#h: leah

[storyofwhoiam]

🙌 NPC for Leah

Send a “🙌” and I’ll introduce you to an NPC related to my Muse. | @shcftingpieces

Branson Jacobs is Leah's father and a musician. He was a founding member and drummer for rock band, San Avalon. Over the years, the band's music evolved from a raw, edgy sound to a fusion of classic rock and punk. San Avalon's journey included world tours, headlining music festivals, and several of their albums achieving gold and platinum certifications. Branson was instrumental in getting the band through challenging periods of creative differences and personal conflicts. While San Avalon are no longer active, Branson continues to write songs, and collaborate with other musicians. Many of their songs hold a special place in Leah's heart.

Growing up, Leah was immersed in the music industry. As a father, Branson loved the opportunity to introduce Leah to a wide range of musical genres. From a very young age, Leah was brought along to shows and sometimes on tour with the band, and, as she got older, they attended gigs together.

Whilst music is his first love, a close second is his love of baseball, particularly the LA Dodgers. He has a near encyclopaedic knowledge; able to recite player stats and Dodgers' lore with impressive detail. Branson took a young Leah to games whenever he was home and able to, and passed his love for the sport onto her.

He has a calm and charismatic demeanour, and an outgoing personality. He didn't always get to be around as much as Leah might've liked whilst she was a child, but he's supportive of her and her career, and a constant source of inspiration for her. His knowledge of the music industry is a valuable resource that he readily shares, and his understanding the pressures and expectations that come with being in the spotlight make him a vital support.

[its-to-the-death]

Battle of the Gingers Bracket H Round 3

Captain Flint (Black Sails) vs Leah (Stardew Valley)

[samkerrworshipper]

togetherness pt.3 | matilda’s x reader

lowkey have come to detest this series chase i started it in first person and i no longer write in that format butttt some of yall want it so i have to supply 🤷‍♀️

warnings/themes: self harm implications, talks of past sexual abuse, lots of trauma, comfort, just general sadness tbh

As we pulled up to our own hotel Sam and Steph were smiling like idiots, joking about something or another. I was lost in thought, thinking about everything that had just happened. My haze was cut short though as my door was opened for me and Sam stood on the outside, waiting for me to hop out. I unclicked my seatbelt hurriedly before climbing out of the car and ducking behind the car to grab my bag quickly. My coping mechanism was to grab my phone out of my pocket and to start to scroll through it as I waited on Sam and Steph to collect their own things. My phone was my social crutch, when I felt awkward it was what I leant to.

“Kiddo, let’s go?”

My head was pulled from my phone as I came to the realisation Sam and Steph had both collected their belongings and were walking towards the front of the hotel, Steph passing her car keys off to the valet. I scurried after the two older women, my behaviour was oddly skittish and I was sure the both of them were picking up on it.

We flashed our ID cards at the front desk before making our way into the team front room where we left our kit bags, just so there was no confusion of them in the rooms. We all individually stowed away our bags, collecting whatever essentials we needed from our bags before leaving them in their spots for the night. I grabbed my drink bottle, my airpods and my ugg boots from my bag before walking over to the food table, it was the table where they left all the snacks that were there to be taken at any time of the day. I picked up a packet of gummy bears instead of a granola bar, Leah wouldn’t have been happy with my switch but I wasn’t eating a granola bar so it was an improvement?

After grabbing the bag of gummy bears, filling up my water bottle and grabbing a bottle of gatorade I followed Steph and Sam towards the elevators, waiting patiently as they clicked the button for our floor. They conversed between the two of them as we went up in the elevator, just general stuff.

“So Y/n/n, we’ll go get Steph’s stuff and we’ll bring it into your room and we’ll move whatever of your stuff is there into my room, okay?”

I nodded at Sam, excepting that this was happening.

As the doors opened I found myself following behind them as they walked towards their room. I followed them into the room as Sam unlocked it with her keycard. The room was similar if not identical to Ellie’s and I’s. Two, matching queen beds, a joining ensuite and two reasonable sized wardrobes. Steph very quickly packed her stuff up, throwing it all into her bags before procuring Sam’s help to move it down the hall. I wordlessly unlocked the door to formerly Ellie and I’s room. When we walked in Ellie was already in there, sitting on her bed, cuddled up in a pile of blankets and sweatshirts. She looked like she’d been crying and I found a part of me feeling bad for her. She was a good person, a person who had been through a lot considering her age.

“Y/n, can we talk?”

I couldn’t find it in me, even with the guilt riding through my body to look at her eyes. I knew that they’d betray me, that I’d no longer be able to be mad at her or annoyed if I was forced to look into those eyes.

“Ellie, how about we try this tomorrow morning? Y/n/n's tired, she’s not feeling too well.”

Steph’s voice was pretty forceful but Ellie found room to rebut.

“I just want to talk to her for fucks sakes, I deserve that at least before my fucking roommate is uprooted.”

I jumped back at Ellie’s harsh tone, finding myself in Sam’s personal space bubble. She didn’t flinch back at my sudden intrusion, instead pushed one of her own arms to my side, steadying me slightly.

“Ellie Maddison, you have already caused yourself enough trouble for one night, I would stop now. I already told you, Y/n/n isn’t feeling up to it. We can try this in the morning, if she wants. We wouldn’t be uprooting her if it wasn’t for you two behaving like three year olds. You both need sleep, not more petty arguing that is going to get us nowhere. Y/n, grab your things, we can talk this all out in the morning, both Sam and I are too tired to put up with any more of it.”

I scurried to collect my bag, I’d never really unpacked so it wasn’t hard. I just grabbed my pillow, bag, phone charger and backpack before scrambling my way out of the room. Sam helped me to haul my big bag down the hallway and into her room.

As soon as we closed the door behind us I could feel a part of me break, the part that broke inside of me every night when I crawled under the covers of my hotel bed or I collapsed on the floor of the ensuite. The vulnerable part of my soul that had never been prepared for this, never prepared for fame or attention. I mean as a kid I’d shied away from it as much as I could, kid Y/n was an insecure, anxious mess who had no idea what she wanted, that part of me was still the same.

“Do you need help unpacking? Steph had housekeeping come in today and clean our sheets so the beds are all clean, I try to keep fairly organised and clean but just a disclaimer that there are some stories about me sleep-talking that I neither deny or confirm.”

“I think I should be fine to put it all away, thank you though.”

Sam smiled at me and nodded, it seemed like there was something else hanging off of the tip of her tongue that she was deciding whether or not to say.

“Okay then, I’m just going to have a quick shower, I do not apologise if I start to sing, it’s a canon event.”

I snorted and nodded Sam’s way as I watched her dip into the ensuite. I set myself the task of firstly, getting changed. I clawed off my layers of matilda gear and very quickly changed into a pair of Qantas pyjamas that we’d gotten on our flight to Sydney, they were fresh and unopened and everything about them seemed comfortable. After I was done getting changed I set myself the task of stowing my bag away on my side of the wardrobe, I didn’t do much more than that, I didn’t really want to unpack right now. So I did a very quick version of my skincare routine and then climbed into my bed. It was comfy, the same as my one in the other room except it just felt different. Once I’d properly situated myself in the pillows I grabbed out my phone and started to scroll on instagram.

It was safe to say that when I was in a bag head space I spiralled a lot.

So when I was in the dumps about a bad game I would often find myself reverting to the hate pages on the internet. The internet is a fucked up place. Some of the things that strangers are willing to put out in the world about a person they don’t know is fucked. It was still a bad habit of mine though to constantly look at those posts.

Leah was always confiscating my phone after bad games, after bad days. She knew me too well, knew how when I got wrapped up in my own head there was nothing to do besides just be there for me. I fiddled anxiously as I flicked through the countless news articles that had been posted. The Australian had a particular hatred for me, had since I was a rookie and since they’d found some photos of me doing drugs back when I was a teenager and published it on the front cover of the Saturday papers. I’d had a particular shared hatred back at them after that. They had a field day every time I had a bad game, I was pretty much the leading lady of page 6. Our game last Saturday had been no different, one wrong kick and I was washed up and cracking under the pressure. The slew of twitter pages and reddit links that I’d been sent after that had been enough to make anyone feel sick to their stomach.

That was why I think I’d gotten roomed with Ellie, she was probably the most hated in the media on the team besides me. I think Sam had thought maybe we’d bond over it but neither of us were vulnerable enough to talk to the other about it. So it had just stewed between the both of us and honestly probably made it worse than it should have been.

“I don’t think I have ever seen a person in such an intense staring competition with their phone.”

I squealed as Sam very stealthily grabbed my phone from my own hands. I immediately sprung up, trying to retrieve it from her hands, I hadn’t had the opportunity to lock it.

“What are you hiding?”

I saw Sam’s interest peak as I fought intensely to grab my phone back. She held it above her head and I might have been taller than her but I couldn’t for the life of me manage to retrieve it from her hands even as I attempted to use her body as a climbing frame. After a few jumps and attempts I gave up, collapsing back into my bed and covering my body and head with the sheets and duvet. The room stayed silent as Sam did the inevitable and looked through my phone screen.

“Y/n.”

Her voice was even and I felt her bodyweight sink down onto the spot at the bottom of my bed. I felt her arms work their way up to the top of the duvet and slowly try to pry them out of my own hands. She succeeded fairly quickly, smiling at me as my face was revealed to the light of our hotel suite.

“There’s that pretty face, no need to be ashamed honey. You ought to not read into what Roger writes, he hates anything to do with women's sports, especially women who are succeeding so heavily at such a young age. You shouldn’t let your mental image of yourself be contorted by words written by a person who doesn’t know you or care about you, don’t do that to yourself, you deserve better.”

I looked at Sam, in all of her glory, sitting above me, an old nike shirt that looked like it had been washed 600 times. Her hair was brushed smoothly back into her classic low pony. It made me cry. Not sobbing crying, just wet, fat tears dripping down my face as I thought about that article. I could probably quote most of the journalist's work, I’d read it over and over and over.

“Come on now, don’t cry, please. You’ve done enough crying for tonight, don’t make me tickle you.”

Sam’s eyebrow rose in challenge as she stared down at me, silently challenging me to keep going. When I did, her hands found their way to my sides and started to tickle me intensely. I immediately let out a choken laugh, trying to suppress my giggles and cries.

“S-Sam stop ittt. S’ not fair.”

She smirked at me as she continued her abuse of my sides.

“Stop crying then, c’mon, there are better things to do with your time then cry over bullshit. I know Williamson would have my head if she knew that I was letting her girl get down in the dumps over something that’s out of your control. I am telling you now, honestly, your whole career there is always going to be someone who is going to try and take you down, journalists, social media, other players. It’s wrong, but we are women in a field that is predominantly presumed to be male dominated, we aren’t appreciated, we’re underpaid and we are slaughtered in the press for anything. The more you feed into it the worse it’s going to get, and I understand that the other stuff isn’t going to just go away but it is going to eventually get better, I promise you that.”

“You promise?”

Sam rolled her eyes and extended her pinky towards me.

“I pinky promise.”

I rolled my eyes at the cliche but interlocked my own pinky finger in hers and shook it. Sam reached down to wipe the tears from my face and smiled at me, a little glint in her eye.

“Now, I think it’s about time we got you tucked in, it’s been a big day for you.”

“I’m not tired.”

Sam rolled her eyes at my immediate defiance and plonked herself down next to me on the bed, resting beside me against the headboard. She lazily placed one of her arms around my shoulder, there was something so simple but complex about the whole situation.

“Do I need to explain to you the importance of getting eight hours?”

“This feels like one of those captain moments where you try and mom me into doing something that’s not going to happen.”

Sam snorted at my reply, nodding her head concedingly.

“Is the defiance just a young people thing or do you just enjoy being a pain in the ass?”

“There’s no fun in it if I agree to everything you tell me to do.”

Sam’s eyes damn near rolled into the back of her head.

“Is it hard using defiance as a defence mechanism constantly?”

The question took me back a little bit, it hadn’t been what I was expecting. She’d turned a pretty mild conversation into something deep so quickly that it took me a few seconds to recover.

“I don’t use defiance as a defence mechanism.”

My voice wavered a little bit, just enough for doubt to seep in.

“Yes you do.”

Sam’s voice was so matter of a fact, like she knew me better than I knew myself.

“No, I don’t.”

“You push everyone out, you don’t listen to anyone who is trying to help you out, you do things that are harmful to yourself without caring, you play with injuries, you put yourself in harms way a little bit to often, you hide your emotions, I could keep listing off if I wanted to.”

I hated how right Sam was, how observant she was, it made me queasy.

“Okay, so I do some of those things, but that doesn’t make it a defence mechanism.”

“What does it make it then? A form of self harm? A form of punishment? I think you’ve punished yourself enough, when does it all become enough, when in the mind of Y/n do you atone for your sins? Because from where I’m looking at it you are leading yourself in the direction of a cliff's edge and you aren't going to stop until you are over that cliff.”

I gulped, unsure of what to say to my skipper, because I couldn’t lie to her, not for the life of me but I also wasn’t going to sit here and listen to her pretty much tell me that I was suicidal or something.

“You don’t know what I’ve done or who I’ve hurt to get here.”

“I know you're a good kid, with a good heart and if Williamson decided to take a shot with you then you have to be worth it. I know you carry baggage, a lot more than you’ll ever tell anyone, some things that you don’t even tell Leah. I have my inferences, I know things are rough with your family, always has been. I know you're hard on yourself, far too hard on yourself considering you are nineteen. I know that you never saw yourself here, never saw yourself as being capable of being here and now that you are you are having an identity crisis because you are secretly terrified that you are never going to be good enough to be here, even though you are. You’re hurting a lot, I know roughly what you're doing to self soothe, it’s not good and I’m worried about you, all of us are.”

