#his last line is literally “now could you please go away I wish to wallow in my self pity”

[quodekash]

last year i did a drama performance and at the end my character breaks down completely and falls apart and his entire world has crumbled into ruins, and afterwards everyone was saying i did really good and that it felt like i was genuinely distressed and honestly i felt like bruce banner.

“that’s my secret, cap. i’m always having a mental breakdown.”

[azsazz]

Hide (Part 2)

Eris x Rhysands!Sister Reader

Summary: Anon Req: Literally in love with every fic you write. I know your requests are closed but in the future, could you write something where Eris and the reader see each other and there’s a lot of tension and they’re secretly mates but no one knows? I’m curious to see how you’d end it!

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 1,428

[Part One]

Notes: Obsessing over this one.

_________________________________________

You swallow harshly at your brother’s question, eyes darting over to catalogue your mate. You try not to startle in your seat when a wall of harsh autumn winds slams between your bond. He’s only protecting you; you must remind yourself. There’s a fine tremble to your hands, so you clench them together in your lap. 

Azriel notes the move, your restlessness as Rhysand stares down your mate like these are his last moments on this plane of existence. You have no idea what Rhysand’s going to do to Eris, but with the thick darkness rolling from his shoulders and slowly filling the room, whatever it might be will not be good.

You cannot let that happen. 

“Rhysand—"

Your brother holds up a hand, his glare swinging towards you. The thin line of betrayal ringing his eyes makes your stomach roil. You hadn’t meant to break his trust and you never intended on keeping secrets from him, but with the courts on the edge of war…

“Do. Not. Speak.” Rhysand’s demand is a death knell of its own. When you were young, you remember how he’d always been the one to listen to any of your problems, even when they felt silly. He would always offer you a solution if you were looking for one, or a piece of cake if you only wanted to wallow in your feelings. 

The smell of burning wood answers his harsh words. 

Cassian shifts in his seat, eyeing Eris. He leans further back in his chair and places his hand on the table, the wicked curve of the short blade clutched firmly in his hand pointing directly at your mate.

Your bond flares, eyes going hard at the sight of the threat to your mate. You’re ready to jump out of your seat, scramble across the table to tackle the male, no matter how much you consider him family. You know all of Cassian’s weak spots, and your gaze is calculating as you decide which maneuver will draw him away from your mate.

The single look Eris sends you keeps you from reacting. 

Instead, you settle back in your seat, showing Eris your unfaltering trust for him. You will allow your mate to say his piece to your brother. You might be crossing your arms over your chest with a hard look all your own, but you will heed Eris’ silent ask of you.

Eris is a mask of nonchalance, and you wish he hadn’t blocked you from his feelings, but it’s better this way. He cannot have your reactions to your brother muddling his own feelings. It’s safer for the both of you to keep to yourself right now, no matter how much you hate the idea of being apart from him like this.

“I will ask you once more,” Rhysand’s voice is filled with smoke. “How long have you been putting your filthy fucking hands on my sister.”

Something flares in Eris’ russet eyes that makes you want to bite, to snarl at your brother for his cruelness. You gnaw the insides of your cheeks to keep from snapping. 

“Would hearing that answer please you, High Lord?” Eris snarks back. He sits easily in his seat as if this isn’t an interrogation at all, as if they’re all bantering over the weather and Rhysand isn’t looking at him like he’s about to unleash the beast within him that he keeps on a short chain. The only give to Eris’ temper are the burnt handprints on the armrests of the chair he’s lounging in. “To know that the fires of autumn light the stars of night?” 

You want to hiss at him for his words. You should’ve known better that Eris would do nothing but taunt your brother. He is nowhere near as powerful as Rhys, especially since he is still under the rule of his father, but his specialty is that mouth of his. 

You try not to think about how he uses that mouth when he’s with you, the yearning for him flooding your body so deeply you clench your thighs together. Another motion that Azriel tracks, cocking his head a little as he watches you with that unnervingly stoic face of his. You shoot him a pleading look but are unable to make out how he reads into your pleas not to hurt your mate.

Rhysand bares his teeth in warning. The flare of his nostrils and the stars winking out of his eyes tells you that he’s moments away from unleashing his wrath upon Eris.

“Two years,” you blurt and all gazes swing your way. You don’t look at anyone else except for Eris, your eyes soft and pleading. His eyes flicker back and forth between yours and his shoulders slump a little, cracking the steel trap blocking your bond to send down a cool rush of apology that you accept with a soft nod. “We’ve been mated for two years.” 

There’s a sharp exhale coming from your brother but you can’t look away from your mate. Two years since you offered him that dessert from your favorite bakery the one time you’d been able to sneak away from your brother and his friends to meet Eris at the portal where Night crossed into Autumn. 

Two years of fiery, passionate nights, hidden away in your own solace. Two years of a fresh breath of autumn, of copper hair and russet eyes and the warmest hands you’ve ever had the pleasure of touching. Two years of unyielding loyalty. Two years of too much time spent apart—

No more. You won’t have it. Rhysand can act as protective older brother as much as he wants but it isn’t going to stop you from being with Eris any longer.

Darkness of your own ekes out of you as you plant your hands on the smooth surface of the table and rise. You stare Rhysand down as the tendrils of black wind around his, Azriel, and Cassian’s wrists, pinning them to their spots. You are in no way matching Rhysand’s power, but he seems at a loss for words as you stand up for yourself, watching with those all too calculating feline eyes of his, allowing you your time.

Stalking around the table, you don’t break the High Lord’s gaze. You hold your chin high even if there’s a pinch of terror in your gut for this continued betrayal to your brother, to your court. But he has no idea what you’ve given up for this bond, how you’ve suffered being kept from your mate. 

One day, you hope Rhysand will understand. Will understand why you halt a step behind where your mate is still trapped to his chair. Why you place a hand on his shoulder, the feeling of him after so long filling your lungs to maximum capacity. You haven’t ben able to breathe fully since you’ve been away from each other. 

He’ll understand why it is that your actions look like you’re swearing fealty to another court, when you’ve already been a patron of autumn ever since you and Eris completed your mating bond. 

“What are you—“ Your brother breathes when he realizes the severity of what you’re doing.

“I will not be kept from my mate any longer.” Your words are loud and sure. You think you’ve done a good job at standing up to Rhysand, until his eyes flicker and the house shakes on its studs.

All of the air is sucked from the room at your words. The strip of skin you’re touching on Eris’ neck warms, but it does little to settle you. You’re not out of the clear yet.

Slowly, all too slowly, Rhysand leans back in his seat. The way he’s looking at you makes you shift in your spot, the disbelief and  in his eyes a bright streak before he snuffs it out, returning to the easy role of High Lord he’s practices meticulously for centuries. 

It hurts to see.

With a careless flick of his hand he breaks through your shadows with ease. All of the darkness in the room dissipates, ever faithful to their master. You only hold an ounce of power compared to him. 

The corner of his mouth curves, and if it’s a smirk or a snarl you don’t know, but neither is as harrowing as the words that slip past his lips. “I wonder which will get you killed faster—your loyalty or your love.” Rhysand stands, turning his back on you as he stalks towards the door. “Get out of my court.”

_________________________________________

Tagging those who commented if you don't want to be tagged on this just lmk <3 Some of you couldn't be tagged btw

Hide Taglist: @littlestw01f @aelin-thefirebreathingbitchqueen @naturakaashi @lexluvswriting @chybay22 @roseliey @acotar-thirst @teenagellamaangel @minaethrym @tothestarsandwhateverend @coolepowersthings @lena-davina @xyzmeh @meritxellao @shadowdaddysposts @callsigns-haze @mrs-azriel @eminvelaris @daily-does-of-sass @kennedy-brooke

[mae-gi-writes]

Once Again (Pt.2) | Iwaizumi Hajime (Haikyu!)

ONCE AGAIN | PART TWO

Summary:

Iwaizumi’s broken marriage results in his five-year-old son trying to match him up with his primary school teacher, whom he thinks will make a wonderful replacement for a mother. 

Genre: fluff, angst, f! Reader x dad! Iwaizumi

Taglist: @multi-fandom-fanfic, @168-cm-png​, @bakugouswh0r3​, @yatoatyourservice​, @ayocee​, @marvel-ing-at-it-all​, @astrolcve 

A/N: Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! Thanks to everyone for the kind feedback and for reading my work <3 

< PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART >

----

He swings his beer over the counter, "one more."

He shouldn't be drinking. Imagine the damage it's doing to his organs, alcohol sweeping through his bloodstream and purging him of all coherent thought. Iwaizumi can hear Oikawa's nagging voice in his head even within the depths of intoxication.

Does he care though? He should. He should care. Because his job is basically to get people in their best shape.

And here he is, drinking away his sorrow, still shaken up by the way Hoisuke's fingers had grabbed for him that night. The bundle of nerves he'd squashed down had only intensified upon dropping his son on his mother's doorstep the same weekend and though he knew he should've said something to Mizune, he couldn't find the will to utter the words out, lest they came back to haunt him.

His phone buzzes in his pant pocket and after finishing it out with clumsy fingers, he manages to press down onto the green button.

"Yeah?"

"You're drinking!"

"No."

"Iwa-chan~" Oikawa's voice pierces through the receiver, sickly sweet and yet with a dark threatening undertone, "what are you doing?"

"Fuck off, shittykawa."

"Where are you?"

Iwaizumi doesn't answer. He doesn't need to, for Oikawa's already exclaiming the said bar's name as he takes another sip of his newly-filled beer glass.

"I thought you said you wouldn't drink anymore," Oikawa reproaches, "think of what Hoisuke would say--"

"I said fuck off."

There's a small pause where Oikawa bristles, before he says in a quieter tone, "what's wrong?"

Still, Iwaizumi says nothing but takes another huge gulp of his beer. His head feels buzzed, disoriented.

"Iwa-chan."

The said man press his lips in a taut line.

"Iwa-chaaaan."

"I'll talk to you later," Iwaizumi barely hears his friend's protests before he cuts off the call and downs the rest of his beer like a parched man, eyes narrowing towards anyone who dares reprimand him of his behaviour.

"One more," he rasps out towards the bartender, whose sending him a look that closely mimics one that clearly says he's had enough. But he scowls in response and that's enough to make the bartender's eyes slip away.

Seriously. What is wrong with him? It's already been four months goddamnit. Get over yourself. He wishes he could punch himself in the face. God, he sounds like a loser. He looks like one. And it's no wonder that his wife has left him for someone better, richer. Everything that he's not.

Not to forget that this wound will never leave their son's heart.

"One rum and coke please."

A presence lingers in his right and the brown-haired man turns with a glare at the ready, eyebrows furrowed and lips pressed in a thin line to scare whatever stranger that comes a little too close for his liking.

What the--

He stares at you. You stare back at him, just as dumbfounded. Looking the same, yet completely different.

"Miss Y/N?"

"Iwaizumi-san?"

He feels the sudden urge to hide his empty glass, "what--are you doing here?"

"Don't look so surprised, Iwaizumi-san," you chuckle at what you think is his flabbergasted expression, "I'm still twenty-six you know. I came here with a few of my friends."

His eyes slide towards the table in the far corner -- easy to spot since it's one of the loudest -- before he almost misses your question, "and you?"

"I come here often."

"Ah I see."

As you pay the bartender who slides your drink over, you bristle for a bit before you ask hesitantly, "mind if I sit here?"

Iwaizumi shakes his head. It's not like he can say no after all. You're his kid's teacher. And shit, how many beers has he had? He better not run his mouth. It's a dirty habit of his whenever he's shit drunk.

"So," you start off slowly, looking so out of place next to the said man with a scowl so dark it can scare off the most violent of gangsters that the corners of Iwaizumi's mouth tilt upwards in amusement, "how's it going?"

Seriously? You're seriously going to do that? His gaze searches your features for a moment, satisfied when warmth floods your cheeks.

You look away, "you don't have to look at me like that, you know. I just thought you’d want some company."

"What makes you think that?” Iwaizumi says while he flags down another beer from the waiter. 

You blink at him, “I can go if you want--”

The man sighs, rubbing his temples with tiredness, “that’s not what I meant.”

A weird, empty gap of silence ensues. Long enough that Iwaizumi gets his fourth beer of the night in his hand and he takes a grateful swallow. 

He really should not be drinking so much.

"Where do you work?” 

You’re persistent. He’ll give you that, “personal trainer. I work at the sports academy.” 

“That’s cool,” there’s a small smile edging upon your lips, “you like it?”

He nods, pauses briefly, before asking, “do you?” 

Of course it’s a little too close for comfort, especially since you’re Hoisuke’s teacher and all. But you merely relax in your high stool, swinging your legs while nodding eagerly. He can’t help but notice the tightness of your dark jeans, your black high-heeled boots, “I don’t see myself working as anything else. I’m bad with people most of the time.”

Taking another swig of his beer, Iwaizumi feels the tension slowly ease up from his shoulders, “well you’re way better with kids than I am.”

“You’re pretty good with Hoisuke."

“That’s because you haven’t seen him throw tantrums.”

You laugh, "oh don't worry, I have. I know all about his little fits. All my kids have one, at some point."

You say it lightly, but there's definitely love laced in your words and for a minute, Iwaizumi thinks back to the way Hoisuke kept on praising you, the way he spoke so affectionately about you.

"Do you still play volleyball?" You ask him while sipping on your drink.

He mimics the gesture, "sometimes. The guys are all over town so it's harder to meet up now."

"Dang, your team was so good though."

"It was Oikawa that held us together. We weren't that good," he tastes the bitterness of Karasuno's victory on his tongue.

"That's not true," you protest, fiddling with your empty glass, "the only reason why I watched Aoba Johsai's games was because I liked watching you play."

Dark coffee-coloured orbs sweep up to yours at that statement, as if trying to peel layers off yout shell, as if wanting to confirm the truth of your words. You feel like cowering away but you don't, instead holding his stare in hopes that he doesn't notice how your hands tremble slightly underneath his scowl.

And then, features softening ever so slightly, he murmurs out, "thanks."

You know he means it in the best way possible.

-----

One drink turns to two. And two multiplies by four. And soon enough you're tipsy off your head and singing so blatantly off-key you wonder why Iwaizumi's still by your side. You haven't been this drunk in ages and this sense of freedom makes you bold; you tug him to the dance floor to join your friends, order shot after shot as the music gets louder and your head gets lighter, proceed to blabber your mouth off about literally anything and everything that by the end of the night, you wish the ground would swallow you whole so you won't have to deal with Iwaizumi the next day.

You're not entirely sure how you find yourself being dragged by none other than the said man himself, or how your nose is currently lodged in the crevice between his neck and shoulders. But he smells good, like citrus and a mixture of mint and-- you sniff a little more -- is that cookie dough? Your mouth waters just at the thought.

"You smell like cookie dough," the words tumble out of your mouth in a jumbled mess and you inwardly feel like stabbing yourself.

So pathetic. Pitiful really.

"That's Hoisuke," Iwaizumi replies, surprisingly patient even when he's clearly not impressed, glaring at the lamppost ahead, "it's his flavour of the month."

"That's cute!" You giggle, "just like you, Iwa!"

The man sighs while shifting his grip upon your waist, "let's just get you to bed."

You probably doze off at some point or black out because the next thing you see upon opening your eyes next is the ceiling.

Hoisting your head up and groaning when your head pounds in warning, you lie back down as nausea takes over.

Shit. This isn't your room. You know that much.

What the fuck happened last night?

You remember dancing atop tables, remember spotting Iwaizumi by the bar and talking to him because he just seemed so sad and lonely. You remember dragging him onto the dance floor, dancing together, his hands on your waist--

You danced with Iwaizumi?!

The thought is enough to trigger another pounding. You groan once more, placing your hand atop your head in hopes that it will stop it from throbbing. It doesn't. But before you have more time to wallow in your self-pity, the door creaks open and your eyes almost pop out of your head when you spot a mop of brown spiky hair enter the room.

Iwaizumi.

Oh fuck. Your brain short circuits. Fuck fuck fuck.

Surprise crosses his face, clearly having not expected you to be awake yet. He walks over to place a glass of water by the nightstand and grabs your palm to tilt two aspirins into your hand.

"How's your head?" He asks.

"Fine," you wince. It's far from fine. In response, he holds out the glass and you gladly wash down the pills, warm and feeling suddenly vulerable under his stare.

Chewing onto the inside of your cheek, you muster up all your courage to ask, "what--happened last night?"

You don't miss the way his eyebrows shoot up, "you don't remember?"

"...no."

Is that amusement dancing in his eyes? You're not sure since it's gone just as quickly as it came before he says, "you got drunk. Danced on the table, had too many shots and made out with two different men--"

"I'm pretty sure the last part didn't happen."

"You said you didn't remember," he smirks lightly.

"I can't even flirt, let alone kiss strangers."

That earns you a chuckle from his part, causing your heart to flutter slightly as he straightens up, "you probably want to wash up. Bathroom's on the right. I'm in the kitchen if you need me."

"Okay," and as he turns away, you quickly add, "thanks, Iwaizumi-san."

He nods back, exiting the room and finally allowing you to collapse back against the bed to try slowing down your galloping heart. Jesus christ, you think to yourself as you slowly take in your surroundings. From the lack of furniture and with only a few clothes flung over a wooden desk chair shoved in the right, you guess it's his room. A closed laptop and a small plant sits on his desk. On the left is the nightstand filled with sports books and some manga, a closet shoved in a corner and the floor is made in veneered wood.

There's no sign of family pictures, nothing that indicates the warmth of a cosy household. It doesn't take a genius to understand why. While Hoisuke had begged you not to tell his father, you weren't a stranger to the young boy sobbing in-between breaks because he misses his mother.

Well, it's not like you're allowed into family affairs anyway, as much as that breaks your heart.

After a much needed shower and a quick brush of your teeth -- you had to make do with using your fingers with his toothpaste, too embarrassed to actually ask him whether he had a spare toothbrush -- you walk out into the kitchen to see Iwaizumi already seated at a quaint wooden table laden with eggs and toast. Behind him sits the kitchen stove and white countertops next to a fridge fitting snuggly on the left corner. On the far right of the room is a large dark grey couch and a tv set, and just behind it is a small hallway which seems to be the entrance -- guessing by the coat rack and array of shoes. 

"Sunny side up or boiled?" Iwaizumi asks as you take a seat opposite him. He has already poured you a cup of strong coffee and you inhale before sighing in bliss. Your headache already feels slightly better.

"Anything is fi--" you're interrupted by his scowl, quickly changing your answer to, "sunny-side up please."

He grunts, passes you the plate and digs into his own fried eggs, the soft boiled ones forgotten at the centre of the table.

"Uhm, forgive me for point it out, but that's a lot of food Iwaizumi-san," you mumble out, not missing the way his features harden slightly.

"Force of habit," he mutters in-between mouthfuls. He doesn't need to say more, for you're pretty certain he's referring to the family he used to have, those lazy Sunday mornings that started out with brunch.

