?” She looked between them all, nods from John and Jacob. She narrowed her eyes, “Well that doesn’t sound like Chance.”

“It’s not like any of us really knew him,” John said through clenched teeth, the anger from the thought that he would never get Mary’s ring back seeping into his words. That is if Chance was actually dead, which Faith doubted.

“I can try to find out if someone even saw him,” Faith offered, the three brothers looking at her doubtful, “Well he has to eat still and get supplies now n’ again.”

The three looked at each other, a quick silent conversation occurring between them all ending in a shrug, “That would be very helpful my dear if you would,” Joseph finally spoke, assigning her the job.

Faith gave a quick nod, settling herself back into her seat, “Thank you, Joseph.”

Faith didn’t speak during the rest of the meeting unless spoken to, her thoughts going over all the possibilities as to what could have happened to him. She hadn’t spoken to Chance for almost two months, which was just fine with her. He was the one that started the fight. They had been doing just fine even after she “nearly killed him”, she couldn’t understand why finding out that she figured out their past sooner than him would hurt more and prompt him to leave. She thought he would be happy about it.

“It was done selfishly,” Mary’s voice advised, “You hoped he would join you.”

She was probably right, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t hurt her also. She waited for him and he left her, then when things got hard, he just left….again. As much as she hurt….she still missed him too. Missed his stupid smile that lit up his green eyes, the laugh that had her heart fluttering, the way he held her as they say on the river banks, and the safety his lips conveyed as they would kiss in his cabin. She just missed him.

No one hearing from him, and for this long, it made it hard not to worry about him, more so given his past. If he left her hurting the way she thought he was, the temptation to fall on old habits was going to increase. The stress he’d had to endure, the fear, and the feeling of the weight of the world on your shoulders….she’d have gone back to her old habits long ago. Please let me find him dead via battle and not his own hand, she prayed as the meeting came to a close.

Faith dismissed her protection the next night, sending them off to places she knew he wouldn’t be, needing to be alone for where she was going to start her search. She changed into some jeans and a dark red shirt putting on the black leather jacket and purple converse Chance had given her the day she put their past together. Driving the inconspicuous sedan she made her way to Chance’s house, the way committed to her body’s memory. The two of them had started to meet twice a week, sometimes more if they could find the time, before she brought him into The Bliss and he spoke to the Father.

She missed those days where they would sit and talk, sometimes going to fish just behind the house at the river, or the few times she stayed the night and she thought he was going to kiss her but never did. How she had to take charge and kiss him first under that bridge, after that when she spent the night he was always attentive to her. Even after adding sex to their relationship it never felt like the only thing between them, they still enjoyed the other’s company talking, laughing, and contemplating the unanswered questions of life. It was those times that they spent together that brought her back to when they were kids and would explore in the woods by her house as their fathers talked about who knows what. All back when Rachel was still hopeful about some white knight saving her from her life with her parents. Back then she hoped that it would be Chance. Oh what a stupid girl she was.

Chance didn’t even know who she was for the longest time. Not that she could blame him, it was over ten years since they last saw each other. She didn’t even recognize him seeing him in that church as he put the cuffs on Joseph. It was only seeing the picture on the mantle that she figured out it was the boy that made the world a little brighter when he was near her. The boy who abandoned her when she needed him most.

The same boy who had come back to her.

To Rachel.

Faith killed the headlights as she pulled up to the darkened house. It looked to be abandoned as she got out of the car, rubbing warmth to her cold hands. Faith took a deep breath as she walked slowly up to the door, not bothering to knock as she pushed against it. There was no resistance as it swung open easily, her heart starting to race, That’s not a good sign. The floor creaked as she stepped inside, the smell of stale whiskey hitting her nose, just like some of the memories she worked to push back. The darkened room was lit by the small singular table lamp, a dark shirt muting the brightness of it. She closed the door behind her, walking to pull the cloth off illuminating the house, her feet kicking a few glass bottles, their rolling sound giving a small jump to her heart.

“Chance?” She called out looking for any sign of him, “Chance are you here?” Faith took in the living room her eyes having adjusted to the light. Bottles of various sizes and shapes littered the floor, a few boxes of pizza were stacked on the coffee and dining room tables, empty cans of soup on the kitchen counters. Faith looked over the cans, her nose wrinkling as some of them had a more potent smell than the others, he hadn’t cleaned in a long while or at least thought too. “Oh Chance,” Faith whispered, “What happened?” She looked to the stairs leading up to what was now Chance’s lab, a few bottles leading the way. Faith frowned following the trail, her footsteps echoing in the stairway.

The lab was less of a mess than the downstairs, her eyes sweeping the space stopping once they took in the twin sized bed against the wall. Faith’s eyes went wide seeing the mop of brown curly hair against the pillow, dark rings under closed eyes on a pale face. His red Misfits shirt, black jeans, and the lack of footwear stained with varying shades of brown, he’d been walking in the mud outside. Or falling was the better word as she took notice of the scrapes on his exposed arms, all in various stages of healing, as he held a near finished bottle. Another on the floor, half full, labeled as Smirnoff, while the one he held was Jack Daniels.

The one thing Faith couldn’t see any signs of was breathing, at least from where she stood. Eyes filling with tears, she rushed to his side, “Chance,” she shook him, her heart rapid in its pace, “Chance, can you hear me?” Desperate Faith recited prayers in her mind as she brought her ear to his chest, her panic making it hard to discern between his heartbeat and hers. “Wake up! Chance I need you to wake up! For me, please,” her cries having become desperate as she shook him more, starting to pound at his chest. Please don’t have gone like this. Not all alone, Faith thought as she went back to listening to his chest, finally able to focus on more than the worry building in her body. There was a sigh of relief finally making out his slow, but steady, heartbeat.

He was alive.

She just needed him to wake up now. The tears fell, without her permission, as she shook him harder, lightly hitting his face all while calling his name. There was no response and Faith started to wonder if he needed medical attention. Real medical attention, not just bringing him to Lance like she’d done in the past. It was a scary thought, bringing him to a doctor that belonged to people that wanted her dead, she’d be risking everything if it was serious there may not be much time to get a hold of Lance to take him. How could she do any less? Chance did as much for her months ago, the day she finally realized who he was, that he was the White Knight she dreamed about as a young Rachel. More than that, she loved him. She loved him and would risk her life for him because she did.

Faith was readying herself to start dragging Chance down the stairs when he finally let out a groan trying to swat her away. “Chance!” Faith grabbed his face looking into his green eyes as they opened slowly to her blue green ones. “Oh Chance,” she hugged him close to her crying into his shoulder, “I was so worried about you.”

Chance stiffened pulling away from her, his eyes searching her face, the recognition dawning on him. “Beautiful,” he slurred his hand reaching for her face, breath heavy with the scent of whiskey, “What are you doing here?”

Faith wiped her face clean, “I came looking for you, dummy,” she gave a half hearted chuckle, her frown returning quickly, “What happened Chance?”

Chance shook his head as he sat up, arms resting on his knees, “Nothin’,” he looked down at the bottle that he held, smiling he drank the rest of the bottle empty. “Jus’ having a little fun,” Chance’s words mumbled, strung together by the faintest sense of clarity.

Faith looked at him sympathetic and brow furrowing, “Chance...this is more than a little fun.” He shrugged, grabbing the bottle on the floor standing up, swaying before catching himself on the railing to the lower part of the cabin. Faith stood following him, “Chance please. This isn’t you,” Faith kept a step ahead of him as they went down the stairs.

Chance waved her off, “Are you kidding me? I never felt more like me in such a long time.” He took a drink of the vodka offering the bottle to Faith, when she didn’t reach for it he shrugged, rolling his eyes drinking more of it.

“Well everyone’s worried about you,” Faith explained, “You’ve been MIA for almost a month.”

Chance turned to her nostrils flaring, Faith taking a quick step back, “Don’t start taking that tone with me. Everyone can just fuck off!”

Faith glared at him, “Even the people that care about you?”

“Yes,” he took a long drink, “You know no one really cares about others. If they do they just want something from you.” He pointed the neck of the bottle at her, “A little life advice for you,” Chance stumbled making his way to the kitchen, his mood changing his smile over taking his features, “I’m starving. Are you hungry?”

Faith shook her head sadly, “Chance,” her voice soft putting a hand on his shoulder, “what happened?”

Chance pushed her hand off him, grumbling, “I came back that’s what happened.”

Faith ground her teeth hearing his piss poor answer, it’d be his last as she forced him to face her, “Chance! What. Happened,” she demanded.

His eyes darkened looking down at her, “You want to know what happened? I broke! There, you happy now with that answer?” Chance leaned down eyes level with hers, “I can’t do this shit anymore. I’m done being some symbol, savior, whatever the fuck they call me.” He shoved past her kicking some of the bottles on the floor out of his way, “They want me to be their everything and I never wanted it! They don’t even help! They just expect me to do everything! I got tired of it so I left!” Chance took another sip, wiping away at his mouth when he was done, “They want their home back so damn bad they can do it themselves.”

“So that’s it? Life got hard and you just gave up?” Faith followed him as he drank until there was nothing more than a quarter of the bottle left, “Just decided to go back to your old habits?”

He laughed, cold and empty as it echoed in the house. “That’s so fucking rich coming from you,” he sneered, “Little miss ex addict that followed a man who lured her into doing his bidding with a better high, promising you a chance to stay in your own little world where you ended up staying.”

Faith’s jaw clenched, blood starting to boil, grabbing the bottle from him throwing it against the wall, “I know that! But you got out of your own little world! You told yourself you wouldn’t go back to it! Sorry I want to make sure that at least one of us gets out and stays out!”

“Yeah well reality sucks and I don’t want any part of it,” his eyes strayed to the shattered glass, “So it really doesn’t seem fair that you get to stay happy while I don’t get that option. Did you ever think about that?” The subtle crack in his voice had Faith relaxing her body just the slightest, “That maybe, just maybe, I want to stay happy.”

“Chance,” she consoled softly.

“I can’t be happy in a place where I’m placed on a pedestal that I can never keep my balance on,” Chance’s tears started to escape silently, the anger leaving his voice. Faith touched him gently guiding him to the sofa to sit, “A place where my hands-,” he held them up, eyes getting a far away look, “Where my hands are stained red constantly, no amount of scrubbing letting the color go.” Faith stroked his hair, heart falling, “And still they expect me to keep going.” Chance had started to rock himself back and forth, body shaking, “I never even got the chance to stop and think about what I was doing. What I was signing up for.”

She wrapped her arms around him, “I know. I’m sorry,” she whispered in his hair as he continued.

“I didn’t want this, Faith. I never wanted this. God I never wanted this,” his rocking stopped, the shaking of his sobs taking over, “Why did I ever agree to this? Why would they make me their leader? Why would they make us leaders? I’m only 25 and you’re only 24.” Chance laughed bewildered, Faith wiping away at some of the tears, “We’re just kids Faith. I-. Fuck! I just want to go home. Be away from all of this.”

“Shhh,” Faith felt his arms wrap around her as she stroked his hair. “You’ll be home soon,” Faith kissed his head, unsure of what she was saying was of any comfort to him. She couldn’t promise him that, there might not even be a home he could go to when the end came, whatever end that may be.

“Faith…,” Chance cried into her chest.

“Yes Chance.”

“I’m scared. I’m so scared.” He’d admitted a lot to her in their time together but never that he was scared….never that he was scared. “I’m so scared about what will happen to me every time I step outside that door. How much of who I am will be taken from me each day.” He pulled away to get a better look at her face, “I don’t want to lose who I am,” his green eyes were ringed with red as he looked up to her face, “I’m so scared of losing me. I don’t feel like me,” Chance sobbed. Faith wiped away the tears from his eyes, “I just feel so scared and alone.” Faith inhaled sharply, “I just don’t want to feel like dying anymore.”