I bit down on my lip, staring out at the wall in front of me, unsure of what to say to Sam, because she was right in so many ways but her words were also like a stab in my heart, because until someone is telling you about your behaviours I don’t think it subconsciously sinks in.

“Something to think about, I’m always here kid, if you ever need to talk, or need help, or just someone to keep you company then I’m here, whatever you need.”

“I didn’t ever plan on being a professional football player,” I snorted in between my words, realising I was actually about to go down this path with my captain, a woman who had pioneered womens sport in Australia, “This sounds stupid but all I ever wanted growing up was to own a cattle station, wanted to live the humble life out on the farm. I know that sounds so stupid, because it’s so simple. But I never planned for this, I never wanted this. My parents put me into football and gymnastics when I was six and I was good at them, really good and it was for fun so it was fine. Then it wasn’t for fun and I was playing in national teams and olympic qualifiers. Then I broke my back falling off of a beam and I was happy, I was glad, because it meant that I could do what I wanted. Then I was in the party scene and everything was good, until it wasn’t. Then my parents were shipping me off to the AIS and I didn’t have a say. Next thing I’m here and I’m doing this and I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong. But a part of me never wanted this and I know that’s bad of me to say because there are thousands of girls who would die for my spot but it’s the truth.”

I took a deep breath as I finished up my spew of words, it was a lot, I wasn’t an oversharer, most of it was probably word vomit but there was something about Sam that just made me feel comfortable with being vulnerable, I didn’t know what it was.

“That’s not stupid, having dreams isn’t stupid and it’s okay for you to be upset that you didn’t get what you wanted. You have a gift Y/n, the way that you play on the field is truly exceptional and I am telling you now that if you want to be the best professional footballer, then you can. You could be one of the best players in the game, better than me or any other player on this team, I believe that whole-heartedly. You deserve that, if you want it. If you start to make healthier decisions for yourself, decisions that don’t harm you. When was the last time you ate a proper meal? The last time you took time out of your day to look after yourself? How long until it starts to seriously harm you? Do I need to tell you how dangerous it is for a professional athlete to not be looking after their body, you are important Y/n, and so is your health.”

I fiddled with a loose thread that was protruding from the doona below me. My captain's words were sinking in, deep, like a tattoo. Etching its way into my skin, painfully.

“I am fine, our doctors have had no issues with clearing me, I eat and I do look after myself.”

My justification was weak, it was in my voice and in my mannerism. My statement just wasn’t believable, as much as I was trying to push it.

“So you know how to pass a medical test? I’d expect you too considering you fooled Tony the whole time you were at the AIS that you weren’t using. I’ve heard the story, it just proves to me that you know how to get around testing.”

Fuck. Fuck. It wasn’t surprising Sam knew my history with drugs, I mean anyone who read the papers knew, it wasn’t private information. I was clean now, four years and proud of it. I’d had a bumpy road to recovery but I’d gotten there with time.

“I can look after myself.”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“See, as soon as anyone tries to care for you, you close up.”

“I don’t close up. I just don’t respond to being interrogated.”

“You aren’t being interrogated.”

“Sure seems like it.”

“That’s a bit overdramatic, all I am trying to do is care for you, something you are adamant on avoiding.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, because I couldn’t deny Sam in what she was saying, I did push people out who tried to care for me. Long ago Leah had accepted there were some parts of me that I was never going to be able to talk to her about, that was why she’d forced me into seeing a therapist.

“I don’t need you to care for me.”

“The scars on your thighs say otherwise.”

I blinked for a few seconds, taking a deep gulp as the words that Sam had just said set in, had she actually gone there? Had she actually just said that.

“That was a low fucking blow.”

Sam was clearly taken aback by her own words, it had clearly just spilled out of her. Sam was no filter, so it had come to me as no surprise that she frequently blurted, just the fact she’d said that though hit me deep.

“I’m not wrong.”

I could feel tears stemming at the back of my eyes, at the realisation that I was about to have this conversation.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Does Leah know?”

“She’s had her queries, she doesn’t push it.”

“She doesn’t push the fact that you cut yourself?”

If her previous words hadn’t hit hard, those ones had, because those words, that assumption, that accusation was so confronting.

“It’s not like that.”

“Explain to me what it’s like then.”

I pushed Sam’s arm off of my shoulder, feeling like I need a more face to face conversation. I pushed myself off of the bed head, so I was sitting between Sam’s two legs, my legs crossed. It was vulnerable for me, just talking to someone about my feelings was vulnerable for me.

“When I was 15, when I gave up the drugs. I was in a lot of pain, I hated myself. It wasn’t easy, I mean I was trying pretty much everything I could to get injured. I got arrested for speeding underage twice, both times Tony had to bail me out. I was just a mess, so I started to hurt myself, to stop myself from seriously injuring myself. It was the only thing that I could do that would make me feel better, the only thing that I could turn to when shit got real. So it became my thing, then I turned pro and I stopped for a while, especially when Leah started to get on my case about it but then we got to training camp and it was all too much so I started again and I know it’s a bad habit and it’s serious but Sam, I wouldn’t be here right now without it.”

“Are you suicidal?”

It was a question I definitely wasn’t prepared for.

“I’ve had suicidal thoughts over the years, I’ve had my fair share of bad moments but no, I’m not suicidal. I don’t do it because I want to die, I do it because it gives me relief, from life, from football, from stress. For me it's an outlet, when life gets hard that’s how I deal with it. It's unhealthy but it’s what works for me and I know that it’s bad but it’s what works.”

Sam nodded at me, there was a certain softness to her words and features the more I spoke to her, the more barriers that I let go. Sam’s own hand found its way to my bicep, silently comforting me and telling me to stop rambling.

“I get it. You do what you have to do to survive, and there is nothing wrong with that. You do what you have to do to get through the day. You’re not broken. This isn’t something to be embarrassed about or guilty for. You are still a child Y/n, in so many ways. The world is hard sometimes, what we do is hard sometimes, we all have needs. You scavenge for anything that helps you to get through because you want to survive, you want to be ok. Then it works, so you continue to survive. Good for you, you figured out how to survive. You don’t need to spend everyday in survival mode anymore though, you have love in your life that prevents the constant need to survive.

The words burnt my soul and I could feel the tears brimming up again. I hated crying.

“You’re living your old life Y/n/n. But it’s done, it’s over. You get to have the good things that you never had, you can meditate, or go on holiday, you can read books, you can learn a new language, you can learn how to live in a way where you don’t have to hurt to handle all of the things that scare you. No shame, just growth, okay. You don’t have to hide in your ensuite at night by yourself, like you taught yourself to do to survive, am I clear?”

Sam’s eyes bored down into my soul, her words were so strong and definite.

“You’re going to call me, or Leah, or your therapist next time you feel like doing it, that’s an order. You are going to call one of us, call me, and I’ll talk to you, I’ll talk to you for however long it takes for you to understand that this,”

Sam’s hand fell down to my thigh, where we both knew the scars laid, underneath my sweats,

“Isn’t the solution, not anymore, we’re leaving it in the past. This isn’t your way to survive anymore, from now on you aren’t going to just survive, we are going to make you live, I promise you that. From here on out you are going to live, and enjoy living. I am going to try my hardest to keep to that promise, but you need to as well. Promise me you are going to try and do more than just survive, because this shit in the press, it sucks, but it’s going to go away and once it does you are going to be lost, you are going to struggle and that fight that you put in everyday to be here, it’s not going to be as present and when that happens, when all of the outside threats are denominated you are going to hit rock bottom, there’s one positive of hitting rock bottom though, there’s only one way up and when you realise that you have the potential to go upwards and you want to, life is going to get better.”

“Y’know I get why Polks and De Vanna recommended you for captain.”

My words were said with tears and snot running down my face, with the realisation that right now, I was being held accountable for my shit and it was a hard realisation. My captain's words had hit home for me with the realisation that there wasn’t room for me to behave like I previously had.

“I try my best, I expect you to do the same. This relationship, this situation, it doesn’t work if you aren’t prepared to put the work in, if you aren’t prepared to hit rock bottom and work upwards from there. When you do hit that bottom, I want you to call me, tell me you’ve had a bad day, or don’t, talk, or listen, whatever you need.”

I nodded at Sam.

“I am going to try.”

She smiled at me and nodded, all encouragement and comfort.

“Okay then, okay. Come here kid,”

Sam opened her arms for me and I collapsed into them, grateful for just the warmth and comfort of Sam’s arms. I understood why all of the girls gravitated to her, why they seeked her out so often. She understood, she didn’t judge, she listened and then she gave advice, good advice, meaningful advice. One of her hands went to my back, gently rubbing across the nooks and valleys along my back. The other hand reached to the nape of my neck, gently twisting and brushing out the hairs that laid at the beginning of my hairline. I lent into her touch, silently finding so much comfort in her actions.

“M’ sorry, sorry that I didn’t come to you earlier.”

“It’s okay kid, I understand, you were scared and you didn’t know who you could talk to about that. What’s important is you know now, you know that I am always here for when you need help and I expect you to come to me from now on, no more hiding and struggling in silence, okay?”

I nodded into Sam’s arms, just silently finding so much peace and solace in being held. I hadn’t been held in months, not since I’d been with Leah and the last few months with Leah had been hard to say the least. She’d done her ACL, and it wasn’t anybody's fault, I hadn’t been prepared for it though. Both Leah and I were going through rough patches and neither of us were prepared to look after another human being besides ourselves. There had been countless nights between the two of us spent crying and fighting with each other. It was rough, we’d worked through it though. It was hard though, and a part of me felt guilty for not being okay, and a part of me felt like Leah was going through so much worse than me and I could never burden her with my stupid problems.

“Now, I think it is definitely time that we get you tucked in and asleep, I won’t take any arguments, you look like you could sleep for days if you needed.”

I just nodded at Sam, any fight, any defiance that had been in my body was gone, I just didn’t have it in me. She was right, I was tired, I’d hardly slept the whole world cup. I was an insomniac, so that was to blame partially, partially I also just didn’t feel safe sleeping. Ellie was always on the phone with her girlfriend, when she wasn’t she was trying to talk to me or do yoga or something. She’d also been slaughtered in the press most of the tournament, it was messing with her, everyone could tell. Her techniques for combatting her anxiety about it though was annoying to say the least, being the younger one in the situation I didn’t have the confidence to tell her that her habits were fucking annoying to say the least.

I didn’t fight back as Sam gently laid me down on my bed, pulling the covers up over my body and very gently tucking me in.

“Have a good sleep, kid.”

She smiled at me and I smiled back.

“You too cap, thank you, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”

Sam patted me on the head, giving me her signature smirk.

“It’s no trouble, now get some sleep yeah, I need you to be coherent for tomorrow.”

I nodded along with Sam’s statement, watching as she got up off of my bed and walked towards the light switch, turning it off before jumping into her own bed. She rustled around in her sheets for a few minutes before finding her spot, a few minutes after the rustling ended I heard her breath slow and even out, indicating that she’d fallen asleep.

The situation was not the same for me, it took me a few hours to fall asleep and once I did I only slept for two hours, it was fitful sleep, very light and not very good. I laid in bed for a while before deciding around 5 that I was going to go for a run. I got up as quietly as I could, throwing on a pair of shorts and a sports bra. Once I’d gotten dressed I picked out my pair of running sneakers before creeping my way out of the hotel room and trying my very hardest to keep my steps silent as I walked down the hallway and into the elevators that took me down to the lobby. Our hotel was about 200 metres from the beach, so I made the decision I would take my morning run along the beach.

It was still dark out as I made my way out onto the main road and started my jog down to the water's edge. The sun probably wouldn’t rise before I came home. I planned to do about ten km, the beach was around 4 or so long so If I ran up and then down I would probably do about that. As soon as I got down to the waters edge I started to run properly.

Running had been one of my releases since I was 12. Whenever I was angry I went for a run, when I ran everything stopped. It was just me and the music that I had running through my headphones. It felt the same as I set my pace along the sand, like all of the fucking mayhem from the past twenty four hours was just mellowing out, becoming background noise. If I could always be running I would. The only time I ever felt like I was myself was when I was running. The feeling of your heart pounding against your chest, the feeling of your breath hurting in your throat and the dryness in your throat. As I ran the sun slowly started to rise, slowly climbing along the horizon. I made it about three quarters of the way before I ran into someone, one of the last people I wanted to be seeing.

For a second I wasn’t quite sure who it was, they were the only other person on the beach, standing along the shoreline. As I sprinted my way back to my starting spot the body slowly started to become bigger and the fear in my gut slowly grew. I couldn’t make out much more than their body, with the lack of lighting present in the room. As I slowly approached though, more features slowly started to become more recognisable and I silently screamed internally as I realised who exactly was.

As I approached them I slowed my pace, down to a slow jog, almost a walk. I slowly approached them and internally froze as they turned to face me. Fuck.

“It’s a nice morning.”

Lucy’s face was stone serious, and her words didn’t reflect the general attitude that she seemed to hold.

“So you're enjoying the motherland, then, the sunrises are unbeatable.”

“I’d be enjoying it more if I hadn’t been pulled out of my bed at 5am this morning to come and find you because Kerr texted Leah saying you’d disappeared and she didn’t know where to.”

“I’m allowed to go on a run.”

“You didn’t leave a note, after having what I’ve perceived as a fairly rough twenty four hours.”

“I don’t need the lecture.”

“La Reina wouldn’t have a bar of this attitude.”

“Alexia isn’t here.”

“It could be arranged, if I deem you in need of some attitude adjustment.”

I braced myself in front of Lucy, she was a scary woman. When I’d started in the WSL I’d originally been selected by Barcelona, then after half a season I’d been traded to Arsenal. I’d liked it at Barca, if I hadn't been traded I probably would have still been there, Barca was good, when I’d gotten there I had been a basket case, it had been what I’d needed. I was 17 at the time, and had no idea what I’d wanted, Barca had taught me how to wake up every morning and do something with life.