You eat in companionable silence and though it'a definitely less awkward than last night, your mind still races trying to figure out what to say to erase the permanent furrow between his brows.

Or is that his normal demeanour? To be honest, you're not quite sure yourself.

So you settle for thanking him for last night, to which he replies, "do you usually drink that much?"

"No," you duck your head, avert your gaze, "I got carried away. I'm really sorry."

"Well I wouldn't have expected my kid's teacher to be that wild," he muses while taking a bite of his toast.

Alarm zaps through you, making your eyes go wide, "I swear I'm not usually like that, really. I just--this was an exception--"

"It's fine, miss Y/N. I know," his brown pupils lock onto yours briefly, "I'm not going to report you."

"I--" nothing can really make up for your behaviour last night. You know that much, "still, I'm sorry. That wasn't appropriate," you glance up, chest tightening at the intensity of his stare, unflinching. Unwavering.

He cocks his head at you then, a semblance of a smile along his mouth, "I was pretty entertained, if you ask me."

"Was I that bad?"

"No. But let's just say that you won't want to show your face around for the next week or so."

You groan and bury your face in your hands, "what did I do?"

"You might've broken a beer glass or two," he gives you a look, "on purpose. And tried to steal the Dj's headphones cause he wasn't putting the music you requested."

"Oh god," you want to bury yourself right then and there and to your surprise, you see him laugh softly before he nudges your coffee towards you.

"Drink," he orders, "it'll make you feel less shitty."

You're about to retort with a roll of your eyes, only to be interrupted by the doorbell ringing. From the way Iwaizumi tenses, you know it's not just the mail man.

Excusing himself to go unlock the door as you twist in your seat to follow his figure, shock courses through you the moment your eyes land on Hoisuke's.

Then, his mother.

An alarm bell rings through your mind.

"I thought you said evening," comes Iwaizumi's grunt, totally unlike the guy who'd been chuckling a few seconds ago.

"Hoisuke wanted to come back early for some reason," the woman says, her gaze flickering to yours for a brief moment. It's enough to cause you to swallow hard. She continues, "I'll pick him up on--"

"Miss Y/N?!" Hoisuke shouts out suddenly and before you know it, you're being tackled into the child's arms as if you haven't seen each other forever, "what are you doing here?! Daddy!" he whips his head around in accusation, "you lied about not really really liking Miss Y/N!"

"Wha--No!" Iwaizumi yells as you frown in confusion, "huh?"

"Daddy said that really really liking someone means you wanna be boyfriend and girlfriend with them, like he was with Mama before she moved houses," Hoisuke blabbers on, totally oblivious to how the three of you keep on staring at him in growing alarm, "and then I asked him if he really really liked miss Y/N because I really really like miss Y/N but he said no, but that's a lie!"

"Hajime, what is he talking about?" His ex-wife is quick to narrow her eyes, "what have you been telling him?"

"Nothing, it's not what you think--"

"I think," she pointedly glances at you, "I should leave now. We'll talk about this later."

And with that, she swivels around and storms out, leaving the three of you to stare after her in a mixture of shock and confusion.

Hoisuke, oblivious to the sudden tension, blurts out, "daddy, why is Mama angry with you?"

----

The few weeks following the tiny incident that had resulted in an awkward misunderstanding between you, Hoisuke’s parents and the said child himself had caused you to retreat back into the shell of professionalism that included avoiding Iwaizumi whenever it was deemed possible. It hadn’t been hard since he was usually present and waiting outside class to pick up Hoisuke right on time, making it much easier to avoid conversation with him altogether. 

You’d texted iwaizumi right after reaching your humble abode the day he’d practically saved your drunk ass and though you spent a few spare moments to chat in-between the bustling activities of life, it doesn’t erase the fact that he’s still Hoisuke’s father, one of your dearest students. That, and the fact that you don’t really find it fair to put Hoisuke in-between the two of you, if there’s anything worth digging for anyway. 

Who are you kidding? It’s not like Iwaizumi would ever be interested in you in that sense. Having spotted his ex-wife once or twice proved that his style was of more refined women, the type that would drink wine instead of chug down beer and who’d enjoy gifts such as perfume and romantic dates instead of going on grocery trips and meal-prepping for the entire week. 

“Miss Y/N!” Hoisuke’s voice pierces through your thought bubble and your eyes quickly find his grin as he jumps towards your desk, "are you coming to our house this weekend too?!"

"Wh--What? Uhm-- no I don't think so--" eyes quickly flitting over the classroom, you're relieved to find that the rest of his classmates are long gone, "I don't think that's appropriate."

"But why? I even told Mama that I wouldn't be coming this weekend because you were," he pouted and it took all of your determination not to melt, until his words registered in your brain and your eyes widened, "o--oh, but that's--"

"Hoisuke?" You both turn to see his father's head poking through the door. Your body reacts instantly, warmth flooding through your limbs and flushing through your cheeks.

"Daddy!"

"H-Hello, Iwaizumi-san," you bow your head slightly. He returns the gesture, facial expression not giving anything away. His son bounds up to him with just as much vigor, "daddy, can we invite miss Y/N this weekend too?"

You might have laughed at Iwaizumi's shocked face if not for the fact that you are the person in question.

He splutters, "Miss Y/N has things to do--"

"But she came last weekend!"

"Yes well, it's bad manners to impose on someone when they're not free," Iwaizumi replies sternly, "come on now, we're gonna be late for Karate."

With a loud sigh and a scowl that resembles so much like his father, Hoisuke mutters out his goodbyes while Iwaizumi catches your eye, bowing slightly and muttering a silent "sorry" before he guides his son out of the room. You're glad he's out of earshot that he can't hear the stuttering of your heart against your chest.

You place a hand on your chest, sigh tiredly before looking down at your students' papers, "get a grip, Y/N," you mutter to yourself.

But it's not that easy to control yourself when Iwaizumi is making it so easy to like him.

----

Iwaizumi: sorry about yesterday. 

Y/N: it's okay. Hoisuke’s young, it's normal for him to want for a motherly figure around.

Iwaizumi's fingers drum over his knee as he watches with slight interest the newest male volleyball team practice their serves. He shouts after a few, calling them out for theit lazy postures, but other than that he can't seem to stop his thoughts from winding their way back to you.

"Who is she?" Mizune had asked him on the phone on the day following their encounter. Her tone was friendly, yet held that tone of warning that he was so accustomed to.

"How does that concern you?"

"I want to know who you're bringing around to hang out with Hoisuke."

"She's an acquaintance of mine," he paused, "and Hoisuke's teacher."

"That's inapropriate if you ask me."

Scoffing, he replied, "like what you did's so appropriate?"

A small pause ensued. When she spoke next, there was no mistaking the edge to her voice.

"You can't keep using that against me, Hajime."

"Don't tell me who I can or can't hang out with."

He'd hung up without bothering to wait for her response, seething and red hot with rage blubbering through his stomach.

Of course now that he thinks it over, Mizune has a point. Mixing the professional and the personal have never ended in happy endings. Not that this has ever stopped him before. He doesn't believe in what everyone else thinks is right. That's also one of the main reasons why Mizune couldn't handle it anymore. Or so she said before she went to suck someone else's dick.

His phone vibrates and fishing it out, a scowl instantly shadows his face upon seeing Oikawa's name flash across the screen.

Oikawa: Iwa-chan ~ have you asked her out yet?

Iwaizumi has to force himself to stay in control and not pound his phone to pieces when he types out his reply.

Iwaizumi: No.

Oikawa: BUT WHYYYY~ YOU SAID YOU FOUND HER CUTE.

Oikawa: and Hoisuke likes her. He already knows her.

Iwaizumi: I didn’t say that. And she's not interested.

Oikawa: Just because you suck at picking up cues doesn't mean she isn't throwing them at you 😏😏😏

Iwaizumi: shut up, shittykawa.

Oikawa: Just do it or I'll do it for you.

Iwaizumi: I don't even like her that way.

Oikawa: why'd you rant about not wanting to hurt her feelings yesterday night then?

Iwaizumi's hand rubs at his face with a groan. Oikawa's a little shit most of the time, but he's a perceptive little shit.

Oikawa: I mean it. Ask her out or I'll do it for you.

Oikawa: gotta go now. Match is starting. See ya!~ muah ❤

"Dumbass," Iwaizumi growls under his breath before shoving the phone back into his pocket. Easier said than done to ask someone out so casually, especially when she's Hoisuke's teacher.

If she accepts, great. If she doesn't, he'll have to suffer through humiliation for the rest of the year or avoid picking up Hoisuke altogether.

Oh fuck it.

He lets his body send the message before his brain can catch up to the way he has thrown himself under the bus, shoves his phone back into his pocket and tries to put the thought out of his mind even though the device suddenly feels hot and heavy in his pant pocket.

Iwaizumi: we're having takeout and movie night on Friday. You're free to join.

----

[deniigi]

bro, work made me depressed that I literally left my seat to regain any resemblance of joy or something equivalent before breaking down again. Do you think you can provide a ficlet I involving Peter and Sam to cheer me up?

FUCK CAPITALISM

TAKE THIS

Title: Calibrating

Summary: Sam and Peter talk themselves towards a meaningful discussion.

---------

Peter did this thing—this infuriating thing where he texted shit like ‘come over’ and then Sam had to bend over backwards to be flirty and coy.

It was imperative that he came across as flirty and coy.

Im-fucking-perative, regardless of what Leilani said or Matt’s annoyance at what he called the ‘jungle of depravity’ that overtook the group chat pretty much daily.

Sam didn’t care.

If Peter texted the group or sent any message that might be construed upside-down as something romantic or sexual, Sam not only had to catch it, but he had to volley it back.

This, he told Leilani, sealed their No-Homo contract.

She stared at him.

He decided to demonstrate.

“See, here, look, I’ll show you,” he said, dragging out his phone. “Exhibit A. There he is, see? Asking about the strength of PVC pipe in pounds per meter like a fuckin’ tease. Now I can’t just let him think that I saw that and didn’t think of it as a metaphor, alright? So I say—”

“Sam, why does he need to know the strength of PVC pipe?” Leilani interrupted.

It didn’t matter. That wasn’t the point of this discussion.

“I’m sending a winky-face,” Sam informed her as he did that very thing.

Leilani stared harder than before.

But look, skepticism was unrewarded. Peter texted a kiss right back and said ‘oh boo, you always know just want to say.’

How could she not see the No-Homo? Sam could do this all day. He could and there would be absolutely no problems and he wouldn’t want to suffocate himself in his pillow at the end of it all.

It was fine.

“Samuel,” Leilani said, “I’m going to tell you something and I want you to hear it with an open heart. Will you open your heart for me?”

Sam spun around in his chair and arranged his arms and legs so that they were as open as they could feasibly be without being obscene.

“I am more open than a boiled clam,” he informed her.

Leilani blinked slowly, then shook her head and checked over her shoulders. She waved him in closer. Then closer. And then close enough that he could smell her perfume on her neck.

“You’re the tease,” she said.

Then she left the backroom. And Sam could only stare after her, frozen in horror as his wide-open heart wrinkled in on itself, picking up mass and gravity until it was naught but a black hole.

“I’m the tease?” he whispered to himself in shock.

Oh no.

OH NO.

 --

  “SENSEI.”

Matt dropped his collection of folders and swore, clutching at his chest.

“We have discussed volume, Sam,” he said, bending down to collect his paper children.

Sam took the opportunity to throw both arms around his neck from behind as a threat.

“Don’t lie,” he warned. “Swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, amen.”

Matt stood up and Sam felt his toes leave the floor. He hadn’t planned this far ahead.

“Or what?” Matt asked, 110% unfazed.

Sam wished that his feet weren’t kicking around in air here. It really put a dent in his intimidation factor.

“Am I a tease?” he asked.

Matt faced front with heavy eyebrows. Sam couldn’t see his face from this angle, but he knew that aura of irritation.

“If you have to ask the question, then you already know the answer,” Matt said. “Does that help?”

“No, I hate you now, actually,” Sam told him.

Matt dropped him right on his ass.

 --

 There had to be a way to attain proof. To determine once and for all that it was Sam who was in the wrong here, misinterpreting things like the genius that he was.

Thankfully, Sam’s experience of growing up as a non-only child for the last two decades had prepared him exactly for this type of conversation.

 SC: HANNAH AM I A TEASE???

HC: yes

HC: next question

SC: FUCK.

SC: WHAT IF ITS NOT NO-HOMO?

HC: my dear brother, the only options if something is not no-homo is for it to be no-no or homo-homo.

SC: Murder me

HC: gladly

SC: I’m in possible homo-homo with spiderman

HC: are you sure it’s not no-no?

SC: MURDER ME

HC: okay but like if it’s no-no then this is not a problem, right?

SC: If it’s no-no then I’ve read every sign wrong and I deserve to become a partially eaten tadpole awash in an indifferent boiling sea

HC: okay so we’re leaning INTO the drama today I gotcha. Alright but like, just for the sake of arguing, what if it was homo-homo?

SC: then I need you to bury my body somewhere no one will ever find it because my heart can’t stand requited love you know this about me.

HC: give me your login

SC: thank you I love you you’re the only person who matters

 --

 BT: Spiderman.

SM: Blindspot. DMing? You okay?

BT: this is Hannah.

SM: OH

SM: hi Hannah are you okay? Did you need something?

BT: My brother never got tested for reading comprehension but would have failed anyways. Can you arbitrate an arbitrary argument for us?

SM: I’m positive that there is a link between those two ideas that I am missing, but sure?

BT: okay are you ready?

SM: my loins have been girded.

BT: gross. you two are made for each other. Okay: what are your opinions on 24yo Chinese dudes with bad vision who are 5’7” tall, with terrible hair and brains as big and gaseous as Jupiter?

SM: positive

BT: you’re so romantic spidey.

SM: I know

BT: I’m going to tell him now

SM: WAIT DON’T TELL HIM

BT: byeeeeeee

 --

 Sam was going to have a heart attack. He couldn’t look at his phone. He was just going to lay here until he wasted away into a fossil.

Mm, yes, what a wonderful way to escape any and all feelings. That was—

His phone chirped and he nearly fell out of his chair in a hurry to answer it.

 HC: [image] [image]

HC: you owe me your bones

SC: AFASDFADFAS:FJaf’asdfjahsdlfihasdl’fas

SC: TAKE THEM

HC: if you fuck spiderman you have to get pregnant and demand alimony for your beautiful mixed babies Samuel

SC: Darling sister, we’ve talked about this. it isn’t going to happen I still have yet to steal a womb

HC: try harder

HC: ttyl

--

 Okay, this was fine.

Everything was fine.

Spidey liked Sam back, it was no big deal. Spidey liked everyone back. Even the teases.

Even.

The.

Teases.

Fuck, Sam had to move.

 --

 Foggy caught him biting his nails to pieces over the copy machine and asked him if he was okay. He was not. Foggy could read this off him. He didn’t ask again, but he did say that if Sam was feeling particularly anxious about something he was welcome to go have his breakdown upstairs in Kirsten’s kitchen instead of downstairs among the files.

Sam appreciated his offer. He hiked up the stairs, and halfway up, his phone chirped.

His heart stopped.

It chirped again, and then again. By the time he got to the top of the stairs, it was chirping every couple of seconds with messages being typed and sent at mach speed.

He kicked off his shoes and went to go stand over Kirsten’s sink to open the first one.

  PP: Sam it’s peter hey listen your sister messaged me

PP: and was asking some pretty invasive questions and I replied to her. I don’t know if you saw them but I just wanted to say that if that makes you uncomfortable in any way know that I absolutely don’t mind and I’ll stop

PP: you can tell me to fuck off if that crossed your boundaries. I shouldn’t have even messaged her back without asking you

PP: and obviously in future I won’t talk to her until I’ve cleared it with you I just wasn’t thinking I’m never thinking it’s a little hard to think sometimes

PP: especially when you message me back and I get caught up in the games and the emojis and stuff and like I’m sure that sometimes I overstep but I don’t mean to and you can tell me at any point if you want me to stop

PP: I guess I just really like to talk to you sometimes and it’s fun to have someone to banter with who actually banters back like not in a mean way but in a really nice and funny way. you’re an easy guy to talk to is what I’m saying

PP: which I’m sure you get a lot. I don’t mean that I want to like tell you all my problems I swear it’s not that it’s just more of a AHHHHH I don’t even know what I’m saying I think it’s sorry???

PP: I’m sorry??? I don’t mean to imply anything that isn’t there and I don’t want to make you feel like you have to either. Ar e you mad? Please don’t be mad okay wait no I’ve sent like seven fucking messages I’m being a creep oh my god IM SORRY ILL SHUT UP NOW OKAY SORRY BYE

  Oh nooooo.

The panic-induced infodump was not only familiar but horrendously endearing.

Sam had to explode now.

Man. Bummer.

  SC: it’s okay Peter

PP: OH THANK GOD

PP: is it tho??? Are you sure?

SC: I have positive feelings towards people like you too

  Sam’s heart pounded. He almost locked his phone and threw it in the sink, but another text came in just as that thought finished crossing his mind.

  PP: you do?

SC: yes of course I do

PP: oh nice

SC: yeah

  Annnnnnnd cue mutual nerd awkwardness. Great. Well done, Sam, you’ve done it again.

He sighed and turned away from the sink and sunk down onto the floor with his back against it.

Such a loser, Chung. So painfully awkward. Would it kill you to, just for once, slow down and chill for a minute?

God.

  PP: hey sam?

  No, Sam just wanted to sit on this floor and wallow.

  PP: hello? Are you still there?

 --

Sam let his head fall back against the sink. He closed his eyes.

His phone rang in his hand and he nearly had a heart attack. His fingers scrabbled over its face and the caller ID read ‘Peter Parker.’

Oh god.

Oh no.

Be cool. Be cool. Be cool.

“Hello?” he answered to the scratchy phone silence on the other side of the line.

He frowned.

“Hello?” he tried again, a smidge less desperate.

“Hi.”

There he was.

“Hey,” Sam said. “Sorry, just got awkward.”

Peter laughed through the line.

“Me too,” he said. “That was awkward.”

Yeah.

“Yeah.”

A long pause.

“I’m doing it again,” Sam moaned into his hand.

“No, no. Hey, you’re good,” Peter said. “I was just uh. Calling because.” He trailed off.

Sam waited.

“Sam? You still there?”

He startled and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he said. “Sorry, zoning out a little bit. You know, busy day.”

“Yeah,” Peter said.  “Yeah, I know.”

Sam breathed as quietly as he could. He could almost hear Peter doing the same on his end.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta g—” Sam started.

“Hey, do you like me?”

HNG.

“No?” Sam answered and then punched himself in the leg. “Sorry. Uh. I didn’t—I mean, uh. Yes. Of course I like you. You’re a really good person. I admire you a lot.”

Hannah, oh Hannah, where is thine shovel? Sam needed it to dig this grave deeper, please.

