#fitzgerald i am Sorry

[boyfhee]

uh, UH?? u have a list of things he would write about, okay make sense... U WROTE A POEM??! excuse me?? me wants to read it. pretty please? 😳 "felt unnecessary"??!!!! i beg to differ!!! I WANT TO SEE ALL OF IT!!

im a sucker for heartbreak and things that will most likely make me cry!! ^^ so another heeseung angst, im waiting for it.. brought a blanket and everything

also, yeah the career switching stuff.. hit home for me.. cuz im not sure if what i chose was the right thing to choose.

taylor swift is a god. her sad songs are always hitting the rights spots!!! im worried... for myself!!

"So I wander through these nights

I prefer hiding in plain sight

My fourth drink in my hand

These desperate prayers of a cursed man

Spilling out to you for free

But darling, darling, please

You wouldn't take my word for it

If you knew who was talking

If you knew where I was walking

To a house, not a home, all alone 'cause nobody's there

Where I pace in my pen and

My friends found friends who care

No one sees when you lose

When you're playing solitaire"

stop. he visits the memorial... *sobs*

LIKE DO U SEE HOW FUCKING HEESEUNG CODED THIS IS like for his poems but i could just be insane.

u think im interesting? im gonna pass out.....

- > swift anon ♡♡♡♡

I WOULD'VE ADDED IT BUT IT DIDN'T SEEM USEFUL FOR THE PLOT . but here's what i wrote ( i am Not a poet also this was inspired by a lot of songs and art works pls )

HALF OF IT ☝️☝️ doesnt make sense bc the fitzgerald in me in not fitzgeralding ( i mention him too much, he's my favourite poet ) ALSO ANOTHER REASON I DIDNT ADD THIS WAS BC OF THE QUOTE ON TOP OF THAT FIC . i typed it and went 'from red wine' but writing this poem i was like 'where do i add that thing' and i decided to not add the poem as a whole :>

AND ANON U GET ME angst is the superior genre in my eyes. u can serve me all the fluff in the world but i would still read the most heart wrenching angst before bed . and dw about the career thing! unless ure certain of choosing another line, don't make decisions on impulse. i'm still in med, i'm doing good, it was a moment of weakness bc my scores were kind of bad 😞 if u really like the field you've chosen, it won't disappoint u, and if u dont then i suggest u find interest in it or go with something that you enjoy ^^

SPILLING YOU OUT FOR FREE she's crazy for that line. how does she come up with these like im gna cry over that fic more by reading ur asks than ive cried while writing it ( i didnt even cry while writing it, i was having the time of my life ) but that line, the 'spilling you out for free' is so heeseung coded bc all his works are about yn, and no body asked for it. his editor probably begs him to write something that's not heartbreaking but who cares because ten years later, heeseung is still in love with you ( i am not okay typing this i dont like thinking the aftermath of angst i write . it never ends well for me )

BUT YES ALL OF SWIFT'S SONGS CAN GIVE A LOOK INTO HIS WORKS, WHAT HE WRITES ABOUT ohhh i have a love hate relationship with poets. and ure vv interesting swift anon i love u

[slasherscream]

Crazy Ass Girls Gang ft. what type of yandere are they

warnings: yandere behavior - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Tiffany Valentine / clingy, obsessive, manipulative 

You'd better be damn sure you want to be with Tiffany before you ever bring up dating her because there is no escape once you've embarked on the exciting journey of being her romantic partner.

But if we're being honest you never really had a choice. You think you met organically? Became close by fate? No, Tiffany saw you and wanted you and decided to have you.

It was love at first sight on her part.

You'll be friends for a few months as she weaves the inescapable web around you. Best friends, actually. You'll tell her absolutely everything about yourself. Learn everything about her in turn. It's pure bliss to have a friend like Tiffany. Supportive, charming, affectionate.

You can tell she loves you more than anything. Loves you more than anyone else has ever loved you before, and she isn't afraid to show it.

You probably already had a partner when you met Tiffany. She was heartbroken when you first told her. The heartbreak didn't last long. Why cry over spilled milk? She wants to take it slow with you anyways, make sure that this time every aspect of the life you build together will be perfect.

She's come in too heavy before. You can't rush perfection, her mother always told her. For you, the lesson is finally worth learning.

Everything can be a tool. In the right hands. And Tiffany's hands? Why, they're incredibly skilled. She uses your soon-to-be-ex as a diving board for your upcoming relationship with her. Even if you'd been perfectly content with the relationship until you met Tiffany, suddenly everything is awful.

Tiffany points out every mistreatment. Every cancelled date. Every strange tone they used when talking to you. Every shitty, unoriginal gift. Every moment they weren't enthusiastic enough about good news you had to share.

It gets to the point where you can't even look at them half the time. You'll end dates with your partner early just to go spend more time with Tiffany: "What do you think they meant when they said that, Tiff?" / "I think they forgot who they were talking to, sweetheart! They're lucky I wasn't around or I would've cut out their tongue."

Tiffany has you so wrapped around her finger she's not even the one who suggests the break up. She was still going to wait a month or two before she began to truly push.

But when you show up at her doorstep in the middle of the night, holding flowers and her favorite takeout, rambling about how you've been so blind and it's always been Her...

Well, she has to smile as she pulls you in, savoring the last first kiss your lips will ever gift another soul.

She almost forgot how good she is at getting what she wants.

Jordan Li / protective, obsessive, lucid

You're so sweet. It was the first thought Jordan remembers having about you. The beginning of the end. They haven't been able to stop thinking about you since that one fatal moment.

Jordan has plenty of other things to think about. Things that should outclass you in importance easily. Their ranking, Brink's careful mentoring, their grades. They tell themselves that it all still matters more than you but they know they're lying to themselves.

It scares them a little, how much they actually think about you. Not a minute can go by without their thoughts drifting to you.

Did you eat today? / Your next class is in ten minutes, let me walk you, I've got the time. / You were running out of your favorite perfume. Got you a new bottle. / You look upset. Did someone fucking say something to you?