Faith pulled him in close to her, hugging him tightly as he cried. “You’re not alone. I’m here. I’ll always be here for you,” she repeated to him like a prayer kissing the top of his head, her own tears falling silently. They were so alike in many ways but never once did she ever think he would admit to such feelings to anyone. He was Chance, outgoing and happy despite the loss and sadness it entailed, not the Chance admitting that he silently begged for death. It was the last thing she’d ever want for him.

As his sobs subsided Faith got him standing and moving to his bed, where she undressed him taking in all the scars he was getting from being in this Holy War neither asked for. Faith looked at the clock as she laid him down, placing a trash can near his head should he need it, there was time before she had to be back to avoid raising suspicion. His eyes closed quickly, gently tucking him into the bed, leaving him for the main part of the house.

She picked up some of the bottles, stopping to clean up the shattered bottle from their fight, gathering the pizza slices that looked recent and safe to eat, placing them in the fridge, and finally throwing out the empty cans of soup. It wasn’t much, the house needing more to get it back to a decent state, but it was something to help him out for now.

Faith wasn’t sure what to do now that she’d found him. He was in a bad state and she doubted he would even remember this come tomorrow when he woke. The most she could do now was just check up on him every night, come up with some story to tell him when he confronted her about her being there again, and hope that she wouldn’t come one night to find him dead.

Faith went to the bathroom grabbing the pain pills and a glass of water placing it on his nightstand. She smoothed out his hair, her heart longing to curl up next to him. She started to contemplate what would happen if she stayed when his slurred voice asked, “Will you stay with me?”

Faith frowned, in the end it was too much of a risk for her to stay with him like this, she pushed the hair covering his eyes out of the way, “I wish I could but-.”

He nodded slowly, “You have your pedestal to keep balanced on.” Chance reached out to her bringing his face close to hers, “I think I love you, Faith,” he leaned in to kiss her, Faith stopping him.

Another thing he’d never admitted to her and oh how she wanted it to be true. She swallowed, “Tell me when you’re sober, Chance,” her voice a whisper to hide the break, “Maybe then I’ll believe you.” Faith tried to muster a smile, failing as Chance’s eyes closed.

He nodded lying back down, “I do mean it though,” Chance turned to his side, nestling into the blankets, “I think I’ve loved you since you were Rachel still.”

She swallowed the lump starting to form in her throat standing up, “Good night my White Knight. I’ll check on you tomorrow,” she promised as she shut the lights off. Taking one more look around the house she sighed, there were to be some tough decisions she’d have to make on his behalf. “Sometimes you have to for those that you love,” Mary’s voice chimed in once more as Faith started the drive back to her house, “And you love him, Faith.”

Chance woke to bright afternoon sun filtering in through the cracks of the dark curtains, at least he assumed it was afternoon, either way it pained his eyes. He rubbed them, groaning, head pounding. He looked at the clock on his nightstand slowly, confirming it was the afternoon. “Fuck,” he muttered as he sat up, “late start today Chance.” Out of the corner of his eye Chance saw the bottle of pain pills and a glass of water, “At least drunk me was nice this time.” Chance poured six pills in his hand swallowing them all at once with the water. Memories of the night before coming back to Chance hazily; Faith coming and finding him, the two of them yelling at the other, and then her….tucking him into bed? Chance shook the thoughts out of his head, they weren’t memories….just a dream. It had to be. No one was coming to look for him, especially Faith, she was the last person that wanted to see him.

Chance walked around the house searching for a bottle with any amount of liquor in it taking notice of the cleanliness of the house. I was really nice to myself last night, Chance thought as he went through his cupboards finding just enough liquor to get his headache under control. Chance sighed looking at the half glass of a mixed concoction of various liquors, “And I guess that’s why.” He drank the whole thing in one sitting before putting on his sunglasses, “Guess I better get some more.”

Chance had raided all the places closest to him for their alcohol so it was time to risk facing the residents again and go to the gas station close by. Chance put a hoodie on as he exited his truck, hoping to hide his face. The place looked empty but one could never be too sure in these times. The ding of the bell echoed as he opened the door, eyes trying to land on anything that looked like movement. There wasn’t anyone else Chance could see, not that he started to care much making a beeline for the liquor aisle. It was still stocked surprisingly, no one having come to claim back this business.

Chance grabbed an empty crate, fitting in three bottles of vodka, three of whisky, and two boxes of the strongest red wine. He lifted the crate, needing out of the building feeling his eyes heavy, the fluorescents stinging his eyes. Chance stopped hearing someone clear their throat behind the counter, Guess there was someone that reclaimed their business, “I need to see your ID,” the attendant said lazily, “and some payment would be nice.”

Chance looked up to him annoyed, “Seriously? You need to see my ID?”

The attendant shrugged, “Federal law still.”

“Who the fuck is going to arrest you with Eden’s Gate here? There’s no police department anymore.”

The attendant stared at him, hand outstretched for the card. Chance let out an exasperated breath setting the crate down rougher than he should have, reaching for his wallet. “I’m uh,” the attendant started pointing to their head, “I’m also going to need you to at least put your hood down sir.”

Chance rolled his eyes pushing the hood back, “There.” Chance grumbled to himself trying to pull out his ID with shaky hands. He growled when it fell to the floor, the chime of the bell filling the store with it’s sound, “Fuck,” he said under his breath as he bent down to pick it up.

Chance ignored the sound of footsteps nearing him as he stood back up finally pulling the ID out handing it to the attendant. The sudden change in position had Chance feeling like he was going to be sick, he needed to get back home. He rubbed the back of his neck, letting the air cool his neck as he exposed it, pushing his hair out of the way. There was an audible gasp behind him, freezing him in place. “Chance,” A woman’s voice asked in a single breath, “Is that really you?”

“Who wants to know,” he responded, annoyance propelling him as he turned around to face the voice. The woman he faced looked to be in her forties, with brown hair streaked with some grey, and eyes a jade green. Her clothes, with their stylized black cross printed on them, indicated she was just another peggie, Great. I’m gonna get gunned down in a fucking gas station. The longer Chance looked at her the more he couldn’t shake the feeling that he should know her somehow. She felt….familiar. Chance took off his sunglasses getting a better look at her.

Her eyes went wide, filling with tears as recognition and relief flooded her features, hand covering her mouth, “Oh Chance! It is you.” She reached out to hug him smiling, Chance pushing her back. Her face fell, offended, the smile turning to a frown, “Don’t you know who I am?” Chance shook his head leaning away from her. She gave him a small smile, a tear falling down her cheek, hand placed on her chest, “Chance it’s me. Your mother. I’m your mom, Chance.”

#a chance for faith #I know it's valentines day and it should be some fluff but I didn't want to wait on this #I'll get some fluff done later today #chance ruicknar oc #x: emo flower child #faith seed #faithxmaleoc #faithxoc #far cry 5 fanfiction

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alirhi · 3 years ago

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random snippet again

as promised, @feralgoblintea here's the (temporary) scene where the two sisters meet for the first time since one went missing as a child

note about the nickname: Rachel's middle name is Miranda; everyone has called her 'Andy' from that since she was a little kid. it's explained in her story, but not in this scene, so I just wanted to explain it here lol

"Your parents are very eager to know where you've been and what you've been going through all these years," the doctor told her, deep voice oddly gentle and soothing. Rachel smiled sadly; his voice reminded her of Amadeus. "Most of all, they want to know that you're alright."

She knew he thought she was crazy. Her parents definitely shared that opinion, which was why she was here to begin with. Still, she couldn't help asking, "And, in your professional opinion, am I?"

He caught her lightly mocking tone and snorted, leaning back in his chair to mirror her pose. "In my professional opinion," he shot back, though the sarcasm left his tone before he even finished his sentence, "you've been through Hell, Rachel. The trauma you've suffered is very, very real. If you're asking, do I believe in demons and portals and time travel, I'd have to say no. But that pain and fear came from somewhere... I'd like you to come back in for regular sessions, if you're up for it; see if we can cut through the fantasy, see past the demons and find the real monsters who hurt you."

"That's why I'm not coming back." She stood, shaking her head a little. "I'm not surprised you don't believe me - I probably wouldn't believe it, myself, if I hadn't lived it - but it's a bit frustrating. What I told you isn't metaphors or delusion. It all happened, and I'm not interested in having someone rip it all apart and try to make me doubt my own memory."

"They call that 'gaslighting' these days."

Startled, the blonde whirled around to face the source of the new voice; a woman she sort of vaguely recognized was standing in the doorway, hand on the knob, smiling at her. After a long moment, her brain helpfully edited the image before her to make it make sense; wild red hair to dirty blonde, violet eyes to mismatched green and blue, face younger and body smaller and more plump. "...Beck?!"

Rebecca's smile widened and she stepped forward with a nod. "Hey, Andy."

"Oh my god!" With a laugh and a delighted screech, she launched herself across the room and threw her arms around her little sister. "What are you doing here?"

Nearly squeezing the breath out of her, the younger woman murmured, "I heard you were back and had to see you. Stand your ground, Andy. Don't let them make you forget or doubt that it was all real. We know the truth." She released her, only to bring her hands up to grip the sides of her sister's head. "Magic is real."

Rachel froze, staring at Rebecca's mouth long after it closed and the two long, wicked fangs that had drawn her attention were hidden from view. "...What happened to you?"

"Not here. I'll tell you everything, but not here."

"Okay." Without so much as a backward glance at the shrink, she followed the redhead out of the office, past their fretting parents, and out into the bright sunny day that made Rebecca hiss.

She cringed and immediately donned a beat-to-hell baseball cap and a pair of dark sunglasses. "Fuck, I hate sunny days."

"You always did." Rachel couldn't help smiling faintly; so many years had passed, more than anyone in the world around them could ever understand, and yet so little about her baby sister had changed.

"Yeah, well... I've only gotten more sensitive to it."

Once they'd made it deep enough into the woods behind the Industrial Park that there was no risk of anyone overhearing, they stopped, and Rachel asked her point blank: "You're a vampire, aren't you?"

Rebecca laughed, gratefully leaning back into the shade of the nearest tree. "Only in our lives is that a casual conversation starter. And yes. Thankfully I'm old enough that daylight won't kill me. It's just unpleasant."

With her own accidental time travel in mind, the blonde asked, "How old are you?" Thirty-seven, she knew, in the eyes of the people around them; to them, Rachel herself had only just turned thirty-nine, and yet both sisters looked at each other with exhausted, haunted eyes millennia older than they could ever hope to make anyone else understand.

"As a vampire, or in general?" She smirked, shrugging off her own question before her sister could answer. "In general is harder to pin down, but I've been a vampire for about six thousand years, give or take a few."

Leaning against a tree roughly opposite Rebecca's, Rachel mirrored her smirk and crossed her arms over her chest. "I was Queen of an entire planet, and then POW and slave on a second, then a fugitive... I managed to send my older daughter home, before I got stuck on a third planet with my boys and little girl. It's been about ten thousand years."

"You have kids?" Rebecca grinned, once again showing those distractingly long fangs. "Me, too! I have two daughters, Madeline and Alice."

"Senna, Kieran, Caspian, and...Cassie," Rachel told her in answer to her unspoken question. She couldn't help blushing as she listed her children's names; she'd since learned what senna was, and hadn't actually given her younger two children names beginning with the same sound on purpose. It had just sort of worked out that way.

"Twins?"

She shook her head. "Caspian's my stepson, kinda, and Cassie was named after-"

Rebecca flinched, remembering. "After Cassie Wade, right? I was so focused on figuring out what happened to you, and then fighting to survive, I'd forgotten she went missing with you."