“Oh. Okay, I just—I guess I uh, have a hard time reading the tone of your texts sometimes,” Peter said.

“It’s okay, I get that a lot,” Sam said. “I’ll try harder to be more direct.”

“No,” Peter said. “No, no, you don’t have to change anything.”

“Oh? Okay, well. Maybe I still will, though,” Sam said.

If Peter wouldn’t have heard him, he would have started to try to fit his whole fist in his mouth.

Five minutes of conversation and they were still saying nothing.

“Sam?”

He swallowed.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Next time you’re in the city, would you, uh, maybe want to go out somewhere? With me?”

Out? What like, to a movie or something?

“Yeah, just like that,” Peter said. “’Cause I uh. Would like to. Do that, I mean. With you.”

“With me?” Sam asked. “Oh right, and your other friends, uh, names—sorry, I’m bad with names. N-ned?”

“No,” Peter said oddly abruptly. “Well, I mean—I don’t mean it like that. I just—just with you. For now. That’s what I mean.”

“Oh. Uh. Kinda like a date?” Sam asked through the forcefield of self-hatred that felt like it spanned the entire continental US.

There was a pause. Sam held his breath.

“Yeah,” Peter said. “Exactly like a date. If you don’t mind—you know, doing that with me.”

AHAHAHAHAHAHA.

“Are you trying to lure me to a secondary location, Mr. Parker?” Sam asked seriously.

The laugh that met him made all the muscles in his shoulders relax.

“Maybe if the bit at the first location goes well,” Peter said. Then added hurriedly, “If you’re down for that.”

Sam was down for it right now.

Actually, maybe not in Kirsten’s kitchen. But like, right now in a different location.

“If it’s a movie date, we can do it through Netflix Party,” he pointed out faux-lightly. “It wouldn’t be the same, but we could do it this weekend, even. Saturday—I’m off Saturday.”

Peter said nothing for a long time.

“Okay. Saturday,” he finally agreed, “I can do Saturday. Kinda hard to hold your hand through a screen, but I can give it my best shot?”

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFfffffff.

“Oh, I bet you will,” Sam nearly choked.

“You’re really cute, Sam.”

NO. SHUT UP. YOU ARE.

“Thanks.”

“I wanted to kiss you last time you were here, but I was too, uh. Shy. Embarrassed. One of them.”

Sam was going to puke, but in like, the happiest kind of way.

“I like you a lot too, Peter,” he whispered.

“Are you crying?”

“What? No.”

“Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.”

“Shut up, I’m not. I—the old man’s downstairs, his ears aren’t as good through ceilings, but I just want to make sure—”

“Uh-huh,” Peter said. “I’m sure that’s what it is. So I’ll see you Saturday? Maybe Facetime or something?”

“Yeah, Saturday,” Sam said. “I’ll send you a time when I know. I’ve gotta go. Meltdown-alloted-breaktime is over.”

Peter laughed.

“Alright, man, I’ll talk to you later. Bye now.”

“Bye,” Sam said lamely.

He hung up the phone. He did not scream. But he did fist pump and then fall onto his side.

 ---------

Here’s to hoping things get easier for you anon!!

[korra-the-red-lion]

Conflict.

Here’s a super random fic I wrote for Legends of Tomorrow! The pairing is Astra x Behrad x Spooner. This literally comes from me and my friend @sapphictv saying that Astra has two hands haha. I hope you enjoy!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Astra, former queen of hell, badass sorcerer-in-training, killer of men and women alike, was very frustrated that she was unable to come up with a solution to this problem on hand. And what, you might be asking yourself, is that problem exactly?

In fact, it was two problems.

The first problem came in the form of Behrad Tarazi. The idiotic stoner who took nearly as long as his insipid sister in the shower slowly worked his way into her life with his charming smile and easy out look on life. Not mention, he looked damned fine in a suit. Astra would never admit it out loud, but she probably would have jumped him that day hadn’t she had amazing self-control. After her slip up of showing a sliver of interest in him that time, he only took that as a means of encouragement, something Astra would have never done intentionally.

The next problem was that of Esperanza “Spooner” Cruz. The frustrating little gremlin first sparked something inside of her when she was the first to support her after she had been tricked by that bastard Crowley. Then of course there was that hug they shared during the Galactic Bowling Match. Astra found herself constantly amused by the tiny woman’s feisty nature and even meaner tongue, unless it was directed at her of course. Even then, however, caused something warm to stir inside her chest at the thought of being the center of focus for Spooner.

So, needless to say, Astra was very angry. And nobody liked when Astra was angry.

So far, she had broken the coffee pot, told Nate to stop talking about Indiana Jones, punched the wall (though that had been an accident, mostly), and set fire to Gary (that had been intentional). Right now, she was seething alone in her room as she flipped through her books to see if there was a spell to help her remove her feelings for the two idiots on board the Waverider.

“Ugh, there’s nothing here!” she raged as she threw the book across the room.

Ava poked her head into the room with a small frown on her face. “Uh…hey, Astra? Is there something that’s bothering you? You just seem to be in a mood today.”

Astra rolled her eyes with an annoyed sigh. “Why would you think that? I’m obviously fine.”

“Hm, okay.” Ava took one look around the room when she noticed the spell book near her feet. She picked it up and took a quick look through it as Astra grabbed another one to get angry about. “’A spell to help you get rid of human emotions. Warning, side effect may include death,’” Ava read aloud. “What’s this about?”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” sneered Astra.

Ava frowned again as she nodded. “Right. Are you sure there’s nothing bothering you?”

Astra was just about to tell Ava to do something very vulgar when she sighed in defeat. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

Ava crossed her fingers over her heart.

Astra fell back into her pillows with a dramatic huff. “I believe that I may have…developed a crush on Behrad.”

“Oh that’s-”

“And Spooner,” Astra cut in.

Ava’s eyebrows shot up into her hair line. “Oh. OH. Okay, wow. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“How did this happen?” Astra grabbed a pillow and buried her face in it. “I’m suppose to be the bitch on board, and now I’ve been reduced to a wallowing puddle of misery.”

“I don’t think it’s a bad thing, Astra,” said Ava. “Maybe you could talk to them about it?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Oookay,” Ava twisted her mouth as she thought what to suggest next. Seeing as her only real relationship came in the form of one Sara Lance, she probably wasn’t the best person to help with this. However, Ava was a thinker, and she figured that there was a logical solution to Astra’s problem. When the idea popped into her head, Ava couldn’t believe how intelligent she was.

“I have an idea,” she said with a grin.

“Does it involve killing both of them and pretending that these feelings never existed?” Astra asked, with one eye peeking out from under the pillow.

“Even better.”

Astra doubted that there was something better than murder, but she decided to go along with it for now.

God, how she was probably going to regret this.

XXX

Astra decided that she was going to kill Ava once this was all done.

Her idiotic master idea was awful. Ava figured that if one of them made the move first, then that would be the one she should date. Simple enough, except in involved them being dumped in Star City to go on a ‘mission’ that Ava created specifically for them. When Zari got word that her brother was leaving without her, she got all annoyed and followed after them, so already the plan was falling apart. Oh, and she brought Sara with her.

Just kill her now.

Spooner scowled as she kicked an empty can away from the trio. “Why are we here again? I don’t sense any aliens nearby. Are we sure Ava got the details right?”

Behrad gave her an easy smile as he pulled out a joint. “Dude, just trust in Ava. She hasn’t really led us astray yet. Besides, it’s nice to get away from the Waverider every now and then.”

Spooner rolled her eyes. “I was enjoying my evening, but whatever. I’m going to grab something to drink,” she indicated the convenience store with a jerk of her head. “Y’all want something?”

Astra realized that this was her chance to be alone with either of them, but since it seemed Behrad was more concerned with his weed at the moment, it meant that she had a better shot with Spooner. With a heavy swallow of her pride, Astra flashed a smile at Spooner.

“I’ll go with you.”

Spooner shrugged but didn’t argue, so the two women walked into the brightly lit germ palace together. It took nearly all her willpower to not sneer nor gag at the sight of the pimply teenager behind the counter. His eyes most certainly went to look at her breasts, and Astra started to raise her hand to turn him inside out when Spooner grabbed it, interlocking their fingers together. Astra’s mind went blank as she started at their hands as her heart thumped uncomfortably in her chest.

“Please don’t try and kill the child,” said Spooner softly as she led them over to the cold shelves. “We’re here for a mission, remember? Besides, teenage boys are stupid, so it’s not worth getting all upset about.”

Astra had barely listened to a word she had said, as she was too focused on the hands. Were hands always this warm? Were you always able to feel a pulse in someone’s hand? Was her hand sweaty?! A million other thoughts zoomed through her head like a NASCAR. It wasn’t until Spooner snapped her fingers in her face that Astra joined reality again.

“Sorry?” she asked with a couple blinks of her eyes.

Spooner’s mouth quirked upwards in amusement as she pointed to the doors. “I asked what drink you wanted, carino?”

Astra didn’t speak a lick of Spanish, so she wasn’t sure what that last part was supposed to mean. Although she was curious, she didn’t ask. Instead, she reached for the can of iced tea silently. Spooner watched her with a thoughtful look on her face as she grabbed her own can of Coca Cola. She grabbed something at random for Behrad and together they went to the counter. The pimply monstrosity rung everything up and told the price with an obnoxious voice crack. Astra spared a glance at Spooner to see if it was okay to at least turn him into an opossum or something, but a quick shake of the head told her no. How disappointing.

It wasn’t until they left the store that Astra realized that they were still holding hands. She felt a surge of panic as they approached Behrad, but luckily Spooner left got just as they got there. She handed him the can of Dr. Pepper, which he took gratefully.

Over the comms Astra could hear Sara saying, “No, she hasn’t made a move yet. I’m getting really bored of waiting.” Stupid Sara.

Behrad cracked up the sugary drink with a gleeful look on his face. “Thanks Spoons! How’d you know Dr. P was my go-to soda?”

Spooner rolled her eyes, but her smile gave away her amusement. “Because I’ve lived with you for awhile now, dumbass.”

Astra watched this exchange with interest. Suddenly she was nervous. What if the two of them liked each? What if this was all for nothing? What if in her own self-absorption, she never realized the two of them had romantic feelings for each other? Now Astra was upset. She disguised her sigh of unhappiness with a grunt as she stalked further ahead. She could hear the two of them talking behind her, but she chose to ignore it.

Eventually, they made it to the area where Ava was going to send Gary to attack. Astra sat down moodily as Spooner did a perimeter search for safety. Behrad sat down next to her and nudge her with his shoulder.

“What’s eating you, Astra?” he asked kindly.

Astra glanced at him, which was a mistake. He looked so gorgeous under the streetlight. She turned away, disgusted by the blush she could feel on her face as she mumbled, “Nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” Behrad scratched at his chin thoughtfully. “But I’m not going to push you to talk about. I just think you should know that I’m always here if you need a shoulder to lean on.”

Oh, how tempting was the offer to rest her head on his broad shoulders. Astra wished with everything in her heart that she could do that. She settled for a nod of acknowledgement instead. She frowned in thought as she turned to him.

“Behrad, can I ask you something, actually?”

Behrad had his can of soda halfway to his lips when he nodded. “Go for it.”

Astra wished her heart wasn’t racing as quickly as it was. Her throat felt dry as she asked, “Is there anyone on the Waverider that you have a crush on?”

The look on his face matched that of a deer in headlights. Slowly, he nodded as he looked her way. “Yeah, I do. But don’t tell Zari, okay? She’ll never let me live it down.”

Astra nodded. “Can I ask who it is?”

Behrad looked nervous as he ran a hand through his hair. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before finally settling on a nod. As he worked on the courage to tell her who it was, Astra could feel the blood pounding in her ears as her hands shook with anticipation. But just before the words could come out, there was a shout of surprise as Spooner ran over.

“Guys, the trouble is here!”

Dammit, thought Astra angrily. She thought that she had a couple more minutes before the arrival of that buffoon. With a huff, she stood to her feet to help get rid of the nuisance when she saw with wide eyes that a large grotesque demon stood in front of them. This was not part of the plan. It turned its fiery red eyes in her direction and bellowed.

“ASTRA, I WILL MAKE YOU PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO ME!!”

Now, Astra had done a lot of really terrible things while she was the queen of hell. It’s not like she remembered every single one. That was the case with ugly over there. She didn’t recognize him at all, but he clearly knew who she was.

Spooner pulled out a massive ray gun and fire several bullets at the beast. Behrad hopped into action by activating his totem and blasting sharp gusts of wind. Astra wasted no time in shouting out an incantation, summoning an army of shadow monsters to fight under her command.

While it wasn’t easy, eventually the demon got sent back to hell. Astra felt very wobbly on her feet as the draining effect of magic took a hold of her. The last thing she was aware of was the two of them calling her name as she crashed to the ground.

XXX

When Astra came to, she was lying in the med bay. That wasn’t too surprising. What was surprising was her two guests.

Spooner and Behrad were both sitting next to the bed/resting spot/pod/whatever the hell you wanted to call this thing. Behrad was sleeping, his head lolled to the side as drool trailed down onto his shoulder. Spooner had been cleaning her knife when she realized that Astra woke up. She stomped on Behrad’s foot and instantly reached for her hand.

“Astra, are you feeling okay?” she asked tenderly.

Astra nodded, because she was pretty sure her voice wasn’t going to work at the moment.

Relief flooded both their eyes as Behrad scooted his chair closer. “Man, I’m so glad to hear that. The way you used magic was so badass, but when you feel I totally freaked out.”

Astra’s eyes flickered between the two of them and the conflict she felt instantly came back full throttle. How was she ever going to chose between the two of them? There was just no possible way. Astra in this very moment decided that she was going to never date either of them and just life the rest of her life out miserably.

She gently pulled her hand out of Spooner’s. Astra stared at the wall, not looking at either of them. Spooner and Behrad shared a look before Spooner poked Astra in the face. Hard.

“Ow!” Her hand went for her cheek. “What the hell was that for?”

“What’s going on?” Spooner’s tone left no room for argument.

“Nothin-” the look on both of their face shut her up.

“You can’t lie forever, Astra,” said Behrad calmly. “We aren’t leaving this room until you tell us what’s up.”

“I refuse,” she sneered.

“You made me do this,” said Spooner seriously. “Gideon, play ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’ please.”

“As you wish, Ms. Cruz,” said Gideon’s voice over the intercoms. The Bonnie Taylor classic started blasting in the med bay. Worst of all, the two of them started to sing along to the torture. Astra only lasted 30 seconds before she begged them to stop, promising to tell them what they wanted to hear. The music shut off, leaving only heavy silence in its wake.

Astra clutched the arms of the chair and sent a prayer to her mother as she worked up her courage. “I…I like both of you.”

Behrad beamed. “Aw, I like both of you too!”

“Not like that!” snapped Astra. She sucked in a deep breath. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I meant I like both of you in a romantic way. Ava had planned this meeting so I could decide which one I wanted to date, but I now realize that it impossible. I’m sorry for putting us in danger.”

Astra was afraid to even look over, but she forced herself to do so. Spooner was watching her with a thoughtful expression while Behrad was still smiling. Astra was confused as to why he was until he reached for her other hand and grabbed Spooner’s too.

“Well, I know it’s a big commitment, but I’d be do down if all three of us dated,” he said cheerfully.

“HUH?” Astra was beyond confused. When she grew up, couples were just that: a couple. How did a relationship between three people even work? Was Behrad high?

But when Spooner gave an easy shrug and said, “I’d be willing to try if y’all are,” Astra was at a complete loss.

“Is…is that even allowed?” she hated how quiet her voice was.

“Yeah,” Behrad grinned. “I mean, polyamory is a thing, after all. If we all put in the work and promise to be honest with each other, I don’t see why we can’t make it work.”

Astra started at the two people who she adored more than nearly anything in the world in shock. They both were willing to do that for her? She leaned over and kissed Spooner first, not at all surprised to discover that her lips were chapped and dried. When she kissed Behrad, his lips were moister and softer. While both kisses were different on her lips, the excited jolt she felt from both of them was the same. Astra couldn’t believe her luck. She even giggled when the two of them kissed in front her.

Was this what love really felt like? Astra wasn’t entirely sure, and even though she was very nervous about it still, she was ready to see where this went.

[luciferloveschloe]

For the cliche prompts 47+48 😊

47. I’ve been in love with you for years.

48. I called you at 2 a.m. because I need you.

this is part of my 1k celebration!

it’s taking me so long to fill the prompts, i know. i’m sorry. hope you enjoy anyway!

this is an alternative, yet canon-compliant ending to 5x05.

[deckerstar, 1.7k words, light angst, love confessions, emotional hurt/comfort, touch-starved]

the only miracle that mattered

Apparently, you’re the only reason I’m here.

I thought what we had was real.

It’s far from a curse. It’s a gift.

I’m not even a person. I’m a thing.

You’re not the gift, Chloe – that is.

Round and round and round the carousel went, like it did when she’d first seen his face.

She was used to it by now, after Rome, and Eve, and Michael, and every other bit of celestial nonsense she had had to deal with since Lucifer had entered her life. Well, sort of. Finding out you’re a literal miracle, made specifically for the Devil himself, that wasn’t just a normal Tuesday. Not even for Chloe Decker.

Her wineglass sat nearly untouched on her couch table. Booze had never helped, anyway. She fixated it instead of drinking, failing to quiet her thoughts for long seconds. But really, what was she trying to accomplish here?

Running away, pushing him away, overthinking every little thing and wallowing in her own misery… That had also never helped. It had brought them Kinley, actually, and demons running around in LA.

She would not make the same mistake twice.

You’re not the gift, Chloe – that is.

Talking. Talking to him had always helped.

As soon as the thought had formed, an intense wave of longing washed over her. She missed him. She missed his stupid smirk, his solid, warm body against hers, fingers tentatively caressing her back, voice hushed and awed. So very real, and not forever lost to Hell. She missed him. And she really, really needed to talk to him.

She was still good to drive, thanks to the untouched wine, but it was nearly – one in the morning? Already? How? Still, he’d probably still be up. Should she just go over to Lux? Would he–

She very nearly jumped when her phone started vibrating on the table. She turned it over, and it was Lucifer, of course. Speak of the bloody Devil. She couldn’t help her grin when she accepted the call.

“Lucifer!”

“Detective, I– I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

The subtle strain in his voice made her sit up straighter immediately, wiped the smile from her face.

“No, Lucifer, you didn’t actually. I was just going to– Nevermind. Is something wrong?“

“No, well– Yes. Detective, I– I need to talk to you. And I know you have no desire to see me right now, and I understand, I do, and it’s the middle of the night, I know, but I– I just need to.”

His voice broke on his last words, and his obvious despair made her stomach twist. Had she done this?

“Okay, Lucifer, it’s alright. I’m here, I’m listening.”

A shaky breath on the other end of the line, then another.