They can't help the way they hover around you during every spare moment they can find.

Jordan knows your schedule by heart to maximize the amount of time you can spend together. It's a balancing act they have to play with their brain for the simplest of tasks: you can spend the rest of the day with Y/N but you have to finish grading these essays first.

They can't function properly when they go too long without you. They swing on their sparring partners too hard. Stare at the clock during lectures instead of listening. They rip textbooks and snap pens by holding them too tight.

Sometimes they have to give up and call you. If they can't go and see you for whatever reason the sound of your voice makes it better. Hearing you talk, the sound of you breathing, laughing. It helps. Calms the buzz beneath Jordan's skin. They dial your contact, glaring into space as they wait for you to pick up. As soon as you do their body relaxes.

They recognize that their behavior isn't normal. Always needing to know where you are, who you're with. Feeling sick when they don't know.

You're like a drug for Jordan. They know you're an addiction, the way you've crawled under their skin. No high on earth compares, and Jordan has fucking compared them all. They pull you into their lap, as close as they can get you and it's never enough. Nothing is ever enough.

"Please don't fucking go anywhere, yeah?" Jordan will mumble into the skin of your neck. Their grip on you is too tight, face twisted at the desperation they feel. It's not pillow talk. They're begging. Genuinely. They'd do anything to keep you this close, always.

"Of course not, Jordie." You coo back. They close their eyes and pretend the words are enough. Nothing ever is.

Nancy Downs / delusional, possessive, obsessive

As soon as Nancy wants you there's no other option for you besides her. You can either choose to go along with it or you can fight it.

Fighting against her is like fighting against the tide, though. You can tread water for awhile. Keep your head afloat, sure. But eventually you'll get tired. Nature wins. Besides, fighting against Nancy becomes unpleasant fast. Being hers is so much nicer. She's gentler that way, kinder.

You're allowed to have friends, she doesn't isolate you completely.

It's just your old friends sucked. They didn't appreciate you. Didn't look out for you. Selfish users just like everyone else. Moths are always drawn to the light, and she'll kill every moth that strays a little too close to you, before it ever gets a chance to singe itself on your warmth. It's a mercy, really. Living a life in the darkness and having one brief moment in the sun is miserable. Nancy should know. It almost drives her crazy when you're not around. If you ever left she'd want to be put out of her misery too.

Her coven, though? They're perfect. Her coven is a family. And you were the last missing piece of it.

Anything about your old life, the life before her, can be viewed as a threat at a moment's notice. Family. Friends. Memories you speak of a little too fondly. Even a hobby could do it. She wants your focus to be her. It's only fair, her only focus is you.

Even when she's not around. Even when you're completely alone you swear you can feel her eyes on you. Her magic drifting against your skin as if she was sitting right beside you.

Nancy's intensity can be scary but she makes anyone else's love seem dull in comparison.

Who else could love you like she does? Who else would die for you? Nancy wouldn't even have to think about it first. All she asks in return is for you to do the same. Live for her. Dedicate every breathe in your lungs to her.

It's not so hard, she'll lead by example.

Jennifer Check / manipulative, possessive, clingy

She couldn't give a shit about anyone else but you. Somehow you managed to sneak your way into her heart and she can't let go of you. Won't let go of you. You're the only thing that's keeping that small, soft, human part of her alive. You dragged that bit of her back from the grave she put it in, actually. So it wouldn't be fair for you to try and leave, after you made her weak again. Human again.

Her world revolves around you. Her priorities are her next meal and you. Of course she gets pissed off if you don't reciprocate her energy. Look at her, how could you ever put anything above her?

Jennifer wants you to be everything to each other, though she won't say it out loud. It shows in her actions.

You belong to her. Every version of yourself that exists in the world should belong to her. The version of you that you are when you're someone's best friend. When you're someone's partner. It's all hers. She won't let anyone else take root in your life in a role that she can fill. She'll do a better job anyways.

The enormity of her ego and the way she clings might seem at odds. She thinks she's a God walking amongst fucking cattle. But she sticks to you like a second skin. A hand always at your waist. Her lips always chasing yours, whining when you don't give in fast enough, when you don't melt like she does. Her grip iron clad when you hold hands. If you pull away too soon from a hug, from a kiss, she bites, she holds on with claws.

She coos at the marks she leaves on your skin and kisses all the scratches and bruises she leaves better. / "I'm sorry baby, you know I hate letting you go."

Carrie White / idolizer, protective, selfless

Not in her wildest dreams did Carrie think anyone could be as kind as you. People are cruel. Their first instinct is to cause hurt before they'll ever reach out a hand to help, to shield, to love.

But you're not like that at all. You're something ripped straight from a fairy-tale. The rare ones that her Mother let her read, that weren't hiding devil worship between their poetic words.

You're so patient with her. So gentle. You treat her like glass. You hold her close, and kiss her soft, and cup her face in your hands that are always so warm.

You say you love her in a breathless way, every time. Like even expressing how much you care makes you dizzy. As if she overwhelms you. She feels dizzy herself as she hangs on your every honeyed word. Clings to you every time you reach out your hands to hold her.

Carrie doesn't know if she believes in God nowadays, but if she did you'd be an angel sent straight from heaven. A gift, maybe, to make up for all the years of torment she endured from everyone she'd ever known.

She'd think you were some kind of God yourself, if you had any sort of abilities like her. But you don't. You walk around doing what's right, being good down to the marrow of your very bones just because it's who you are. You greet the world with your fists raised and you're only human, and it scares Carrie so much.

You're the last decent person alive and you'll throw yourself onto any pyre you see if it means doing what's right. Carrie loves that about you. It terrifies her.

So Carrie throws herself into the ring with you. Your sweet, gentle Carrie who you're always trying to protect. But Carrie doesn't need your protection. She's not the helpless little girl she used to be. She won't let anything hurt either of you, from now on. For the rest of your lives you'll be safe, happy. Together. Carrie would burn the world to ash if it meant not a scratch would befall you.