"She..." Clearing her throat, the blonde squared her shoulders and pulled her strong front around herself like a familiar safety blanket. "She saved our lives; she didn't make it. And, yeah. I named my youngest after her. Anyway, they're all grown, and Kieran..." Jaw clenching, she forcibly dismissed thoughts of her rapist and merely said, "He's my perfect warrior prince. Well, King now. I love them all, and desperately miss Senna, but Kieran, despite his more questionable choices, has a special place in my heart."

Rebecca took her sunglasses off and studied her for a moment before venturing, "Y'know... I literally eat rapists for breakfast."

That got a startled bark of laughter from her big sister, who shook her head. "Even if my boy hadn't already killed him, I doubt his gross, rancid blood would sit well with you. He wasn't human."

The redhead shrugged, smirking again. "Doesn't have to be. I've eaten Fae, elves, one vampire that pissed me off royally..."

"Not such a picky eater anymore, huh?" she teased, grinning. "Was it some badass revenge on your sire or something?"

Laughing, Rebecca shook her head. "Nope, no sire. I'm the OG vampire, babe. The first of the species. My younger daughter, Alice, is the first of the natural born vamps."

"So, wait... You could still get pregnant after you were turned? What?" Rachel frowned, beyond confused. "And how the fuck...?"

"I'm not dead," her little sister explained with another laugh. "Everything's slowed way the hell down, but hasn't stopped. I can't have kids with a human, or probably most Fae, but a certain trickster God..."

"...God?"

She grinned and nodded, though her haunting violet eyes looked sad. "Loki. He's Alice's dad."

"Huh. So the Gods are real." Rachel snorted. "Go figure. And my sister banged one."

"I loved him," the other woman whispered, staring at the ground. She opened her mouth as if to speak further, then seemed to reconsider and closed it again, clearing her throat.

To spare her from some clearly painful memories, whatever they were, Rachel asked, "What's a Fae?"

"Fairy," was the simple enough answer. "Fairies are real, too. Maddie - my oldest - is Fae."

Is she Loki's, too? She didn't dare ask - Loki was clearly a touchy subject - but she was dying to know.

As if she could read her mind, Rebecca, still avoiding her gaze, explained, "I was still mortal when I had her. Her father was Fae."

As the light breeze shifted the leaves above them, making the light dance across Rebecca's ghostly white skin, Rachel finally noticed the scars. At first, they'd looked like tribal tattoos, done puzzlingly in a silvery-white. When she realized they were actually a complex web of ancient scars, she also noticed they covered every inch of her sister's flesh that she could see around her shorts and tank top. Her face was the only place free of the oddly beautiful swirling lines, though she did spot a faint scar on her forehead, running from hairline to cheekbone and through the outer edge of her eyebrow.

"Is Madeline's father why you hunt rapists?" Is he the one who tore you apart?

"He didn't rape me... Technically. But yes, he's the one who scarred me." At her startled look, Rebecca smirked; it utterly failed to reach her eyes, but it was a start. "I can read your mind. I'm trying not to - I find it unspeakably rude and invasive - but when you're actively thinking about me, it tends to cut through my shields. The scars are from a spell he worked on me; blood magic. It's what made Maddie's conception possible, and chained me to him for years."

"Kieran's father was my greatest enemy; Crown Prince of the people who'd been attacking and slaughtering mine. King by the time I escaped." She didn't know what made her suddenly share this, but it felt like the thing to do. Her sister had told her something deeply personal and troubling; it seemed only right to meet candor with candor. Besides, Rachel and Rebecca had been two peas in a pod as children, as close as two sisters could possibly be. There was no amount of time that could strain their relationship. "I was captured in battle and kept as a slave for around a year and a half."

"How did the other three come about?" She smirked again, shoving her wild red hair back off her face impatiently. "Even when we were kids, I'd have bet just about anything that you're gayer than a rainbow, so how do you have so many kids?"

Rachel laughed, rolling her eyes. "Political marriage gave me Senna - born in a dungeon, thanks to me being pregnant during the battle and not knowing it yet. She was smuggled home to her father after she was born. I made a friend in that Hellhole, Emil, and he'd been raising Caspian; he's not his biological father, but that never mattered, just like it didn't matter to me that I didn't give birth to him. That boy's just as much my son as Kieran. We were supposed to go back to my home when we escaped, but something went screwy and we ended up on Achlys, instead, where I met my girlfriend and we all decided to just settle and raise the boys."

"So you cheated on your husband?" Rebecca's grin was teasing - and, thank god, reached her eyes at last! - but Rachel still threw an acorn at her when she said, "You whore!"

"I never saw him again! And he wouldn't have given a shit," she explained with a laugh. "I was, like, his third or fourth wife. And like I said, it was purely political; I was Queen, he was my advisor, he wanted power and I wanted an heir. Enter Senna, who boosted Raziel from random noble to father of the next Queen, and assured that there would be someone to take the reins if I died."

"So..." Her sister began ticking points off on her fingers as she spoke. "Shrewd political moves gave you Senna, you're co-parenting Caspian with a friend, we won't speak of Kieran's origins... How and why was Cassie a thing?"

Rachel shook her head, gaping at her. "A thing? That's nice, Beck. Real nice."

"Gods, you've missed so many cultural shifts, dude." Rebecca shook her head right back, trying not to laugh at her. "Just answer the question, old lady."

"Emil and I, and my girlfriend Trinity, all talked and decided to hell with conventionality; we all love each other, so we'll all be together. Em's my exception, I guess; the only man I've ever been attracted to even after seeing him naked. Our boys were grown, Senna was long gone, we'd made a whole new life for ourselves, so we decided to have another baby. Enter Cassie." Rachel sighed, staring off into space. "And now she's grown, Kieran's back in that awful place trying to turn it around, married to a great girl, Caspian's there with them to help..."

Though she had a feeling she knew the answer, the vampire asked softly, "And your lovers?"

"...Dead. Cassie - Cassie Wade, I mean - died in prison, Trin and Em were killed in the second war." A bitter smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. "Kieran and Cas are running a third."

"There's always another fucking war," Rebecca grumbled. "I've watched so many of them come and go, fought in two, myself... It never really ends."

#crossroads #claddagh #achlys #rachel o'brien #rebecca o'brien #achlys and claddagh meet

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boyy-wonder-grayson · 5 years ago

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Dust in the wind (part 1)

Summary: Dick and the reader are celebrating their wedding went something unexpected happens. This is basically the plot for infinity war but with Dick.

Requested: yes by @bub

Parings: Dick Grayson x Reader

Warnings: angst, character death, implied smut but nothing really

Notes: Sorry for any mistakes and thanks for the awesome prompt i’m happy enough with what i came with so hopefully you guys enjoy it too!

*gifs belings to @riseofnightwing

The dark blue curtains billowed as the gentle breeze of the morning summer came pushing through them. Dick had just woken up from a deep sleep that left him surprisingly well rested. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and grabbed his phone from underneath his pillow. 7.45 am it read, it was still early to start the day, so he stayed in bed for a little while. He soon fall asleep with the sound of the waves crashing down into the shore. He woke up, for the second time, around 10 am. He felt a hot body pressed to his side and when the sleep finally left his body, he realised that his girlfriend was clinging onto his side. One of her arms was draped across his chest while the other was underneath her head. She was snoring lightly -a fact she would deny till death- and her hair was sprawled on her face. Dick chuckled at the sight of the sleeping woman and pushed her hair out of her face trying hard not to wake her up, but failing. She stirred awake and looked at Dick with a sleepy grin on her face "morning you" she said moving closer to Dick despite the hot weather. He couldn't understand how she was not dying in this heat, it was 10am and he was already sweating. Dick didn't like hot weather. At all. But he was not going to complain when her best friends and teammates decided that he and Y/n needed a well deserved vacation from the craziness that San Francisco had to offer on a daily basis.

"Wanna go get breakfast?" He asked her kissing her forehead and untangling himself from her grasp to get a better look at her. Even with her hair sticking up in all directions and her eyes half closed, Dick thought that she was the prettiest girl in the world.

She grumbled in response and rolled over to get out of the bed

"I'm gonna take a shower" she said rummaging through her clothes looking for something clean enough to wear. They were on vacation there was no way they were doing laundry. "And you're joining me" she finished looking over her shoulder and throwing Dick a seductive wink. This made Dick sprint to the bathroom running after her. She squealed when Dick picked her up and threw her under the cold water.

He lived for moments like this; where the only thing that could happen to them was to run out of food. Dick promised himself, and her, that they would make the most out of this mini vacation, and he was going to fulfill that promise.

He got out of the shower first, leaving her alone to actually take a shower. With a towel around his waist he sat down in front of his bag and looked through it for the black velvet box. Inside of it was a beautiful ring. He put it on his jeans pocket and got dressed.

That day he was going to propose to Y/n. It's been long overdue and he was scared shitless, but excited at the same time.

After a big breakfast that included almost everything on the menu -because they were on vacation goddammit they were going to eat until they exploded - they decided to go to the beach to enjoy some summer sun and maybe swim a little bit. They picked a spot away from everyone and settled on the sand. Dick wasn't a fan of the beach to be honest, but when she gave him puppy eyes and pouted her lips there was no way in hell, he would say no.

It was night time when Dick's plan took action. They were going to eat at some not-so-fancy-restaurant and when the night would come to an end, he would propose.

Nearing the end of the evening, Dick and Y/n walked hand in hand on their way back to the hotel. Dick kissed her intertwined hands and stopped in front of a little plaza near the hotel. The place was beautiful, full of flowers and trees.

"Y/n I've have been meaning to ask you something and to be honest I don't know how to start" he laughed "we've been together for almost four years and they were the happiest four years of my life" he said looking at her straight in the eyes.

"Yeah they were okay" Y/n joked making Dick rolled his eyes

"I'm trying to be romantic here" he complained trying to suppress a smile.

"Like I've said, those four year have been the best of my life, and it all comes down to one essential factor in my happiness: you" he reached inside his pocket for the back box. He kneeled in front of her and Y/n was trying real hard not to cry, but failed miserably.

"So what do you say? Will you marry me?" He asked. Y/n was sobbing by now, trying to contain her happiness but it was just too much. She nodded furiously and let Dick put the beautiful ring on her finger. He got up and pressed a kiss on her mouth a wiping her tears away, trying not to cry himself.

"I love you so much Dick" she said kissing all over his face. "So, so much".

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's been three months since Dick proposed to her and the preparations for the wedding where making her insane. There were so many things she needed to take care of. The venue, the cake, flowers, everything, and the most important item: the dress. To be honest she wasn't really expecting to ever get married specially in her line of work. Heroes don't tend to live enough to get married and have a family, but for some divine reason she got lucky enough to meet Dick.

It was a good thing her father in law was a billionaire and offered to take care of all the expenses. Still, she didn't want a big wedding. Just the team, Bruce and of course Alfred. She didn't want to draw unwanted attention either. A superhero wedding? Yeah that kind of stuff draws the attention of the worst kind of people, so she opted for something simpler. Dawn and Donna and even Rachel helped her with most of the details,like which flowers did she want for her bouquet,or what kind of flavour the cake was going to be. Doing this kind of task gave her a sense of normality that she didn't have much of in her life. None of them had it, so everyone jumped to the opportunity to take their minds off of their hectic lives. Even the boys would help.

Y/n was getting already under the covers when Dick got out of the shower. She was too engrossed with whatever was on her phone that she didn't realized that Dick had been staring at her for the past minute. When she finally put her phone down she noticed the weird look in her boyfriend's eyes

"What's up?" What are you looking at me like that?" She asked confused

Dick chuckled and moved closer to her "nothing it's just,I still can't believe we're getting married" he said looking down.