“Detective, first of all, I’m so sorry for what you have to go through. Because of me, again. That bastard Michael, and now this… I’m sorry, Detective. I wish it weren’t so.”

She wanted to interject something, anything to stop the pain that bled through his voice, but he was talking too fast.

“When I first found out about it, we had just gotten together for the first time. It– It crushed me. And it led me to do things that hurt you very badly, and I’m so sorry for those, too. I hope I’ll have the chance to properly explain, one day.”

He’d found out after– Wait, what things? Vegas? Candy?!

“But, Detective… I know I have no right to complain, and please know I would go back to Hell again in a heartbeat if it meant I was ensuring your safety, but– Chloe. I’ve missed you. So much. Being in Hell felt… different after knowing you. Too lonely.”

She could barely make out those last words, and something in her chest constricted. He’d never sounded so distressed and forlorn before. She was well aware he’d never show that much weakness to anyone else.

Amenadiel was right. She didn’t see her desires reflected in Lucifer, she didn’t see some perfect guy that she was inexplicably compelled to adore, she just saw him. An imperfect, hurting, deeply scarred, unspeakably beautiful soul that had somehow found its mate in hers.

And she wouldn’t, couldn’t hold what his Dad had done against him. After all, Trixie only existed because of God’s intervention. Her daughter lived because she lived. That alone made all the craziness worth it.

That, and that she was stupidly in love with the angel currently on the verge of breaking down on the other end of the line.

“And Detective, I– I know this is not what you want, and I shouldn’t say it, and not on the phone like this, and I’m– I’m screwing this up again, but I– Chloe. I love you. I’ve been in love with you for years. Thousands of years, if you count Hell. I love you, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you. And you’ll never have to see me again if that’s what you want, but I just needed to say it. Even if I already blew my chance. I love you, Chloe.”

He was silent after that, and her heart just about stopped.

Lucifer loved her.

He loved her, and she loved him. Nothing else in this literally god-forsaken world mattered, and she had to tell him immediately.

“Lucifer?”

“Yes, Detective?”

“Would you mind coming over or–“

WHOOSH

Ah yes, wings. She’d really have to get used to angelic modes of transportation. She could just make out his silhouette behind her front door, and felt a pang when he didn’t enter unprompted. She pushed the feeling down and crossed over to let him in, and there he was.

He looked at lot like he’d sounded, hair dishevelled, suit jacket and vest gone, chest heaving, wings a glowing, shivering mass behind him. She blinked, and they were gone.

“Detective?”

“Lucifer. Don’t you want to barge in like you own the place?”

He frowned in the way she found terribly endearing, but made no move to come in.

“Oh for… Come in, please. Do you want some wine?”

Finally, he strode past her, stopping in the open space between her kitchen and her couch, as rigid and tense as she’d ever seen him. He turned to stare at her, raking his shaking hands through his hair, and suddenly she was reminded of a meeting in an interrogation room several celestial disasters ago.

“No, Detective, I don’t want wine. I– Forgive me. What are we doing here?”

He was terrified of what she’d do, what she’d say. Terrified she’d send him away for good. She shouldn’t have that power over him, over the Devil. Nobody should have that power over anyone, but it seemed like they were long past that.

Oh, Lucifer.

She quickly erased the distance between them and clasped his hands in hers, heart aching at the way he looked at her. Like his life depended on the words she’d say next. Maybe it did.

“Lucifer. Amenadiel came up with some interesting theories during our case.”

A snort.

“Did he, now?”

“Lucifer… You saw how that nun fawned over him. They were all like that. Just how regular people fawn over you.”

“So… Nuns have the hots for my brother? Good for him, I guess, but I don’t see what that has to do with u– With me.“

Another frown.

“Amenadiel thinks they saw their love for God in him, reflected back at them. And he thinks that… When everyone else looks at you and fawns over you, you reflect their desires back at them.”

“That’s… Where are you going with this, Detective?”

He loves you, and you love him. Courage, Decker.

“I don’t see that. I don’t see my desires reflected back at me when I look at you, Lucifer. I just see you. So, I– I don’t think that explains everything, and I can’t promise I won’t freak out again, but I– I trust that what I feel is real again. Lucifer, I love you, and I’m tired of things getting between us, tired of missing chances. We might never know what all this actually means, but… I don’t want anything to come between us, ever again. From now on, whatever it is, I want to face it with you. Together.”

The most radiant of smiles transformed his features, and she leaned in quickly to taste his happiness and kiss it off his lips. For a second, he remained stiff and shell-shocked, but then he opened up to her kiss, wrapping his arms around her tightly. The smallest sigh escaped him, and she rose on her tiptoes to get closer to him, resting her hands at the nape of his neck.

When she felt like it was possible to stop kissing him, she rested his forehead against his, eyes still closed, mouth stretched wide in an effervescent grin.

“You know, I never wanted Amenadiel to be right quite so badly, Detective.”

She opened her eyes in time with him, and he hid not one thing in the warm, dark brown of his eyes.

“Well, he was right before, wasn’t he?”

He huffed, then sobered a little, and pulled her even closer to him.

“Detective, I… I thought I’d lost you.”

Her heart beat erratically, and she needed to reassure herself as much as she needed to reassure him. Because they had lost each other one too many times before, had come close to missing another chance, yet again. But not this time.

“Never again, Lucifer. I meant it.”

She cradled his face in her hand, and he leaned into her touch, closing his eyes immediately. Instead of replying, he just exhaled tremulously, and Chloe brought her other hand up to touch his face as well.

“Chloe, will you just hold me for a little while?”

His voice was brittle and cracking, and her heart constricted once more. How many years did he have to survive without a single kind touch?

She embraced him as tight as she could, pressed a kiss onto his neck just to feel him shiver, and stroked his hair and his cheek, over his back and down his arms, and again, until he all but melted under her caress.

“Forever, Lucifer.”

He pulled back to search her eyes with his, opening and closing his mouth, seemingly unable to find any words. After a few seconds, he gave up, simply cradling her face in both his hands with the lightest of touches, smiling beatifically at her.

“Chloe.”

They’d found each other. He was here to stay, and she’d pour all her love into him, and try and make him forget there ever was a time he was lonely. They’d take on whatever may come, together. That was the only miracle that mattered.

[multi-wild-imagines]

Top 10 Movies of All Time

(Literally no reason to share it here but I really want to lol)

The Last Unicorn (1982)

This here is mainly a nostalgic movie for me, a big part of my childhood but still is a great movie and will remain to be an important film to me.

"If you had been waiting to see a unicorn, as long as I have..." Molly Grue

Re-Animator (1985 + Bride of Re-Animator (1989)

It's a little hard for me to pick one over the over, I adore both of these movies so much an well they are technically the same movies so it counts lol!

"Blasphemy? Before what? God? A God repulsed by the miserable humanity He created in His own image? I will not be shackled by the failures of your God. The only blasphemy is to wallow in insignificance. I have taken the refuse of your God's failures and I have triumphed. There! THERE is my creation!" Herbert West

Annie (1982)

Yet another nostalgia film for me but this, this I adore and still love to this day, I just have nothing but love for it!

"I didn't want to be just another orphan, Mr. Warbucks. I wanted to believe I was special." Annie

"You are special! Never stop believing that!" Daddy Warbucks

Glory (1989)

My favorite war movie of all! Not only is it based on a true story, the 54th Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry Regiment, a regiment made up of all black men, the first African American military unit in the American Civil War. But of course there is more to it than that but my god do I adore it!

"There's more to fighting than rest, sir. There's character. There's strength of heart. You should have seen us in action two days ago. We were a sight to see! We'll be ready, sir. When do you want us?" Col. Robert Gould Shaw

Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975)

Kinda another big part of my childhood and one that me, my mom and friends constantly quote. It's just a great movie and truly a treasure.

"I'm French! Why do you think I have this outrageous accent!" Random French Dude

The Wedding Singer (1998)

While I do enjoy many of Adam Sandlers movies, this is my all time favorite. It's fantastic I cannot even describe my love for it effectively. It's hilarious, beautiful, a bit heartbreaking, and heartwarming.

"Please get out of my Van Halen t-shirt before you jinx the band and they break up." Robbie Hart

Dr. Strange (2016)

One of my all time favorite Marvel films and well I'm not the biggest fan of Marvel, no particular reason but it's never been that appealing to me but Strange... its everything to me (Black Panther as well).

"Death is what gives life meaning. To know that your days are numbered. Your time is short" The Ancient One

Les Miserables (2012)

I saw this on my 13th birthday and well of course cried, lol. My mom told me I wouldn't cry as much the second time and oh boy was she so wrong.

"This is the land I fought for liberty, now when we fight we fight for bread! Here is the thing about equality, everyone's equal when they're dead!" Gavroche

Phantom of the Opera (2004)

I saw this a very young age, around 10 or so and has stuck with me through all these years as my favorite musical of all time.

"Twisted every way, what answer can I give? Am I to risk my life, to win the chance to live? Can I betray the man who once inspired my voice? Do I become his prey? Do I have any choice? He kills without a thought, he murders all that's good . . . I know I can't refuse. And yet, I wish I could . . . Oh God - if I agree, what horrors wait for me in this, the Phantom's opera . . .?" Christine Daaé

Honorable Mentions

Black Panther (2018)

"You are a good man with a good heart, and it is hard for a good man to be king." T'Chaka

Tangled (2010)

“No! I won’t stop. For every minute of the rest of my life I will fight. I will never stop trying to get away from you!” Rapunzel

Ponyo (2008)

"I say we start with dessert and go backwards. It's been a backwards kind of day!" Lisa

And my all time favorite!

12 Angry Men (1957)

This here, is a very important movie to me. From the cinematography to notable lines to the sheer genius of this film it ranks as my number one favorite. I could go on and on about it but frankly that's too much lol.

"I don't believe I have to be loyal to one side or the other. I'm simply asking questions." Juror #11

~Noelle

[godlydolans]

Not Enough {e.d.}

Summary: Ethan is going through a heartbreak and Y/N is there to comfort him, but while he cries in her arms, she wonders if she'll ever be enough for him and if he'll ever return the feelings she holds for him.

Warning: Angst.

Requested: Kinda. I took inspiration from some of the concepts people sent me when I'd asked for angst prompts. Thanks guys, for being patient with me!

Ethan sits on the floor in his room, eyes blindly gazing at his open palms as his head throbs, containing so many thoughts and questions inside that small space. He doesn't know how much time had gone by since she left. He doesn't seem to recall what he did when she walked out of that door without sparing him a single, pathetic glance. He isn't even sure what he's doing on the damned floor when his bed is just an inch away from him.

All he does know is that he feels like an invisible fist is tightening over his heart and squeezing the already broken pieces so they hurt more.

"It's not you, Ethan."

He scoffs, a bitter taste in his mouth when he thinks about the words she threw at him. Typical lines everyone repeats when they have to let someone down easy. But there was nothing easy about the way she let him down. In fact, she didn't show an ounce of mercy while rejecting him.

"Listen, I've always seen you as a friend, E." She'd said, her eyes shining with sincerity and unshed tears. "I love you as a friend."

She is not a bad person, she's a gem of a person and that's why it was so god damned easy to fall for her. She had him crazy in love to the point where he had started to talk like Grayson. The whole soulmate shit was something he never believed in, unlike his brother, but ever since she came into his life, he could feel that they were made from the same stardust.

How could there be someone else made for him if it wasn't her? It was simply not possible! She is the female version of him, everyone says that. She herself knows that. There are so many similarities between them. How can she not fall for him like he did for her?

He thought the soulmate shit worked both ways? At least that's what Grayson had said when he's asked about it. Then how did it work on him and not on her?

"I can't ever look at you like that because I like your brother."

Maybe if she would've just said she didn't feel the same and left it at that, he wouldn't have felt like she tipped his world upside down. But those last words she spoke really broke him. Why did she have to go and tell him she had feelings for Grayson? Ethan would have been fine without the information. There really was no need.

His phone rings beside him for the thousandth time and he clenches his jaw. He doesn't even have to look at the caller ID to know who's calling. Y/N has been blowing up his phone for what feels like an hour but he knows it's less than that. Of course he hasn't been sitting on the floor and wallowing in his own misery for an entire hour. That's ridiculous!

Just like he's been doing with all her precious attempts of reaching him, Ethan ignores this one too. He knows that Grayson must have called her when Ethan demanded he doesn't want to see his brother's face right now. He also knows she must be really worried since he's been rejecting all her calls, but he simply wants to be left alone. Is that too much for these people to understand?

He's too vulnerable to be seen by people right now and even though Y/N is literally the only person other than Grayson that he's comfortable crying in front of, he doesn't want her to see him like this. It's only going to hurt her too. Little does he know, she is right outside his front door, calling Gray to come open the door for her since she knows Ethan wouldn't pick up.

_

"Where's he?" You ask urgently the moment the door opens and a very tired looking Gray appears. He immediately moves to the side, ushering you into the house since its so hot outside.

"He's in his room." Grayson replies. His fingers comb through his hair as he lets out an exhausted sigh, "He doesn't wanna talk to me, Y/N."

Your heart breaks at the gloom that has settled on Grayson's otherwise radiant face. He looks troubled and his voice shows that too as it trembles towards the end of his sentence. You both are aware of how much Ethan likes this girl. You don't think you've seen him be this into someone before and you've known Ethan for years. You have seen him with plenty of girls in all these years and you can tell this time was different.

So if you could tell, Grayson definitely can too. It has been nineteen years and the brothers have never had a serious fight over a girl, something they are really proud of. But after how Ethan refused to even look at Grayson for the whole day makes the younger twin a little worried and a lot scared. He really wants to know what is going through Ethan's mind. Is he really blaming Grayson for what happened? Did Bella really do what no other girl was able to do thus far?

"Y/N, I swear I have never looked at her that way." Grayson sounds like he's pleading his case in court and you are the Judge. "I don't know why he doesn't wanna talk to me, I didn't do anything! I didn't even know that sh-"

"Gray, I know, I know you didn't do anything." You cut off his rambling with a gentle hand on his bicep. "He's just sad right now, he knows it's not your fault."

Grayson doesn't seem convinced by what you just said. His shoulders are still tense and his eyes look sunken in. He looks tired and you wish you could look after him too.

"Have you eaten anything?" You softly enquire and shake your head in disapproval when he says no. "Go eat something while I go see how your brother is doing."

"Yes, please see if he's okay?"

"Of course, Gray." With one last squeeze on his bicep, you step away from Grayson and make your way to Ethan's room. It's so quiet in the house, all the lights are off. You are always used to seeing the colourful lights the twins installed around the house, illuminating the place when night falls and it's only this quiet here when both the boys are not at home. Tonight, it feels like even the house is silently weeping after the recent events it witnessed.

Standing in front of Ethan's door, you pause to take in a much needed breath. Your hand trembles as it goes to grip the door knob and you almost don't have the will to enter. Granted, you've done this before. You have been around to tend to Ethan's broken heart many times in the past, but each experience has sadly not lessened the pain your heart goes through when he sits in front of you and talks about other girls. You have gotten familiar with the ache of your own heart, but the pain still knocks the breath out of you whenever life slaps you in the face with signs that Ethan will never return your feelings.

You know whatever will happen on the other side of this door will leave you wounded and broken beyond what you have come here to fix, but worry for Ethan is far more prominent than worry for your own self. So you don't think twice before twisting the door knob and pushing the door open.

Usually when you open this door, you can find Ethan right away. The guy is pretty noticeable, what with his height and stature. You can usually find him sitting on the rolly chair in front of his desk, computer either displaying an intense game of Fortnite or the editing software they use for their videos. If not the desk, he will definitely be found laying on his bed, either on his phone or just sleeping like the angel he is. Today, however, you don't even see him when you peek your head inside. It's only when you roam your eyes carefully around the room, do you see Ethan's body curled up sitting against the foot of the bed. He is sitting with his head in his hands, that's why he hasn't noticed your presence in the room yet. You also notice his phone laying on the floor beside him and a pinch of hurt settles in your heart when you think about him deliberately disconnecting all your calls.

Your hand forms into a fist and you knock twice on the wooden door, causing Ethan to finally lift his head up and lock eyes with you. The second your eyes meet, you force the tiniest smile on your lips, hoping that you'll get one in return. What you do get in return is a groan with a clenched jaw and a muffled, "What are you doing here?" After he goes back to hiding his face behind his hands.

Your heart sinks.

"I mean, I know you wish someone else was here in my place, but I at least deserve a hello," you speak in a joking tone but the words really hurt when they slip from your tongue. When Ethan doesn't respond, you sigh and let yourself in because you know he wouldn't invite you in right now. "Well then, seems like I don't."

Ethan groans again and slowly lifts his head back up. It looks like he's put in a lot of effort in just turning his head and looking at you because his eyes look so tired and drained. Ethan's hair is a mess, it looks like he pulled at the roots because some pieces are standing up in different directions. The fact that he still looks dashing, doesn't surprise you though.

"Y/N, I don't want you here right now." Ethan deadpans, fixing his intense stare on you and you have the sudden urge to look away. His words are like a slap to your face and you know this was just one of the many slaps that would be coming your way tonight, if you decide to stay.

And stay you will.

"I know." You breath, daring to take small steps in the sad boy's direction, "I know that."

"Then why are you still standing in my room?" Ethan's cutting gaze forces you to halt your steps, his sharp tone ripping a new wound in your heart. For a second, you simply stand back and look at him with widened eyes. Judging from the shock that's displayed through his expression, he didn't mean to say what he said either. Or maybe he did, but he wasn't expecting it to come out as harsh as it did.

Pressing your lips together, you force yourself to take a step back. It looks like he really does not want anyone near him right now.

"I'll just be outside if you wanna talk." This time, you don't bother with a smile. Casting your gaze on the floor, you turn to walk out.

"Wait-" Ethan rushes to his feet the second he realises how harsh he was to you and a hand subconsciously reaches out to stop you from leaving. You do stop at the sound of his voice, but don't turn to look at him. He clenches his jaw in anger directed toward himself.

Ethan hates it when his actions cause you pain. He hates it more than anything else in the world and still, no matter how much he tries to avoid it, he manages to hurt you one way or another.

"Y/N, wait-fuck, I didn't mean that." Taking four steps forward, Ethan's fingers wrap around your wrist and he's ready to turn you to face him when you don't show any signs of doing it yourself. When he does turn you, he sees your eyes are closed, long eyelashes brushing against blushed cheekbones. Ethan's heart sinks when he imagines you opening them and those eyes being red-rimmed with the tears that he caused. "Y/N, I'm sorry, so sorry."

"Its okay, E." You let his misbehaviour go with a wave of your hand, finally opening your eyes when you are sure you have the tears in control. Your eyes hand on your wrist which is still in Ethan's hold. Your cheeks go warm at the feeling of his skin on yours. "I know you're upset, it's okay."