"You're an angel, Y/N. The most wonderful angel God ever made."

Ginger Fitzgerald / possessive, impulsive, protective,

Sometimes Ginger wishes everyone else in the world would disappear, besides the two of you. They're a hindrance.

She feels insane when she watches you. She feels her claws come out and makes herself bleed as she fights against the instinct to rip out every tongue that speaks to you, and every pair of eyes that's ever looked into yours.

She shivers when you claim her. The only time she enjoys being around other people now is when you're introducing her: "This is Ginger, my girlfriend." "This is Ginger, my partner." "This is Ginger, my best friend." "This is Ginger, my everything."

She loves being yours. Relishes in the way you say the word mine. She wants to lick the words from your mouth, the weight of your total ownership over her sweet and poisonous.

She wonders if you get the same pleasure from belonging to her. She wants you to. She wants to carve her name into your skin with her claws and have you moan at the first sharp sting of the letter G.

It's primal, the way she wants you. Beyond anything humans have words for. She leaves her scent on your skin and wants to growl when you wash it away with artificial soaps and perfumes. She sucks bruises into every inch of you that anyone else could see.

She wants you to do the same. Wants to roll onto her back and expose her neck, and have you bite so hard you draw blood.

Ginger's wanting comes with teeth. What she is demands she sinks her teeth into things, that she draws blood. Even when she loves you. Because she loves you, maybe. She needs to leave a mark on you. She needs to always be there. She needs the same from you.

Needs you to leave scars on her that she can touch when you're not around. Proof that you were there. Proof that you're coming back. You don't carve your name into things and then abandon them. When you own things you keep them.

When you're gone the world goes dim and cold. She couldn't survive in a world without you. She wouldn't even attempt it. What would be the fucking point?

"We're a pair. We belong to each other. Always, yeah?"

[achillean-knight]

Desperately need Michael angst. Pretty pleaseeeeee?

The Bite of 87

[dceasesd]

look i love and support the classics nerd jason headcanon as much as the next person but i know deep in my heart that rather than being a “i worship the ground austen walks on” classics nerd he’d 100% be a fitzgerald/hemingway snob

[the-acid-pear]

Y'know I really feel like Harry and Dave's relationship goes highly unexplored which is a shame because there IS quite a bit to explore, ESPECIALLY if you care about shipping. But as the game stands I mean, they must be aware of each other. Harry in fact definitely knows about Dave. I don't think he'd tell the fucking weird rotten bunny his terrible boss brought in IS the number one threat against Freddy's since day 1 but even so. Dave I don't think would see Harry as much more than A Phoney™ though, which is always more of an obstacle and way less of a person. Which is usually opposite of how Jack sees his often sole employee. Like, you get what I mean? It's almost similar to 2 with the main opposing routes being Peter and Dave except the stakes are arguably way lower now.

[doyouknowthemossinman]

And when I love I will look before I leap Seek reassurance I'll be caught

i can’t dream up an entire animatic set to this song but these lyrics specifically are so him ✨

[knight guard au <;3]

[lamponellatempesta]

JWCT COUNTDOWN

DAY 2: Favorite Duo

For the second prompt of the countdown (you can find the first one here) I've decided to write something for Brooklynn and Ben, better called the B-Team. They deserved more moments together in the series, and in the few moments they were together as a tag team, I loved them. Beloved criminals. The little story is located the summer before chaos theory events.

(Countdown gently created by @campbenji)

"When did you get so tall?! I see why you don't fit in your clothes anymore!" Brooklynn exclaimed at the sight of her best friend Ben. "Hey!! That’s why I asked for your help! Even if they don’t fit so tight..." Retorted Ben as a button of his pants jump off, Brooklynn look at him with arms crossed with a raised eyebrow, "Uhhh. Maybe a little." "You need new clothes. I’ll help you." "Do I have to?" retorted Ben. Brooklynn went to the boy’s desk and threw him the keys of his jeep and walked out of the room. "Jolene will be happy to take a ride, come on!" Ben could only sigh and follow the girl.

Half an hour later, they were at the mall, and Ben was dragged into a store with Brooklynn walking into trouble-solving mode and putting jeans, cargo, and T-shirts of all kinds in his arms. Question marks popped out of Ben’s head while his best friend gave him some notes on how to match the various items "Bestie...you know I’ll have forgotten everything in 5 minutes, right?" "Oh yeah, but I hope something stays in your head by osmosis." "The only things stuck in my head are: cute guys, bumpy, bacon and physics." " Well, about cute guys we share the fixed thought"

The couple of friends laughed, while Lynn pulled on a crop top and looked at Ben. The guy shook his head "I’m not wearing that thing." " Oh come on! You’d be fine!" " Do I look like the kind of guy who wears that kind of thing!? It won’t even fit me!" Ben objected again.

Brooklynn looked at him again and put the crop top in the heap of clothes to try on, and the two exchanged another gaze "No." "Oh yeah. Go to change, come on!!!" She said peremptorily pushing his best friend towards the dressing rooms.

A few minutes later Ben was inside the dressing room looking in the mirror while he was wearing cargo, which are familiar to him, dark boots, more elegant than those he wears daily, but he also liked them just as much, he had to admit, Brooklynn knew him like the back of her hand and so he was not surprised and finally the...crop top...the part of the outfit that made him feel weird. The boy looked at himself from different perspectives to understand if he liked it or not and how he felt to wear something like this: he liked the pastel red color, also the crop top was not too tight-fitting and that was another plus for his tight-fitting clothing issues and texture. He looked down and smiled when he saw the abs on which he had worked on display; those kinds of garments showed some of his scars but it was not a huge problem, indeed, it made him feel even more confident. He caught a smile on his face and scoffed, his best friend had scored for the umpteenth time, and it amused him a lot.