"I mean that sort of thing doesn't happen to people like us you know?" He reflected looking at her with soft eyes "ever since I started doing this-this job I never thought that I'd ended up engaged with the most beautiful woman on earth"

Y/n rolled her eyes trying to hide the fact,that even after four years Dick still managed to make her blush "you're a sap" she giggled "but I understand what you mean,I think the same way. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever met Dick" she laughed at the last part making Dick playfully pushed her, so her back was now flat against the mattress.

"Mm you really think I'm the most beautiful ?" He asked kissing her neck

"Of course babe, the prettiest" she laughed, but soon turned into a tiny moan when he bit down her neck

He kept on kissing down her neck all the way to the valley of her breasts. Y/n sighed in content. She couldn't get enough of him.

Eight months later

" Are you nervous son? Bruce asked fixing Dick's bowtie, just like he used to whenever little Dick attended a gala. He appreciated Bruce being here, truly.

"A little, but that's good right?" Dick asked looking at himself in the full length mirror.

Bruce laughed at his son and patted his shoulder "it's perfectly normal, it's not everyday someone like us gets married, so it's always a blessing" he said reassuring the brown eyed boy.

Dick nodded and gave Bruce a hug before he went to see her new daughter in law. Jason bursted into the room telling his brother that it was time. He was getting married today, and he couldn't be any happier.

Dick stood on the altar anxiously tugging at the sleeves of his black tuxedo. When the music started to play he looked up and he swore he had died and went to heaven. There she stood with Bruce on her side. She had asked her if he could walk her down the aisle and Bruce was touched by the proposal. When she reached Dick he couldn't help but shed a few tears. She looked beautiful in her white dress that she spent months looking with Dawn and Donna's help.

She gave her bouquet to Donna who was one of her bridesmaids along with Dawn. On Dick's side Hank and Jason stood behind with huge smiles. Everyone was happy for them,truly.

It was halfway through the vows that something went wrong. Really wrong.

Y/n was the first to notice, because she felt it deep inside. The panicked didn't seem to wait much longer to break.

"Dick what's going on!?" Y/n asked walking closer to his soon to be husband

"I don't know" he replied clinging onto her for dear life "we need to get out of here now!" He screamed the last part for everyone to hear.

They didn't make it too far from the altar before Y/n tripped making Dick panicked as he tried to pick her up, but she felt like dead weight.

"C'mon baby get up we need to leave" he said grabbing her by the waist,but Y/n shook her head.

Dick tried again, to lift her up but to no avail. She couldn't move

"Dick I'm scared" she cried as he desperately tried to wipe her tears away.

"It's fine,I promise it's okay" he shushed her. His watery eyes made it difficult for him to look at her. She took her last breath before she became nothing but dust. He didn't understand what just happened. He looked around and saw that it wasn't only her that had disappeared. Dawn, Rachel, Jason. They were all gone. Dust.

He grabbed a fistful of ashes that only moments ago were his girlfriend.

This wasn't supposed to happen, they were supposed to get married and have a long life together. Dick screamed and cursed at God, at the sky or whoever did this.

He felt a hand softly touching his shoulder and saw a concerned Bruce, who was just as confused and scared as Dick.

"I don't know what happened here son, but we need to leave. Now" he said making Dick stand up

"No!I can't leave what if she gets back?I need to be here, for when she gets back!" He cried yanking a fistful of his hair. Trying desperately to make sense of this situation. They've never faced something like this before.

"Son i understand but she's g-" Bruce was cut off by Dick's harsh response

"Don't you dare say it Bruce!" He cried "she's not gone, she can't be" he shook his hand as he finally broke down and fall into his father's arms.

He was getting married five minutes ago and now the love of this life was dead and he couldn't understand why.

#dick grayson x reader #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson x you #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson #nightwing x reader #nightwing #netflixs titans #titans imagine #titans #dcu #dc #fanfic

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richincolor · 4 years ago

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Self Care Books For a Tough Week

There are no new releases this week and I can kinda understand why. Imagine having to have a book launch the same week we chose a new president. Everyone is on pins and needles this week as we hope and pray for a good outcome and ending to this election cycle. Self-care is also important this week and many find reading an escape to help them cope. So, I asked my fellow contributors what they are reading this week for self care.

Audrey is reading The Silvered Serpents by Roshani Chokshi.

They are each other’s fiercest love, greatest danger, and only hope. Séverin and his team members might have successfully thwarted the Fallen House, but victory came at a terrible cost — one that still haunts all of them. Desperate to make amends, Séverin pursues a dangerous lead to find a long lost artifact rumored to grant its possessor the power of God. Their hunt lures them far from Paris, and into the icy heart of Russia where crystalline ice animals stalk forgotten mansions, broken goddesses carry deadly secrets, and a string of unsolved murders makes the crew question whether an ancient myth is a myth after all. As hidden secrets come to the light and the ghosts of the past catch up to them, the crew will discover new dimensions of themselves. But what they find out may lead them down paths they never imagined. A tale of love and betrayal as the crew risks their lives for one last job.

Crystal is reading Shine by Jessica Jung

A Korean American teen is thrust into the competitive, technicolor world of K-pop, from Jessica Jung, K-pop legend and former lead singer of Girls Generation. What would you give for a chance to live your dreams? For seventeen-year-old Korean American Rachel Kim, the answer is almost everything. Six years ago, she was recruited by DB Entertainment—one of Seoul’s largest K-pop labels, known for churning out some of the world’s most popular stars. The rules are simple: Train 24/7. Be perfect. Don’t date. Easy right? Not so much. As the dark scandals of an industry bent on controlling and commodifying beautiful girls begin to bubble up, Rachel wonders if she’s strong enough to be a winner, or if she’ll end up crushed… Especially when she begins to develop feelings for K-pop star and DB golden boy Jason Lee. It’s not just that he’s charming, sexy, and ridiculously talented. He’s also the first person who really understands how badly she wants her star to rise.

She is also reading How to Be Remy Cameron by Julian Winters

Everyone on campus knows Remy Cameron. He's the out-and-gay, super-likable guy that people admire for his confidence. The only person who may not know Remy that well is Remy himself. So when he is assigned to write an essay describing himself, he goes on a journey to reconcile the labels that people have attached to him, and get to know the real Remy Cameron.

Jessica is reading How It All Blew Up by Arvin Ahmadi

Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda goes to Italy in Arvin Ahmadi's newest incisive look at identity and what it means to find yourself by running away. Eighteen-year-old Amir Azadi always knew coming out to his Muslim family would be messy--he just didn't think it would end in an airport interrogation room. But when faced with a failed relationship, bullies, and blackmail, running away to Rome is his only option. Right? Soon, late nights with new friends and dates in the Sistine Chapel start to feel like second nature... until his old life comes knocking on his door. Now, Amir has to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth to a U.S. Customs officer, or risk losing his hard-won freedom. At turns uplifting and devastating, How It All Blew Up is Arvin Ahmadi's most powerful novel yet, a celebration of how life's most painful moments can live alongside the riotous, life-changing joys of discovering who you are.

She is also reading The Magic Fish by Trung Le Nguyen

Tiến loves his family and his friends…but Tiến has a secret he's been keeping from them, and it might change everything. An amazing YA graphic novel that deals with the complexity of family and how stories can bring us together. Real life isn't a fairytale. But Tiến still enjoys reading his favorite stories with his parents from the books he borrows from the local library. It's hard enough trying to communicate with your parents as a kid, but for Tiến, he doesn't even have the right words because his parents are struggling with their English. Is there a Vietnamese word for what he's going through? Is there a way to tell them he's gay? A beautifully illustrated story by Trung Le Nguyen that follows a young boy as he tries to navigate life through fairytales, an instant classic that shows us how we are all connected. The Magic Fish tackles tough subjects in a way that accessible with readers of all ages, and teaches us that no matter what—we can all have our own happy endings.

And I'm reading Foreshadow: Stories to Celebrate the Magic of Reading and Writing YA by Emily X.R. Pan and Nova Ren Suma

Thirteen Short Stories from Bold New YA Voices & Writing Advice from YA Icons Created by New York Times bestselling authors Emily X. R. Pan and Nova Ren Suma, Foreshadow is so much more than a short story collection. A trove of unforgettable fiction makes up the beating heart of this book, and the accompanying essays offer an ode to young adult literature, as well as practical advice to writers. Featured in print for the first time, the thirteen stories anthologized here were originally released via the buzzed-about online platform Foreshadow. Ranging from contemporary romance to mind-bending fantasy, the Foreshadow stories showcase underrepresented voices and highlight the beauty and power of YA fiction. Each piece is selected and introduced by a YA luminary, among them Gayle Forman, Laurie Halse Anderson, Jason Reynolds, and Sabaa Tahir. What makes these memorable stories tick? What sparked them? How do authors build a world or refine a voice or weave in that deliciously creepy atmosphere to bring their writing to the next level? Addressing these questions and many more are essays and discussions on craft and process by Nova Ren Suma and Emily X. R. Pan. This unique compilation reveals and celebrates the magic of reading and writing for young adults.

What are you reading to get you through this week? Share in the comments or on our Twitter and Instagram accounts.

#self care #book lists #weneeddiversebooks

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flowerfan2 · 4 years ago

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Everything You’re Looking For

David/Patrick, 2000 words, A03

S05e06 coda

In the days after what Patrick thinks of as the Ken incident, Patrick finds himself hyperaware every time a guy around his age comes into the store. It’s bordering on ridiculous, but each time Patrick approaches one of them with what he steadily maintains is his usual cheerful greeting, he can’t help but wonder what they see when they look at him. Is he now giving off some kind of gay vibe?

Adding to the insanity of this preoccupation is the fact that Patrick still, for the most part, has no idea whether any particular guy he looks at is queer. He’s actually pretty sure that making that judgment based upon a guy’s appearance is incorrect, and yet he doesn’t have the time to banter with everyone he meets for a few weeks to find out whether their eyes linger on his lips when he calls out their sloppy mouth, so he’s not sure how to discover if there might be an attraction between them.

It’s not as if he wants there to be an attraction between them – he doesn’t want to be with anyone other than David, that was never really in doubt, and now it’s firmly established. But he just can’t help considering what people think when they meet him. If Ken had seen something in Patrick that told him “yeah, he might be open to this” does that mean that Patrick has changed? In his whole life, before meeting David, no guy has ever hit on him. Something must have changed.

Of course it might also be that Ken saw Patrick interacting with David, or looking at David, or existing near David… Patrick thinks he’s pretty obvious, at least now, when it comes to his attachment to his boyfriend. Stevie has gone so far as to describe him as “besotted,” at least when she was high. On the other hand, if it was clear that Patrick was in a relationship, why would Ken have asked for his number?

It’s confusing, and distracting. Desperate to get his mind off the topic, Patrick tells David that he’s going to hide out in the back room for the afternoon and work on the books. David seems fine with this – he’s got no reason not to be – and so Patrick sits himself down with his laptop and proceeds to stare unseeingly at a half-finished profit and loss statement until his eyes start to cross.

Patrick wonders if this would all make more sense if he knew any other queer people their age besides David. He thinks that’s part of why David wanted him to experience a date with Ken. Having someone to talk to seems like it might help. But the last thing he wants is to make David think he wants to meet other gay guys because there’s something lacking in his relationship with David – there isn’t. David is gorgeous and impossible and everything Patrick had never known he wanted. Patrick can’t imagine being more deeply in love than he is with David, and in his heart of hearts, he doesn’t see that ever changing.

But Patrick is, for lack of a better word, curious. He’s never been a gay man in any environment other than Schitt’s Creek; no one knew he was gay until he became David Rose’s boyfriend. (His parents still don’t know, but he pushes that thought away – it’s a problem for another day).