Peering up at him from under your lashes, you find him looking back at you and you immediately look away. You learnt really early on that avoiding eye contact with Ethan is the best way to avoid some of the pain. You almost never look him in the eyes and hold his gaze for more than a second. Ethan is used to you steering your eyes away when hes looking at you and even though it irks him, he doesn't say anything.

He doesn't say anything but he does tug at the wrist he was still holding, causing you to stumble into his chest so he can wrap his arms around you. You weren't expecting him to hug you so suddenly, but you don't waste a second in wounding your own arms around his neck and allowing him to engulf you in his warmth. Ethan's hugs always leave your whole body buzzing with some strange energy and the butterflies in your stomach go haywire. You don't get to have him this close to you often because Ethan is not the hugging kind of guy, although you have seen him being really cuddly with his girlfriends in the past, so maybe he is the hugging type of guy but you are not his type of girl.

Whatever it is, you don't get to be this close to him often, but the limited times you have been in his arms are enough to tell that this, right here is your favourite place in the world and if you could, you would live here forever.

"I don't deserve you." He whispers, his head pressed against your neck.

"You deserve the world, E." Your fingers dance over the nape of his neck, "If anything, it is she who doesn't deserve you."

"Don't." Ethan's body stiffens against you at her mention and he gently pulls away from the hug. You let him go half heartedly, watching him run a hand through his hair. He's the one who is avoiding eye contact now. "Its not her fault that she likes Grayson. You can't force someone to like you."

You chuckle mirthlessly, shaking your head at the irony of it all. Here he stands, the guy you fell for against your own will, the guy who doesn't love you back and probably never will and he is the one telling you about the merciless ways the heart loves. God knows if you could force it, you would force yourself to fall out of love with Ethan. You won't ever be able to force him to do anything he doesn't want to.

"So, you still want me to go away?"

Ethan scoffs and turns to walk back to his bed, "C'mere." He motions you over and you comply with a smile on your face.

And half an hour later, you find yourself laying down in Ethan Dolan's bed with him clutching onto your waist for dear life. His face is buried in your neck and you can feel hot tears fall on your skin over and over. Yes, he's crying.

Ethan Dolan is crying over this girl and you really wish she was in front of you so you could tear her a brand new one for hurting your man like this. Granted she is a good human and she didn't do anything wrong, but Ethan is crying.

And he's not your man.

"I don't understand what the fuck is wrong with me?!" He sniffles, momentarily pushing his face out of its hiding spot, which was the crook of your neck and seeing his beautiful hazel eyes red rimmed is really killing you. You wish you could take away the pain but sadly, there's nothing you can really do except for listening to him vent out his anger and frustration. "Like, why does everyone always choose Grayson over me? Why am I never good enough, Y/N?"

The words he speaks and the way he speaks them, looking so shattered like he actually believes he's any short of perfect, just makes you want to cradle him in your arms and tell him about all the different ways he makes your heart skip and speed from his mere presence. You would open up and tell him how just his name can make heat rush to your cheeks and how his deep voice can awaken goosebumps on your skin. He touches you and your skin tingles, he laughs and your face splits into a grin, he is happy and you feel like all the problems in the world are solved. You worship the ground Ethan walks on, you look at him like he hung the moon and stars in the sky. And if telling him all these things and a lot more could help with the pain he's feeling right now, you would tell him right now. But you know it won't help him. He doesn't want your love.

He wants someone else.

"Can I ask you something? Promise you'll be honest?"

You nod.

"Why does no one ever love me?" Ethan sighs, his head falling against his pillow now instead of your neck.

"People love you, E! What are you talking about? Your mom loves you, your sister loves you, your twin loves you and your dad and your fans-"

Ethan cuts you off with a click of his tongue, "But they are family-and what do you think, I don't know that mom and dad liked Grayson more than me? Cameron says that she prefers Grayson over me and so do the fans-"

"I love you, Ethan." There, you say it. You look him right in the eye while saying it too, so that he has no doubt in his head that you absolutely mean it. Your confession is followed by silence. Ethan looks at you as you look right back and try to look calm even when your heart is going crazy inside your chest. Yeah, you've said the words here and there in passing, but this time you don't mean it in a platonic way. "And I will always choose you over anyone." Even myself, sometimes.

Another tear escapes Ethan's eyes, causing him to finally tear his gaze away and wipe the lone tear away with his thumb. He is quiet again, leading you to wonder if you shouldn't have said what you just did. Your heart sounds like it's beating in your throat, making it that much harder to think rationally and not go into a panic attack.

But before you can begin to beat yourself over this in your head, Ethan speaks up. "That's different, Y/N."

And maybe it's something about the way he avoids looking into your eyes when he says it or it's the way he says it, almost sounding like he meant to say, "That's not enough, Y/N" instead of going for the slightly softer words that he decided to go with at the last minute. Either of the things are the reason your heart just went splat on the expensive floor of Ethan's bedroom and shattered into so many tiny pieces that it will be difficult for you to gather them again when it's time for you to go back home.

Probably the biggest slap you've ever received from the man you love with every fiber of your being.

Because even though he didn't say the exact words, you know he just told you loud and clear that the love you're offering to give him is not enough because your love is not what he wants. Your love can not hold a candle to the love he could have gotten from Bella.

Because Bella is charming and adventurous. She is kind and humble, sweet and innocent, yet holds the talent of being sassy enough to hand Ethan's ass to him when required. She is grace and she is beauty, immense beauty. The kind of beauty that makes a person stop in their track and turn to look. The kind of beauty that one sees on the canvas of an ancient painter, the kind of beauty that poets write ballads upon ballads about. She is the stars to Ethan's moon.

And you? You're just Y/N. Simple, plain Y/N who likes simple, plain things. You are the kind of person Ethan describes as boring then how did you expect him to love you back? Yes, you've been friends for a major part of your lives, but that's all he's ever seen you as.

A friend is all you are ever going to be.

It is at this exact moment that you see your entire future rolling before your eyes like a movie. You see Ethan dating countless girls while you stay to the side, until he finally comes across his forever girl. Oh, he'll be so excited while telling you about her and you'll suppress your urge to break down in front of his, being a good friend, you'll listen to his every word and encourage him to get the girl.

Ethan will get the girl of his dreams, they will be the it couple. Both so heart breakingly beautiful and equally amazing people. Ethan will be happy with her and he'll make sure to keep her happy. After few years of dating, they will get married. You, of course, will be invited. Your tears will fall when you'd find the wedding invitation in your mail box one day because you're still not over Ethan Dolan, as pathetic as that sounds. And you will contemplate burning the damn thing because there's no way you'll go. But at the last minute, you do decide to go, just to see Ethan for one last time. To see how he really looks in the attire of a Groom because you used to day dream about having him be your groom.

You'll make sure you look extra beautiful that day because this is Ethan's wedding and Ethan deserves everything to be and look the best on his big day. You'll eventually see him standing at the alter, looking like the prince of those fairytails your grandma used to tell you. He would look so handsome and so happy that you'd feel your heart tightening in your chest, both from the pain and the happiness. Atleast he'll be happy.

And then will come the bride in all her glory, looking like a million bucks in her beautiful white gown, carrying the most beautiful bouquet of flowers in her pretty hands. You will watch Ethan's face light up at the sight of her and maybe he would tear up a little bit, earning a chuckle and a clap on the back from his brother and best man. He would mouth the words, "You're beautiful" as she'll come and stand in front of him and she will blush, smiling under her veil.

You will sit back and watch the whole ceremony go by, just hoping to catch his gaze just once but he will be too busy gazing at his beautiful bride. They say the vows, exchange rings and he is finally allowed to lift the veil and kiss his wife. As everyone else in the room would cheer and clap, you'd force yourself to look away. He officially will belong to someone else. No one maybes anymore. You'll be too torn apart to attend the reception and Ethan would only get to know of your attendance at his wedding from Lisa and the gift you left behind for the new Mr. And Mrs. Dolan.

Maybe that would be the last time you'd see him or maybe you'd still be too foolish to stay away. Maybe you'll still be in his life when he's about to become a father, you will be one of the last ones to know because you surely won't as important to Ethan as he is to you. He'll be so happy about the news and you'll try to display the same level of enthusiasm for him when he tells you, but your heart would hurt so much watching someone else living the dreams that you saw for yourself.

"Can I at least be the Godmother?" You'd ask pathetically, eyes glossy with tears and voice weak and on the verge of breaking.

Ethan would hold a look of guilt in his eyes when he'd reply with, "I'll ask the missus about that."

The baby will be born, looking like the perfect mixture of his father and mother. You'd get a picture sent to you accompanied by a happy voicemail from the new dad, but that's all you'd get. Of course you won't be the Godmother because the actual mother has a best friend that is better qualified for that role.

What next? You'll be invited to the first birthday party of the little Dolan and again, against your better judgement, you'll go. When you'll show up, his wife would be looking like a goddess in her white flowy dress and Ethan would be by her side wearing an all white tuxedo because that's exactly what a new father doesn't know to do at his child's first birthday party. He'll be happier than ever, greeting guests and playing with his little one. He'll spot you from a distance and come greet you with a beaming smile that would still be too painful for you to watch and he'd hug you for too short of a time. Before you can properly catch up, he'll be whisked away by his wife because she'll need his help with something and he'll be there for her, being the great husband that he will be.

You'll find some alcohol and sit at the last table at the end of the yard and drink by yourself. And when it's time to cut the cake, You'll hover by the back of the crowd gathered around the table the baby is getting cake all over her and her daddy's outfits. You'll feel an irresistible urge to push through everyone and dampen a towel to wipe all the chocolate cake off of Ethan's suit but you'll force yourself to stay in the back, because by the time the though came into your mind, his wife is already taking off his jacket and wiping off his tie with a damp cloth that she already had prepared, because she will be a good mom and a good wife.

You'll again slip past everyone just like you did at their wedding and even though Grayson saw you, he wouldn't stop you from leaving because he, along with everyone else would know what you still feel for Ethan. You'll still receive invitations to birthday parties that you'll never go to and phone calls that you'll never accept, but that is the price you have to pay for entertaining the idea that Ethan could ever be yours.

"Y/N?" Ethan's voice brings you out of your depressing thoughts and you look down at him. "Its late, I think you should head home."

This always happens. Whenever Ethan feels sad or doesn't want to talk to anyone, You're usually the one to crack open his shell and let him vent. It takes some time, but he does open up and once he's taken out all his anger at the universe or cried to his hearts content, or ranted about anything and everything, he asks you very politely, to get out. Just like he has right now. It might not be his intention to make you feel used and thrown away, but that's exactly what you are left to feel at the end of all this.

You're used to this, you don't know why it still hurts so bad.

"Yeah," you nod with a smile, getting out of his bed and slipping your feet into your shoes, "I'm feeling sleepy anyway,"

Telling that blatant lie and passing Ethan one last fake smile, you walk out of his room. Once you close the door after you, you take a moment to collect yourself before you walk out and face Grayson. You don't want him to see you're basically breaking from the inside. You take a deep, shaky breath, straighten your spine, make sure you wipe under your eyes and paste a small smile on your face as you walk into a living room.

As expected, Grayson hasn't gone to bed despite it being way later than what he's used to. Seeing you, he rushes to his feet in an instant, searching your face for any signs that you might have failed in getting to Ethan to talk.

"Is he okay?" Grayson asks as you walk further into the room.

"Yeah." You sigh, finally feeling the emotional exhaustion catching up when you sit down and slump on the couch. "He was-" you sigh again, "very upset."

Now it's Grayson's turn to sigh. "Yeah, I know."

"But he's fine now, cried a little," a lot. You correct in your head, recalling the half an hour that he spent crying into your neck. You don't want to tell Grayson that because you know he'll worry. His brother doesn't cry easily, especially over a girl. "I think he's rode out the worst, though."

"Is he awake-" Grayson stands up, "Can I go see him?"

"I think you should wait till the morning, Gray." Your words make him sit back down and your monotonous voice makes him look at you with a frown between his brows. Grayson's eyes search your face the way he does when he's trying to read someone, he does that a lot. When you notice he's doing that again, you look away. "And I think you should sleep too, you look really tired."

"And you?" Grayson inquires quietly.

You flash him a quick smile before getting up on your feet, "I'm leaving."

Grayson frowns, "No, it's too late, Y/N, sleep in the guestr-"

"Nah, I uh, I can head home-"

"Y/N, what's wrong?" Grayson now stands up to his full height, towering over you as his thumb and index finger tilt up your face, "Did Ethan say something."

The pure concern in Grayson's voice has never made you tear up, but today it does. You press your lips together to stop them from trembling and look away from his eyes to hide your glossy ones, before shaking your head.

Grayson doesn't believe you for a second, but he knows better than to push you when you don't want to tell him. "Alright then, let me drive you at least."

"I came in my car, G." You respond to him, taking steps away from him so he is unable to see that you're on the verge of bawling your eyes out. Ethan could at least offer for you to stay the night like Grayson did, but no, even that is too much for you to ask from him. "And you go sleep, your eyes are red and puffy."

"Your eyes are red and puffy," Grayson can't help but cut back. Grayson and you have been best friends for as long as Ethan and you have and while Ethan is the love of your life, Grayson is the male version of you. You are very close with him, he basically is like the brother you never had so it's obvious he hates it when you are in pain, even more so when you hide it. "You know you can't lie to me, right? And you do know that I know, right Y/N?"

You sigh, "Gray-"

"When are you gonna tell him?" Grayson's voice is demanding, like he's daring you to try and lie to his face again, "How long are you going to keep letting him look around and get his heart broken when the right girl is in front of-"

"I have a feeling that he already knows, Grayson." You cut him off sharply, your eyes never leaving his as you speak, "I think he knows and I think he doesn't feel the same way."

Grayson watches as you stand there, not avoiding eye contact this time. It's like you're challenging him to disagree with you. He doesn't try to though because he knows nothing he says will make you change your mind. It's tragic, seeing how much someone loves his brother and not letting said brother know about it, because he thinks that if Ethan knew, the whole story would be different.

"Good night, Gray. Sleep tight."

Grayson watches you open the door and walk out of the house. You walk to your car that's parked beside Ethan's and slide in. The engines come to life a minute later. He stands where he was and watches you until your car is out of sight. Then, he sighs and with a heavy heart, walks into his room. He really wishes he could do something about the Ethan and Y/N situation. He knows that they are both hurting and he wishes he could help, but that's in his nature. Grayson has always been the helper ever since he was a toddler and he hates it when he can't fix things. But just like he dad once told him when he was younger, he can't fix everything and he doesn't have to feel bad about it.

But he knows that Ethan won't be sleeping tonight and neither will you, he knows that you denied him from driving you home because you would be crying in your car right now and you need privacy for doing that. He also knows that you would be crying and hurting all night long and he probably won't see your face for a week because you'll need that time to heal before you can face ethan again. It's because he knows those things that he feels bad about not being able to fix them.

If only he could fix them.

A few feet away from Grayson's room, his elder brother lays wide awake, looking up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. Ethan feels better after talking to Y/N, he always feels better after talking to her. But she looked sad when she left. Try as he might, he can't get the image of her face as she was putting on her shoes and leaving his room, out of his mind. She did try to flash him a smile, but he saw right through it. He also saw her eyes getting redder.

Ethan hates hurting Y/N. He really hates it. And yet, that's exactly what he always ends up doing. He doesn't know what he does that hurts her, if he did, he would stop doing that immediately. But he also knows that she won't tell him if he asked her. She doesn't even look him in the eye anymore. Whenever he is in her presence, he wishes he could read minds, or just her mind specifically.

Sighing, he groans and turns his body to lay on his side, searching for a comfortable position so he can shut his brain for the night and go to sleep. He blindly reaches for his 'cuddle pillow' as he likes to call it and presses it to his chest, wrapping it in his strong arms. The second he does that, he smells Y/N. Her scent lingers on his cuddle pillow because she was laying on it when she was here. This little thing makes him smile and rub his face against his pillow lovingly.

He was so comfortable and relaxed when he had her in his arms, even when his face was buried in her neck. He feels almost the same way cuddling the pillow just because it smells like her. Why did he ask her to go home in the first place?

Yes, she says she doesn't sleep well on any bed that isn't her own but maybe she would have liked Ethan's arms? He remembers her falling asleep on his shoulder so many times when they go on a road trip and Grayson's driving, she even slept on him in a movie theator once. Gosh, he should have asked her to stay.

That way, he would hold her and comfort her get her to feel better like she did him. She always does this, she comes in and takes away Ethan's troubles and leaves feeling sad herself. She never let's him help.

He twists and turns again, sighing in annoyance at not being able to sleep. Then, he reaches for his phone and opens it to see the time, hoping that it's not too late to go to Y/N's. If she doesn't like to sleep in anyone's bed, he can go over to hers because he doesn't have a problem in sleeping in her bed. His sleep isn't really affected by location, Ethan Dolan can crash anywhere if he's feeling sleepy, and sleeping with his best friend in his arms sounds like an awesome idea right now.

But according to his phone, it's already 4:48 in the morning and Y/N must already be fast asleep. Groaning, Ethan slams his phone down on the mattress beside him and turns on his side again, hoping and praying for sleep to come.

And it finally does. He is curled up in a ball, draping his blanket up to his chin. His arms are wrapped around his cuddle pillow and Y/N's scent on it makes a smile appear on his face even as he sleeps.

Meanwhile, the girl whose scent made him fall asleep, cries and cries until her eyes are hurting and her throat his scratchy. She doesn't remember when she fell asleep exactly because the last thing she remembers is pulling up a picture of Ethan on her phone, her favourite picture of Ethan that he sent her when he was in New Jersey for Christmas holidays, and weeping while gazing at his smiling face.

When she wakes up the next day, her eyes are so puffy, it's hard to open them and her phone still displays Ethan's smiling face just like it did the night before.

[ashisbaeee]

how about a blurb of Tom meeting his ex!reader at the diner she works at and they talk about how they want to get back together? you can choose the ending, whether it’s angst of fluff.

A/N: here ya go, thanks for this request! as you can probably guess, I got carried away with this prompt as well, haha. anyways, I hope you like it :)

___________________________

Your break up with Tom had proved to be a rather difficult one. It’s been about 4 months since you’ve last spoken and seen him. You don’t remember the cause of your fight. Looking back, it was probably a pretty stupid one. All you remember from that night was words being said out of anger and annoyance. He had said some things, you had said some things. It was now a  battle of words, who would be the one to say the most hurtful things. 

He won that battle. You constantly replayed his last words to you.

<flashback>

“You don’t appreciate all that I’ve done for you. You’re a bloody nobody; you should be grateful you’re even seen with me in public. You should be grateful for all the opportunities that came your way because of me! You’re such a drag to be with. Do you understand that other girls, far more deserving than you would literally kill to be in your place? I could have any girl I want and yet here I am stuck with you. What a complete and utter waste of time. Everyone was right about you. ”

You remember opening your mouth to spew more insults at him, but you didn’t. It took you a moment to fully comprehend and absorb, realizing the sheer magnitude of his words. 