"Hey come out and show yourself!! I’m sure you’ll look good! Come on!!" Brooklynn exclaimed, sitting on one of the benches outside the dressing room, passively scrolling the phone and she raised her head when Ben’s shadow obscured her view and she jumped up to look at him and the effect was even better than she imagined: the colors, the combinations, the physique and especially the smile that flashed on the face of his best friend filled her heart with joy and made her point the finger in his direction with one of her cheeky smiles and saw Ben snort amused "Yes okay you won this time too, you are fantastic Bestie, you signed the victory point. You won." "What can I say? I know how to make you shiiine, you’re awesome!!"

Ben went around to give her the full view with Lynn clapping at him with Ben laughing again; it was a new type of clothes for him, but a type that did not bother him at all. The two guys spent some more time trying on clothes and different combinations, between laughter and jokes, driving the store’s salesmen crazy before leaving.

One hour later, the two were sitting at the tables of one of the bars at the mall with Brooklynn sipping a coffee milshake and Ben a chocolate milkshake; both were filled with bags, they had a real shopping and gossip session like they hadn’t done in a while; it wasn’t one of Ben’s favorite activities, this was obvious, but the opportunities to be together with Brooklynn were very few because of the investigations that the girl carried out, so he enjoyed every available moment together. He had tried to persuade her to take a break from her work, had risked herself too many times and imagined that the wheel could turn from the wrong side at any moment, but he knew that keeping the girl still was impossible and she had been adamant about her decision to continue, so he could only hope that nothing too serious would happen or slip into something that would put her life at risk. The friend’s coff brought him back to reality.

"I got you a gift, Bestie. To make up for all the times I wasn’t there and I made you worry..." "Lynn...wasn’t necessary. I’m not angry. You do what makes you feel alive, I understand..." "Yes I know... At least it’ll be like having your Superstar with you all the time, right?" And she laughed to dampen the tension that was creating and stretched out a little box and Ben looked at it and then looked back at Lynn, who nodded and smiled "Open it, come on, you are not curious?" Ben looked at the box and he turned it over again before opening it; inside there were a pair of earrings depicting the moon in one and Saturn in the other and a small smile came out looking at them.

"I know Saturn is your favorite planet, and I like the moon and the stars. When I saw them, they reminded me that night that you taught me to read the constellations so I wouldn’t think and stop my anxiety attacks...and so I thought.. that you could hold Saturn, and I could hold the moon s-"

"So we’ll always be the crime team, even when we’re apart." concluded Ben and Lynn did nothing but nod.

Brooklynn was good with words, but not when it came to talking about affection; she knew how much she had made her best friend worry over the previous years, did not know how to repay the moments she wasn't there, in which despite everything she had his continuous support although he had asked her over and over again to stop, that she was taking too many risks, that it was not worth it; perhaps Ben was right, sometimes it was not worth it, but her investigation was one of the few things that made her alive and perhaps the only thing she knew how to do perfectly in her life and Ben was one of the few, if not the only one, to have understood it. They had the same thirst for risk and lawlessness in breaking the rules; Brooklynn and Ben, Ben and Brooklynn, always together, for better or worse. " What are you waiting for then?"

Ben said, shaking his head just to show Saturn’s earring swinging from his right ear; Brooklynn giggled to hold back the tears of joy she felt in her eyes "For you to be more fabulous than ever Bestie of course." She said in an amused tone as she adjusted her moon earring to her left ear and put her hands on her face to try not to cry in the middle of a shopping mall full of people and Ben immediately got up to hug her.

"Nooo don’t cry don’t cry, I don’t want to cry too. Don't make me cry!" The boy exclaimed and then continued "What you always say? When you smell Crimes in the air " "Keep an eye open. The B-Team is near. The Crimes are coming." "Exactly! Always." The two friends smiled and exchanged a laugh without interrupting the hug. They took a picture. That moment has to be remembered.

Months later

Ben put a hand on his earring while driving his van in the silence of the night. He looked at the picture they had taken that day at the mall, hanging from the mirror hook. He squeezed the steering wheel more.

"They better keep an eye open. The B-team is near. The crime is coming. You will have your revenge, Bestie. They will pay for what they did to you. B-Team always together. I assure you of that, wherever you are."

The boy’s van darted across the deserted road. The full moon shone that night.

[rotary-phonecall]

Hey wait. Do the phones/instructors/human side characters have a discord? Asking for a friend.

[florbelles]

LYRA FAIRBANKS, fc5 ✤ JOCELYN PERALTA, fnv ✤ LILLIAN FITZGERALD, fo4 ✤ AMARA of VALLAKI, d&d ✤ RIONA LONICERA, d&d ✤ IVY BONNET, twc

tagged by @firstaidspray, @corvosattano, @shallow-gravy, @roofgeese, @henbased, @jendoe, @shadowglens, @shegetsburned & @leviiackrman to use this picrew, ty beloveds!!

sending tags to @unholymilf, @adelaidedrubman, @belorage, @phillipsgraves, @queennymeria, @denerims, @shellibisshe, @minaharkers, @jackiesarch, @indorilnerevarine, @noonfaerie, @aartyom, @morvaris, @arklay, @cybilbennettgf, @poetikat, @loriane-elmuerto, @strangefable, @purplehairsecretlair, @trench-rot, @derelictheretic, @nokstella, @nightbloodraelle, @gwynbleidd, @teamhawkeye, @playstationmademe, @fourlittleseedlings, @devil-kindred, @nuclearstorms & anyone else can @ me xx

[shroudkeeper]

FIRST KISS PROMPTS: #11 - In a fit of jealousy/anger/hurt

First Kiss Prompt

She was far from his reach in public, a flower surrounded by men who could always stay in her company, it only caused his yearning to grow. But also something ugly to fester, it was unfamiliar to him lately. A master of concealing his emotions during business negotiations, his intentions were often shielded behind his rose-colored lenses usually, but, around her, he could not keep them in complete control, so much that the pain strained his voice this evening when he approached her in private, realizing how protective one of her clansmen had become.