Lucy opened her arms up to me and I let myself fall into them, letting the older woman embrace me. Her arms were strong and they hugged me to her tightly, comfortingly, in the way that a mother would embrace their child. That was what Barca had given me, a good relationship with people that were like substitutes for my mom.

“It’s good to see you, Luce.”

“It’s good to see you as well kid, although I would have preferred it to be under different circumstances.”

She released me from her arms and sat herself down on the sand, nodding at me to sit down next to her. I followed suit, so we were both sitting on the sand, looking out at the sunrise.

“You’ve been doing it again.”

“I don’t know what you're talking about.”

“I don’t want to tell Ale that you’re lying to me as well.”

I crossed my arms across my chest in frustration, grumbling at Lucy.

“She’s not even my captain anymore.”

“She’s still the woman who took you under her wing, she’s your blood, mija.”

I pursed my lips and looked out at the horizon, the sun was truly rising now, the bright pink and oranges mixing into a tie dye across the sky.

“How’d you know I was going to be down here.”

“Just a hunch, I know how much you like your runs.”

“I wasn’t running away or anything, I just needed to think.”

One of Lucy’s arms fell over my shoulders, it was heavy but so soft at the same time.

“I know mi amor, you should have told someone where you were going though, especially considering the events of the last few hours, you worried a lot of people.”

“Leah told you?”

“She told me she was worried about you, that you had a lot on your plate right now, more than a 19 year old should be handling.”

I pursed my lips again, Lucy’s words were so pensive, so calculated but present at the same time. It was bizarre.

“I, just, this world cup, it was supposed to be the defining moment in my career, when I proved to everyone that I was as good, if not better than everyone else they were comparing me too. But I haven’t been performing, the press hates me, I just can’t catch a break.”

“Sounds like you need a sabbatical.”

I snorted a little bit at Lucy’s words.

“I’m serious, you know, after this, you should take some weeks off. Leah needs it as well, go somewhere, wherever your heart feels like you need to be and just live, or learn to live. Turn your phone off, eat as much as you want, exercise as little or as much as you want, just let yourself be happy, without everyone else, without football, without social media and other people. Learn to love yourself.”

I’d been handed so much emotional advice over the last few hours, it was a lot to absorb, a lot to think about.

“I miss La Reina, I miss Barca.”

“I know mi amor, but you have to be here, you have to be in London. It’s what you are destined to be doing, Ale and us all miss you but you are doing such good things where you are.”

“Your taking me back to the hotel, aren’t you?”

Lucy nodded at me sadly and I took one final deep breath before lifting myself off the sand and dusting any remnants of it off of my clothing. I helped Lucy up and then we both started to walk towards the beach exit.

“I’ll be there to watch you tomorrow, Kei, Leah and I. Play for us yeah? Make us proud.”

The walk back to the hotel was rather sullen, both Lucy and I staying fairly silent, her guiding me to the doors with a hand secured on my lower back. When we got to the door I gave her a hug before parting ways and stepping into the lobby. The team room was a little bit more alive then it had been when I’d walked through earlier in the morning. Kat, Harper, Charli and Ky were all awake, having breakfast together, as well as a few of the other veterans. I made my way through the lobby as quickly as I could, I couldn’t be bothered with talking to anyone.

When I did get back to my room, I was very surprised to find Sam, Steph, Haley and Alanna waiting for me. I was the first person to speak, slipping off my shoes next to the door and breaking the tension.

“Isn’t it a bit early for a mothers group meeting?”

[leiaorganicsolocup]

the bond between a person and their emotional support fictional M.A.S.H surgeon is something that can be so personal

[quailxcrossing]

i absolutely love how the 3 members of the winding family have names that are wildly debated on the pronunciation, i'm being so genuine its so interesting how absolutely no one can decide how these names are pronounced caius - kai-us, keys, key-us, guy-us, k-eye-is etcetera - et-set-uh-ruh, et-set-ruh, ekk-set-ur-ruh imogen - imma-jen, em-o-jean, em-a-gene, em-oh-jen

and everywhere i go, the pronunciations are being tossed around in reddit posts and people are inventing new ones before my eyes, its awesome how nothing really matters /gen!!

[sdvsalad]

A Beautiful Night

Author C here! I tend to avoid writing romantic stories since I can never imagine what it'd be like. It's important to push your boundaries a bit though to improve as both a writer and gain new perspectives! Enjoy a bit of fluff!

The fairy lights lit up the tree-line as they softly twinkled overhead. The trees were all shades of yellow, orange, and red as they swayed side to side, catching the light from the string lights in a beautiful unison. Below sat a checkered red blanket, filled with pillows and a picnic basket that contained an elegant spread of charcuterie and carious edible forgeable plants. A lean ginger woman took the strong stoic woman by the hand as she led them to the blanket, gently sitting down together. 

It must have been hours since they’d sat, the stars twinkled overhead as they laid on the blanket, watching the brilliant dance. The ginger woman excitedly pointed out various constellations and the story behind each, she even pulled out a small sketchpad to connect the dots into beautiful drawings. She explained their meanings, and even what sign represented her. She even managed to figure out the other woman’s based on her birthday, she smiled with delight as she revealed they were perfectly compatible. The white haired woman simply laid down and watched the stars twinkle while listening to the woman beside her. She gave a light smile and murmured something about how beautiful the other woman was. 

The ginger woman began to blush as she remarked back that the other woman was more beautiful, even making a few flirty comments to regain her composure. This went on for a few minutes longer until the ginger woman kissed the other. She giggled a bit as the other woman’s face began to turn as red as her eyes. The ginger woman laid beside her once again and put one arm on the woman’s chest and the other continued to point out the stars above, they still twinkled in a light dance.

It was truly a beautiful night, eventually they both grew tired and drifted off into a restful slumber, still next to each other under the soft fairy lights. 

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

(TW: family conflict, religious trauma implied)

August 11th, 1992

I woke up to Sarah screaming tonight.

My lungs hurt for a reason I didn’t remember, but I could barely even choke out a cough before I ran out of my room to check on her. She was curled up by her bed, sobbing and hugging her stuffed rabbit close to her as she stared at the window. She looked horrified, and wouldn’t even look at me when I tried to ask her what happened. She only told me about how “something was outside her window”, broken up by sobs and cries for mom to help her.

When Mom and Dad eventually left their room to see what was going on, they stared at me as if I was the one that scared her. The reason she was crying. Or at least Dad looked at me like that. Mom was more focused on helping me stop Sarah’s crying to pay much attention to me. Though when I looked up at Dad, he looked almost furious with me. Then he went on a rant about how I’ve been scaring Sarah with my own delusions. Are you fucking kidding me? First you throw out all of my things cause you thought horror movies were rotting my brain with “satanic imagery” and now you’re saying that I’m scaring my own sister? I don’t get it. I don’t understand. I get I wasn’t the son you wanted, can you let it go already?

I’m going to Cesar’s tonight. I can’t stay here right now, I just can’t. I can hear them downstairs talking about it. I’ll wait until they’re done to leave, when they go to bed.

I hate not feeling at home in my own house anymore.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Amor Fati--Chapter 8: Seism

Paul and Maelyn have been trying to keep their relationship under wraps, but it all comes out. Caveat: Neither is their imprint. How long can smooth sailing go on?

Paul Lahote x Black!Fem!OC.

CW: 18+ content (Smut adjacent) in this chapter.

Series Masterlist

Complete Masterlist

The waves crash into the shoreline, threatening to wipe away the lines, threatening to take back into the sea their boundaries of play. But it doesn’t really matter if the faux lines are washed away. There’s very few on the beach besides the pack. Everyone knows when they’d be out of bounds and with Embry as referee, order will be maintained. He wears a whistle around his neck, his black t-shirt taped with a sign that reads, Ref, in Leah’s sharp and clear cursive. The smoke ripples up into the air as Sam and Emily man the grill higher up, aluminum dishes bowing with the weight of the food they’re preparing. This is all in the background, amongst the tap of the feet against a soccer ball. Maelyn manages to fake out Seth, sending him tumbling just for a second. He won’t stay behind for long so Maelyn charges upwards, watching as Leah grins at her approach. 

It’s healthy competition. No one's feelings will be hurt long term. But Maelyn, Quil, and Jared are already down one game. At the very least they need a tie against Leah, Seth, and Jacob. Paul and Jared swapped after the last game with Paul too pissed at the loss to feel safe enough to continue to play. Maelyn saw he wanted to play but he seethed, making the choice to sit in the sidelines rather than cause a scene. A choice she knows most likely hurt to have to make, but he made it and for that, she’s grateful. It’s progress that will carry them closer and closer to their goals and desires. 

What Maelyn is not grateful for is Leah’s attempts to kick the soccer ball out from her feet. They’re not touching, but they do dance up the makeshift field and exchange heated grunts. “C’mon, baby, you can take her!” Paul shouts from the side. 

Leah’s laughter is short and hard from the effort of her run and defense. “Oh, don’t make me sick now, please.” 

Maelyn hears the tease, watching instead as Leah takes a step forward. Right at the outskirts of her periphery Maelyn spies Quil running up the beach, his arms brushing at his side and he lengthens his stride. Maelyn fakes right but Leah doesn’t take the bait. 

“I know your tricks,” Leah laughs. 

Seth’s behind, Maelyn can tell, can feel his presence and she makes quick to strike the ball in the direction she hopes Jared is in. The ball rolls, and Jared captures it. It narrowly avoids Leah and Maelyn exhales. Now it’s a foot race. Leah’s fast. Faster than just about everyone here. Maelyn is a close second but that’s not much when Leah can dust her with a whopping 5 second gap. Jared passes to Quil. Quil and Jacob laugh as they nearly collide but Quil’s a bit more graceful. No one is truly playing a dedicated game of goalie. Instead, it’s a job shared depending on who’s closest to the back quadrant and Maelyn slows just a hair should Leah or Seth attempt to come back down to score again. 

Quil takes his shot, it arches and bounces after its descent, rolling through the orange cones to donate the goal, inching just past the tips of Jacob’s fingers. Jared roars at the score, chasing down the ball before it gets swept up into the ocean. Embry calls outs, “Time! A tie. Anyone care for match point?”

The beach’s air fills with their ragged breathing. Maelyn shakes her head. The tie is more than enough for her. She only played when Leah played and on the opposite teams to keep things as fair as possible. But four games under her belt has her tired. In the gaps of the cloud cover passing overhead, there’s just enough sun to make the day warm. Not that she can tell all that much by her own temperature but the few other kids with their parents further up the beach are dressed in shorts so she takes it as a sign. A white flash of light momentarily swirls in her eyes and she catches the faint winding of the disposable camera. Paul grins at her, the little preview box lined up over his eye. Another flash but she’s prepared this time, a soft grin pulling at the corners of her cheeks. 

“What are you doing?” Maelyn asks. 

“For prosperity's sake,” Paul answers, lowering the camera and pulling a bottle of water from his back pocket. It arches with the flick of his wrist and Maelyn catches it with ease. The camera seemingly disappears to the same pocket the water was from as it’s not resurfaced. “Proud of you. Last goal was tight but you managed unscathed.” 

Maelyn smiles around the gulp of water. “Thanks. You all good now?”

Paul nods at the question, slipping one free hand into hers. “Yeah. I am. Emily did very cautiously hand over a couple burgers and that helped. A lot. Just annoyed I lost though.”

“Maybe you, Embry, and Jared and play a game or something.”

The hum is noncommittal, like Paul’s not deeply set one way or another. “We’ll see. I do have to stop by the Locklear’s before our date tonight and I’d rather not stink too much or have to shower twice.”

“What’s at the Locklear’s?” The family lives about a mile and a half from Paul, and only a half a mile from Maelyn. They were quiet, with their three kids, but nice enough. Maelyn and Paul were both a couple years older than the oldest child, so they weren’t strangers to each other.

Paul starts up towards Sam and Emily, Maelyn pushing into the sand to keep up as her stomach growls deep and low. “Just a leaky kitchen faucet,” Paul answers. “Shouldn’t take more than an hour at most. I think it might be a faulty part, or something’s just not tight enough. Mr. Locklear said it’s a slow drip so it’s not immediate as long as they can get it fixed here soon.”

“I hope it’s an easy fix,” Maelyn notes. She wouldn’t qualify herself as someone well versed in plumbing, but she is handy enough. 

“I think so. And you’re sure you’re okay with a date at Shannon’s? We could go somewhere else. I’m not sure what movies are out, but we could head out there. Or maybe try the new pizza special at Annie’s?”

Maelyn takes the plate Paul extends to her, peering over the array waiting in the foil pan. She takes a fork to pluck up two hamburger buns and a hotdog bun from the stack. “I don’t mind. I really want a rootbeer float.”

“You say that but you are lactose intolerant.” It’s a low tease as he presses a kiss to her cheek, sliding over the bottle of ketchup after she gets her choices of meat onto the appropriate buns. It’s a rather light plate, but Maelyn makes a mental plan to come back for seconds while still having more than enough space for dinner later too. 

“Oh, rich,” Maelyn snorts, shaking at the bottle to get the ketchup to fall towards the nozzle. “Sometimes I worry about what you’re eating. Last night was torture.”

The group howls, having caught the entire conversation between the two of them. Paul secures his arm around her waist, hoisting her up from the ground. It’s not true anger. Not even close. Paul’s face lights up with his amusement. “You take that back,” he hollers. His face is pressed into her back, pressing a kiss into her spine. 

Maelyn laughs from above. “Never.”