He finds himself poking around online, looking at LGBTQ+ community center websites. There’s one not too far away with a wide range of programming, including groups that center around identity, advocacy, mental health, and the arts. There’s even a book club. Patrick tries to imagine showing up to a meeting with a dozen other queer people. He’s not sure how it would feel.

A few more searches bring him to an online chat group. He meanders about for a while, reading threads on coming out, and religion, and the challenges of being gay in a small town. He finds one that seems friendly, and without letting himself think too hard about it, he posts.

I haven’t been out for long, even to myself. I’m pretty happy hanging out with my boyfriend and his - he rapidly backspaces, deleting “his” and changing it to “our” - our most likely straight friends, but should I be making an effort to meet more queer people?

Patrick forces himself to tab away from the chat group and spend some time entering data on vendors into a spreadsheet. It’s easy work, though, and not nearly distracting enough. He doesn’t know why he thinks random people who have nothing better to do than screw around online are going to have anything valuable to say, but he’s still dying to know if he’ll get any responses.

Finally five o-clock rolls around, and he joins David out in the store to get ready to close up. David’s in a good mood, humming and strutting around the display tables with a broom that is serving more as a prop than a cleaning device, and Patrick forgets all about his post. They pick up a pizza on their way home, and waste time faux arguing about whether they’re going to go to Ray’s house next weekend for game night (they will, in the end, but David needs to get in a good rant first to feel like he’s being heard).

Alexis stops by for a few minutes, and she teases David for a while about a haircut he once got while drunk – in her opinion it was even worse than the one Jocelyn got at the casino. Patrick thinks Alexis is lonely now that David spends most nights out of the motel. He doesn’t mind her lingering in their space as if she has a right to be there. It’s nice, really, feeling like he’s part of David’s family, and he doesn’t like the idea of Alexis feeling alone.

David kicks Alexis out around ten, and they get changed into sleep pants and t-shirts and climb into bed. Patrick grabs his laptop and David smirks at him, finding a magazine and tucking himself close against Patrick’s side. It’s not weird for them to read for a while before going to sleep, even if it means that they don’t mess around every night. Patrick tips his head and kisses David’s forehead. He always felt guilty if he told Rachel he wasn’t in the mood, but it doesn’t work that way with David. David doesn’t have any doubts about the fact that Patrick finds him sexy. They’ve played with this often enough, David cranking Patrick up just with a sultry smile and a finger trailing along his skin in just the right place. But tonight, at least for now, Patrick has other things on his mind.

Bracing himself for disappointment, Patrick goes back to the chat. There are a number of replies to his post, and he bites his lip as he reads them. There’s a good smattering of “don’t worry, there’s no way to do it wrong” responses which are nice enough, but he’s already had David’s voice in his head telling him that. There’s one comment about how he should ask himself why this has occurred to him now, and if someone in the friend group is making him uncomfortable (no one is). Another tells him to consider whether this is a situation of internalized homophobia or if he feels safer with straight people than gay people (he doesn’t think that’s it). Another asks him if maybe he’s just not that into group activities, which is off the mark but makes him chuckle.

The response that resonates the most, though, that makes his shoulders relax and his nervous finger tapping subside, is this one: Do what feels comfortable for you now, and stay open to other possibilities. There’s no rule that you have to pick one way to be queer and stay that way forever. Maybe next year you’ll decide to express your sexuality in different ways, or feel the need to meet more people. If you are fortunate enough to have a few good friends, and someone who loves you, you’re doing just fine.

Patrick breathes deeply, thinking this through. It feels right. David stirs next to him.

“Ready to go to sleep, or is there still a spreadsheet that needs your attention?”

Patrick hesitates for a moment, and then turns his laptop towards David, who props himself up on an elbow to read the screen.

“I was considering an LGBTQ book club,” Patrick says, as lightly as he can. “Or maybe a bowling league.”

“Ugh, please. I know you’re just saying that to torment me. Who came up with an activity that requires you to wear unsanitary shoes?”

“I think they’re cute.”

“You do not.” David scrolls up to see Patrick’s original post, his eyes flickering over to Patrick’s face and back to the screen. “I was in a queer book club for a while. Mostly because Adrien’s caterer had a Cordon Blu trained pastry chef on staff. Those chouquettes…” David lets out a little groan of appreciation.

“Did you like it? The book club, I mean, I know you liked the pastry.”

David slings his arms around Patrick’s neck and looks at him steadily. “Patrick, I ran art galleries in New York City. I lived in Chelsea. I didn’t need a book club to find my people.”

Patrick feels silly for a minute, remembering again how very different David’s life has been from his.

“But it was fun, on occasion. When does it meet?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t get that far. I wasn’t seriously considering it.” Patrick pulls away from David, needing just a little less eye contact. He slides down on the bed, and David follows, tucking his head on Patrick’s shoulder.

“Well, let me know if you change your mind. I’ve exhausted all the reading material at the motel. I wouldn’t want to risk our relationship by taking any more of those quizzes.”

Patrick’s brain trips over this for a minute. “You’d want to come with me?”

David turns to him, and it’s clear that he understands that this conversation is more than just Patrick trying to decide what to do with his Sunday nights. “I’d like to. There’s a definite dearth of non-straights in Schitt’s Creek. But not if it’s something you wanted to do for yourself. That would also be fine.”

It dawns on Patrick that maybe David could use more gay friends too, or pan, or just friends in general that aren’t his sister or Stevie. And he imagines going to a queer group with David at his side, David’s arm in a fuzzy sweater wrapped around his own, David’s chin tucked over his shoulder. He likes the idea.

Patrick turns and kisses David, his mouth lingering on his lips. “I think that’d be good,” he says against David’s cheek. “If we both went.”

David hums his agreement and kisses Patrick back, heating it up, his hands roaming around Patrick’s body in the way that never fails to turn him on. Things fall away from Patrick for a while after that, as they strip off their clothes and press close, David’s naked body grinding hot against his under the sheets.

“I wondered about it too,” David says later, after they’ve caught their breath and nestled back together, sweat cooling on their skin. “How Ken knew right away.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm. I thought maybe he saw the way I looked at you.”

Patrick can’t believe there’s enough energy left in his body to blush, but he knows he’s doing it. He rubs his nose in David’s hair. “Yeah? How do you look at me?”

David laughs softly, digging his chin into Patrick’s shoulder. “Alexis says besotted. And she’s right.”

Patrick holds David tighter and kisses him again. “The feeling’s mutual, babe.” It’s love that’s changed him, Patrick thinks, as he drifts off to sleep. And it’s changed David, too. It’s shining out of them so brightly, it’s no wonder people can see it.

#David Rose #Patrick Brewer #Schitt's Creek #Schitt's Creek fic #S05e06

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bastillewolf · 5 years ago

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Midnight In Sheffield (I)

Pairing: Alex Turner/Reader

Summary: When a soon-to-be-wedded insomniac author heads back home to visit her parents, she comes across the likes of a mysterious musician on her sleepless escapade in the AM.

Notes: Not sure if this is going to work out, but I’ve made the creative decision to write a series of Alex Turner fanfics, going down each album and all most likely lightly based off movies. Like the Grand Tranquility Hotel from the Grand Budapest Hotel, this one is based off Midnight In Paris. No need to have seen either movies to read these fics. It won’t take place around the same time, as Sheffield has been through some stuff in the early 1900s. I will keep it all a bit old-school themed, but just won’t name a specific era, so you can take your own spin on it. I’m not familiar with Sheffield at all, never been there, so I’ll keep locations vague and add the Paris theme a bit in there. Hope you tag along for the ride, and let’s have one for the road.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list!

Chapter I - AM

“I don’t see how this could be more important to you than meeting my parents,” she grumbled, her voice muffled by the pillow she had planted her face in. The sheets of the bed were soft and had a pristine white colour, much to her dismay. The entire hotel room was much too extravagant to her liking, but it was Mark who insisted on paying extra to make their stay most comfortable.

“Please don’t be difficult now, sweetheart,” her fiancée replied, as he set one of his neatly folded trousers in the dresser on the shelf next to where his ironed shirts hung. “You know how much it means to me to be able to see James and Rachel again after all these years. I’m sure your parents will understand. If not, I’ll beg for their forgiveness.” He dramatically bent down to his knee, as if to gallantly portray his apology, making her roll her eyes.

“That wouldn’t be the first thing you’d have to apologize for. First of all, you’re going to have to tell my dad why you didn’t ask for his permission to marry me-“

“You already said yes!”

She shot him a look. “And secondly, you’re going to have to explain to my mum why you didn’t want to stay at their home. I think she would’ve been very happy to play hostess to the man who’s going to marry her daughter in a few.”

He crawled on top of the bed, his curly brown hair hanging over his face as he hovered above her and kissed her forehead. “I’ll be sure to make up for it. Now, please get changed. We’re having lunch.”

“Please don’t tell me it’s going to be at that ritzy restaurant we went to last time. I’m still not over the way that waiter felt the need to explain everything to me like a five-year-old whilst pointing everything out with his little finger.”

“Well, you can’t speak French, darling. I think he tried his best at explaining the menu to you.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just, please stop drooling on the pillow and put on something nice. For me?”

Seeing the convincing puppy look on his face, she gave in with a sigh and a very loud slurping noise as she lifted her head from the pillow, making Mark huff.

Meeting with James and Rachel wasn’t the worst thing in the world, because she didn’t see them very often and they were overall nice people. At least, if you didn’t count every time James tried to be the smartass of the group by giving some random fact about anything and everything they came across, or if you ignored the way Rachel was evidently very flirty and touchy with Mark, or if you turned your head away every time the couple made those wretched kissing noises as they shared what should be an intimate moment.

What Mark had with Rachel was something she could never come between, something she also shared with many good friends of her own. They were the type who would always share that bond with you, no matter how long you hadn’t seen each other, and she could only be happy that Mark still had friends like that.

His work as a lawyer didn’t allow for him to make all that many mates, as most try to stab him in the back just to be able to get that promotion they wanted. He’d often come home with his head hung low after days like that, when loneliness took over the pride he had of his usually exhilarating job.

And thus, as she watched Rachel hug him extra tight, she kept her mouth shut. It was for the best, and it was only one afternoon she had to endure.

But she vowed to herself to not let it happen at her wedding. That was her day. Fuck Mark and fuck Rachel. She wasn’t going to be left alone dancing with James, who seemed to be known for having two left feet, by her own husband. But that was something she’d have to worry about in the future.

Her worries now were trying to translate a French menu without asking a waiter, deciding which fork to use, and refraining from telling James to shut up about the painting that hung behind him, of which he was giving an entirely unnecessarily intricate description.

“As you can see, the painter made sure the flag of the boat is standing diagonal to the man in the front, to make the artwork a treat for the eye with this interesting form of composition. It makes the scene all the more dramatic, wouldn’t you agree?”

Mark and Rachel hummed thoughtfully, but both were looking at the painting as if it was some Professor Layton puzzle they had yet to solve.

“What do you think?” James turned to her directly, catching her off guard. James usually wasn’t one to ask others for their opinion, so she could only guess it was an attempt to test her bare knowledge on the subject to make himself look like the smarter one.

“I think you said it all, James,” she decided to answer with, “I’m afraid I haven’t thought about art in that way since my classes in school. As of now, I have more important things to worry about than what the composition in a painting is like.”

It was low of her, she knew that, but someone needed to teach him a lesson.

“Ah,” James said, seemingly unfazed by her subtle insult, “Now that you mention it, how’s your book coming along?”

She sighed. Of course, he was going to play that card. She could’ve seen it coming.