How he was making it difficult to steal a mere glance in her direction.

When the feelings surfaced, he could feel the swelling in his chest and the knot in his stomach tightening with each word.

"..He can offer you more than I ever could. His strength is obvious, his prowess I dare not question, and among your men, I am unable to even keep you safe. What can I possibly offer you that you do not already have?! " His voice grew softer under the pressure of his sinking heart and his eyes could not bear to take in the warmth of her gaze as shame and envy took possession of his words.

Then came the soft shift of silks around him, the fragrance of spring showers and newly bloomed flowers ensnared him. His lamentations were silenced by the softest brush of her lips. There was no aggression there, no rancor, no other motive other than an offering of reassurance, followed by a wash of her warm exhale, which melted on his lips when she tried to pull away. His shoulders relaxed and in a languid, tentative gesture, his fingers ran over the curve of her cheeks..

..and found them dampened with tears and droplets of rain. The skies perhaps reflected the tumultous emotions brewing between them.

He said naught and surrendered to her touch and with it all the intrusive thoughts that plagued him. Her hand came to rest on his chest, over where his heart threatened to leap from. For a long period of time, they shared an embrace under this passing rainshower, and he would press kisses to her ruddy cheeks, her lips, and her closed eyes.

[c0nfetticakez]

"Jeremike is overrated"

"Jerrmike is stereotypical"

"I'm sick of jeremike"

"I never liked jeremike"

SHUT THE FUCK UP AND LIKE ME LIKE THINGS

[babybluelove2]

I feel outwardly weird constantly. Bridgette fitzgerald outwardly weird. that way

[gaystardykeco]

the devastation i feel when i remember that ill never get to see caitlin fitzgerald act those deleted s4 romantabs scenes....unmatched

[randombush3]

you're not sorry to go

ona batlle x reader

summary: ona and you are best friends, but it's a bit more complicated than that

words: 4.5k

notes: this one is based on true events x

also let's ignore the result of my poll because i want the next part to have smut and it wasn't fitting with the vibe of this part

oh and the title is a quote from 'this side of paradise' by f. scott fitzgerald

January, nine years ago. 

Nothing about today has been out of the ordinary. 

The weekend is starting, winter drags on, and Ona is all set to train later on in the evening, provided you confirm whether or not you are willing to accompany her to the local pitch. 

Barcelona B usually allows for Fridays off, but Ona isn’t stupid. No one becomes the greatest footballer of all time by not playing more. School is beginning to bore Ona to death, and she knows that she wants what she always has: to go professional. 

“I have a plan,” she tells you confidently, glad you don’t mind sitting on the uneven, grassy sideline as she sets up her cones with determination. You hold the ball between your hands, though Ona is amused by how foreign it looks to you, and you seem to be holding her prized possession hostage so that she spills. “It sounds simple and obvious out loud, but it’s that I am going to play for Barça while you go to the university. You can introduce me to your smart friends so I can meet my wife, and you’ll have all the boys after you anyway so–” 

“Ona.” Her monologue has led her eyes to the ground, but your voice makes her head jerk upwards, not needing much authority to get her to look at you. “I’ve actually had a… realisation, of sorts,” you say with a bashful grin, chin jutting out the way it does when you are gearing up to tell her something that no one else will get to know. “Your cousin is really pretty.” 

“I’ll tell her you said that.” It’s a nice thing to say, and you are partly aware that Ona’s cousin knows who you are because she doesn’t shut up about you ever, but you can’t help the frustration that begins to bubble up inside of you.

“No, Ona,” you try again, “she’s really pretty. Like, I would kiss her.” 

Ona frowns, then. “Don’t be one of those.” She means the girls who experiment, who toe the line of liking girls but don’t, not really. She has been warned about them by her older teammates, the ones who go out for drinks and kiss girls in clubs. The budding footballer really admires them, because their advice is always good and she gets to explore her sexuality without feeling like a creep. No one in Vilassar de Mar cares much that Ona does like girls, but it doesn’t stop her from feeling judged all the same. 

You are one of her best friends, but Ona isn’t sure she can forgive you if you become someone like that. 

“I’m not! I wouldn’t do that.” Your offence is suspicious, and you have been so caught up in destroying her worries that the ball has been dropped and is now rolling towards Ona’s feet, where it is instinctively flicked upwards and caught. “I wouldn’t, Oni, because I know it’s unfair to you guys.” 

“But you want to kiss my cousin? That makes you interested in girls in general too, you know.” 

You bite your lip. 

“Ona, I think I’m gay.” 

The ball is dropped, along with her jaw, and you shift uncomfortably in your seated position, not enjoying how big of a deal she is making this out to be. 

People realise that they’re gay all the time! Why should it be any different for you? 

“Oh,” is all Ona can manage to breathe out, wondering what to do next. Although your friendship cracks the padlocks of most secrets, there is one that hasn’t ever been shared. One that now means substantially more than it did five minutes ago. 

“Say something, please,” you groan in mock annoyance, moving aside your textbooks so that you can grab Ona’s hand and pull her down on top of you. She is much stronger – she trains every day – but something about your skin touching hers injects a surge of patheticness into her well-earned muscles, and she falls, of course she does, because she always falls for you. 

…

A year passes. 

You kiss Ona’s cousin, as intended, and Ona knows the breakup is going to be rough but nothing prepares her for when it comes. 

She’s conflicted, and she’s older now. No longer left behind by her teammates, Ona gets to go out with them when they don’t have football; she gets to talk to the girls about their sex lives, she gets to be involved in it all. She has met Alexia Putellas and been treated like an equal, and she made out with her fourth ever girl last week, this time progressing past tongues and confidently letting her hands roam. 

Ona would say that she has learnt a lot since you dropped your nuclear missile, and she has managed to forget the initial hope she had felt. The secret had been near-faded. 

Until you are calling her, sending her a text when she doesn’t reach her phone quick enough.

‘Ona, I really need you.’ 