“bloody nobody” 

“such a drag”

“I could have any girl I want and yet here I am stuck with you”

“utter waste of time”

Ouch. That really hurt. 

You sharply inhaled, not realizing you were holding your breath. Your body began to physically shake. His words really taking its toll on you. He waited for your rebuttal. He waited to see what your words would be and would it have been as hurtful as his. 

You stood across him, looking down at the ground. 

Your sudden silence brought his attention from the ground and up towards you. 

He saw your change in posture, he took in your appearance. He saw your body physically shaking, he saw your watery eyes and red face. 

He realized the intensity of his words. Just as he was about to walk up to you, you held your hand out, forcing him to stop in his tracks. 

“Y-you’re right. I am a bloody nobody. You shouldn’t have wasted all of your time with me. Go find a grateful girl who’d love to be with you. You have girls waiting in line for a chance to meet and date you, so why don’t you get to it. If you were really feeling this way you should’ve just told me so we didn’t have to waste all this time” you spoke, barely a whisper as you turned your heel, making your way to the door. 

“Y/N, darling, wait, please. Don’t leave. ‘M so sorry.”

“Just stop Tom, you’ve said what you needed to say and that’s that. There’s no taking back what you said. I’ll get the rest of my things later during the week I guess” you grabbed your purse and sneakers as you made your way out of what was your shared home. 

A week later, you came back. He hoped that you returned to talk about the fight, thought that you just needed time apart to cool off, but much to his dismay, you came back to do exactly what you  said, that you were coming to collect your things. He prayed that during the time spent apart you would both cool off and want to fix the wrongs, to apologize for the words you both had said. But that didn’t happen. Things didn’t go as how he’d hoped. 

“Y/N, please, please don’t do this. Can we please talk about it? I want to properly apologize for what happened. I’m sorry I was so stubborn and that I didn’t do so earlier. This past week has been hell. 5 minutes, that’s all I’m asking. Please, just hear me out”

“Just please. Please Tom. I’m begging you, just stop. Please don’t make this harder than it already is.” 

Despite his pleas, you continued to pack your things. 

You completed the task in record time. 

As you held the doorknob to the front door, you turned around to look him in the eyes. 

“I’m sorry for wasting your time. I hope you do find the girl that’s right for you. Bye Tom, take care. 

<end of flashback>

That was 4 months ago. Your heart still hurts but you had to move on. As much as you had wanted to lay in bed and wallow in your heartbreak and sorrow, you knew you couldn’t. You had returned home. You moved into an apartment of your own, albeit it was pretty tiny but it seemed just perfect for you. You went back to your job at the diner, the owner and your friends happy of your return. 

You had just finished the lunch rush hour, so now things were a bit slow. The bell had rang, signaling that a customer had just walked in. 

As soon as you looked up, you could’ve sworn your heart stopped beating. 

He was here. Tom, your ex, has just arrived here. 

What do you do? Do you run to the back and hide until he leaves? Do you tell one of your coworkers to take his order? You needed to decide quick before he saw you. 

Oops, too late. 

He made his way towards you. 

You had to keep calm and play it cool. You had to act like he was just a regular customer. 

“Welcome, what can I get you?” you spoke 

“5 minutes of your time please, and a coffee with 2 creamers and 3 sugars”

“Coffee, sure, coming right up” you replied before going to make his order. 

You handed him the mug as well as the cream and sugar “here you go, sir”

He thanked you and proceeded to add the sugar and cream to his cup, taking a sip. About a minute later, he spoke up again. 

“Seeing as it’s not as busy, can I please have your attention for 5 minutes? There’s a lot that I’d like to get off my chest. It shouldn’t have waited this long and I apologize for that. I just want to talk to you, just hear me out, please” he practically begged. 

You look over your shoulder to you manager, as if you were asking permission to talk with your ex, she nodded, signaling that it was alright. 

Sighing deeply, you spoke.

“5 minutes, and nothing more. So I suggest you get started” 

“Oh okay, thanks. I know that there are no words to express how sorry I truly am. I don’t remember what actually caused the fight, but it’s irrelevant at this point. All I’m saying is that I know it got way out of hand. What I said was out of line. Please, you have to believe me, I did not mean a single word that came out of my mouth. You are not a nobody, you are somebody. Somebody that was so special to me, who meant the absolute world. Somebody who I saw a future with; someone that I was going to marry and have a family with. I don’t care about the line of girls waiting. They’re not who I want. Who I want in this entire world is sitting 2 feet in front of me. I know I had hurt her but I promise that if given another chance I would make things right. I would show her how much she really means to me. And how I was stupid to  say those words and make her think otherwise. I know that she is by far the best thing that has ever happened to me. My life without you has been boring. I am nothing without you, you don’t know how happy I am when I’m with you. I am going to be a bit selfish and go out on a limb here and just ask you straight up. Do you think we can give us another go?”

Silence. You both fell into an awkward silence. 

You pondered his question. Did you want to be together again?

“Tom, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry for the words I had said during the fight months ago. I’m so sorry. But I don’t think I can. Even if I did want to try us again, I would constantly replay your words. Those words are forever ingrained in my memory. I appreciate your apology but I just can’t forget your words and act like it never happened. These past 4 months have been difficult for me as well, but I had reestablished my life here. I can’t just uproot and go back to you at the drop of a hat. Maybe we can be friends in the future or something. But me and you, no, I don’t that will ever happen again. I truly appreciate your apology. And I truly wish you the best in everything you do. I hope that one day you meet someone special, someone who you’d want to spend the rest of your life with. I’m sorry, but I have to get back to work. Take care of yourself Tom.” 

You stood up from the booth and fixed your apron. He got up as well and gave a small smile. 

You inched closer to him and gave him a hug, he enveloped you in his arms as he held you tightly. He gave you a small nod and proceeded out the door. 

You watched him as he left, until his figure no longer in your line of vision. You returned back to work, one thing stuck in your mind. 

Did you make the right choice?

[artificialqueens]

How Far I'll Go - Part 2 (Nina West/Monet X Change) - Meggie, Mia Ugly

A/N: We have reworked Chapter One to reflect the events of the S11 reunion, so you may want to give it a reread. Can we FIX IT? Yes we can. 

(TW: REUNION SPOILERS)

Nina is in Columbus on the day he gets the call.

It’s his last show before Drag Con. He’s already going through dog-withdrawal. His boys will be fine of course but he fucking hates leaving them; as soon as he starts packing a suitcase they know something’s up and it breaks his heart.

Anyway. He’s glad to spend his last night at home in one of his favourite places in the world, surrounded by the people he loves. It’s only been a few days since the finale and reunion, and Nina’s feeling a bit raw about everything. He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t looked at Monet’s number in his phone several dozen times, contemplated what he could say to make his behaviour the morning after acceptable. The only things that come to his mind are lies (family emergency! food poisoning! traumatic brain injury after falling in the shower!) and Nina doesn’t do that. Much.

So.

It’s either own up and confess how he was feeling, or - pretend that number in his phone doesn’t exist. Maybe stare at it from time to time, sighing (before reminding himself that it was just one night and didn’t mean anything anyway). And then sigh some more and distract himself with peanut butter straight from the jar. You know - whatever results in the least amount of dignity possible.

Anyway.

The reunion is going to air tomorrow night, but Nina’s going to be on a plane as it happens. That’s fine, he knows how it all went down, and he doesn’t really need to see Brooke and Vanjie’s shy little love story unfold (and ultimately self-destruct) once again. He saw it all already, and firsthand. Picked up the pieces of Brooke’s shattered heart and whip-stitched them back together as best he could while the other chain-smoked and wallowed in denial and blame.

Nina’s sitting in the dressing room, paint mostly on but not in his dress (he’s doing “Let It Go” from Frozen with a full-on ice queen reveal because it’s been that kind of a month. Maybe he’s coming for Brooke’s gig, but maybe not.), and scrolling through Instagram when an unfamiliar number flashes white on the screen.

He’s used to this. The charity work means somehow a lot of people get his number - it’s not ideal, but it makes the work he’s doing worth it so he deals.  He’ll deal.

He slides his thumb across the screen, plasters on his best smile (it’s easier to be nice to people when you’re smiling), greets them with a cheery, “Hello!”

“Nina, this is Maya with World of Wonder. How are you this evening?”

His heart leaps to his throat. What could they want with him now? There are still two episodes of the show left to air, but publicity is almost all died down. And calling him instead of his manager?

“Good. Great!” he chokes out. “I’m… How are you?”

“Fine, thank you. I’m calling because I’d like to formally invite you to participate in season five of RuPaul’s Drag Race All Stars.”

The world? Stops. His heart? Pounds. His brain? Freezes.

All Stars . Another chance. Redemption.

“Yes!” he says immediately, too quickly, too enthusiastically, as soon as he can make his mouth work again. “Yes! When?”

On the other end of the line, Maya laughs, high and clear.

“Yay, that was an easy sell. We’re excited to have you back! We’ll be filming in late July, and you’ll receive further instructions by email. But please do remember that the terms of your verbal contract start now, so no one other than your emergency contact will be allowed to know you are participating. Reach out if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you!”

“Looking forward to seeing you again, Nina. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

And with a click, she’s gone. But Nina’s entire world has shifted on its axis. He just stands there in front of the mirror, unable to move, unable to think.

All Stars.

When they’d first asked him about it, way back in January when the Season 11 girls had first started doing promos, he’d given them a tentative yes.  He knew how big the platform was and wanted to make the most of it. But he’d also… not wanted to count his chickens, or something. You never know how America (or the world) will react to you (just ask Silky).  Maybe it’s vain, but Nina had wanted to see if they liked him, really liked him - like he’d hoped they would.

He couldn’t have imagined AOC going live to protest his elimination. Or Leslie Jones being so angry (he really does hope someone sent her a box of cookies) or Rihanna (Rihanna!) coming to his defense after that controversial lip-sync. Then his Miss Congeniality win. It was almost too much all at once.

He’d also figured they meant an All Stars far, far away. Like. Season eight. Or nine. Maybe even ten (if he’s still able to stomp around in heels without a walker at that point). Right after his own season? A pipe dream.

But it’s here, and it’s happening, and he’d be foolish not to take the opportunity that was presented to him. It’s the ultimate redemption story, and look at how beloved the All Stars winners are.

He ticks through them in his head: Chad, Alaska, Trixie, Trinity, Monet…

There, he falters. He usually just tries not to think about Monet, glowing golden and dripping in sequins and body silky smooth against his own. Best not to dwell when there isn’t any peanut butter in sight.

But who needs peanut butter when you’re an All Star?

He giggles, straight up lets a gleeful laugh reverberate through his chest and up through his nose and spread like honey, coating every surface in the small dressing room. Just once though, before he falls silent again. Studies his reflection in the mirror.

He might be in shock.

“Nina, you okay?” The evening’s MC (Luz, lovely person, really involved in the trans youth movement) is looking at him curiously from the doorway of the dressing room.

Nina blinks.  The phone is still in his hand. He knew this was a possibility, of course.  Just - you don’t know until you know - you know? Part of the reason he’s gotten this far (he always tells himself) is that he never assumes anything is a certainty.  He always counts on having to fight his way those last few feet to the finish line.

“Nina?”

“I’m in All Stars,” Nina says.

“What?” Luz squeaks, and Nina stumbles forward, grabbing her arm.

“I’m in All Stars.”

The other queens in the greenroom turn their heads in unison at the statement.

“I’m in All Stars,” Nina says again.

The queens stalk over to him with their hands on their hips, heels clicking in synchronized stomps on the linoleum floor.

And then Nina can hear music. (When did he put on his gown?) A brass band, a string section.  And the queens start singing:

“Nina West you’re going places

Always knew you’d make it far

Nina West you got that phone call

You are our All Star!”

“I am!” Nina gasps as he’s lifted up by the queens and carried out into the middle of the club. The dance floor is crowded but somehow the patrons are making a circle around him, moving in perfect rhythm.

“Nina West, sent home too early

Still e-lev-en-gendary.

Time to show the world you’re more than

Miss Congeniality!”

A group of drag kings by the pool table start spinning their cues over their heads like batons (so much talent in this community!)

“Brought camp to the masses, ” they sing in baritone.

Brought pride to our town,

We can’t wait to see you

Wearing that All Stars crown!”

“Thank you!” Nina is set down on the stage. Glitter starts falling from the ceiling, catching in his wig and eyelashes.

“Love you all,” he sings alone to the enraptured crowd, “you are my family,

I’ll make you proud and do my best.

We can change the world together

Go big, be kind, go West!”

“Go West!” the crowd sings back.

“Go Wessssssst!” Nina hits a perfect falsetto high note, throwing his arms open -

“Nina.”

Nina waves at the cheering crowd -

“Nina!”

Glitter keeps falling like snowflakes, ice cold and shimmering -

“Nina.  You okay?” Luz, the evening’s MC, is staring at him in the doorway of the greenroom.

Nina looks at her. There is no glitter in his eyelashes. There is no music playing in the background. Over his shoulder, a couple of bored local queens are penciling on their eyebrows. He’s wearing an old t-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts and not the shimmering blue Elsa gown.

He’s still holding his cellphone in his hand.

“Um,” Nina says. “Yep.”

*****

Nina talks to Brooke a lot.

It makes sense; they’ve been friends for a long time, they really bonded during their season, Nina helped Brooke through his breakup with Vanjie (although Brooke insisted at the time he was fine. Still does, actually. Nina has his own theories about that, but he isn’t pushing).

So yeah. They chat. A lot.

And all Nina wants to do is tell Brooke about his All Stars call, but he can’t because of the damn NDA.

It’s frustrating.

They meet for breakfast early on the first day of Drag Con, Brooke in his customary black and white, Nina in a navy blue button up spotted with pink flamingos (it felt right).

They’ve no sooner settled into the booth and given their orders than Nina’s knee starts bouncing. Nerves. Anxiety. (Yes - both.)

“What’s with you?” Brooke asks while he sips his coffee. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this worked up.”

Nina shrugs. “Nervous about the Con, I guess.”

“And?” Brooke’s eyes narrow.

“ And?”

“And what else?” He stirs another packet of sugar into the cup. “I know you. It’s not like you to be nervous about a networking opportunity.”

Nina scoffs. “Drag Con is way more than just a networking opportunity and I -”

“You’re a bad fucking liar. Takes one to know one.” Brooke leans his elbows on the table, cool as a Canadian autumn, presses his fingertips together, stares Nina down. “What’s going on?”

Nina sighs. “I wish I could tell you, trust me, it’s not that I don’t want to; it’s that I literally can’t.” He widens his eyes, hoping maybe Brooke will get the point.

Apparently it works, because after a few moments, recognition blooms across Brooke’s face and he laughs. “Really? Like. Officially really?”

Nina nods. This is okay, right? He’s not technically breaking the contract. It’s not like he told Brooke anything verbally.

“Nina! That’s - oh my god!” Then Brooke is busily tapping away at his phone and a sense of dread overcomes Nina.

“You can’t tell anybody - “

Brooke waves him off. “I’m just telling Vanjie.”

Okay, that’s - something to come back to certainly, but - more pressing matters first. “Brooke, seriously. You can’t tell anybody. I’m not supposed to tell anybody.”

“You didn’t.” Brooke shrugs. Good to know at least they share the same sentiment about verbal contracts. That might come in handy during litigation. “I figure the House of West has a lot of prove, and you’ve never backed down from a challenge. So I know you’ll bring it and… I just kind of wanted to give the competition a heads up.” He bites his lip and waits for Nina to process.

And - look, it takes him a minute. Because it’s really a lot of information at one time.

Item 1: Brooke and Vanjie are still close. He knew that. Everybody with Twitter and Instagram knew. (Hell, for a little while, even Nina wasn’t 100% sure they weren’t still together.) Close enough for Vanessa to tell Brooke about an All Stars call when legally sworn to utmost secrecy?

Yeah, actually, that tracks. Vanjie’s shit at keeping secrets, and he’s still indescribably in love with Brooke, only an idiot (like Brooke) wouldn’t see that. So. Do the math.

Item 2: Vanjie is back back back on Drag Race. For the third season in a row. And the bitch can turn it. Nina doubts very much there will be 47 swimsuits, pasties, panties, and bras this time around. He’s a little intimidated, if he’s being quite honest.

Okay, so it’s really only two points of information, but it’s two very large points that have a big, pointy impact on his life. Which leads to:

Item 1: Nina had been relieved and happy when Brooke and Vanessa were able to start talking again after the breakup. They’d been using him as a middle man - a mediator, he preferred (far less tacky) - and although he loved them both, it was exhausting. And he could only say, “I think you should just talk to him and not me,” so many times before he got frustrated. But he had persevered and eventually, Brooke had texted Vanjie and they’d started to repair their friendship.

Go figure that. Nina’s inner saboteur is back, has been back since the night of the finale taping, the night he spent with Monet. He hates it. Wishes he could cut into himself and carve it out like a cancer. Adults talking through their issues and handling shit. Who knew it was possible?

So he should have texted Monet. Fine - it’s fine. Water under the… thing.

Item 2: Who else is on All Stars? If Nina’s being really honest, he’s been on cloud nine about the whole thing, and hasn’t given much thought to who else could be competing. He has his dream cast, of course, and a long list of Ru girls he’d love to work with. But the thought of competing against the Very Best of the Very Best is… Well, he’s shook. To say the least.

His face must convey it because Brooke reaches across the table and takes his hand. “Hey. You deserve this, Nina.”

He nods, tears hot in his eyes, and wills himself not to cry. “I bet you told Vanjie the same thing,” he says, voice catching a bit in his throat.

“I did.” Brooke laughs, unashamed of his affection, even when it’s blinding. “I also told him he was crazy for doing three seasons in a row but…” He holds out his hands, shrugs, as if to say it isn’t his responsibility anymore. Nina knows he’s probably right, but deep down he suspects that Brooke and Vanjie are far more entangled than they like to think, and Brooke’s opinion means more to Vanessa than either one of them will care to admit.

Relationships are messy.

Anyway.

“Do you think I should have said no?” Nina asks,  afraid for the answer. “Taken a break? Focused on the charity? Ridden the first-year wave a little longer?”

“Hell no!” Brooke responds immediately. “Take the opportunity. People fucking adore you, Nina. Plus, look at Monet! She won right after her season so. It can be done.”

Nina considers, briefly, telling Brooke about the whole tangled Monet thing. Decides, instead, to deflect. “So, um. That guy you took back to your room after the finale… the beardo… character.  How is… that going?”

Brooke raises an eyebrow at him. “This is really what you want to talk about right now?”

“It’s just good to see you moving on.” (Is it though? Is it really?)

Brooke rolls his eyes and smiles into his coffee. “What about you? Any romance on the horizon for Nina West?”

“No.” Nina snorts. “It’s been…” Three days, eight hours, and - he glances at his watch - one minute. Approximately. Not that he’s counting. “A while. Let’s just say a while.”