Being a published writer of a few mediocre novels she’d written back in school, she was still in search for her new muse, and things were getting a bit desperate, to say the least. She had absolutely no idea what her next story was going to be about, finding everything in her life to be inexplicably boring and explicitly dull.

Not so much to say she wasn’t happy. No, she liked being with Mark. But she couldn’t say her life was a real adventure with him, or anyone for that matter. They lived in an apartment in the big city, where Mark had his day job and she her comfortable bed. He’d come home and she would’ve cooked – whatever attempt it was each time – and cleaned, and perhaps even written down a page or two only to never look at it again.

“Oh, you know. It’s getting there,” she lied, “Inspiration is lacking a bit these days, unfortunately.”

“I’ve always found inspiration to be a bit of a myth,” James said thoughtfully, “Why is it exactly that one particular thing that’s so inexplicable yet so necessary to create something? It seems a bit… I don’t know, like an excuse for some writers. I’ve heard many talk about it seriously, and many call it pure laziness. But then again, I wouldn’t really know much of the matter.”

There was the comeback.

She smiled tightly. “No, you wouldn’t. I can agree that some writers use it as an excuse to hide their laziness, as I find that a lot of characters write their own stories as soon as you sit down and start typing. However, inspiration is indeed something vague, and could be considered a writer’s virtue or downfall. It’s however you approach the subject, and however you try to deal with it or rationalize it as an artist.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have even mentioned it. I wouldn’t know much about it, since I’m only an art consultant, after all.” He threw his hands up degradingly.

Fucker.

“Oh, come on, let’s not be so childish. All of our work is equally as important, as long as we’re happy doing it,” Rachel intervened, before raising her glass, “Here’s a toast to inspiration and art!”

Though she was relieved the argument was over and the attention drawn away from her, she couldn’t help but feel that familiar itch from the downgrading undertone in Rachel’s voice. Call it jealousy if you might, but she wasn’t one to let something like that slip from her mind, however many years may pass.

“So, if I may be so bold to ask,” Rachel continued, and the writer had almost collected her guts to blatantly reply with a ‘no’ when the woman was already speaking again, “What are your plans after the wedding? Are you moving? Already thinking about having kids? No pressure, of course.” She laughed with a pitch so high it nearly shattered the wineglass she was bringing to her lips to pieces.

“Oh, she always gets a bit icky talking about having kids,” Mark chuckled, “But if it were up to her, we’d be moving to some remote village in the outskirts of France, living in a tiny apartment until we grow old and turn to dust.”

She shrugged at her fiancée, “Doesn’t sound all that bad to me.”

“That’s because you came up with it.”

“Don’t you want to be closer to your friends?” Rachel asked, “Why move to the middle of nowhere, when you have everything out here?”

“I don’t know. I guess because of the peace and quiet. A simple life, with the bare necessities.”

“I wouldn’t have protested if it wasn’t for my job,” Mark added, which was a blatant lie. She’d heard him cut off her dream many times over for many different reasons. “Unfortunately, my French isn’t good enough to be a lawyer, and certainly not in the outskirts somewhere.”

“I thought you barely spoke a word of French, anyway?” James asked her.

“I know, but I would learn it there. It would be a part of the adventure.”

He snorted, “I’m sorry darling, but adventure is for children. It’s time to grow out of that. Perhaps you should find something you like in a proper job.”

She’d prompted to walk back to the hotel, through the rain, as Mark, James and Rachel – mostly Mark – had tried to convince her to share a cab with them. But no way in hell would she spend another unnecessary moment with that couple, and Mark knew better than to follow her out, for she would only be walking too quickly for him, and he would have quietly trailed after her the whole way back.

So, when she finally reached the building, he allowed her to soak in the tub for a few hours before finally approaching her.

“He has a point, you know.”

The look she gave him was an evident warning, yet he still had the guts to continue. “I’m not saying you should stop writing. I know that’s your passion. But, I’m asking you to maybe find something that could come close to that in the meantime, at least until you find something to write about. And perhaps, after we get married-“ he kissed her wrinkly palm, “-we could afford ourselves a nice vacation cot somewhere in the outskirts of France, and we could visit it as often as we’d like.”

She pursed her lips, turning her eyes away from his pensively. “I’m not sure your job would allow that. Your vacation days would be limited, and my desires to go on a holiday always growing.”

He smiled gently. “I’m sure we could work it out after I get that promotion.”

She looked at him, her eyes slightly glossy. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m giving up.”

“You’re not giving up, sweetheart. You’re only taking measures to be able to do the things you like, and when things are going well you can set your priorities straight. It’s the better thing to do.”

Her mind might be relieved to hear this solution, but her gut remained ridden with unease.

“Mark? Are you coming?” she called out, her hand hovering over the doorknob of their room.

“I’ll be right after you!” she heard him say, “Work is phoning me, you go ahead. I’ll take the next cab.”

“Alright, but don’t be too long!”

They were supposed to meet with their parents that evening to share the big news, but after hugs were shared and multiple cups of tea were had, Mark still hadn’t shown. She was beginning to grow worried when he didn’t pick up his phone, and even went as far as to step outside to frantically see if the connection was better.

After eight missed calls, she finally reached him.

“Can you believe it?” she heard him slur, “I stepped into the same cab as James! We’re at the pub, you should come join!”

Hearing faint noises of protest from others on the other end of the line, she quickly grew more and more bothered. “Mark, we were supposed to see my parents tonight.”

“Oh, we can see them again tomorrow! I figured you needed some catching up to do.”

“You could’ve joined in on that catching up, as they’ve barely seen you three times over the past four years we’ve been together.”

“Please don’t be like that sweetheart, you know I adore your parents. In fact, I’ll come over right now if that’s what you-“

“No,” she quickly cut him off, not being able to stand the mental sight of her parents having to deal with her drunk fiancée. “You know what, have fun. I’ll stay at my parents’ for the night.”

“Sounds like fun! Call me-“

She’d hung up the phone before he could finish his sentence, and had dropped to her knees as she felt her bottom lip tremble. Not wanting to alert the neighbours, she quickly forced her numb legs to work again and strode in the direction of town, a walking route she usually took whenever she was upset when she was young. She sent a quick text to her mum, telling her she’d meet again with them tomorrow and explain what happened. She really couldn’t be bothered right now.

Tears streamed down her face at the thought that her feet were so unwilling to go back to face her parents, who she’d have to disappoint yet again with a disappearing soon-to-be son-in-law. It wasn’t that she couldn’t tell her parents about her problems, it was the thought of disappointing them once again with a mistake she was making.

A horrible, horrible mistake.

She was no longer aware of which way she’d gone, as all shops around her seemed unfamiliar, yet she could’ve sworn she hadn’t messed up any turns in her route.

Wherever she was though, was a beautifully quaint, with antique streetlights and a cobbled road. Shop windows held curtains made from white lace, and showed off vintage clothes and items for a real bargain.

Must be one of those vintage sales, she figured, as her eyes grazed along cars with brands that were so old she couldn’t remember the names of them. Stores like these must attract the more interesting people with vehicles like those.

It was when she saw a polished and brand-new-looking typewriter in one of the windows, she paused. Above it, she saw her own reflection; a puffy reddened face stained with an ongoing array of tears.

“I really hope you’re not crying because you want that typewriter so awfully bad,” a voice spoke.

She whipped around, coming face to face with a man who was giving her a kind look. His eyes were hazel, matching the brown suit he wore, and his head shaved to a buzzcut. He had sharp features, and still looked awfully British.

“I- Uh… No, I’m not,” she stuttered, trying to wipe the waterworks away with her sleeve.

The man then held out a folded cotton handkerchief to her, along with a smile as an attempt to cheer her up. She gratefully accepted both.

“Not any bloke I’d need to beat up, is there?”

She laughed blubberingly, “I don’t think that would be the solution to my problems, but thank you.”

“Thank god,” he huffed, “Because to be quite honest, I can’t throw a punch for the life of me. I would’ve had to ask one of my mates to do it for me, and cheer him on as he’d won my own fight.”

“I don’t think that would count as your fight,” she chuckled.

“Defending a lady’s honour is always my fight,” he replied. He shook his head, “Apologies for the rudeness, miss. Haven’t even properly introduced myself. I’m Miles.”

She gave him her own name, “and it’s nice to meet you, Miles. May I ask what you’re doing about this late?”

He gave her a strange look, “Why, it’s the perfect hour, why wouldn’t I be about? The night has only just started, and one of my close mates is preforming in the pub nearby. Want to join?”

She only took a moment to hesitate, before wilfully agreeing. “Sure.”

#Arctic Monkeys #Alex Turner #Alex Turner x Reader #Matt Helders #Miles Kane #TLSP #The Last Shadow Puppets #Nick O'Malley #AM #TBHC #Jamie Cook #Wpsiatwin #Humbug #Suck It And See #Fanfiction

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years ago

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Welllp These Are Books: the June 2021 Edition

I have read a lot of books this month. That should be stated upfront. Just an absolute metric ton of books. Some real good, some not-so good, some inadvertently hysterical. Also, I made that BINGO board. Because, like, you ever have a total crisis of writing-confidence and ignore that potential freakout and the tendency of your coworkers to miss deadlines by reading every free Amazon sports romance you can find? And several full YA series? In one month? No? My experiences are not universal, I understand. Anyway, there’s thoughts and opinions and spoilers under the cut. Everyone read the Once Upon a Con series, I’m begging you.

READ THIS SERIES! PLEASE! EVERY BOOK WAS SO CUTE! EVERYONE IN EVERY BOOK WAS SO CUTE! THE FANDOM STUFF DID NOT GIVE ME SECOND-HAND EMBARRASSMENT!

Geekerella by Ashley Poston Part romance, part love letter to nerd culture, and all totally adorbs, Geekerella is a fairy tale for anyone who believes in the magic of fandom. Geek girl Elle Wittimer lives and breathes Starfield, the classic sci-fi series she grew up watching with her late father. So when she sees a cosplay contest for a new Starfield movie, she has to enter. The prize? An invitation to the ExcelsiCon Cosplay Ball, and a meet-and-greet with the actor slated to play Federation Prince Carmindor in the reboot. With savings from her gig at the Magic Pumpkin food truck (and her dad’s old costume), Elle’s determined to win…unless her stepsisters get there first. Teen actor Darien Freeman used to live for cons—before he was famous. Now they’re nothing but autographs and awkward meet-and-greets. Playing Carmindor is all he’s ever wanted, but the Starfield fandom has written him off as just another dumb heartthrob. As ExcelsiCon draws near, Darien feels more and more like a fake—until he meets a girl who shows him otherwise.

The Princess and the Fangirl by Ashley Poston Imogen Lovelace is an ordinary fangirl on an impossible mission: to save her favorite Starfield character, Princess Amara, from being killed off. On the other hand, the actress who plays Amara wouldn’t mind being axed. Jessica Stone doesn’t even like being part of the Starfield franchise—and she’s desperate to leave the intense scrutiny of fandom behind. Though Imogen and Jess have nothing in common, they do look strangely similar to one another—and a case of mistaken identity at ExcelsiCon sets off a chain of events that will change both of their lives. When the script for the Starfield sequel leaks, with all signs pointing to Jess, she and Imogen must trade places to find the person responsible. The deal: Imogen will play Jess at her signings and panels, and Jess will help Imogen’s best friend run their booth. But as these “princesses” race to find the script leaker—in each other’s shoes—they’re up against more than they bargained for. From the darker side of fandom to unexpected crushes, Imogen and Jess must find a way to rescue themselves from their own expectations...and redefine what it means to live happily ever after.