“I’ll say it. I’ll reveal everything,” Paul warns, letting her slip gently back down. Her feet hit the ground first and she turns to face him. “I swear I will.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” She smiles as she says it, knowing the worst Paul might be able to cook up is that she still slept with a teddy bear or maybe something about the way she slept. She’d been warned once that at times she talked in her sleep, but never consistently. Most notably when under a lot of stress, she’d pipe up from her sleep state with strange quips about taking ice cream from freezers or about carrots and rabbits. But nothing majorly offense. 

Paul shrugs. “I could be convinced if you keep outing secrets.”

“Stinky farts do not qualify as secrets, baby. Not even in the slightest.”

“That’s what you think.”

The centimeters between them close, lips meeting in quick pecks. But it doesn’t seem to satiate Paul for long. His hands slip further down on her waist, inching ever so slightly down to her ass and Maelyn laughs into the kiss, pulling his hands back up by his wrist. “Not so fast there, tiger,” she whispers against his lips. 

Paul’s teasing growl comes in return before pressing another kiss to her lips. This one is deeper, longer than the others, but tame after the warning. His hands now rest against her cheeks, thumbs rubbing at the bones that rest beneath the fat. Faller cheeks have been Maelyn’s curse since she was a baby. There’s a small commotion, a chorus of greetings that picks up behind them that’s just enough to break apart their kiss. 

“I hope there’s enough for one more.”

Maelyn recognizes the voice, heart racing in her chest. She didn’t think Rachel would be coming back this soon. The end of Rachel’s last letter said that it most likely wouldn’t be until the middle of next week before she’d make it back. Her last final was tougher than anticipated and she’d wanted to get it turned in before making the trek back. It’s not so much Rachel’s return that worried Maelyn rather than the promises she made to Jake. She misses him, but knows how tortured he is currently at the state of things, how he’s still not with Bella like he wants to be, even though he keeps saying it’s okay. And Maelyn’s still hurt, still missing her mother, but the more the days pass, the more understanding seems to build between them. 

Maelyn’s blink is slow as she starts to turn towards Rachel. But she notices the stiffening of Paul’s body against her, arms that were pressed so tightly into her flesh feel like now they’re hovering. “Hi, Rachel,” Maelyn calls out but she flicks her gaze up. 

Paul’s head is hung. He clears his throat, throwing a rather soft, “I’m-I’ll be right back” towards Maelyn before pushing away. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Rachel hisses. The apology in her tone is evident. But Maelyn watches Paul make a beeline straight for Sam. Emily’s lips are rolled together, eyes growing larger before locking in on Maelyn. The entire pack is frozen. Embry, Seth, Leah, Jared, Quil, and even Jacob all stare with a bit of horror on their faces. 

“Jake said that I could come and it would not be a bummer, but now I’m starting to wonder if he lied to me,” Rachel laughs. 

But all Maelyn can do is watch. Each face that watches her carries a sadness that looks more and more like pity the longer and longer she watches. But why would there be pity? Kim clutches to Jared’s arm and even she too looks horrified. And if Kim is horrified, it must be awful. 

“Paul,” Maelyn calls out. 

He stiffens at his name, but doesn’t turn around. It’s not a great sign. Her heart starts to buzz at the thought. What happened in all of a blink? What could’ve happened in all of a blink? Sam looks up and over Paul’s shoulder. His voice carries as he waves at Maelyn to come in closer. “Mae, can you come here for a second? Rachel, get whatever you want. Sorry about all this. We got caught by surprise. It’s all good. You’re fine.”

“You sure? Because it does not look fine at all.”

“Eat, Rachel,” Sam urges. “It’s fine.”

Maelyn’s feet are carrying her, but she watches. The entire walk over to Sam and Paul she watches the eyes following her. Emily meets her only a couple steps out, hand outstretched for hers. And she catches it now, beneath the crashing waves, a sniffle. 

Paul’s sniffle. His shoulder’s shake. “I-why’d this have to happen?” he hisses. It doesn’t appear to be directed at any one in particular. A general question to the cosmos at best. 

Sam drifts his gaze, only for a second, over the pack. But when his eyes land back on Maelyn, they’re soft and full of regret.  Like he wishes he didn’t have to say or do whatever it is has to say or do. Maelyn knows that look. It's the same one he gave her when Sam told Maelyn about her mother. It’s bad news. It’s always going to be bad news when Sam looks at her like that. “I think you two need to talk,” Sam notes to Maelyn. 

Talk, but Maelyn knows what talk means. Yet, she wishes with everything in her that it’s not true. But why else would Emily be holding her hand this tight? Why would would everyone be staring at her like this? Maelyn tears her hand from Emily, turning now to see Jacob and Leah a couple feet behind her, moving in closer. “Lyn,” Jake starts. His voice cracks, eyes heavy with a kind of sadness that precedes awful news. 

It’s just her nickname. One simple syllable. But it cracks at Maelyn’s chest. She turns back to Paul, who’s facing her now. “Baby, I-” it falls with a crack, a horrible sound from Paul’s throat. 

Right in front of her. It all happened right in front of her and didn’t even see it. Couldn’t have stopped. 

Maelyn turns back to Rachel. She’s being coaxed now by Jared and Kim to fix her plate. They’re promising her that everything is okay. But it’s not okay. Nothing is okay. They have to say that for Rachel’s sake, not for Maelyn. 

“You, right then and there?” Maelyn questions. They have to be careful. Though, in the end, it won’t really matter. Paul will tell her. Rachel will be brought into the fold. She’ll learn about the vampires and the wolves. She’ll know everything that Maelyn does. Rachel will take everything Maelyn built. 

“Baby,” Paul tries again, reaching for her hand. 

Maelyn’s not a wild animal. Not always. But right now she can see the way Emily and Sam are slipping in at her side. From behind, Leah and Jacob are approaching. She is not a wild animal, and for damn sure, she will not be boxed in like one. “Not another step!” she bellows. 

It stops everyone in their tracks, even the folks further up the beach stop, their laughter cut short and dying on their tongues. Maelyn blinks back her tears. But her chest feels like it’s caved in. Feels like her lungs won’t ever be able to expand deep enough for a full breath. Paul jumps in her vision due to the rapidly forming tears but she faces him, a singular digit singling him out. “Did you or did you not? And you answer me straight. Don’t make me ask again.”

His mouth opens, like he’s going to say something else, a step forward but stops at the arch of her brow. Paul exhales. “I did, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s not even his fault. It’s not an intentional thing. Paul has no control over if or when he imprints or on who. But not wanting to hurt her wouldn’t save her from the blow. Nothing would. The threat seemed to grow smaller and smaller. Imprinting was the exception to the rule and that thought was a life line. After Quil imprinting, it seemed more common, but she still clung to hope. Maelyn thought she and Paul would tough it out. That the odds may have been in their favor in different ways. That it would always be just her and him. 

But it’s gone. All that’s gone. She couldn’t even fight it. 

“That doesn't matter anymore.” The words are bitter. It would matter--in a couple years once she was beyond this. Once she had more control over her phasing. Once she was out from this rez, Paul’s intentions would matter more. Not right now though. 

All she wants to do is crumble, let herself fall into dust into the sand and be washed out by the waves. Paul moves, just a step forward and she takes a step back. “Don’t, please don’t do this to me. I love you, you know that?”

“No, no, you loved me. You did,” Maelyn agrees. Her voice shakes. Her skin feels hotter, but there’s very little buzzing. She doesn’t feel like she’ll explode. She feels like she’s imploding. Like every bone in her body is being turned into dust. All her joints are melting. She’ll be nothing at the end of this.   

“But that’s over now,” Maelyn continues. “All of it. It’s all over.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Look at Sam, look at Jared. It’s exactly like that,” Maelyn croaks out. Even if she didn’t want it to be this way, it would. She wanted Pauls to be hers. She wanted to sleep next to him every night. That wouldn’t be happening now. Even if Sam had attempted to make it right with Leah, even if he’d been ordered by Emily to do so, there was no true resistance. The gravity of the relationship would win out in the end. 

“We-we have plans. You going to school, me getting into an apprenticeship. The purple dress Leah joked about. The apron I found. I haven’t even made banana bread with you like I promised I would. I wanted to marry you. You think I want to throw all that away?”

It’s not even about what they wanted now but the bitterness rushes back up her throat. the past tense use of the verb isn’t lost on her. Even if Paul still loves her, he didn’t want her anymore. Not in the same way. She lets the bitterness coat her tongue as she hisses out, “You think I wanted my boyfriend to imprint right in front of me?”

Paul’s eyes flash--mouth setting hard with the anger taking over his face. He surges forward, hand wrapping around her biceps. “You think I wanted to imprint right in front of you? Hmm? You think any of this is fucking ideal for me either? I know what this will do to you, is doing to you. I know what I’ve done to you.”

“Don’t make yourself the martyr,” Maelyn warns. “It’s unbecoming.”

He inhales. Maelyn watches, counting the three seconds. Then he exhales for five seconds. “I-we probably should talk later. I don’t want to say anything I’ll regret. I don’t think you want to either.”

Maybe she already did say something she would regret. Would a fight even solve this? It couldn’t undo what the fates had decided. Nothing could probably undo that. Her eyes well again. She can feel the sting before the tears fall. All of her instincts tell her to settle into Paul’s chest, to wrap her arms around him. That he’d be able to comfort her. But Paul’s not safe anymore. He’s the person pushing her over the edge. 

“I don’t know where else to go,” she confesses softly. Going home didn’t feel safe. Her father would have questions. She told him she’d be out all day. And she knows she can’t go to Paul’s, or at the very least shouldn’t go to his place. But it’s a comfort, to curl into his sheets, to have the smells of cedar and leather pressed into her lungs.  It’s a refuge. 

“I have nowhere else to go,” Maely cries again. Because it’s always been Paul. 

“Oh, no, please, baby.” His embrace is tight, cheek pressed into the top of her head. “I hate it when you cry.”

Though Maelyn shouldn’t, she gives into Paul, wrapping her arms around his waist. His heart thumps in his chest against hers, the gemstones pressed hard into their chests. She hates it when she cries too. She hates that all she wants to do is commit to memory the smell of the Gain laundry detergent mixing in with his natural musk. She wants to tattoo it into her lungs, breathe him in every second of every day so today’s never the last time. 

“Let me take you to dinner tonight, like we planned. Please, it can’t end like this. If it has to end, I want it to end well.”

Maelyn doesn’t think it’s supposed to be a question, but the uncertainty is laced in every single word. The request makes her stomach lurch. It would be their last. And that would haunt every second of it. But could she let things end like this? Right here on this beach? Maelyn peels herself from his embrace, arms folding up under her chest. The air is too light now, like it won’t be able to support her from falling over. 

“Let me think about it, okay?” 

Paul starts to say something else, but stops. He nods instead. “Yeah, of course.”

There’s no way to continue on now. No way to turn and pretend to Rachel or anyone else that she was fine. Maelyn motions over her shoulder with her thumb. “I’m-I’m going to go now. Home, I think,” she states and doesn’t wait for a reply. 

Leah and Jacob are there, still, behind her as Maelyn turns. “Lyn,” Jake starts again. His eyes are so heavy, pushed down with a hurt that makes Maelyn wonder if somehow he’d been broken up with too in the midst of the ordeal as well.  “I’ll kill him. You just give me the word.”

“Jake,” Maelyn says and shakes her head, effectively ending whatever rant he’s headed towards. She starts up from the beach, towards the parking lot, arms still pressed under her chest to keep herself together. 

Leah slips in next to her, wordlessly wrapping an arm around her. They walk up the asphalt, hips bumping with their steps. Her car is unlocked. She’d left the key up behind the visor so that she wouldn’t risk losing it in the sand as she played. And she doubted anyone wanted to steal the old car anyway. The passenger side door creaks open and Maelyn slips herself inside.

Jake leans up against the door, head passing in through the rolled down window, as Leah slips into the driver’s side. “For what it’s worth Lyn, I’m here. If you need me, okay? Just call.” 

By the time the words click, enough for her to consider a response, Jake’s gone. His stride fierce as he heads back down toward the rocky beach. “Thanks,” Maelyn whispers to the empty air. 

The drive is silent between, but Maelyn’s ears fill with the whizzing crack of her ribs. The ache settles deep into her chest. There’s no noise to come from her chest, no sound that will ever truly encapsulate the feeling. The trees are just various shapes and blobs of brown between the speed and the tears. Maelyn can’t even hate Paul. It’d make things easier if she could. But it wasn’t his fault. And would having someone to blame change the truth of the matter?

The saving grace is that when Leah pulls into the driveway of her place the yard is empty. Her father is one less person she has to try and explain this too. For now at least. Maelyn’s not sure who opened the door, if it was her or Leah, but the moment her feet touch the gravel driveway, Maelyn heaves. It’s an empty and wretched sound. Nothing comes up, considering she hadn’t actually eaten anything. But still her stomach twists and churns. 

“Nothing will be the same,” she sobs. 

Leah rubs a hand over her back. “And this won’t last forever. It’ll feel like it. But it won’t. Get it out. All of it. The rage, the sadness. Get it all out. Because there’s going to be something else, something more for you out there.”

But Maelyn’s not sure if there is rage--the true kind of rage that shakes her bones and makes her think she’s going to burst. Right now it’s just sadness. The utter shock that everything she’d been anticipating wouldn’t come true. It’s all just gone. 

It’s all gone. 

Maelyn doesn’t make it further than the couch. Leah doesn’t force her anywhere else. She disappears for a few minutes, the rushing of the faucet cutting through Maelyn’s on broken sobs into the couch cushions. 

“You’re going to want this later,” Leah notes, as the glass thuds against the coffee table. She settles onto the floor in front of the couch, right next to Maelyn’s head. Her ears are undoubtedly throbbing with the sound of Maelyn’s crying. Leah presses her forehead into Maelyn’s. “It’s not going to kill you, okay? Even if it feels like it is. It won’t. You’ll find a way through this all. We’ll find a way through all this.” 