She hears nothing from her cousin – they were closer when they were younger – and that, she reasons, is why she is by your side in an instant, meeting you at the windy beach you go to when you are sad, hair damp from running and eyes a little wide as she tries to wake herself up. 

“She said she can’t do it anymore,” you whisper, voice cracking under the strain your sobs had put on it. “She said that she really likes me but that it’s not enough, and she doesn’t want to break my heart but she knows she has to.” 

Ona doesn’t get a chance to respond, because you have flung yourself into her chest before she can think of the right words to say. 

Your shoulders shake as you cry, devastating howling joining the whistles of the wind and the thrash of the waves. The sand is unsteady beneath your feet and you stumble, but Ona holds you firmly, as though she has only ever trained to hold you up. Though you feel her biceps, hard and significantly larger than the last time she had held you this way, you are too caught up in your first heartbreak to acknowledge the tiny, tiny spark between you. 

As you cry and cry and cry, Ona can’t help but feel a little bitter towards her cousin. Clearly, your affection wasn’t false and, though it was working towards the severance of your friendship, you actually cared quite a lot for her. 

Ona chooses to abstain from her jealousy because she is embarrassed that it is possible. 

She is there for you the next day, ensuring you have eaten and allowing you to sleep, but the sun soon sets and Ona vows one thing to herself: she will not take advantage of it. 

“I’m going home,” you mumble when you wake from your restless nap, rolling over into the empty space in your best friend’s bed. The sheets there are cold and unused. Ona must not have moved a muscle since you fell asleep. “My parents must be a little confused, and we have people coming over for dinner. Thank you for looking after me.” 

“No problem.” Ona nods and you awkwardly stand up. “I think I’m going out with the team tonight, but don’t hesitate to call me if… Well, if you feel sad again.” 

“It’s going to feel shit with or without you.” 

You are trying to distance her, to tell her that she can have fun. It might be an issue that your friendship only seems to work when the two of you discuss your recent conquests or latest flings, but it is not one that either of you wants to address for now. 

“I’m just making sure you know I’m here,” she defends indignantly, rolling her eyes at the glimpse of your happier self making its return. 

“Are you going to be drunk?” Your question is pointed and you should really cross your arms and tap your foot impatiently to match your tone. “Don’t you have training tomorrow?” 

“Maybe, and not tomorrow, no. I’ve been asked to join the first team the day after so they’ve given me an alternative rest day.” 

“Ona, if you get drunk, you won’t be there for me at all. You’ll have your tongue down some poor, poor girl’s throat and your phone will be dead.” You laugh from experience, having grown accustomed to how she behaves under the influence. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I swear that alcohol is what fuels your hormones. I’m not going to burden you with my fucking pathetic crying, and, well, you know me, I’ll just find a boy to talk to. I am going to be fine.” 

No one in the room is convinced. 

You swat the air between you two, telling her to get on with getting ready. “Now, enjoy your night, and tell me all about it tomorrow morning!” 

Ona wonders if you are over-compensating by insisting to hear about whoever she has gotten off with, but you are practically flying out the door the minute you have said goodbye to her family and she is stumbling around her room trying to find a clean bra. Life goes on. 

If time did not tick on its own, one of you would task yourselves with turning the hands of the clock manually. 

You try to recover from how much it fucking kills to have a girl break your heart by reminding yourself of your worth in the best way possible: male attention. They hound you, but you enjoy it. You crave it, most of the time, even if the feelings are never quite believably reciprocated. 

It annoys Ona to no end, the way you play with the boys chasing after you. She hates the push and pull, fed-up with the constant complaining from your end. Often, because Ona speaks her mind when she can, she tells you that it’s not fair on the ones who hand their hearts to you only to watch you pierce through them with sharp, I-was-never-a-lesbian nails. 

You don’t talk about her cousin. At least, not to Ona because you have been informed by some other friend that blood is thicker than water.

Or maybe it’s because Ona begins to avoid you, begins to spend more time with her teammates, who don’t hide their sexuality and who like the things she likes. (Once, in a hateful frenzy, Ona thinks to herself that the only thing the two of you have in common nowadays is that she likes you and you like you too.) 

“What happened to your best friend?” Laia Aleixandri asks thoughtfully once after training. Ona is helping her collect the water bottles the other girls had left lying around on the pitch. There have been more injuries than what’s comfortable within the first team, and maybe some of the reserves have forgotten that they are not yet professionals. “You’ve stopped talking about her.” 

“We’ve fallen out,” Ona answers, settling on that because she doesn’t know how else to describe the shift in your relationship. 

“Over what?” comes Laia’s obvious sequential question, more a due dalliance than genuine interest. Laia is one of those girls who plays to play and can sometimes be too busy to spend time with the team outside of training. Because of this, she is largely unaware of Ona’s growing reputation within the squad. As Ona has grown up, her confidence has increased. Girls like that, and they are in plentiful supply to her. She no longer needs to be drunk, but something almost certainly occurs if she is. 

“She dated my cousin and, I don’t know, the way she acted in the fall-out was horrible. She likes girls, I know she likes girls, but I think she has been scarred and her ego has been bruised. No boy has ever made her cry like that, and I think she’s traumatised. And it’s valid! I understand, completely and totally, but she is acting as though she never had a thing with my cousin and it’s annoying. It’s as if being gay is a joke to her.”

Laia senses that Ona’s not done, and she is correct to think so. 

The next wave is this: “Laia, I really don’t agree with it, and it is hurting me. It hurts to see my cousin be messed around by a straight girl, it hurts to see my best friend hate part of herself, and it hurts me because, well, it just– it just does! I can’t explain it.” She can; she doesn’t want to. Her secret is still heavily guarded and it is going to take more than Laia asking about you to get her to confess. “I just want peace for everyone involved,” she says after taking a deep, diplomatic breath. 

“Peace,” Laia repeats with a giggle. “Ona, the things I have heard about you are the opposite of ‘peace’. Aita’s been keeping me in the loop, and she says that–” 

“Okay, Laia, I don’t need a lecture.” 