Bookish and the Beast by Ashley Poston In this third book of the Once Upon a Con series, Rosie Thorne is feeling stuck—on her college application essays, in her small town, and on that mysterious General Sond cosplayer she met at ExcelsiCon. Most of all, she’s stuck in her grief over her mother’s death. Her only solace was her late mother’s library of rare Starfield novels, but even that disappeared when they sold it to pay off hospital bills. On the other hand, Vance Reigns has been Hollywood royalty for as long as he can remember—with all the privilege and scrutiny that entails. When a tabloid scandal catches up to him, he’s forced to hide out somewhere the paparazzi would never expect to find him: Small Town USA. At least there’s a library in the house. Too bad he doesn’t read. When Vance’s and Rosie’s paths collide, sparks do not fly. But as they begrudgingly get to know each other, their careful masks come off—and they may just find that there’s more risk in shutting each other out than in opening their hearts.

— I cannot possibly overstate what an absolute delight this series was. Cute and sweet and adorable. Like rot your teeth sweet with romances that my high-school self would have swooned over. (I would have been so in love with Darien Freeman as a 16 year old, it’s not even funny. Also, I would have been obsessed with Starfield.) Let’s be honest, my current self swooned quite a lot. Reading these books genuinely felt like a love letter to fandom. To the good and bad and trashy parts of it, and it made my heart swell thinking about these fictional kids and the community they found and how much they learned and then they FELL IN LOVE and, like, not to sound like an after-school special, but: THE REP IN THESE BOOKS?!?? HOLY S H I T. So good. So goddamn good. And not, like, shoved to the side. Like, Jess falls in love with a girl. And it gets its swoon-worthy moment as much as anyone else. Plus, bi-librarian dad who wears suspenders??? Sign. Me. Up. Twisting the fairy tales into the stories also worked really well in my opinion. Honestly my only gripe was that Darien found a cell phone number in the white pages, but, like, everything else was a joy. Please read these books. I promise they will make you smile.

IN WHICH I CAN NEVER TURN DOWN A BEAUTY AND THE BEAST ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

Cruel Beauty by Rosamund Hodge Betrothed to the evil ruler of her kingdom, Nyx has always known that her fate was to marry him, kill him, and free her people from his tyranny. But on her seventeenth birthday when she moves into his castle high on the kingdom's mountaintop, nothing is what she expected—particularly her charming and beguiling new husband. Nyx knows she must save her homeland at all costs, yet she can't resist the pull of her sworn enemy—who's gotten in her way by stealing her heart.

— Yo. YO. Everyone in this book was horrible! And it was wonderful! I figured out the twist approximately point two seconds after the potential for a twist was possibly introduced and it did not diminish my enjoyment of this book for one second. I am such a sucker for any Beauty and the Beast AU, but this was way different than anything I’d read before and Nyx was a blood-thirsty terror and I loved her. The magic and the world building was fascinating in that I really did not expect Greek gods and goddess, but it was also a welcome turn in a weird, huh, that’s interesting sort of way. And the banter was a-plus, top tier. Even when they were snarking at each other. Especially when they were snarking at each other. (Still a pretty quick turn from enemies to lovers, but I’m willing to overlook that based almost solely on the snark.) Plus, the castle was fascinating. And there were more twists aside from the main twist, none of which I figured out. All of which I gasped over. The end was like—chef’s kiss, fantastic. I would like a novel-length sequel to tell me how everything worked out.

...BUT THE LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD ONE WASN’T AS GOOD

Crimson Bound by Rosamund Hodge When Rachelle was fifteen she was good—apprenticed to her aunt and in training to protect her village from dark magic. But she was also reckless—straying from the forest path in search of a way to free her world from the threat of eternal darkness. After an illicit meeting goes dreadfully wrong, Rachelle is forced to make a terrible choice that binds her to the very evil she had hoped to defeat.Three years later, Rachelle has given her life to serving the realm, fighting deadly creatures in a vain effort to atone. When the king orders her to guard his son Armand—the man she hates most—Rachelle forces Armand to help her hunt for the legendary sword that might save their world. Together, they navigate the opulent world of the courtly elite, where beauty and power reign and no one can be trusted. And as the two become unexpected allies, they discover far-reaching conspiracies, hidden magic . . . and a love that may be their undoing. Within a palace built on unbelievable wealth and dangerous secrets, can Rachelle discover the truth and stop the fall of endless night?

— As much as I loved Cruel Beauty, I was like ehhhh on this one. Which is part Little Red Riding Hood (although that seems like a stretch, honestly) and part The Girl With No Hands, which is a fairy tale I have literally never heard of before. Rachelle was just—sorta whiny? Which, y’know, she was cursed and had fucked up her entire life, so fair, but also...annoying. I kept reading mostly to try and understand what the FUCK was going on with the magic. I like to consider myself a relatively intelligent person who can understand most YA novels, but this one was tough to keep track of. Like, sure, the imagery of the Dark Forest was cool, but also what is a Gladspring? I’m still not sure I know. Also, this kind of dragged in some places. Lots of patrolling the palace (whining about life) and not enough magic-fighting or establishing any sort of relationship between Rachelle and Armand. Which just sort of happened? Amidst, approximately, twenty-four different twists that were admittedly cool, but also felt like they came out of nowhere. Everything that happened in Cruel Beauty made sense. Most of what happened here felt like it was shoehorned in for shock value.

YOU WANT MORAL AMBIGUITY? BOY HAVE I GOT MORAL AMBIGUITY FOR YOU. IN GODDAMN SPADES.

The Firebird Series by Claudia Gray Marguerite Caine's physicist parents are known for their groundbreaking achievements. Their most astonishing invention, called the Firebird, allows users to jump into multiple universes—and promises to revolutionize science forever. But then Marguerite's father is murdered, and the killer—her parent's handsome, enigmatic assistant Paul— escapes into another dimension before the law can touch him.Marguerite refuses to let the man who destroyed her family go free. So she races after Paul through different universes, always leaping into another version of herself. But she also meets alternate versions of the people she knows—including Paul, whose life entangles with hers in increasingly familiar ways. Before long she begins to question Paul's guilt—as well as her own heart. And soon she discovers the truth behind her father's death is far more sinister than she expected.

— Guys. GUYS. These books, oh my G O D. Little known fact about me, but I am trash for cross-dimensional soulmates. The concept of “we’ll find each other anywhere” is one of my favorites, so I was so psyched about these books. And for awhile that’s what I thought I was going to get out of them. But. BUT! What I actually got was something, not totally different, but not entirely great, either. The problem here was that when anyone used one of the Firebird devices to jump dimensions they TOOK OVER THE BODY THEY JUMPED INTO. So, like, that consciousness got shoved to the side while whatever prime!person just took over. Living that body’s life. In a different dimension. And that’s kinda fucked up, right??? Brings in all sorts of questions about consent and morality and let me tell you, guys, this YA series DID NOT ADDRESS A SINGLE ONE OF THEM. Which is also super fucked up!! So, like, Marguerite is just bouncing around dimensions taking over people’s bodies and lives and leaving this, frankly, trail of destruction in her wake. And as if that wasn’t enough!!! In the second book Paul’s soul gets, like, split and she’s got to round up the pieces through dimensions, meeting all sorts of Pauls who are occasionally kind of shit people and he eventually just, like, CANNOT COPE. Seriously, I could not stop reading these. Partially for the moral ambiguity. Partially because I could not figure out why Paul loved Marguerite. Also, capitalism was the ultimate villain. AS IT SHOULD BE, REALLY.

CREEPY FAE WERE KIND OF CREEPY AND THAT’S NOT BAD, BUT LIKE MAYBE THIS WASN’T A GOOD BOOK?

An Enchantment of Ravens by Margaret Rogerson Isobel is an artistic prodigy with a dangerous set of clients: the sinister fair folk, immortal creatures who cannot bake bread or put a pen to paper without crumbling to dust. They crave human Craft with a terrible thirst, and Isobel’s paintings are highly prized. But when she receives her first royal patron—Rook, the autumn prince—she makes a terrible mistake. She paints mortal sorrow in his eyes—a weakness that could cost him his life. Furious, Rook spirits her away to his kingdom to stand trial for her crime. But something is seriously wrong in his world, and they are attacked from every side. With Isobel and Rook depending on each other for survival, their alliance blossoms into trust, then love—and that love violates the fair folks’ ruthless laws. Now both of their lives are forfeit, unless Isobel can use her skill as an artist to fight the fairy courts. Because secretly, her Craft represents a threat the fair folk have never faced in all the millennia of their unchanging lives: for the first time, her portraits have the power to make them feel.

— I’ve seen this book mentioned a lot. As good. And it wasn’t not good, but Isobel was pretty goddamn annoying and kind of dumb and a little self-important and I was mostly here for the creepy fae. That was fun. More fae should have antlers and stuff. Everything in this story happened ridiculously fast. I couldn’t believe it was over when it was over.

THE PROSE WAS VERY PRETTY. I’M NOT SURE WHY THE DRAGON HAD TO BE SUCH A MONUMENTAL DICK.

Uprooted by Naomi Novik Agnieszka loves her valley home, her quiet village, the forests and the bright shining river. But the corrupted Wood stands on the border, full of malevolent power, and its shadow lies over her life. Her people rely on the cold, driven wizard known only as the Dragon to keep its powers at bay. But he demands a terrible price for his help: one young woman handed over to serve him for ten years, a fate almost as terrible as falling to the Wood. The next choosing is fast approaching, and Agnieszka is afraid. She knows—everyone knows—that the Dragon will take Kasia: beautiful, graceful, brave Kasia, all the things Agnieszka isn’t, and her dearest friend in the world. And there is no way to save her. But Agnieszka fears the wrong things. For when the Dragon comes, it is not Kasia he will choose.

— Let me just say first off, that this should have been two books. Everything happened so quickly, I swear I got whiplash. That being said, as a heroine, I liked Agnieszka a lot. She was understandably freaked by everything that happened, but once she kind of settled, she didn’t take The Dragon’s shit and that was good because The Dragon was kind of shitty. This is why it should have been two books. Because everything The Dragon did felt like it needed some kind of explanation. Or at least some sort of reasoning for why he was such a monumental bastard. Which is why I was a little confused that Agnieszka was in love with him? He was such a dick, honestly. The last third or so of this book was the best because Novik really does know how to write action and the magic itself was pretty fascinating. (I wish it went into more depth, but I think I’m spoiled by fic and that’s not actually how the publishing world works.) Kasia might have been the most interesting person in this story. Girl went through it and just became a total badass. I loved her.

MARAUDER FEELINGS! MARAUDER FEELINGS! SO! MANY! MARAUDER! FEELINGS!

The Raven King by Maggie Stiefvater All her life, Blue has been warned that she will cause her true love's death. She doesn't believe in true love and never thought this would be a problem, but as her life becomes caught up in the strange and sinister world of the Raven Boys, she's not so sure anymore.

— RICHARD GANSEY, MY BELOVED. What a dweeb. A self-sacrificing, sorta sad dweeb. When he wrapped his jacket around Blue, my heart exploded. I think I spent the last fifteen or so chapters with disconcertingly wide eyes and possibly my hand over my mouth. Still not entirely sure why a Welsh king was in Virginia, but I loved it. Was real glad he was there. As promised by that one book rec list I read months ago, the Marauders vibes of these books were off the charts. It was a weird story with lots of weird things and I hope Mr. Grey gets to be happy one day and that Ronan and Adam make out some more eventually. I think they’ll both feel a lot better if they do. Like, about the world as a whole. Has anyone read the Ronan spinoff series? Should I read the Ronan spinoff series?