Brooke’s mouth quirks to the side and his left eye twitches the tiniest bit. “Well.” He places his mug on the table and smiles at Nina. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities on tour. We’ll get you on Tinder and Grindr! Trade in every city, Nina.”

Actually, Nina usually prefers to go back to his room and shower for about 45 minutes before collapsing into bed and sleeping until his alarm goes off the next morning. Finding someone to sleep with and then actually fucking them? That seems exhausting. Better to let Brooke take that one on himself (seems like that’s his preferred coping strategy).

And Nina is in no place to judge coping strategies, so despite any - concerns he might feel (the lines beneath Brooke’s eyes, the nicotine stains on his hands, that thing he does with his face that makes Nina want to hug him) he keeps his mouth shut.

He’s getting awfully good at the whole not-speaking-up thing. It’s not his best look. Not at all.

*****

On the air-conditioned floors of Drag Con, Nina gets to shake hands and hug people from all across the country, children to teenagers to tiny old grannies with walkers. It’s a completely surreal and humbling experience; he can’t get over the way it feels to have people know his name, people thank him for doing something that he loves.

And he gets to meet up again with so many of the queens he’s crazy about, queens he never thought would give a shit about him. It’s so nice seeing Adore again, she’s exactly the kind of person he wishes he had the guts to be when he was her age. And Peppermint is everything and Miss Fame is like an actual goddess in person as well as on television and then there’s James St. James -  it’s a lot.

It almost feels like a trip to Disneyland but gayer (a bit) and with more neuroses.

There’s a weird moment with Miz Cracker, which is unexpected –Nina’s been a stan since Season 10, watches her recaps religiously.  He didn’t think they were going to be best friends or anything (all right, maybe he thought they’d get there eventually) but when he introduces himself she basically stares right through him, says nothing, and starts to walk away. Luckily Vanjie is with her, so Nina embraces him to dissipate the awkward tension. He and Vanjie have a mini-meltdown over how in love they are with each other, and after Cracker is well out of earshot, Vanjie gives Nina a look.

“She feeling some type of way about you, hey? You steal her man or something?”

“Absolutely not.” Nina’s a bit hurt – he was legitimately excited about meeting Cracker – but she’s entitled to an off day. Or to just plain not like him (though who doesn’t like him? He’s bloody endearing, like a Labrador puppy).

Anyway, not to overdo the animal comparisons, but water off a duck’s back.

He doesn’t see Monet at the Con. Which is - probably for the best. Nina doesn’t avoid him but - he doesn’t go looking for him either. And really, he barely gets a moment to sneak away from his booth, so it isn’t like he’s a total garbage person. He doesn’t throw himself to the ground or anything at the sight of Monet coming toward him, his life hasn’t yet reached the level of pure farce.

It’s barely been a week anyway; Nina’s still figuring out how to appropriately apologize (appropriately apologize without coming across like a pathetic sad-sack who has maybe thought about that night a bit more than could be considered ‘casual’).

So. Space. Time. Possibly a time machine. All or any of them will work.

The Con ends on a high note and Nina basically goes on tour immediately after, doing a lot of PR for the season and his albums. In New York he finally meets Leslie Jones and loses his mind. He kind of floats through the next two months, lets himself be buoyed up by the love and support of his community, lets it erase the insecurities that wound like thorns around his heart after Season 11.

He travels, he makes people laugh. It’s what he’s good at. It’s how he’s survived.

When he’s not working, he’s practicing his sewing and designing and bribing his witchy seamstress friends into helping him put some new looks together. Somehow the days tick by too quickly. Spring ends, and summer breaks scalding over Ohio. Nina’s packing up his bags and hugging people goodbye and crying ( not really, but just don’t look at him for a minute) over his dogs.

And getting on a plane to L.A.

Being on set is familiar but also kind of panic inducing. Nina didn’t realize how differently he carried himself when he was getting ready to be filmed until his spine straightened helplessly and he suddenly realized he had arms. His body remembers how intense this experience was (is) even if his brain doesn’t.

He’s dressed in a (non-copyright infringing) version of Woody from Toy Story, sequined and cinched and proportionized, just like Michelle would want. Maya the P.A. hugs him, introduces him to the sound guy who hooks up his microphone, taping it just under Nina’s neckline (“At least buy me dinner first!” Nina says with a shrill, nervous laugh, and the sound guy doesn’t even flinch, clearly having heard it before. Nina may actually have said the same thing last season. It - might also have been the same sound guy).

“You ready?”

Nina is ready. He adjusts her cowboy hat, shifts her fringed leather belt and the sequined holsters for her bubble guns.

Then the lights are on him, and the cameras are rolling, and Nina pulls down the shutters on his insecurity (make ‘em laugh, it’s what he does).

“Hey y’all. I’m here to show you how the West was Won.”

Nina West struts into the werkroom, bubble guns at the ready, and the rest is herstory.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Hey, uhhh I know its been a while that you wrote something for them but could you please write something for Valtor/Icy where Valtor had been in love with her since he first saw her but thought it was unrequited? I die for the idea that he is despereatly in love and thinks he isnt good enough for her. In the final battle she stays with him, they lose anyway and are brought back to the Omega Dimension and Icy frees them again they stay there. Icy falls for him and after some time they confess.

Lmao this is a lot longer than I anticipated making it. It was gonna be a quick drabble. It is not lol.

The land is frigid and cruel, barren and devoid of sympathy. Harsh and merciless. Valtor shivers, it is not unlike the woman he is confined there with. It is no wonder she didn’t seem to mind when they proclaimed that she’d be going back to Omega. But he minded. He still minds. He has not been built for the cold. 

He can imagine that she is having the time of her life, even without the company of her sisters. The two traitors, he can’t help but feel bitter. And twice over that Icy hadn’t abandoned him in battle, but hasn’t sought him out in the Omega dimension. Perhaps it is that she only stayed because she thought that he would win. Now that he has lost, she has written him off completely. 

That she represents him for his miserable failure. 

He finds himself furious with him as well. He let her get too close. He let himself fall. What kind of evil sorcerer has he become, letting his heart run wild? He is a disgrace to himself and he hasn’t even her affections to soften the blow. 

Valtor longs to kick and beat on the ice. Beat on it as though it can knock his affections for the ice witch away.  But he is locked so tightly within it that all he can do is think. Think and wallow in his own brand of self pity. 

Perhaps he could have won if he had betrayed the three of them. Perhaps they had been dead weight with their constant bickering over him--the sort that hindered their progress. 

Perhaps he should have picked one of them to end the banter. 

Perhaps he should have told her.

But somehow he, the great and feared sorcerer, feared the ice witch. Feared the sting of her mockery. Feared a rejection as frigid as her name. 

In his mind he begins to blur the line between love and hate. He hates that he loves her. He hates her in general. But he loves her. He hates her because he loves her and she has left him to suffer while she played in the snow. 

He closes his eyes, it is the one physical action he can muster. He only opens them at the sound of his frosty cage cracking. 

“You truly are useless without me, aren’t you?” It is just the greeting he expects from her. 

“How many snowmen did you build before coming to find me?”

“Seven.” Icy answers dryly and he truly can’t tell if she is being sarcastic or not. 

“What do you want?” He tries to be as cold as she in his demeanor and tone. 

She quirks a brow, “a real man.” She looks around, “haven’t found one yet.” 

Valtor blinks. “I’m a real man.” He nearly sputters. 

“Questionable.” 

He can’t seem to think of a good comeback. Why is it that he never can with her. He thinks that it is because he hasn’t found anything he hates about her, save for her rejection. “Your attitude is questionable.” He mumbles lamely. 

“Pretty sure that one of my professors wrote that on my report card once.” Icy beckons for him to follow her. 

“Where are we going?” 

Icy shrugs. “They sealed the last spot we breached. I’ve been searching for a new one.” 

“And?”

“I have made just about as much progress as Darcy made in potions class.”

“Wow, you’ve accomplished nothing.” Valtor silently congratulates himself on the quip.

Icy shrugs. “I don’t particularly mind it here.” 

“Well I do and I’d love to get out of here so we can go our separate ways…” 

She whips a snowball at him. “I went down with your sinking ship and you want to part ways!?”

“You don’t?” He tries not to sound too hopeful. 

“Not particularly.” Her tone is once again infuriatingly nonchalant. 

Prying feelings from her is a painstaking task, maybe even an impossible one. But he pushes anyhow. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don’t you want to part ways?”

“I believe that we can still benefit from each other.”

His hopes shatter. “You can benefit from me!” He snaps. “Now that I am free again, I have all the power that I need. I don’t need your help.” For good measure he adds, “you’re the reason that I lost. If the three of you had any competence…” 

Her glare cuts his words short. The gesture she makes with her hands has him dreading a second frigid entrapment. But instead she turns and storms off. He can swear that the temperature had dropped a few degrees. He watches her go and hates the both of them that much more. 

That night there is a raging blizzard. One that chills him to the core. Either she hasn’t wandered off very far or her rage is simply this potent. Or maybe the weather is a coincidence. He doesn’t understand why his words angered her so. She has always been one to brush words off. He wanders his way through the blizzard, telling himself that he is only curious as to whether or not this is her storm. And curious as to how far she has wandered. 

His cheeks are red and stinging and his hands were growing numb. He finds no sign of the ice witch. He has nothing to do but keep pushing forward through the frost and the pelting hail. Valtor walks until the task is too much for him. He slumps forward. 

In waking, he is disoriented and infuriated. She has nearly killed him. He stands and scans his surroundings. 

And he sees her. 

Icy is sleeping rather peacefully for someone trapped with a man she’d thoroughly pissed off.

He stomps up, until he looms over her. She cracks an eyelid. “Oh, you’re awake.” 

“You almost killed me!”

Icy sits up, “I didn’t tell you to enter the blizzard, you did that yourself.” She speaks in a low and poisonous hiss. 

“Perhaps if you didn’t throw your tantrum…” 

“Perhaps,” she mocks, “I wouldn’t have ‘thrown my tantrum’ if you weren’t such an insufferable asshole.” 

He closes the remaining space between them.

“Ooo, scary man.” Icy rolls her eyes. 

He often forgets that she is taller than he. “Yes, I am.” He agrees. “And you will know that soon enough.” 

He didn’t expected her to laugh. “You are truly incredible, you know that?” She asks. “I’m literally in my element, I have all of this…” she gestures to the ice and snow. “You’re surrounded by my power source. But, I do admire your bravery.” 

“Do you happen to admire anything else?” It slips out. 

The question seems to take the witch aback. “Your great aptitude for evil.” She answers. 

“Anything else?” Valtor pushes. 

He is certain that she will say no. Instead, she trails her fingers through his locks, “I was always fond of your hair.”

The gesture is unusually intimate. Icy’s hand lingers there, as though she isn’t quite sure of what to do with it. 

It dawns upon him that the blizzard was born of a feeling of rejection. The very same one he had felt. He wishes that she would just come out with it, heaven knew that he couldn’t. She draws her hand away and turns her back on him. He knows that he is going to have to speak. 

“I care about you.” 

Icy halts. 

It isn’t enough. “I would have chosen you.” 

She turns around. 

“Over Darcy and Stormy, I would have chosen you.”

“Well, naturally.” That cocky smile is back. It is that sort of bold self-confidence that has him allured in the first place. 

He tags along as she wanders away. “Would you have?”

She nods and he smiles. But she ruins the moment, “I would have certainly chosen me over Darcy and Stormy.” He frowns at the words. She gives a rather deep sigh. “I’m here aren’t I?” It takes him a moment to realize that, that is her way of saying that she would have...that she did choose him. 

Valtor’s body acts on its own accord. He pulls her into a tight hug and holds her there for a moment. 

“Alright, enough of this.” She half-heartedly tugs away. When he lets her go, her cheeks are a light shade of pink and he knows that he can’t credit that to the cold. 

“You do feel the same, don’t you?” He dares. 

Icy only offers him an indignant sniff. Yet she makes no denials. 

“You do.” He confirms to himself, feeling rather smug. He fixes his gaze on her. She is an elegant woman. He admires the confidence in her strides.

She casts a lazy glance back at him. “Perhaps I do.” 

He only has a moment to drink in the satisfaction before colliding with a mound of snow. He picks himself up and brushes the snow away. He knows that Icy finds humor in his bewilderment. Her expression flickers from amusement to realization and then to something else entirely.

“I worked hard on that.” She grumbles. 

“You have five more!” He states when he finally puts two and two together. He can’t quite believe that she had been serious. 

“Six.” She corrects. 

He hates it here, hates it as much as she loves it. Hates it with all of his soul. But here, he realizes, he will see different sides of her. The ones she keeps hidden. Perhaps, his imprisonment won’t be so horrid. 

He takes her hand.

[starry-satoru]

BTS Reactions: Cheating- Part Two (Maknae Line)

A/N: Look who finally got motivated to write! It’s literally been months and I’m so sorry. This is the second part of my first ever writing on here! I know most of you wanted this to have a happy ending, and some of them will, but not all of them. So, if you like fluff and angst, then this will be for you! I do not condone cheating in any way, nor do I believe the boys would do anything like this. This writing is merely for entertainment purposes. Enjoy! 

P.S., the hyung line is next!

Read Part One HERE

Genre: Angst/fluff

Warnings: Swearing

Requested?: Yes

Jimin

You had been at Taehyung’s apartment for the past week. Although he tried, not even your best friend could pull you out of the hole you had fallen into. All you could do was mope around with a blanket pulled protectively around your shoulders. You ate only when Tae wouldn’t stop pestering you and showers were few and far between. Feeling miserable and gross wasn’t ideal, but it was the best you could do given the circumstances.

Jimin had called you exactly 78 times and left a voicemail after each one. You told Taehyung you didn’t listen to them, but late at night when all you wanted was to hear his voice and feel his arms wrapped around you, those messages were your lullabies. Jimin hadn’t tried to come to Tae’s place yet, but you knew it was only a matter of time before you would have to see him again.

“(Y/N), please eat. That’s all I ask. Please,” Taehyung begged, his eyes tired. You hadn’t even realized you were just pushing the food he had fixed around your plate.

“I’m sorry, Tae.” You slowly began to eat, your mind still miles away to where Jimin was no doubt wallowing in his own misery. At least he deserved it.  

“I think you should see him.”

Tae’s comment nearly made you choke on your food.

“W-what?” You brought your eyes up to meet his but he was looking down at his hands, which were folded neatly on the table. He looked like he meant business.

“We’ve been talking, me and the other boys. As you know, promotions for our comeback start next week, and Jimin is completely out of it. We can’t have him in front of the world in this condition. It’s not fair to our fans, and I know it probably sounds selfish, but-”

“I’ll do it.” Now it was his turn to look at you in surprise.

“Really? I’m not saying you have to forgive him by any means, but you both just need some closure.”

“Call him over. I’d rather not go back to his place. Too many memories,” you told him, standing up from the table. “I’m going to shower. Tell him to be here in an hour.” 

Tae looked shocked but he quickly pulled out his phone and dialed Jimin’s number. You didn’t know what had gotten into you, but you knew you had to claw your way out of this hole somehow and this was the first step.

You paced Taehyung’s living room nervously, your hair still damp from the shower. Jimin would be there any minute and you had no clue what you were going to say to him. You had never been in this position before and you wouldn’t care to be ever again. Tae, there for moral support,  seemed almost as nervous as you as he sat on his couch and stared off into space. A quiet knock on the door brought you both back to reality. Taehyung was about to move off the couch when you held your hand up and shook your head. You took a deep breath and opened the door.

“(Y/N),” Jimin mumbled, the sound nearly bringing you to your knees. You stepped out of the doorway, hinting for him to come inside. He took a shaky step in and you shut the door behind him. He looked how you felt. His hair was unkempt, his eyes were bloodshot, and his face was lifeless. Even after what he did, the sight still turned the pieces of your hurt into dust. 

“(Y/N), I’m-”

“N-no, let me speak,” you interrupted, your voice coming out in a croak. Jimin nodded imperceptibly, his eyes never leaving your face. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest and land right back in his hands, but you couldn’t let that happen.

“Jimin, the last week has been complete hell for me. I’ve hardly eaten, I can’t sleep, and today was the first time I’ve taken a shower in two days. You did this to me, Jimin. You completely tore my heart into pieces after promising not to.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it was steady and that’s all you wanted. 

You held your closed hand between the two of you and he held his palm out. Without a second thought, you dropped the promise ring he had given you for your one year anniversary into his open hand. Jimin didn’t move, the ring still staring back at you, taunting you with promises unkept. A tear rolled down Jimin’s cheek and you resisted the urge to wipe it away.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/N). You deserved better. I’m so sorry.” More tears followed his apology and you found yourself getting choked up. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. You repeated it like a mantra in your head and it seemed to work.

“I know you’re sorry, Jimin, but that doesn’t change anything. We need to try to move on because you and I both know we can’t go back to what we had. At least not for a while,” you replied, trying to remain as emotionless as possible.

Jimin nodded, a glimmer of hope in his eyes at your words. “ I won’t give up on us, (Y/N). I’ll miss you. So much.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Jimin.”

And you would, but you weren’t ready to forgive him...not yet. 

Taehyung

The past few months had been complete and utter hell for you. Ever since you kicked Taehyung out of your shared apartment you’ve been debating with what path to take. The first month was mainly spent crying while you watched clips of Taehyung on Youtube. It was the only way you were able to see how he was doing. You had pretty much cut off all forms of communication with the boys and, of course, Tae. You didn’t want to risk anyone attempting to sway your mind one way or the other.

The second month was spent being angry. You still refused to talk to Taehyung, however, that didn’t stop you from typing out your feelings into the text box before deleting it with a huff. You stopped watching videos of him. It only lit your heart on fire in the worst of ways, and it had caused you to abuse your pillows more than enough. You wanted to scream at him and make him feel as shitty as you did, but instead, you simply removed every trace of him from the apartment.

The third month was spent wanting him back. You hated yourself for it. In your mind, cheating was always a black and white situation. It was inexcusable and unforgivable. You were wrong. Now that you had experienced it, you realized that it wasn’t all that simple. Oh how you wish it was though, but when it comes to matters of the heart, nothing is easy. You had learned that much over the last three months.

As you sat in your apartment, trying to figure out how to navigate these feelings, you recalled the some of the last words Taehyung said to you...

“I will always love you, (Y/N). Please don’t forget that. If you ever decide to give me another chance, you know where to find me. I’ll be waiting for you.”

You had decided, and you needed to find Tae now.

As you arrived at BigHit, you met Namjoon out front. He immediately opened his arms and pulled you in. You let out a shaky sigh and held him tight.

“I’m sorry for what happened, (Y/N). I should’ve kept a closer eye on him. I don’t know what got into him,” he mumbled.

“No, Joon. You don’t have to apologize for him. Tae is a grown man and he made his decision. There was nothing you could’ve done,” you reassured him. He pulled away and nodded slowly.