Though her lungs crave the smell of cedar and well worn leather, Maelyn inhales Leah’s scent. Leah’s always smelled like spring, a light floral that almost shares a similar profile to lilac’s. Maelyn wonders if she gets lost in a field of wildflowers, if that will ease the ache she feels in her chest. 

When the shivers settle, when there’s nothing left in Maelyn’s throat but a rough and dry crackle, she reaches at the hand’s Leah’s kept pressed to her cheek. She’s still alive, however, unfortunate that feels for a fleeting second. And though Maelyn had a direct line to Leah’s though, though she knew it felt like, Maelyn’s still floored that it hurts this much. That Leah went through this all alone. 

“Will you stay with me?” Maelyn asks. It feels selfish to ask. But Maelyn’s going to be swallowed up if there’s no one else to ground her. 

“Have no other plans,” Leah nods. “Good luck getting rid of me.” 

Maelyn has no plans to let go. 

Her head’s not on the scratchy couch cousin. It’s the first thing she notices when she wakes. Instead now pressed into her pillow, she can tell by the soft satin cover. The second thing Maelyn realizes is that she’d actually fallen asleep. For the briefest of moments, it all feels too distant. Like maybe she had a bad dream but the throbbing at the back of her head makes her realize it’s not as distant as she wanted to believe. The blanket falls from her shoulder when she pushes up. 

In front of her are Jake and Leah, a deck of cards split between them. Jake flips over a three of spades and Leah flips over a seven of hearts. As she does, she moves the entire messy stack between them closer to her. Jake sucks at his teeth and turns up a six of diamonds as his next card. Leah’s next card is a four of clubs. The sky’s a tad darker than before, a orangish hue versus the rather bright early afternoon sun they had earlier. 

“Drink this,” Jacob states, lifting the glass from the coffee table. He drops his head back for a second into the cushion Maelyn just pushed up from. “You look like hell.”

The cup of water Leah fixed early. Maelyn takes it wordlessly and sucks down the entire glass in just a few gulps. Maelyn grimaces at how roughly the water goes down. “I feel like hell,” she whispers back, voice more raspy than she anticipated. 

Jake takes the glass back and pushes up from the floor. “I’ll get you some more. One second. Don’t fucking cheat, Leah.”

“I’d never dream of it,” she huffs and then sets her portion of the deck down. “You’re not going to like this. But Paul’s outside. Has been for an hour and half now, I think. Wants to talk to you, if you want to talk to him of course. He called before showing up and I told him then to get lost. He doesn’t listen too well.”

The glass falls back just into the periphery of her vision. Maelyn takes the glass with a small thanks up to Jake. She hadn’t given him a clear answer about whether or not they were still on for the dinner date at Shannon’s. It almost feels trivial now to think about it. But she’d wondered then on the beach if she wanted to leave things like they were. And she doesn’t. If the universe was going to be cruel, she didn’t want to add onto the shit pile. 

Her gaze slips to the front door. For Paul to walk nearly two hours must mean something. They had nearly a year together. In another two months it would’ve been a full year. Maelyn considered a weekend trip; she wanted to take Paul off the rez and out of Washington even if only for a couple days. It wouldn’t have been anywhere fancy, but it could’ve been nice. Not that it mattered anymore of course. 

“I’ll talk to him,” Maelyn answers, still staring at the door. He can hear. The front door would mean nothing. 

“You’re sure about that?” Jacob asks. “You don’t have to.”

Maelyn takes down half the glass of water.  It starts to soothe the scratchiness of her throat. “Wasn’t I supposed to call you before you showed up?”

Jake laughs, one sharp bark of a laugh. “This is going on your tab. Besides, if I recall correctly, you didn’t necessarily wait for a call when diving in front of that leech alongside Leah, so I figured I really didn’t have to wait for you to call me either.”

“Do you want us to stay? While you two talk?” Leah’s question is direct but her eyes are soft. 

Maelyn’s not even sure how to answer that. She didn’t want them to leave, but it would be undoubtedly awkward in front of both of them. 

“We could,” Jake starts, “just stay on the porch too. The illusion of privacy and all.”

They’d hear, but it’d be less awkward for sure. “If you don’t mind,” Maelyn whispers, eyes darting between them--Jake above her still, Leah still sitting on the floor. 

Leah nods, pushing up from the floor. The cards still lay strewn about on the coffee table. Maelyn looks away when the pair approaches the door. But she listens, fists clutching at the frayed gray couch cushions as the door creaks open. “Is she okay?” Paul asks. 

Someone sucks their teeth. Maelyn concentrates instead on the thumping of her heart, trying to keep up with the erratic beating. She doesn’t know if she should slow it down. 

“Sounds like a rather stupid question considering the circumstances,” Jake quips. “All things considered.”

“I know, I just-”

“Yeah, well, we’re right outside,” Leah’s voice interrupts Paul’s. There’s shuffling, a tense rumbling deep from someone’s chest and then the door shuts. Maelyn’s waiting. He’ll take those steps. He’ll move closer. But as the seconds tick pass, as her heart thunders in her chest, she doesn’t hear anything. Paul doesn’t move in any closer. 

“Will-will you look at me, baby?”

Maelyn pulls at the blanket, bringing it up towards her chest. If she were actually bleeding the poor white blanket would be saturated in a dark crimson. The pet name takes her air, sucks the breath out of her lungs, until she has to remind herself to breathe again.

“Maelyn, please,” she begs, dragging her head up, inches up his body so slowly, she notices how neatly his boots are tied. The jeans are loose and splattered with grease stains that clearly won’t come out. The black t-shirt decorates his chest, where he’d been bare chested earlier. The Locklear’s, Maelyn remembers, who had the leaky faucet. 

If she looks like hell, the red eyes and pink tinge to his cheeks match perfectly to the furrowed brows. He looks haggard, looks like he’s fought actual demons. She can only watch for a moment, mouth primed to speak but never actually getting the words out when her eyes fall back down to the chain around his neck. The tiger’s eye still adorned on his neck. 

“Is it okay if I sit down?”

She’s not sure if she trusts herself with him that close. But there’s little in regards to sitting arrangements--the couch and a small loveseat. Maelyn nods, staring down at the left behind cards. It’s a mixture of face up and face down cards, diamonds, jack’s, and clubs mixing in with the blue paisley print on the back of the cards. She doesn’t know how was winning in Leah and Jacob’s game of War, but it doesn’t look like it matters now. 

The couch sinks with his weight. “I think I liked it better when you were yelling at me,” Paul comments. 

This close she can smell the smoke that’s still clung to his skin. She wonders if Paul grilled, taking over from Sam, after she left. “I liked it better when I felt something other than empty,” she whispers. 

“We all know Sam still loves Leah. Maybe not like before, but it’s there.”

“But we all know Sam chose Emily.”

Paul winces, pulling the hand he’d inched closer to her away. “I don’t want you to be angry at me. And I know that’s selfish. But the idea of you hating me, I don’t like it.”

She doesn’t hate Paul. And then she thinks about it, how all Paul had to do was look up, one simple look shattering everything. “What was it like?”

“Ba-Maelyn,” Paul corrects, “do you really want me to answer that?”

Maelyn looks up, catching sight of the wobbly chin Paul’s sporting. He supports his weight on his forearms, which are pushed into the tops of his thighs, a couple inches up from his knees. Like he might be trying to shrink himself, but he looks at Maelyn. If the entire ground she’s been walking on for the least year has to crumble, she at least wants to hear it from Paul first. She doesn’t want to have to see it through his eyes later. 

“What was it like?” Maelyn asks again. It’s a stupid question. The answer will only hurt her more. But she’d like to get it all over with now. She’d like to know how deep the stab wound goes. 

“I’m not answering that.” Paul shakes his head as he speaks. As he does, the gem shakes around his neck. 

“I’ll find out eventually. When we phase again and the thought creeps up, even if you don’t want it to, it will. When someone looks at me and then looks at you, they’ll think about the beach, and then you’ll think about the beach, and it’ll be all out there then.”

“You’re torturing yourself and for what Maelyn? We already know the answer.”

It’ll be torture for quite a while. But Maelyn’s not a stranger to torture. “What was it like?”

“I feel horrible, Mae. I saw Rachel and it’s like everyone says. It’s like everything clicks. You sort of know, I guess, when it’s happening. But everything shattered the second I looked back at you. And you hadn’t even opened your eyes yet. You didn’t even know, but I did. I knew. I knew instantly I was going to break your heart.”

Maelyn replays it---the kiss, how she smiled, satiated with Paul’s touch against her flesh, how his weight felt comforting. But he opened his eyes before her. He’d managed in just seconds, possibly even factions of a second, to look up and away and to see Rachel. Had he been pulled from the kiss? Had Rachel’s approach called to him unlike her?

It is torture. Her head throbs against her skull and Maelyn presses the heels of her hands into the sockets of her eyes. It wouldn’t matter in the end. None of it would, but there had to be a reason. There had to be something in this that would make it all make sense. She just needs for it all to make sense. And right now, it doesn’t. 

“I want to do right by you, Maelyn. Please, if I can’t do anything else.”

He’s so close. Inches from her and he sings to her. Paul is all she’s ever wanted. And he’s right there, sitting on the other cushion, just to her left. Maelyn drops her forehead to his shoulder. It always made sense with Paul. Always. But the last words to him can’t be full of anger. They can’t be hostile. 

She exhales, clutching at the blanket in her lap before pushing up to face him. “I’m not promising to be perfect.”

He grins, wobbly and hesitant. “When have I ever asked for perfection?”

“I’m sorry--for all the angry shit I said.” Because Maelyn won’t let this end bitterly. Not if she can help it. 

“I wouldn’t take you any other way.”

“So, how do we do this? This last supper sort of thing?”

Paul hisses, rubbing a hand over his chest. “So I’m Judas now?”

“Well, I never said that. But,” Maelyn teases. Her face hurts as she pulls her lips up into a grin, but Paul nudges at her shoulder with his, a roll of his eyes. This is easy. This has always been easy. 

“Could I pick out your outfit? While you go hop in the shower. Then we’ll go back to my place. I shower, you pick out my outfit. We’ll get dinner, like we planned? I feel like you deserve more than that, but someone wanted a rootbeer float and the only good ones are at Shannon’s. I ain’t naming no names though.”

The mention of food makes Maelyn’s stomach growl again. She’d left her plate behind, all too focused on just getting off that beach. Paul laughs at the sudden intrusive sound, “And I’ll heat up your plate from earlier before all that too, I guess.”

“My plate?” Maelyn questions. 

Paul nods. “When Jacob left the beach after you and Leah did, I made him bring back a plate for you. I take it by the sound of your stomach, you didn’t actually eat any of it though.”

“I fell asleep.” Which is true, she did. But it’s not the full truth. She remembers Leah’s embracing touch, the press of their foreheads and the tears. So many tears. Then it went black, the dark descent of exhaustion until she woke. 

“You mean you cried yourself to sleep. You don’t have to lie to me.”

She’s really lying to herself. Her face is tight. She can tell she’s cried her heart out and then some. But Maelyn’s not ready to put into words just how hard she sobbed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Paul’s hand is heavy on her knee. “I’ll go heat it up for you.”

Before Maelyn can push her palms into the cushion, the front door creaks open. Paul’s already in the kitchen, dragging down a plate to place everything on. Leah’s thinly pressed lips enter through first before the rest of her fills out. Jacob’s just behind her. “I take it you don’t want us to hang around for the rest of this,” Leah quips. Her brow arches, filled with the questions she doesn’t verbalize. 

Maelyn crosses the floor to them. “If it all goes downhill, I’ll call. Or you’ll hear me sobbing.”

“No one wants that,” Leah returns softly. “But if you’re sure, I’ll go. I’ll even take him with me.”

“I’m not that bad,” Jacob defends, focusing his gaze on the thumb Leah’s thrown over her shoulder to him. 

“I’ll be okay.” Maelyn says it so she believes it herself. Maybe they’ll believe it too. Maybe this is all just a big mistake. Maybe it wouldn’t be. 

“Call me, whenever,” Leah urges. Her hands squeeze at Maelyn’s shoulders, the embrace abrupt, but welcomed. “Please call me. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I will.”

Jacob hovers, arms opening like he intends to go in for a hug, but he’s hesitant. She understands the concerns, so Maelyn steps into him, head nestling in at his shoulder. His exhale is sharp and the squeeze is long. “I’m sorry about all this,” Jacob whispers. “I know he made you happy and this just sucks, really.” His voice is full of the annoyance he doesn’t state. 

“Are you saying that as my best friend or Rachel’s little brother?” Maelyn questions. Her tut of laughter is short as she speaks. 

“Oh, it’s definitely both,” he laughs into her hair. “But as your best friend more than anything.” 

The reassurance soothes her chest. There are still people in Maelyn’s corner. The entire world’s not ending, even if it feels like it is. The beep of the microwave is the only thing that ends the embrace. Jacob presses a kiss to the crown of her head and slips out the front door wordlessly. The plate clicks against the counter. Paul will be there, when she turns. The smell of hamburgers reaches her nose and just behind it, she knows Paul’s scent is there too. It won’t be a figment of her imagination, if she can stomach the reality. But her hunger wins out, so Maelyn turns. The ketchup bottle sits next to her plate alongside the jar of relish for the singular hotdog. Just the way she likes it, how she’d nearly finished assembling the plate earlier today. Paul tucks himself into a corner, the place where the sink and the last quarter of the counter meet before the fridge slips in, arms folded over his chest.