What probably would have been very helpful for Ona to know is lost to the devastating final blow of her eye-roll as she jogs to the water cooler to return the bottles and head home. 

…

The reconciliation of a decade-old friendship is fast and natural. Things do not quite go back to normal, and the two of you are not as close as before, but your group of friends at school breathe out a collective sigh of relief when the ice thaws and Ona starts to turn up to their gatherings instead of the ones held by her beloved blaugranas. 

It’s a camping trip. 

Their first year of bach has ended, and someone – Ona doesn’t know who – has suggested a camping trip because her grandfather’s brother owns a farm and the farm has a field and the field is far-removed enough for the smell of cigarettes and red-label whiskey to dissolve before reaching the house. 

“Are we really going?” Ona asks, making you all laugh as you haul your bags and tents along the tractor path. 

“I do think we should’ve gotten in the tractor,” you agree. Ona nods at you, thanking you for your support. 

Everyone else says it’s good fitness, and then hurls insults at Ona for the remainder of the trek because she should be the last to complain if she is going to become a professional athlete. 

It’s not as far as it seems, and the tents are set up quickly, along with some chairs, a foldable table, and a hefty stash of various bottles of alcohol. 

You start smoking the minute someone flashes their lighter, and Ona uses that as a reason to stay on the other side of the small campsite for a good hour or so. 

She stays away from you no matter how much you stare, but you watch her all the same. 

The boys you talk to are not satisfying. Some may have innocent intentions but the majority don’t, and you know that you are pretty but you are not shallow like that. You don’t even meet the boys half the time unless they corner you at school and demand a slot of your in-person attention.

The boys you talk to explain football and the gym and why they have to play FIFA until the sun rises because it will definitely help Barcelona win on the weekend. They take you for an idiot, and they hardly acknowledge that your best friend (sort of) plays for their darling club so of course you know the rules and the positions. You know that Ona is a defender, and that she is good at it. You don’t want to be patronised and you don’t care about this kind of thing unless it involves Ona. 

Therein lies the issue, actually. 

You don’t care about much unless it involves Ona. Ona, who sways to the music bursting out from the speakers just as stiffly as she always has, not exactly blessed with dancing talent but not for lack of trying. Ona, who declines alcohol tonight because she is following a summer strength and conditioning programme with the hopes of playing in the first team’s preseason matches. Ona, who looks beautiful. Always. 

Smoke billows from your cigarette, right towards the point of your focus, and, suddenly, doe-like eyes are staring back at you with a small, small smirk. She waves, as if to say that she has caught you, and you lean back on the camping chair you are slouched in, pretending to laugh at whatever your friend has just said beside you.

Later, when everyone else is knocked out from the bad quality of the whiskey, snoring comfortably in the other tents, Ona and you kiss. And once you start kissing, you don’t stop. 

Ona is good at this, you assume, because she knows exactly what to do. Contrary to popular belief, you are far more active in theory than in practice, and she surprises you a little bit. Or maybe she doesn’t, because it’s Ona and Ona is good at everything. 

You strive to match her, and you do by the time you finish school. 

Sporadic, non-committal, and in complete disregard for your friendship, the arrangement of hooking up when you feel like it sees you out of Catalonia, with Ona naturally in tow. 

Madrid CFF is happy to have her, and you quite enjoy the challenge of the Spanish capital. It’s not Barcelona, it’s not ideal, but change is good and you need space to explore who you are without watchful eyes and nosy gossipers. 

Homophobia isn’t quite a thing in your family. Your parents are not radically against gay people. In fact, you’d say they are relatively supportive. However, that doesn’t stop you from feeling some discomfort. You lived through Ona’s struggle to come out, and her parents are ever more care-free than yours. 

Madrid is a brand-new place, and word about how you are doing is easily controlled. Updates come from either you or Ona, and that means there is a filter easily applied to all anecdotes. 

Your friends know about the sex, more or less. They know, they don’t approve, but they let you guys sort it out yourselves because everyone agrees that that is just how you and Ona are. They won’t understand it and they have given up on trying to.

Both of you make half-hearted efforts to separate the arrangement from your friendship. You don’t talk much afterwards until the other has left the realm of I-am-in-love-with-you. It’s nice to be in Madrid together, but you find different social circles soon enough and then you are reaching out more for sex than friendly activities and… You stop sleeping with each other upon the footballer’s request. She wants to focus on her career, on her success. She tells you over the phone because she cannot bring herself to end whatever occurred over the last two years in person, knowing that she’d take back her decision in a heartbeat. Ona really, really likes football, and she knows that she has to become obsessed with it to get to the top; more obsessed than she is now. How can she do that if you are distracting her? 

You’re disappointed, but you respect her wishes. 

Girls in Madrid stop seeming as shiny. The world is a bit duller, because although there had been no exclusivity between you and your best friend, there had always been that guarantee that the other would be ready and waiting. Your growing misery makes studying boring, and you find answers for your emotions in a science textbook, desperately running away from the obvious truth. Less sex means that you are unhappier. It’s biology. 

It’s not a crush. 

Not on Ona. 

No. 

And it’s certainly not this not-realisation that flies you to Milan the minute a modelling agency inquires about whether you have ever thought of, well, modelling. They scout you someplace random, and your mother claims that she could have helped you start your career earlier if only you’d have been interested. 

When you explain to your best friend what you are moving for, she is oddly unsurprised and uncaring. Her reaction is sickening, because you’d have rathered her get an ego boost from having slept with a model than be so fucking apathetic. 

“I’m going to Milan, Ona,” you repeat, just in case she has not heard you. “I’m moving. We did the trial shoots last week, and they loved me. They want me to update my social media and work on building up a following, and they said that I should start learning English because I might end up in New York.” 

“That’s good. I’m happy for you.” She doesn’t sound like she means it, and you grow annoyed about how she is not even trying to sound enthusiastic. 

“Can’t you be happy for me? Or is it only acceptable for you to have dreams?” 