OK, THIS WASN’T THAT BAD, ACTUALLY

To Love Jason Thorn by Ella Maise Jason Thorn... My brother's childhood friend. Oh, how stupidly in love with that boy I was. He was the first boy that made me blush, my first official crush. Sounds beautiful so far, right? That excitement that bubbles up inside you, those famous butterflies you feel for the very first time--he was the reason for them all. But, you only get to live in that fairytale world until they crush your hopes and dreams and then stomp on your heart for good measure. And boy did he crush my little heart into pieces. After the stomping part he became the boy I did my best to stay away from--and let me tell you, it was pretty hard to do when he slept in the room right across from mine. When tragedy struck his family and they moved away, I was ready to forget he ever existed. Now he is a movie star, the one who makes women of all ages go into a screaming frenzy, the one who makes everyone swoon with that dimpled smile of his. Do you think that's dreamy? I certainly don't think so. How about me coming face to face with him? Nope still not dreamy. Not when I can't even manage to look him in the eye. Me? I'm Olive, a new writer. Actually, I'm THE writer of the book that inspired the movie he is about to star in on the big screen. As of late, I am also referred to as the oh-so-very-lucky girl who is about to become the wife of Jason Thorn. Maybe you're thinking yet again that this is all so dreamy? Nope, nothing dreamy going on here. Not even close.

— Ignoring the fact that this was almost blatant self-insert, this was a mostly good, occasionally trashy book with brother’s best friend and the one who got away tropes. Which, as we know, are my life’s blood. (Plus, surprise, fake marriage that isn’t really fake?!? Ok. OK!) My only eeek moment was when Olive got super drunk and wanted Jason to like—consummate the marriage and he was like, No Olive, you’re drunk. And then they ended up doing everything except having full-on sex, which felt a little creep and a lot sketch and then it was never mentioned again. Also, Olive needs to find some better friends, God.

EMERSON COD VOICE: HE’S STAAAAAALKING YOU

Marriage For One by Ella Maise Jack and I, we did everything backward. The day he lured me into his office-which was also the first day we met-he proposed. You'd think a guy who looked like him-a bit cold maybe, but still striking and very unattainable-would only ask the love of his life to marry him, right? You'd think he must be madly in love. Nope. It was me he asked. A complete stranger who had never even heard of him. A stranger who had been dumped by her fiancé only weeks before. You'd think I'd laugh in his face, call him insane-and a few other names-then walk away as quickly as possible. Well…I did all those things except the walking away part. It took him only minutes to talk me into a business deal…erm, I mean marriage, and only days for us to officially tie the knot. Happiest day of my life. Magical. Pop the champagne… Not. It was the worst day. Jack Hawthorne was nothing like what I'd imagined for myself. I blamed him for my lapse in judgment. I blamed his eyes, the ocean blue eyes that looked straight into mine unapologetically, and that frown on his face I had no idea I would become so fascinated with in time. It wasn't long after he said I was the biggest mistake of his life that things started to change. No, he still didn't talk much, but anyone can string a few words together. His actions spoke the loudest to me. And day after day my heart started to get a mind of its own.

— Ok, ok, ok, so I enjoyed the Jason Thorn book, right? Was, like, how bad could this other book be? And it wasn’t bad, but it was patently ridiculous. Let me explain what happened. Not entirely sorry for the spoilers. Jack the lawyer sees that Rose is only going to get the space for her coffee shop from her uncle’s will if she marries someone. She WAS engaged, but the guy split. For reasons no one can understand, especially Rose. She’s sad. She’s spent so much money on espresso machines! Enter Jack the lawyer who one random afternoon is like: HEY ROSE, YOU’RE MOSTLY A STRANGER, BUT I ALSO NEED TO GET MARRIED FOR REASONS I’LL ONLY SORTA EXPLAIN, LETS DO THAT. So they do???? And Jack the lawyer continues to be kinda weird and a little shady, but Rose has got the coffee shop and things are going well. Until! She’s got a leaky brain!!! That’s not a joke. Not a typo. Out of goddamn LEFT FIELD, Rose has got some horrible medical condition, so thank God she got married because Jack the lawyer’s got great health insurance. (this is ROMANTIC) and she’s got to have an operation and he stays with her and sleeps in the hospital chair and her coffee shop is somehow still going strong??? On Madison Avenue??? What sit-down coffee shop on Madison Avenue do you guys know that would succeed? None because it’s not downtown. I digress. Anyway, Rose makes a miraculous recovery, she and Jack the lawyer are now almost in love? At least having a shit ton of sex. They’re mostly happily married. Until, part two! The ex-fiance shows up and is like JACK THE LAWYER PAID ME TO BREAK UP WITH YOU. To which Rose is understandably flabbergasted. She confronts Jack the lawyer who fesses that he’s been seriously crushing on her since they met at her uncle’s Christmas party. She doesn’t remember this. He does. BECAUSE HE’S A STALKER. So, he knew about the will stipulation with marriage BACK THEN, which is why he used FIRM RESOURCES to investigate the ex-fiance and found out he was a con man, using Rose with plans to basically steal all her money. This infuriated Jack the lawyer because he thought Rose deserved better and then proceeded to basically con her himself, just in a different way. With marriage! He told her he needed to get married to show he was a family man to make partner. THAT WAS A LIE. He didn’t need it at all. He just—wanted to marry her??? To help her??? What a psycho. She leaves. He continues to lurk outside the coffee shop. They make up. No one mentions the stalking. The end.

I KEEP GIVING HELENA SECOND CHANCES AND SHE KEEPS...NOT DESERVING THEM

All In Series by Helena Hunting Sometimes I need an escape from the demands, the puck bunnies, and the notoriety that come with being an NHL team captain. I just want to be a normal guy for a few weeks. So when I leave Chicago for some peace and quiet, the last thing I expect is for a gorgeous woman to literally fall into my lap on a flight to Alaska. Even better, she has absolutely no idea who I am.Lainey is the perfect escape from my life. My plan for seclusion becomes a monthlong sex fest punctuated with domestic bliss. But it ends just as abruptly as it began. When I’m called away on a family emergency, I realize too late that I have no way to contact Lainey.A year later, a chance encounter throws Lainey and me together again. But I still have a lie hanging over my head, and Lainey’s keeping secrets of her own. With more than lust at stake, the truth may be our game changer.

— Last year I read a hockey romance by Helena Hunting that was very cute and traditionally published and she’s got a bunch more free Amazon books that, for some reason, I keep downloading and reading and they continue to be absolutely ridiculous. That first one was a not-so-secret accidental pregnancy (as previously discussed ONE TIME without a condom mention and bam pregnant) but the second one with Rook’s sister was actually pretty cute. I’m not sure why they all called him Rook. Almost all these series have at least one book with someone recovering from an injury and they inevitably fall in love with their physical therapist. So, that one was pretty ok. None of these, however, were quite as entertaining as (wait for it) QUEENIE AND KINGSTON. WHOSE FRIENDS AND TEAMMATES ALL CALL HIM KING. QUEENIE. AND. KING. Gag. I read it anyway. At least 99% of that decision was based solely on the fact that the story started just after King found out his sister was actually his mom. How am I supposed to stop reading THAT?!? I ask you. Highlights of Queenie and King’s romance included: him calling his mom/sister MOMSTER, Queenie being secretly married this whole time, WITHOUT KNOWING IT, his strawberry allergy that flared up because she’d had a strawberry milkshake and then GAVE HIM A BLOWJOB, her dad finding out they were dating because he was the GM of the team and saw that his starting goalie was having a MASSIVE allergic reaction, Queenie’s eventual ex-husband getting engaged to someone who previously tried to self-inseminate to trap Rook into a relationship (I am not making this up, I swear) and then when he found out that his fiancee’s kid wasn’t actually his, he got into a massive fight and earned a 20-game suspension. THAT’S A QUARTER OF AN NHL SEASON. Tom Wilson got fined five thousand dollars for practically killing Artemi Panarin on the ice! I did not read the last book in this series because it was MORE ACCIDENTAL PREGNANCY and because it was Queenie’s dad and King’s mom and that meant they’d share a sibling. Which is where I draw the line, guys.

THERE WERE SEVEN BOOKS IN THIS SERIES! EVERY SINGLE ONE HAD TO HAVE A SCENE WHERE THE DUDE UNDERSTOOD THAT PERIODS WERE A THING???? LIKE THAT WAS IMPRESSIVE SOMEHOW?!?!

Hot Jocks Series by Kendall Ryan I've never been so stupid in my entire life. My teammate's incredibly sweet and gorgeous younger sister should have been off-limits, but my hockey stick didn't get that memo. After our team won the championship, and plenty of alcohol, our flirting turned physical and I took her to bed. Shame sent her running the next morning from our catastrophic mistake. She thinks I don't remember that night—but every detail is burned into my brain so deeply, I’ll never forget. The feel of her in my arms, the soft whimpers of pleasure I coaxed from her perfect lips…And now I’ve spent three months trying to get her out of my head. Which has been futile, because I’m starting to understand she’s the only girl I’ll ever want. I have one shot to show her I can be exactly what she needs, but Elise won’t be easily convinced. That’s okay, because I’m good under pressure, and this time, I’m playing for keeps.

—I read all of these. All. Of. Them. They were exceptionally quick reads. Every single one had a copious amount of sex in it and a very weird, apparently required scene, where the dude had to be like I’M NOT SQUICKED OUT BY PERIODS AM I NOT THE ULTIMATE EXAMPLE OF MASCULINITY?? My favorite one was Grant and Ana’s, though, because it was so goddamn absurd I cannot believe someone wrote it. Basic gist was that Ana was dating someone on Grant’s team (he’s the captain, natch) but the guy was a dick and abusive and so one night Ana decides to leave, but she needs someone to help her and WHO DOES SHE TURN TO??? That’s right, reclusive captain Grant. Who’s spent the last few years watching his teammates marry-up and start families and he’s so jealous, but he can’t say anything because he’s a stoic MAN™. So he takes Ana and her dog (of course she’s got a dog) back to his super swanky bachelor pad and she just sort of...stays there? Video of the boyfriend accosting her at her job gets leaked and the boyfriend gets sent to the AHL which is not really how it would work, but fine. Naturally, Grant and Ana hook up. It’s emotional. Vaguely romantic. There’s no GODDAMN CONDOM. So, she gets pregnant. But, of course. Except! She doesn’t know if it’s dick boyfriend’s or Grant’s. Because he’s the male lead in a free sports romance on Amazon, Grant is the MOST understanding. He wants to help Ana. He would like to continue having sex with Ana. This is ready-made happily ever after. Only Ana’s like...eh?? She doesn’t want it to look like she bounced from one hockey player to the next, but also she sorta did and she kept telling Grant she just wanted to be friends, only to have sex, like, three chapters later. Then she just moved out! Just moved out. Seven months pregnant. Moving out. With her dog. Of course, this is a free sports romance on Amazon, so eventually she moved back in with Grant. Once she realized independence wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. And because he left practice to be there when she had the baby. Oh! And she got a DNA test after. To see whose kid it was. Grant ripped that ‘ish up. Just ripped it up. Which is cool, I guess. But, like, you didn’t want to double check? What if that kid has to go to the hospital? Did she put Grant’s name on the birth certificate? What are his parental rights?? Anyway, they’re all set to live HEA when....THE DICK BOYFRIEND DIES. Straight up. No explanation. Nothing. Just Grant tells Ana he’s dead, she’s like, oh wow that’s sad, they send some flowers to the funeral and that’s THAT. I assume this was to close any potential plot holes on the father of this baby, but it was hysterical and I cannot stop thinking about it. Strangely enough, the one where the couple made a secret sex tape in college and then got back together because it got released may have been the healthiest relationship in this series.

#book recs #book rec #book reccs #laura reads books #welllp these are books #i will not apologize for that bingo board #i think this is a highlight of accomplishments #like for me personally

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