They feel like strangers, now, with the two feet between them as Maelyn stands in front of the sink to eat her pre dinner snack. But they’re strangers that know everything about each other. Like the way Paul takes his drinks with light ice at restaurants, and how he’ll bounce his knee or tap his blunt nails into the counter as the silence continues on. He knows she likes extra pickles and omits mustards off anything she can, how she can’t watch a movie without trying to guess the ending before it starts. Paul knows everything

“Promise not to fight me tonight? It would be deserved, or it is. But I just need you to promise me that.” Paul’s pressed into the door of her bedroom, having crossed inside, but hasn’t actually faced the innards of the room. He’s staring at her, as Maelyn’s pressed into the door for the bathroom. She inhaled the burgers in only a minute or so, leaving behind nothing but a few crumbs of the bun and Paul washed the plate wordlessly while she waited for him. 

“You know me better than that.” She nearly adds baby but it catches in her throat. 

“Which is why I’m making you promise me. I just, I want this to be as normal as possible.”

“I won’t fight you,” Maelyn promises and then slips into the bathroom. 

She stands at the base of the shower head, watching the water fall into the basin. The splatters echo off the tile walls and it almost sounds like laughter. Like her laughter before today went to shit--easy and full. As the water falls, it slithers into the drain, a bubbling sound as it goes. Where the present is, a bubbling sound sucking down everything with it. 

There’s no sense in delaying the inevitable. Her and Paul were done now. Though she agreed to this last date, to keep one last good memory, delaying the inevitable would not stop it. She lathers her soap onto the cloth, scrubbing the sand and salt from her skin. She focuses on her right arm first, then her left, over her chest, her armpits, stomach, back, butt, legs, feet. She scrubs circles one body part at a time. Just one thing at a time. One thing at a time. She washes her face, does a quick rinse with her mouthwash. Just one tooth at a time as she moves her toothbrush over the enamel. 

Until there’s just her bedroom door, ajar, and she spies Paul rifling through her makeup bag on her vanity. Her clothes are already laid out on her bed. A cropped top, black and floral, and jeans. A pair of black heels rests on the floor beneath the ensemble. She spies a pair of red boots she got for her 17th birthday spilling out from her closet, like maybe Paul thought about them but then decided at the last second to go with a different pair. 

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” Maelyn asks, after a minute or so passes of him pushing through the bottles and tubes. 

“What is half this stuff anyway?” Paul quips, holding up the bag for a second. He pulls out a black tube, reading the bottom of it out load, “Cotton Candy Girl? Like what is that?”

Maelyn snorts. “It’s a lipstick. It’s actually a shade of pink.”

His face widens, the realization dawning on him. “Oh.”

“Are you looking for a shade?”

“You have this red lipstick that I’m looking for. But if I’d known the little black tubes were lipstick, I don’t think I would’ve messed half that other stuff.” He points now to her vanity and a few tubes of mascara rest on the glass, alongside a few lip pencils, a couple lipglosses, and eyeliners. “And whoever names these things really needs a new hobby, Royalty Court? Like how do you know which color it is?”

“That’s purple.” 

“I’ve never seen you wear purple lipstick.”

“It’s a purple eyeliner actually. And there’s been no need, with me being a wolf for half my waking hours and all.” Maelyn finally pushes through the threshold, pressing the towel to her chest though it’s already looped and tucked in. “Hand it here. You said it’s red, right?”

Paul nods, holding the bag up to her. Maelyn pulls out all three lipsticks she owns, a color her mother used to tell her she couldn’t wear until she was older. At the time she only had one but since added two other shades. One’s a bright true blue red, one’s a brick red, and the last one has a berry undertone to it, making it almost a purple but not quite. She holds the butts of them out to Paul and tries not to buckle at the brush of his fingers over her kneecap. She can hold it together, even if it burns. Even if she thinks it could break her.  

Maelyn exhales before speaking. “The bottoms have a sticker that shows the color. So for future reference, you don’t need to know the name of the color unless you’re buying a replacement.” 

“Are you serious?” he snorts, snatching up the pink lipstick again. He turns it up and there at the bottom is a swatch sticker, a light pink staring back at him. “This whole time!” he laughs. 

“The whole time,” Maelyn agrees softer than Paul’s exclamation. “If it was a snake, it would’ve bit you.”

Paul takes the middle tube, the one that’s a brick red and sets it to the side. “I hope I would’ve been tasty. Is that outfit okay?”

Maelyn drops the remaining lipsticks into the bag, without sparing the clothes a second look. “It’s a great outfit.”

“I’ll take care of this.” Paul motions to the makeup he’d previously removed, reaching up for the bag. 

It shouldn’t be awkward--the undressing to get redressed. The thump of her dresser drawers as she digs out under garments. It shouldn’t be awkward, yet it is, just a little, knowing this really is the last time. Maelyn’s thought a lot about last times, how she’d redo things over with her mom if she had known it was the last time. Now, she has that knowledge. She knows everything here that’s happening in this room, and on the drive to Paul’s place and on the date at Shannon’s will all be last. Yet she worries, if she leans in too much on the fear that Paul will be in everything more so than he already is. 

*******************

“Here, let me,” Paul says, having watched Maelyn getting dressed from her reflection in the vanity mirror. He pushes forward now, to ease the zipper up on the back of the shirt, securing the choker and top to her body. 

She doesn’t fight the request, instead whispering out a soft, “Thanks,” once the top is fully zipped up. The amethyst necklace still rests against her chest, as if she’d never taken it off. Paul wonders if she had. It’d been on when he was invited inside. Was the stone even doing its job anymore? Would it ever?

Maelyn’s face isn’t as puffy as before. Though her eyes are a tad pink, it’s fading. It’d be useless to blame himself. But Paul still feels guilty. He still can’t wipe the furious and heartbroken shadows on Maelyn’s face from his memory. How the tears flowed down her cheeks. He would’ve drowned himself in her tears if she asked. 

“How do I look?” The question comes soft and slow. 

The heels make her taller than him, only by about three inches or so he’d guess. But her gaze stays locked on the ground and she’s never looked smaller. Maelyn should never look small. She should never feel small either. “Hey,” Paul starts, taking just a step closer to her. “Look at me.”

He knows he probably shouldn’t but he takes Maelyn’s face between his palms. The weight…doesn’t feel the same as before. He’s much too aware of it in his hands. He remembers how light it used to feel; he remembers how right it used to feel. Paul aches for his fingers to carry the weight with grace. But it doesn’t change. So, he ignores that, for the time being, and waits for her eyes to drift up to his. They’re glassy. “You look beautiful. Drop dead gorgeous.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

And the moment he returns with the answer, he wants to take it back. It wouldn’t be anytime, though he’d want that too. Paul couldn’t have it all. He knows that. But for the briefest of moments, when Maelyn slides around him to pick up the lipstick, Paul wishes he could have it all. He wishes he could keep the plans with Maelyn, wishes he could take back the hands of time and ask Rachel to never come. But the desire, the wish, doesn’t last for long. His gut lurches at the thought of Rachel never showing up. 

How would he ever reconcile these feelings? How would he ever be able to look himself in the mirror again for not wanting to break Maelyn’s heart like this but feeling the need to wonder about Rachel too? Sam hadn’t talked about this. It was clear that he still loved Leah, just not in the same way. How had he managed to reconcile both those kinds of loves?  Had he managed them at all? 

“This red doesn’t really go with the necklace and all, you know,” Maelyn reports, straightening up from the bent over angle to get the lipstick on. 

“Color theory isn't my strong suit,” Paul huffs. 

“It’s a good thing I’m useful.” Maelyn turns now and the outer corners are darker--a brownish color--paired with muted red in the middle. It tones the brightness of the red down. Paul hasn’t tasted lipstick from what he can recall. All his aunts used to decorate his cheeks with kisses, leaving behind the faint stains. But he wonders what it might taste like off Maelyn’s lips. He hadn’t caught the name of this color, but hopes it isn’t food related or he might find out just how bitter the cosmetic item tastes. 

“Aht, aht,” Paul hurries out when Maelyn reaches for her wallet. “I got it.”

“Root beer floats aren’t cheap.”

Paul takes her hand. It’s heavier too than he remembers. But at least the weight reminds him that she’s real. That she’s actually next to him. “I don’t care. Do you need anything else, not including your wallet?”

“House key, but that’s it apparently.”

“Damn straight it is.” 

All the keys go on the wall next to the coat rack in the living room. Paul’s watched her hang those keys many times; he’s grabbed those keys in a rush once or twice for her. So he’s confident as he weaves them both to the front of the house. Each room or hallway they leave, Maelyn clicks off the light. Paul carries them all the way to the keys and grabs the only remaining set, hanging off a green lanyard but doesn’t hand them over, not until they’re out on the porch so Maelyn can lock the front door. 

 The entire drive Paul keeps his hand on Maelyn’s knee, even though the drive is short. The material of the jeans is rough, the thick strong construction holding up during all the washes it’s been through probably. But Paul’s never realized that just beneath that he can feel a raised scar. Had it always been there? And if so, why hadn’t Paul noticed before? Maelyn’s fingers dance over his veins, the touch lighter than it’s ever been before and he thinks even if she promised not to fight him, she’d have to fight herself. 

He reaches up, when her fingers come back down to his knuckles, he turns his hands up and takes her fingers. She doesn’t pull away and Paul threads his fingers through hers. He just keeps trying to remember how all this used to feel right. It doesn’t feel wrong. Maelyn’s touch is still comforting. But he just notices it all more. There’s something that’s so conscious about all these touches. It irks him. He doesn’t want any of these last moments to feel tainted, to feel off from their normal. And yet it does. 

“Was it bad? At the Locklear’s?”

Maelyn’s sudden question almost startles Paul. He’d somehow gotten so lost in the weeds of his own thoughts, he’d forgotten she was there. “Fine. Just a clog, actually. Wasn’t anything hard,” Paul answers. “Was rather tame though getting into the damn pipe was the hardest part.”

“Hard, with those muscles?” she teases, squeezing around his bicep. 

He laughs, incredibly thankful that for the first time in the last half hour that he’d been with Maelyn that she was managing a joke. “Don’t bruise a man’s ego, please,” Paul scoffs as he pulls into the driveway. 

“I think it’s my specialty.”

His house is quiet and dark when they arrive. A heaven sent sign, though in the back of Paul’s mind he does wonder if his father is okay. Paul slips out of his work boots before heading further into the house but Maelyn doesn’t hesitate, heads straight for his room. Her heels click against the hardwood floors, a sound that carries even as she goes deeper. By the time Paul gets the last of the laces undone, he hears the drag of the shower curtain over the metal rod. 

A pair of boxers rest on the bathroom counter, neatly folded which Paul knows is not how they looked in the drawer. He’d been apprehensive about wanting to go digging that deeply in her drawers. Not that he didn’t know which drawers her bras and underwear were in and not that it really mattered which underwear she wore, but it felt a bit too intimate for him to have that level of involvement when it was him pulling the pin on the grenade. It’s not lost on Paul as he showers that pair of boxer briefs that wait for him are the dark green pair that Maelyn complimented him on once. 

Paul only has a few pair of good jeans left--two work pair, and two nice pairs. The black wash jeans rest across his bed paired with a crisp white dress shirt that he only has for weddings and funerals--which are few and far between. Maelyn’s leaning against the closet door, arms folded under her bust. “You’re picky about shoes so there’s a couple options,” she warns, nodding down to the floor. 

There’s a pair of black sneakers--a pair of shoes Paul doesn’t even remember having and yet somehow they’ve materialized in front of him --and a pair of dress shoes. “Those dress shoes are for weddings and funerals and the last I checked no one died.”

“Not yet anyway,” Maelyn whispers, but picks up the black dress shoes and places them back in the closet. 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Her headshake is small after she turns back to face him. “It’s fine, really. It’s true at least. No one’s dead.” 

“You’re not. Gonna die, I mean. I’ll--” Paul pauses, reaching for his small jar of lotion. He’d really only kept it handy because of Maelyn’s insistence but now the ritual is so far ingrained into him, he can’t undo it. Could he really promise that he’d still be there? What would life even look like after this? Would all his plans still turn out the same? “Leah and Jacob won’t let it happen. Against your wishes and all.”

“I think I’ll have to write them into my will at this point.”

“Maybe just Leah,” Paul returns. There’s a surge of jealousy. Paul can admit that, but he knows he doesn’t have much ground for it anyway. But still Paul had been there. He’d been there for Maelyn and would always want to be there in some capacity. 

Maelyn snorts, stepping in closer as Paul works his jeans up. “Is that jealous I hear? Didn’t take you as the type.” She holds the shirt open for him to slip his arms into the sleeves. 

“I’m not,” Paul snips. Because someone would come in after him. Someone not Leah or Jacob would come into her life now. He’s now opening the door that he so desperately wants to keep that close. 

Maelyn’s fingers are swift to fix the collar of the shirt. “If it helps you sleep,” she whispers.  Her exhaled tuft of laughter brushes behind his ear and the shiver is slow as it crawls down his spine. Would that still happen? Would Rachael know that he loved that, the tickle of breath just behind his ear? Would Maelyn be the only one to trigger it?

Paul’s spinning before he can stop himself, hand cupping at the back of her neck. Maelyn stiffens for a second, just long enough for Paul to feel it and he loosens the hold a hair. This close, watching the lightning strike of fear flash over her face, Paul realizes that he shouldn’t. He shouldn’t be jealous. He shouldn’t be worried about who comes next. He shouldn’t be thinking about what comes next for him. But he can’t fight the need, can’t tamper down the voice in his head begging him to leave a mark. 

“Paul?” she questions softly. 

“You’re going to always matter to me, Mae. You’re always going to be the first. I need you to know that.” It’s so incredibly selfish, but Paul’s glad he is the first for her too. Knows it without needing her to confirm it. Maelyn’s chin quakes but she nods. He moves to hold her face steady now, but beneath his palms he can catch the shaking. 