“I am happy for you, I just said that.” 

“The words left your mouth, but they definitely did not come from your heart.” 

“You’re being dramatic.” Ona rolls her eyes and the pent-up sexual tension builds and builds until the bottle it has been shoved into can no longer withstand the pressure. You haven’t argued since you moved to Madrid, which makes no sense considering you literally broke up – even if it absolutely wasn’t dating. Neither of you has processed your broken heart, and you’re pretty sure you are still too traumatised from the first girl you fell in love with to be capable of revisiting those kinds of emotions. 

Ona hasn’t had sex in weeks, and it is affecting her performance. She can’t sleep if she has the energy she does, and she can’t get through her workouts because not sleeping makes her lose her appetite and then she does not have the energy to complete them. Her coaches are worried, but they know that she is young and though almost idiotic, they mostly assume that she is repulsed by the idea of playing for a club in Madrid. They get that a lot with the Catalans that come over from La Masia, whose dreams have been delayed because the first team had thought it necessary that they gained more experience elsewhere. 

Ona has wanted to shout and scream every minute of every day, and so have you. Therefore, everything explodes. 

…

You inhale deeply, exhaling when it feels as though some of the stress has dissipated. This casting is one of the more important ones of the week. It’s odd to be judged on your appearance, to be paid for it, but it has been almost a year since you moved to Milan and you are enjoying yourself. 

You don’t miss university, and you don’t miss your parents. Your friends visit you lots, loving the idea of your career, loving the excuse to escape their dreary weekends in where they have always been. 

Milan is great. You make friends with a few other models, though they come and go depending on work, and the more experience you get, the more your following count goes up. Brands send you things, nice things, and events start extending invites to lure you into the glamour of the industry. 

Milan is great, you tell yourself on repeat. 

Milan is great, but it would be better if Ona were here. 

Milan is great, but you regret the way you left things and want to take it all back. 

Milan is great but– 

“Your fitting is tomorrow,” says the assistant, reading off her iPad. You suppress your wandering thoughts, nodding. You need this job, you need the money to pay for a flight. The agency has given you some advancements – an impressive thing, apparently – but not enough to cover the cost of the ticket to New York for the start of Fashion Week. This show will fluff out your experience, and increase your chances of walking at one of the bigger shows. 

You’ve been told that you are quite a good model; attractive, funny, with just the right amount of personality to be both a mannequin and an interesting figure. 

The lifestyle is different but good, and you realise that you’d never wanted the mundanity of studying and then working and selling your soul to some kind of tall office building. Not everyone gets the concept of living away from home, especially not those from your tight-knit community who think the city is stretching the distance slightly (the train works, you can live with your parents and have a good job – you’ve been told that a few times), but you don’t mind. You can explain it as much as you want and they would still be confused. 

You stay in touch, but you don’t stay present. 

As your career snowballs over the next two years, you pull away from your home, always on a flight, always busy. You go to LA and Paris and London, and you rent your flat in Milan out as an Airbnb whenever you’re not there. You love the city, you start to think of it as yours, and slowly but surely, everything else fades into the background. 

Apart from Ona, of course. Your friends still visit, or you meet up with them if you ever find yourself in Barcelona, and they continue to affirm just how proud they are of you. They talk about her a lot, too; about where she’s playing now, about injuries and fame and representing Spain. They know you are too stubborn to search it up for yourself, but these are the people who have grown up with you: they know you would like to be informed. 

When you hear that Ona has moved to Manchester, you don’t quite think your actions through. 

You have had enough. You miss her terribly.

Her number has changed, but someone passes it onto you. 

You: I saw that you’re playing Arsenal next week. I’ll be in London then. Do you want to get a coffee? 

Ona takes her time replying, but that is only because she wants to delay the inevitable. 

Her eyes shine and her hair is damp, but the kick-off had been early and you don’t have anything to do today. You meet her in the carpark, picking her up in a black BMW that’s sleek and shiny and 100% not yours. Her laugh is light and free as she knocks on the driver’s window and juts her thumb out, instructing you to swap. 

“I’m not getting in a car that you’re driving,” she declares seriously, though you know she has forgiven you because she would not have agreed to meet if she hadn’t. “Come on, I checked on Maps and there’s a place not too far from here that looks nice. And it’s empty, so don’t worry about the paparazzi.” 

“The paparazzi are not after me,” you shut down quickly, not wanting her to think you are a bigger deal than what you are. Successful, yes. Famous? Not so much. “One day it’ll be you worrying about them, when you’re all grown up.” 

“I’m twenty-one!” 

It comes out so whiny and childish that you burst into a fit of giggles. Ona is proud to have made you laugh. 

You don’t kiss her, but you’d like to. Then again, maybe it’s better to just be friends. 

[the-acid-pear]

Honestly I always mostly just think of the [looks at notes] 3 managers Harry was friends with when thinking of what he lost but considering he's that old and has been jumping between franchises so much and also the fact Every Fucking Phoney (save for 3) got scrapped by the time we meet him; how much as this man lost? How many people he cared about has he seen die gruesome deaths again and again? Has he managed to find time to process this to grieve or has he just desensitized himself to the situation entirely? I wonder if some vague memory or reaction from how he dealt w this while in the war is how he keeps it at bay. Though it's rich of me to take his formality at face value when he has shown to not be a stranger to strong emotional reactions. Much to think about!

[achillean-knight]

uHHHH well, after the small comic I did, I was like "Damn, I should really draw this guy if I plan to draw him more in the future."

so uh I am also really heavily leaning on the head canon/theory of the lad we play as in Help Wanted 2 being Cassies Father / The Bonnie kid in FNAF 4 / Jeremy Fitzgerald HHEHEHEH

Also 2 versions for the fun of it I am sorry aswell, I cannot draw older blokes well nor children so both Jeremy and Cassie look REALLY off in the bottom pic, MY BAD, I will eventually get better at drawing them JKHJDSGFDSHJDS