“Say it, for me, please.” Paul’s not above begging. He’s not. “Say you know.”

“I know,” Maelyn returns. The whispered phrase falls so softly from her lips, Paul’s not even sure she said it until he catches the whiff of her minty breath. The first tear is slow down her cheek. But the second one comes faster. 

He really fucking shouldn’t, but Paul closes the centimeters between them and seals a kiss to her shaky lips. Not even the kisses feel the exact same. Like there’s missing something missing from them, but Paul can’t put his finger on what it is exactly that’s missing. It’s like when a recipe has everything it’s supposed to have it, but not the right amounts. Could he make this work? Could he get used to the ache and run away with Maelyn tonight? “I’m sorry. About all this.”

Their lips brush as they speak, hushed voices in the still room. “I know you are. And I wish I could say the apologies felt like something.”

They probably don’t mean much right now. They’re probably the last thing Maelyn wants to hear, but Paul’s tongue burns with them. Apologies are all he has left. “I’m sorry.” He’s sorry that sorry doesn't help. He’s sorry that this is even happening. He’s sorry for being this selfish in the end. But he needs this too. 

Paul kisses her one last time--short this time, almost as if testing if this kiss will be like the last. And it is. It’s still almost right. The slight hollowness lingers even as he situates the last of his clothing--rolling up the sleeves to the shirt and lacing up his shoes. 

“Paul, Maelyn.” Paul’s father greets as he shuffles past the door. Not dunk this time, but clearly tired. “Looks like you two are headed somewhere fun.”

Maelyn’s wince is unmistakable. But his father thankfully doesn't push it, though he does arch his brow at Paul. Paul shakes his head. It won’t stop the comment, but Paul wishes it would. The arched brow never lowers and Paul can imagine now how that conversation will go--the thump to the back of his head undoubtedly and his father’s disgruntled murmuring about Maelyn being a good person though he’d been the one to tut about how all women are the same. 

“I’ll be back later tonight,” Paul informs. 

“Don’t make any more trouble,” his father warns and then continues on to his bedroom.

 It’s much too late for a warning like that. Paul’s already made too much trouble, the kind of the trouble that will haunt him each time he looks at Maelyn. But Paul can’t undo this. And it’s hard to accept—hard to swallow down that this kind of shift came with no warning. But Paul’s not sure he’s the type to heed warnings either. If Paul somehow had a warning that today he would’ve imprinted, he would’ve run. He would’ve taken his chances with Maelyn any day of the week. 

But perhaps, it’s a good thing that Paul doesn’t get warnings about his own fate. Maybe there’s something good in this in the end. It only seems murky now, unclear waters that they’re treading in though they’ve both witnessed a tragedy like this already. Sam and Leah as a blueprint didn’t mean much though. Because Paul’s not Sam and Maelyn’s not Leah. They knew what they were getting into and they chose to take the risk anyhow. 

They’d gambled and unfortunately, lost. 

“Shannon’s doesn’t close for another three hours,” Maelyn quips, squeezing at his fingers on her knee. 

Paul looks down and sees the speedometer teetering up and over 70. He eases his foot off the gas, pressing into the clutch to bring the gear down to handle the cruising space they should be at. “Sorry.”

“We’re both a bit distracted, I guess, it’s to be expected.”

“Have been so scared that I was going to the person that would be left behind,” Paul starts with a tuft of laughter pressing out from his lungs. “Hadn’t even thought about what I would do if I was the one initiating the leaving.”

“Life’s funny like that, isn’t it? We’re so scared of what we want or so worried about our own anxieties, we never really prepare for all the possibilities out there.”

“I guess it is,” Paul murmurs. 

Shannon’s isn’t all that busy when they enter. The bell chimes, per usual, above head and Laurie, the eldest granddaughter of Shannon’s smiles at their entrance. There are plates in her hand that she holds with ease, though the tension in her tendon shows how much weight there is in her hands. “Hi Paul, Hi Mae. Settle down anywhere. We’ll be right with you.”

Paul leads them over to a booth, one down from their first official date. Paul knows that booth by heart, now, watching it each time he came to visit Maelyn on a shift. It currently houses an older couple so Paul doesn’t throw a fit about wanting to get the exact spot and lets her settle in first before sliding in next to her. Maelyn plucks the menu’s from the waiting rack at the end of the table, next to the window. 

But Paul doesn’t really need the menu and he doubts Maelyn does either, not in terms of selecting her food. She clutches onto it, like one would a lifejacket. And maybe it is. But Paul wants that to be him, so he reaches up and takes her right hand to thread their fingers together. “Oh, if it ain’t my favorite lovebirds,” Shannon teases. 

Her voice reaches them before she does--a big and booming voice from such a small frame. She’s not taller than 5’2’’ but that’s never stopped the older woman win her graying hairs and dyed ends. She wears a deep purple now at the ends, and taps her pencil to her pad. Maelyn tenses again at Shannon’s words. “Oh,” Shannon softens now. “Rough day, there?”

“Yeah,” Paul nods. 

“I love you Paul, but I was talking to Maelyn.”

He snorts and nods. “Yes, ma’am.” Tact is not a word Shannon cares to know, so she doesn’t. And given as long as she’s been around, no one really calls her out for it either. 

“Yeah, rough day,” Maelyn answers. Her voice is thick with the emotions she doesn’t put into actual words. 

Paul can only watch the tense moment both women lock eyes. Shannon’s eyes dart towards him and then back to Maelyn. He’s sure something--if not the whole truth--is painted on both their faces, staining their eyes a shade red. 

“Root beer floats fix rough days. Come to think of it,” Shannon hums, “they can fix a lot more than that too. Broken hearts, stomachaches. All sorts.”

Paul will wear the brand on the rez for a while. But he won’t try to dodge the burden. It’s the least he could do. 

“Can I get extra ice cream, please?” Maelyn asks. And somehow the request stings. Is double ice cream code for just how bad the heartbreak is?

“Honey, you can get whatever you want here.” Shannon spins, her bright white Keds squeaking as she turns. 

Maelyn tugs her hand back and Paul lets it go, though she’d promised not to fight, he understands the discomfort. The loss of her weight isn’t sudden. But he notices it, how part of him still wants it around. “I don’t--”

“You don’t what?” Paul asks after the thought falls into silence. 

“This was a bad idea. Shannon’s going kill you now. And then me next for showing up tomorrow too.”

Paul bites back his grin. “You’re allowed to miss one day of work, baby.”

She shrinks into her corner of the booth even more. Paul sighs, knowing the second the petname falls, that it’s a mistake. It’s just easy. It’s what he’s always called her. It’s just what they use for each other. “Please.”

“Maelyn,” he corrects, “You’re allowed to miss one day of work, Maelyn. That’s going to take a bit to get used too. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” It falls hot. There’s a pause as if more is to come but nothing does for a moment. 

Paul reminds himself that Maelyn’s hurting a lot more than he is, in different ways than he is. But still it hits his core. He’s not spitting in the face of everything they had. He��s not intentionally setting it on fire. He’s not basking in the warmth of the fire from the wreckage. “You know,” Paul starts, spinning the lamented menu on the table with his fingers. “I don’t think this analogy about gravity shifting is correct.”

He watches from the corner of his eye as Maelyn curls her fingers into fists. She’d ask about this. And maybe she did deserve an answer, more than what Paul had tried to spare her from. “It’s not?” she questions through her teeth, the ‘S’ consonant coming out with a strong hiss. 

“No. There’s a tug. Something in your gut that just sort of nudges you along. It’s probably why I broke the kiss first. And when you look at them, in the eye, it all goes quiet. Every thought you’ve ever had leaves for a second. Any anxiety you had just disappears. But that only lasted about a second for me. Because right behind that I felt so fucking angry. Or maybe it’s shame. I don’t know. I just felt awful. Wasn’t sure if I’d keep my cool which is why I booked it to Sam so immediately. I still feel awful.”

Paul exhales, palm pressed firmly into the top of the menu. The lamented paper stops its spin. He looks over to Maelyn who’s only blinking at him. There are tears tracking down her cheeks. Her eyes are swimming with tears. Or maybe she swims in his own vision now. The sting’s catching up, can feel how it makes his face hot too. But he won’t stop now. He still needs her to understand. 

Paul continues on, “Right behind what most people have recounted as a pretty magical moment in their lives was the worst wave of emotions I’ve ever met. Didn’t know if I wanted to die right there or not, but God, Mae, God, I wanted to not exist anymore. Because I still and will always love you, Maelyn. I was the wrecking ball. I am the wrecking ball. And I know that. But I will always care about you. So, don’t get snippy about this with me. As someone said, making yourself the martyr is unbecoming. I am guilty of breaking your heart. Sorry doesn’t fix that but I wish it did. And fuck everything if you don’t think I wish it did.”

He turns now, to face the empty side of the booth again. His own lower lip is wobbly. “Paul,” Maelyn whispers. Her palm is firm against his cheek and he allows himself to be turned to look at her again. “I know it’s not your fault. I wish I had someone or something to blame this all on. I’m sorry. You’re not the one to be blamed.”

Luckily for Paul sorry does mean a lot. It means he won’t always be the bad guy. It means maybe in time he can still be there for her if she wants it. He takes hold of the hand on his cheek and presses a kiss to her palm.

 The glass hits the table first—Marlyn’s root beer float, the extra scope of ice cream nestled almost to the brim—and right behind it is the red plastic cup that fizzes. “I didn’t forget about you, Paul, this time,” Shannon warns, placing the straws down on the table. “I’ll be back in just a couple minutes.” The sentence is punctuated by a stack of napkins. 

Not even the spoon rattles as Pau hands her the glass. Maybe there’s more ice cream and heartbreak than ever anticipated. “Want a bite?” Maelyn offers. 

“O,  it’s okay.” He normally would. Knows he’d take a spoonful or three and grin at her about how it’s the boyfriend tax. 

Maelyn cuts apart a heap of ice cream and then holds it out. “My tab’s already long enough. I don’t want one last boyfriend tax added to it.” Her smile isn’t right. Like she’s fighting back even more tears. 

“Something tells me that tab’s gonna get forgiven anyway.” He takes the heaping spoonful anyway. The vanilla’s a mild taste—the only thing that feels mild even though the dinner’s a such familiar place. 

“I don’t want the necklace back,” Maelyn notes pointing with the flat end of her spoon to his neck. 

“Good, because you weren’t getting it back,” Paul laughs. “Maybe over my dead body. And maybe not even then.” 

Maelyn slips the glass over to him when he motions for it. “I knew you’d be back for more.”

“Sue me,” Paul huffs before getting his second scoop. 

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.” 

Paul’s tempted to tempt himself, teetering on the edge of an idea that’s only ever going to leave him not fully satisfied. He’d do it for Maelyn. Instead, he shovels more ice cream into his mouth. It hadn’t worked all that well for Sam when Emily ordered him away. Though Paul’s not Sam, he thinks Maelyn wouldn’t entertain the possibility. “I’m sure you think it’s cursed now. But I’d appreciate it if you kept your necklace too.” 

Maelyn’s grip on the glass as Paul passes it back tightens. “I’ll give it one more shake and see what it’s really made of.” 

“More than I can ask for.”

“What are we doing today?” Shannon asks. As promised she’s returned, but her face is pinched like she’s holding onto thoughts she’d much rather release. “Usuals, something new?” 

Paul turns to Maelyn first, a habit now to let her order first. There’s a lag, the silence as she blinks up at Shannon, before she actually speaks. “Uh, is the fish sandwich still the dinner special?” Friday’s, Paul has learned, is the liminal day on specials for the week, they usually get switched over by Saturday given the shipments that come in on Thursday and Fridays in preparation for the weekend. 

“Can be for you. Want extra fries on the side with it and the tartar sauce on the side?”

“Yes, please, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Maelyn, you’re never any trouble. And you, Paul?”

“Usual for me. But can I add a pickle spear on the side for her?”

Shannon pops her tongue from the roof of her mouth, lips twisting in contemplation. The seconds drag for a beat, then two, and then a third. “I can do that.” She slides in close, eyes darting over Paul’s face. The skin is tight from the tears that have dried on his cheeks. “Was it by choice or by the cosmos?”

Not everyone’s meant to know, Paul knows that. He’d been ordered by Sam not to tell anyone unless it was an absolute need to know basis. It’s the same order everyone has in the pack. But Paul wonders if Shannon grew up with the legends, if she knows the same way that the rest of the older people on the rez do. In the not-so-quiet open secret way that she tells her grandchildren about the histories. Maybe it’s just a story to them. But to Shannon, to Paul, and to the rest of the pack and counsel, it’s much deeper than that. Shannon’s eyes are piercing--a dark brown they look like the night against her light skin. She doesn’t look a day past fifty though Paul and the rest of the rez knows she’s in her seventies, almost eighties. She holds Paul’s stare for just as long as he stares back at her. 

“Cosmos,” he answers softly. 

The fierce line of her lips soften and she pushes back into the open side of the booth. The seat catches her easily. “Damn,” she whispers. “Damn it all. That’s cruel. And how close to home is it?”

Did it really matter who it was? The fates decided for him. He’d have no say in undoing it. Shannon looks at Paul but Maelyn answers. “Rachel.”

“Jacob’s sister?” she hisses. “Oh, hell. I’m sorry you two. I’ll stop mean mugging you Paul. Well, maybe,” she laughs before pushing back up from the booth. “And missy, I better not see you here tomorrow. You’ll cry into coffee mugs and no one wants salty coffee.”

“Did you cry into coffee mugs?” Maelyn laughs as she asks. But Paul hears it, the way she’s searching for something. The way her voice turns up with hope. 

“No, I didn’t cry into coffee mugs.”

“Oh,” comes the deflated response. 

“I cried into ice cream cones. Which is just as bad.”

Paul watches her leave, her step just as bouncy as it always is. But the words still feel like they’re clattering to the ground after her, I cried into ice cream cones. No one had ever talked about Shannon dating a werewolf. Though maybe the werewolf part wouldn’t be part of the story. Maybe it would only be about the breakup to the outside world. Fingers dig into his thigh, not hard, rather a quick two squeezes. Paul finds comfort in the gesture, knowing it’s Maelyn’s trying to get his attention. 

But then like a child being reprimanded, Maelyn snatches her hand back. “Sorry, I--I need to get out for a second.” Her eyes are a tad wide. He can see now how the skin’s got just a faint flush under the brown, not even noticeable really except at the right angle. “Bathroom,” she whispers. 

Paul takes her hand, placing it back on his lower thigh, but above his knee. Paul would rather she keep touching him. He’d rather hold her hand than not. But he does understand if it’s all too strange, or too much. “You’re okay, Maelyn. I don’t mind you touching me like that.” 

The food arrives before Maelyn does but Paul’s okay waiting. In fact, the more the seconds pass, the more he realizes the longer she takes, the longer this lasts. He just wants this part of their lives to last a little bit longer. So Maelyn can take all the time she needs. Here nothing else matters. Doesn’t matter what’s happened before or what happens after. There is only what’s happening right now in the present. The click of her heels alerts Paul of her arrival and he promises himself to keep his focus on the present as much as he can. It only matters what’s happening right that second. 

“Get off my plate,” Maelyn laughs, smacking at the tips of his fingers. He drags a few fries off successfully, but takes the light tap from Maelyn regardless. 

“You were just on mine,” he counters. 

“You ordered that pickle for me!”

“Still on my plate,” Paul mutters before snapping the fingerful of fries in half with his teeth. 

Maelyn shoves at his shoulder, reaching for the stack of napkins between them. “Only as a technicality. Besides, you have two sandwiches on your plate right now, I only have one.”

Paul stares down at his double chicken sandwiches, no tomatoes with added mustard and red onions swapped in for the usual white diced onions that are usually on the sandwich. He never really goes for fries, knowing Maelyn goes for an extra order and nibbles off those when he can sneak them of course. “This is basically a snack.”

Maelyn’s crunch is audible as she takes a bite of the pickle spear. But she’s gesturing, curling her fingers for Paul to slide his plate over. So he does. Between both sandwiches, she dumps a quarter of the fries onto his plate. “Now it’s a light dinner.”

“Can you pass me the ketchup please? Since apparently now I’m responsible for consuming fries.” The bottle is light but has just enough ketchup for Paul to get a decent size portion out. 

“Embry’s birthday is in two weeks. Do you know what you’re getting him?”

“No, it’s not that soon.” The bite of last corner of his sandwich hangs in the space between his plate and his mouth. There’s no way Embry’s birthday was that soon. “I don’t know what to get him. Maybe we can--”

“There’s an album from a band he likes that comes out next week. The record store up in Port Angeles always manages to stay pretty well stocked.”

“Right,” Paul returns, remembering that they probably wouldn’t do anything besides show up at Embry’s place or at Sam’s and Emily’s separately with separate gifts. Maelyn would absolutely not want to do a joint gift. 

“If you call tomorrow, I’m 80% sure they’d hold a copy to the side for you.”

“But I don’t want to take anything away from me if you already planned to get it.”

Maelyn shakes her head, the last half of her sandwich in her hands but with no movement from her to take an actual bite. “It’s already in your name--the hold I mean for the CD. You just need to pick it up.”

“My-my name?”

There’s little humor in the tuft of laughter she releases. “I called yesterday to see if I could get a copy held for Embry. And I put in your name because I wasn’t sure if I’d be working or not the release day, so I was going to ask you to pick it up and give you the cash for it.”

“Oh,” Paul returns. “I didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t. Just don’t forget to pick it up next week.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Paul.”

“But what are you going to get him? It still feels wrong.”

Maelyn hums around the bite she’s taken. The tartar sauce runs just a little and without thinking, Paul uses his own napkin to clear the corner of her mouth. She makes quick work of the bite. Paul wonders if the food he’d grabbed had done much of anything to touch her hunger. “I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve. Don’t worry about it.”

Paul’s going to worry about it though. That’s the thing. That’s what they do--they worried about each other. Much like Paul’s going to worry after they’re all done. He’s going to worry about the drive back home. He’s going to worry when he lays down tonight, when it’s just him alone, where all the thoughts can creep up. Every single last one. Paul’s got plenty to be worried about. He’s sitting next to the woman he thought he’d marry, but knows now that he won’t. 

Shannon shoos Paul away when he walks up the register to pay. They never got a check, though Shannon had come by and cleared away their plates and cups. She turns back to the bucket of silverware. “When I look up, you better be gone.”

“Who was it?” Paul asks instead. He can’t get her words out of his head, about how she cried into ice cream cones. How she warned Maelyn that no one would want salty coffee. She knows too much not to have been involved but Leah and Maelyn are the first girls to ever be in the pack, so he knows it’s not that. 

“It’s a good thing I turned out to be Laurie’s great grandmother and not Sam’s.”

“Sam Uley?” There’s no way. Paul would’ve heard about it. Or at least Sam would have and if Sam did, then it would come out eventually. But maybe that’s a part Levi keeps to himself, has buried down so that only he and Shannon take it to the grave. Besides Paul now of course. And maybe Maelyn. 

Shannon looks up, eyes narrowing just a hair before she grins. “Didn’t I tell you to be gone when I looked up. Hard headed, just like your daddy. At least you came by it honest.”

Paul unfurls the bills from his pocket. The Locklear’s paid him forty bucks to help with the leak, so he peels three tens from the stack and drops into the tip jar. “Don’t be too hard on Maelyn if she shows up tomorrow, please.”

“I won’t.”

The night’s wind is sharp. It carries up the ends of Maelyn’s hair as they walk back to the truck, hand in hand now. Paul can smell the freshly cut grass off her skin in the gusts. If he had to be honest, he’s scared, more so now than ever before. There would be no way he could convince her to spend the night with him, to spare him just a little bit longer from the realities that await them both. The sky is relatively clear, in patches, over their hands and Maelyn pauses just a few steps from the truck to look up. 

“Do you think stars know they’re dying or does it just go out for them?” she questions. 

“You’re not dying, Maelyn.” But something is, their relationship definitely is. Paul will talk about dying stars until the sun comes up and then even longer. 

“But do you think the stars know that they’re dying? Do you think they care to know that their light is far reaching after their death?”

Paul looks up again. A thicket of clouds pass overhead and cover up the specks of light in the sky. “Maybe stars don’t need to know they’re dying. I don’t see how it might matter to them. In the end, they have to die, right? In order for us to get the light?”

She shrugs. “I mean nothing truly exists forever. Everything has an end. Natural or by force. Maybe the stars don’t care that they’re giving off light. They are just stars.”

Paul shakes his head, tugging at her arm. Maelyn looks down from the sky at the motion. “I thought I told you you’re always going to be important to me. You’re always going to be the first.”

“And you’ll always matter to me too. But--”

“No, no buts here. The stars don’t know that they’re dying. The stars don’t know what comes next. They just exist. Like they’ve always been created and dropped into the sky to do. They still matter. You still matter.” Because Paul can’t stand the thought of what comes next. 

“You have onion breath. And my breath reeks of fish and pickle.”

Paul’s not sure where this train will head. But his heart roars, feels it beating against his chest as he steps in closer to her. She turns to face him fully. “And the stars don’t give a shit about that, right?” Maelyn whispers. 

“No,” Paul answers, cupping her cheek against his free palm. “The stars don’t give a shit.”

Their lips are brushing, just barely, but not sealed in a true kiss. An exhalation that becomes an inhalation. Maelyn grips onto his elbow and he holds her weight easy. This part is so easy. “Stay with me tonight? Please?” she exhales. 

Paul presses forwards, presses a kiss to Maelyn’s lip, taking her waist now into his hold. The ache is easy to ignore for the time being. As they kiss under the hazy streetlight of the parking lot, Paul can forget that this kiss doesn’t feel like all the others. He can forget about the fact that she won’t feel like she’s always felt. Because he’s clinging to the thing that’s always been there. Maelyn’s been a constant for nearly a year and he’s not sure what to do or where to go without her. Doesn't want to think about that. So he focuses instead on how soft her lips are and how she still feels mostly right against him. 

Maelyn laughs, pulling his head out of her throat. Her thumbs brush along his chin and cheek. “That’s a pathetic excuse for a beard, you know?”

“Someone here’s cruising for a bruising with words like that.”

“Take me home, please. And stay with me.”

“Was my kiss not an obvious enough answer? I’d follow you damn near anywhere.” 

And even then, once Paul helps her back into the truck and he starts out for the road, Paul’s sure that’s a lie. He’d follow Maelyn anywhere. He’d follow her through hell and high water if she’d let him. Paul would follow her through a meat packing plant blindfolded if she asked him too. 

 He’d follow her anywhere she wanted to go. Even if it’s only to her house and only to her bedroom. And even if it’s only them, unzipping and unbuttoning tops, Paul would do that too. Even if it’s only them topless and kicking out of shoes, Paul would follow her to that end as well. It feels right enough that he could make it work. This wouldn’t break him. Because how could Maelyn’s sweet sighs not be enough. How could the heat of her not be enough. How could the taste of her not be enough. How could anything of this, hot flesh and biting groans not be enough. How could it not be enough?

“Oh, ssh, it’s okay,” Maelyn whispers, taking his face into her hands. “No, it’s okay.”

But it doesn’t feel okay, not anymore. He wraps her up into his arms, face pressed into the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Paul inhales her scent, the body wash faded and that sweet smell of freshly cut grass invades his senses. The bed shakes for just a second and Paul knows now he’s crying. A wracking kind of sob that demands to be let free. This is the place he’s called home for almost a year. How could this not be enough when it had been for so long? 

[womenofwrestlingfashion]

Wide High Jeans in Pale Blue Denim from H&M ($29.99)

[sh1ft1ng-starzzz]

three ex dark lords. THREE EX DARK LORDS

made a hc that they were roommates (omg they were roommates /ref)

[carbonateddelusion]

I'd imagine that the kids call him Mr. C instead of his actual last name. or Mr. Clements. because they're silly and either are too young to know how to pronounce it correctly or genuinely just don't care

Leah calls him Edgar, though, much to his discomfort, because she's a teenager. Off the top of my head I think the only kids who end up calling him "Dad" areeee Owen, Mason, Jiang, and maybe Olivia? I don't know how canon that last one is though bc we're in the middle of retooling her character and Livi comes from a very healthy happy family so I don't see why she'd consider him "Dad". maybe more of a funny lookin' uncle who's watching over her for the time being.

Mason had a terrible upbringing with a neglectful mother and an abusive father, Jiang was never really close to his actual dad because he was always absent, and Owen... is a little more complicated ig. Owen grew up with a closeted trans man and a "straight" older man as his dads; Edgar reminds him of his cis dad very much so. eventually there's just a bond that forms there after Owen tries to kill Edgar one too many times.

Owen self-harms while in Edgar's body a lot because. he's a very upset child who doesn't know what to do. he's aggressive, and all he knows is that hurting himself (through Edgar) makes it go away temporarily/distracts him. Eddie and him have one of those kinda unspoken bonds because of all the stuff Owen does in an attempt to harm Edgar, in his body or outside of it, but Eddie just... keeps forgiving him. again and again. so eventually Owen gives up out of frustration

[storyofwhoiam]

Bedroom asks Leah: 1, 4, 11

Bedroom Asks | @shcftingpieces

What kind of bed do they sleep in? What size is it? Leah's got homes in a couple of different locations, plus spends a decent amount of time either in a hotel, or on the road, so there's a decent amount of variability, but whenever she gets the option, Leah prioritises comfort. She has high-quality bedding made from sustainable materials, with layers of soft blankets and throws, and plenty of pillows across her beds. Leah's own beds are at least king-size. Regardless of the bed size though, when sharing her bed with someone, Leah cuddles in close.

Where do they keep their clothes? How are their clothes organized? Leah's lifestyle demands substantial wardrobes in her different homes. She has spacious walk-in wardrobes where she tries to keep her everyday wear stored separately from more formal attire and clothing she wears for public appearances. She tries to make a conscious choice to source clothes brands that follow ethical and eco-friendly practices.

Are there any decorative elements to their bedroom? What are they? In Leah's LA home, where natural light is abundant, the bedroom is designed to enhance this feature. Light and sheer curtains allow sunlight to filter in, creating a bright and uplifting atmosphere. In contrast, her New York bedroom incorporates more accent lighting, with strategically placed lamps and fixtures to create a cosy and intimate ambiance. Leah likes to add cosy touches to her bedrooms to strike a balance between her personal life and public career. Vinyl records, plaques, and awards from her music journey are displayed alongside items related to her father's career. The walls have a mixture of artwork — from modern paintings to gifts from friends and family — alongside framed photographs of special moments with loved ones. There is, of course, also both LA Dodgers memorabilia and musical instruments in both bedrooms.

[its-to-the-death]

Battle of the Gingers Bracket H Round 4

Boober (Fraggle Rock) vs Leah (Stardew Valley)

[centuriesrpg]

I'm pretty sure you have stardust

running through those veins

[nancydrewfashionblog]

Who: Leah Lewis as George Fan What: H&M Crop Top in Pink/patterned - Sold Out Where: 4x03 “The Danger of the Hopeful Sigil”

Previously IDed HERE

[leiaorganicsolocup]

want an ab workout? look no further than sitting in a church basement for two and a half hours freezing your shebs off and shaking like a goddamned leaf