“Well, I will say that he’s been beating himself up for it ever since. He’s...well, I’ll just let you see for yourself,” he said, escorting you inside and up to the practice rooms.

“He should be in there by himself. The rest of the boys are on break and I told him I needed to talk to him by himself. Good luck, (Y/N).” He flashed you a slight smile and walked off to join the others, leaving you alone at the door. You took a deep breath and pushed it open. Tae’s back was to you but he must’ve seen your reflection in the mirrors because he turned around quickly upon your entrance. He didn’t say anything, he just stared at you like he couldn’t believe you were actually in front of him. He looked so different. His chubby cheeks you used to squeeze lovingly were nowhere to be seen. He had lost what you were sure was an unhealthy amount of weight. There was no light in his eyes. His boxy smile probably hadn’t made a real appearance in months. It broke your heart.

“Tae…,” you whispered, tears forming in your eyes. Your voice was all it took to send him into motion. He rushed across the room and pulled you tightly into his embrace. You breathed in his familiar scent and felt the tears begin to stream down your cheeks.

“I’m so, so, so sorry, (Y/N). I’m an asshole and I sure as hell don’t deserve to have you in my arms again, but I am so glad you’re here. I’ve missed you so damn much,” he said, sniffling loudly. You felt his tears fall onto the exposed skin of your neck.

“I’ve missed you, too, but,” you pulled away from him and looked him in the eyes, “that doesn’t change what you did. You broke me, Tae, and it will take a while for me to be whole again, but I still want you by my side throughout the process.”

Taehyung nodded. “Of course, baby. Nothing else matters to me except for your happiness. I promise I’ll never be the cause of your pain again.” He pulled you into his arms again and placed a lingering kiss on your forehead. “I love you so much, (Y/N). Not having you here nearly killed me. I’ll never let you go again.”

You giggled, “So, it looks like I’m stuck with you forever, huh?”

Tae flashed you his adorable smile and nodded. “Forever.”

Jungkook

“What the fuck do you want, Jungkook?”

The harshness of your tone startled him and he took a small step back.

“I-I wanted to talk to you, (Y/N). Please,” he begged, his eyes wide and desperate.

“I have nothing to say to you. I walked in on you fucking another girl and there’s really nothing more to it, so if you could show yourself out, then that would be great,” you gave him a fake smile and moved to shut the door, but he held it open. Damn, you forgot how strong he was.

“Please, just let me apologize to you,” he insisted. You thought for a second and then let the door go, causing Jungkook to stumble inside your apartment.

“H-hyung?” His eyes immediately landed on Namjoon, who was sitting on your couch. Namjoon avoided his gaze.

“Jungkook, you have 5 minutes,” you told him, but he couldn’t stop staring at his fellow band member.

“What are you doing here, hyung?” Jungkook’s voice was barely audible and you could tell he was trying to hold back tears. He was never one to show his emotions so easily, but he was struggling.

You quickly moved directly in front of him, shielding Namjoon from the younger man’s increasingly withering gaze. The last thing you wanted was for Jungkook to do anything impulsive.

“He’s been helping me through this mess, Jungkook. The mess you caused, just in case it had slipped your mind. He’s been a great friend.” You turned and smiled at Namjoon who blushed and looked at the ground.

Jungkook scoffed, “So that’s how it’s going to be, (Y/N)? You’re going to move on and start fucking my friend before you even hear me out?”

“Hey, don’t you dare speak to her like that,” Namjoon yelled, breaking his silence. He got up off the couch and you held your hand out, keeping him out of arm's reach of Jungkook. You could hear Namjoon huffing in anger and if you hadn’t been there, you were sure he would’ve done something he regretted. 

“I can’t believe you two. It’s barely been two months and yet here you are. Pathetic,” Jungkook spat, his face contorted in anger. You had never seen him like that and it unsettled you.

“Well, Jungkook, you didn’t even wait until our relationship was over until you slept with someone else, so excuse me for moving on after we were officially done,” you said, trying to remain calm. You couldn’t quite believe what he was saying. Did he really forget what happened in Japan?

“So you two are a thing?” He asked quietly.

“Maybe we are, but, quite frankly, that’s none of your business anymore, Jungkook. Now, I do believe your five minutes are up,” you told him, trying to move him towards the door.

“How could you, hyung?” Jungkook asked, refusing to move.

“Jungkook,” Namjoon sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t expect you to understand, and I certainly don’t expect you to be too fond of me right now, but I like (Y/N).” He shrugged and shook his head, “And there’s really not much either of us can do about that.” With that, Jungkook turned and left, slamming the door behind him.

“I’m sorry, Joon. He wasn’t supposed to find out this soon, but you out of all people know how relentless he can be when he wants to,” you sighed and leaned into Namjoon’s arms.

“It’s not your fault. It would’ve happened sooner or later,” he mumbled, holding you tight against his chest.

“Did I ruin everything between you two?” You wondered aloud.

“No, he’ll be okay eventually. Just like you.”

                                                -One Year Later-

BTS had just recently made a comeback, and, in your humble opinion, it was probably one of their strongest. This was certainly cause for celebration, which brought you all together at BigHit. All the producers, stylists, and managers were there to have a good time, their hard work having paid off. Of course, all the boys were there as well. It was the first time since the incident at your apartment that you would be seeing Jungkook. You weren’t really nervous per say, but you were slightly on edge because you weren’t sure how he was holding up. It had been a year but that didn’t mean much. Jungkook could hold grudges.

Namjoon lingered by your side, making conversation with everyone coming up and congratulating him on their success. You would smile and nod every so often if someone said something to you, but you mainly nursed your champagne and waited for the inevitable. You nearly dropped your glass when you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around slowly, you were met with Jungkook’s shy gaze. Namjoon turned around as well and looked at you after noticing who it was. His eyes silently asked if you were good on your own and you nodded imperceptibly so he headed off to the other side of the room.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Jungkook greeted you sheepishly.

“Hi, Jungkook,” you replied politely.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m doing pretty great actually,” you smiled, looking across the room at Namjoon who winked slyly at you, causing a blush to creep onto your cheeks.

“I’m glad. D-does he treat you well?” He scratched the back of his neck nervously and looked down at his shoes.

“He does, Jungkook. We’re very happy.”

He nodded slowly and smiled. “I’m glad. Really, (Y/N). You deserve it after what I put you through.”

“Hey, that’s all in the past now. You can stop feeling guilty. You should be having a good time right now. We are here to celebrate your guys’ accomplishments, not to reminisce on the past.”

“You’re right, you’re right. Thanks for everything, (Y/N). You two are a great couple. Practically made for each other.”

You laughed and blushed again. “Thanks, Jungkook.” You pulled him into a hug before walking over to your boyfriend.

“Hey, is he okay?” Namjoon asked you.

“Yeah,” you replied, glancing back at Jungkook who was laughing with Jin and a couple of girls, “he’s doing just fine.”

“And you?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

You smiled softly. “I’m doing perfect, Joon. Absolutely perfect.”

[xkdreamingx]

Mafia AU - Exo

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You get their Gang’s Tattoo

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A/N - So this is actually based off a reaction I read awhile ago, I think it was Seventeen or maybe NCT but basically the prompt was the moment they fell in love with you or something like that and one of the members had it happen when the s/o was getting the gangs tattoo so I wanted to make that a full reaction. So I just wanted to give credit where it is due, if I can find it or remember where it’s from I’ll link it {here} and if you know what I’m talking about please share it with me. (Also their tattoos you have to get is their power symbols just so you know what I was trying to explain for each of their gang’s tattoos)

Masterlist

You were sat down a day or two after the wedding, you honestly didn’t know what would come of it but you didn’t have a good feeling about it either way. They told you about a tradition that’s lasted a long time in their family, getting the family symbol tattooed on you. The tradition was that the spouse would tattoo it on their significant other as a form of unity into the family.

———————————————————

Xiumin -

“You got to be fucking kidding me.” You tell Xiumin once you were the only two left in the room with the tattoo gun. “I’m not. Plus it’s a major family tradition, you have to go through with it.” “Well I didn’t sign up for a fucking tattoo! Hell I didn’t sign up for this period! My dad was the one who signed the contract.” “Yes, But technically you did when you walked into that meeting and demanded to take your sisters spot.” You let out a sigh, rolling your eyes, knowing that he had a point there. You stay quiet for a second before saying, “Can I see yours?” Xiumin shrugs, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the geometric snowflake looking thing on his shoulder. You look over it for a few minutes before asking, “Do I have to get it there?” “No, not exactly you can put it almost wherever, at least in a respectable place.” Xiumin explains. You nod, before slowly walking over to the chair that was sat next to the tattoo machine. You let out a sigh as you sit down, “Let’s do this I guess.” You pick the spot where you want the tattoo and Xiumin lines it up, not wanting to mess it up. He starts tattooing and it stings a little where you decided to get it done. He pauses every once in a while so you can relax and take a breather when you need to. It felt like you were sat in that chair for hours when it really wasn’t that long to get the whole thing done. Once it was done you look at it, running your hand along the newly inked skin. It stings. It felt weird. But admittedly you didn’t mind it that much.

Suho -

You’ve heard of crazy traditions before, but this was a new kind of crazy. I mean at least it’s a tattoo and not like branding or anything. Your family actually has its own traditions when it came to family. Suho has gladly agreed to comply to your own traditions so why can’t you give him the same curtesy? You take some time to think it over and figure out where you would put it. After some time you find a spot for the water droplet looking symbol on your body. The tattooing was that painful for you, especially because of other pains compared to it, it seems like nothing. With the new found ink on your body you knew that there was no turning back. You were married to a man you didn’t know, you’re apart of his family, you’re a part of him. Scary.

Lay -

It had to be a fucking unicorn. Like how the hell is that intimidating? What the fuck is it suppose to represent? Oh we’re magical no one is really sure if we exist that’s how good they are at disappearing? Like seriously, why a unicorn head? I mean it’s so scary, like I’d wallow in fear of a fucking unicorn, am I right? All these thoughts in your head about it though stay that way, in your head. You don’t want to make fun of a mafia kids family symbol, are you crazy? Honestly you dug yourself a hole for this one so you had to deal with the consequences. You decide where you want the tattoo and Lay starts in on it; it stung in a few spots, burned in a few others, but it wasn’t the worst feeling in the world. You grinned and bearer the pain and when it was done you had a fucking unicorn head on you that made you part of a family you didn’t know if you wanted to be a part of.

Baekhyun -

“Okay this is beyond fucking crazy!” “Not really.” “My family has rings and jewelry for family traditions, not a fucking tattoo!” “So my family’s a bit more fun than yours, it’s going to be okay.” “Yeah but like what even is that symbol?” You ask pointing to the tattoo you have to get. “It’s suppose to represent light, it represents my family and how bright we are.” “Yeah, the family that gets tattoos.” “Look, Yes we do tattoos as our family tradition, you want to know why? Because family is forever. So make jokes and tease all you want, this tattoo, this symbol, means a lot to my family. It represents us. So stop making jokes and sit in the damn chair and get this tattoo fucking over with!” You nod, deciding to corporate after his long rant. You pick the spot for the tattoo and before you know it it’s on your body, forever. I guess family is forever.

Chen -

“Okay like I get I ran away originally but like, seriously? You want me strapped down to a chair while you try and tattoo me?” You say squirming against the handcuffs that are currently connecting you to the chair. “Actually kind of yes.” “Okay how about this, I’ll get that crazy fucking symbol without even so much as a tiny flinch if you take these handcuffs off me.” “Umm.., how about no.” “Okay you know what, fuck you! If you honestly don’t trust me, why the hell marry me? Is this how you want your wife, how you want the person you married, to be like for the rest of your life? Handcuffed to this thing or that? Never trust them? I’m in the dead center of your house, there are guards everywhere, I’m sure you could take my down, there’s no way I escape anyways. Trust me. Fucking trust me for once I Your life! I mean this is honestly the perfect time to trust me!” You shout at him, getting pissed of getting handcuffed to every fucking surface. “Fine.” “What?” You say shocked. “I said fine. I’ll take them off.” Chen says walking over to unlock them. Once he does you move to rub your wrist where they were digging into your skin. You stand up, taking the stencil and finding the spot you want, laying the design flat on your skin before moving to sit back down so he could get to tattooing it on you. Baby steps. That’s how this marriage will work.

Chanyeol -

You should have know. You’ve seen Yoora’s tattoo a million times. You honestly thought the little Phoenix symbol looked cute, on her. On yourself? You weren’t as sure. Honestly it scared you. You knew it was inevitable but part of you hoped this day would never come. You could of never believed you would be here, getting tattooed by your best friends brother, who also happens to be your husband, getting a Phoenix symbol tattooed on you. You were shocked. And scared. and kind of in pain. Tattoos hurt. Luckily Chanyeol noticed your ticks and stopped to let you have time to settle down and relax before he went back in with the needle again. Soon enough you had a beautiful Phoenix on you and you kind of enjoyed it. Honestly at this point you were confused on how you felt in general, not just about Chanyeol, about being a part of his family.

Kyungsoo -

You two sat in silence for a few minutes after everyone else cleared out from the room. You looked at the symbol, honestly you couldn’t really tell exactly what it was, it looked very much like a fanged beast. Kyungsoo watched you as you examined the tattoo, “if you have any questions, go ahead and ask them.” “Does it hurt?” “I mean kind of, depends on your pain tolerance.” “Can I pick where I get it?” “If you want to, do it anywhere I guess.” “How long does it have to heal for?” “I mean I’d say one to two months to be sure.” “Can I see yours?” Kyungsoo pauses for a minute before turning over his arm to show the tattoo on his forearm. You stare down at it for a few second before asking one more question, “can I touch it?” Your eyes glance up at Kyungsoo’s face for conformation and he nods his head slightly. With that you lightly reach out a hand to run it across the long healed over skin. It intrigued you that’s for sure. After a second or two you pulled back your hand, “Okay then, I think I’m ready to do this.” You get the tattoo placed where you want it and Kyungsoo starts in on the tattoo. It stung a little bit but you could handle the pain. Before you knew it the symbol you were once admiring on him was now permanently on you.

Kai -

You loved Kai. You genuinely did. But a tattoo is kind of... crazy, scary, insane, all of the above? Yeah. It literally looks like some Illuminati symbol and as much as you loved him, it was forever. It’s permanent. It’s... for the rest of your life. I mean you made the promise when you married Kai. this is just... a lot more obvious of a forever. But I mean, if you can handle the mafia thing how bad can a tattoo actually be. You get the tattoo set in place and Kai starts tattooing you, trying to be as careful as possible because he really didn’t want to hurt you. You smiled when you saw the tattoo complete, you decided to get it in the same spot Kai’s was and you were kind of glad you did. It looked better than you expected.

Sehun -

You saw it coming from a mile away, you knew it was coming, you just wished you had more time. You’ve admired the tattoo on Sehun many times before. Hell you were there when his father tattooed it on him. You knew as soon as you accepted the marriage proposal that you would have to get it and today was that unfortunate day. You wish you were more excited about it but it just felt weird. You felt like this was a claim on you for the rest of your life. Sure it didn’t actually mean that, it meant you were apart of them, an equal. Well, might as well get it over with. You get the tattoo placed where you want it and get comfy for when Sehun is tattooing you. You honestly thought it would take longer but Sehun keep you entertained and distracted when the pain got to you a little and before you knew it, the tattoo was done. It’s on you, forever. Great.

[sweetsweetnathan]

Top five favorite characters.

This is definitely a question that will reveal a lot about me, so I hope that’s what you’re looking for ;P It’s going to get really fucking long, so I’ll store it beneath a cut so it doesn’t destroy anyone’s dash.

I’m doing these in ascending order, so #5 is least most favorite and #1 is most most favorite. I feel it’s important to say than since #5 is a character that is going to make a lot of people roll their eyes (as is #4, frankly).

#5 - Holden Caulfield from the Catcher in the Rye

Waitwaitwait, don’t leave just yet! I have tried to explain why I like this character to people I go to school with, and they barely let me finish a sentence before reminding me that he’s a whiny brat with well-off parents who spends the whole book wallowing in self-imposed misanthropy. 

These are not the reasons why I like him!

Although I do feel it’s worth pointing out that he’s barely more than a child (he’s 16, which is the age of consent where I’m from, but by no means “adulthood” anywhere), lost his younger brother at an even younger age, witnessed a suicide, and he does in fact live in a world that is extremely alienating to people who are opposed on principle to conformity. But even these are not the reasons why I like him! I like him structurally, as a character in a book, way more than I like him as a person. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that the book doesn’t want you to like him. It wants you to pity him.

Allow me to share a passage with you to explain myself better:

Anyway, I kept walking and walking up Fifth Avenue, without any tie on or anything. Then all of a sudden, something very spooky started happening. Every time I came to the end of a block and stepped off the goddam curb, I had this feeling that I'd never get to the other side of the street. I thought I'd just go down, down, down, and nobody'd ever see me again. Boy, did it scare me. You can't imagine. I started sweating like a bastard—my whole shirt and underwear and everything. Then I started doing something else. Every time I'd get to the end of a block I'd make believe I was talking to my brother Allie. I'd say to him, "Allie, don't let me disappear. Allie, don't let me disappear. Allie, don't let me disappear. Please, Allie." And then when I'd reach the other side of the street without disappearing, I'd thank him.

Holden is a kid given to sudden panic and fatalistic thinking. There’s something in his subconscious telling him that his life is fragile, that it can be taken away at any moment. Suddenly everything can change and what you thought was safe and innocent can be threatened and defiled. This is an existential crisis without a readily apparent inciting incident (though it has one, we’ll get to that). The Catcher in the Rye isn’t a story with an especially noticeable structure-- we’re not on a journey to destroy the One Ring, blow up the Death Star, or defeat any villain really. Holden is trying to get home. The obstacles he encounters aren’t necessarily trying to stop him from doing that, but they’re obstacles nonetheless. Why? Not because the universe is conspiring against him, and not because there’s an all-powerful villain threatening him with destruction. The obstacles come completely from Holden himself.

So why is it that the Catcher in the Rye can get away with this? On paper a character piece about someone taking the long way home one shitty night sounds like the description of countless Creative Writing 1 school projects, not literary classics. How does Salinger make it work?

The answer is in the prose itself, which like the obstacles is possessed entirely by the main character. Let’s examine this passage:

My brother Allie had this left-handed fielder's mitt. He was left-handed. The thing that was descriptive about it, though, was that he had poems written all over the fingers and the pocket and everywhere. In green ink. He wrote them on it so that he'd have something to read when he was in the field and nobody was up at bat. He's dead now.

Look at each sentence: “My brother Allie had this left-handed fielder’s mitt. He was left-handed.” It’s obvious after reading it that he’s talking about his dead brother in past-tense. What’s the big deal there? He talks about the whole damn story in past-tense, because he’s telling it long after it happened. How is this significant?

Well, the last line is “He’s dead now.” Not “He died”, but “he is dead”. So the whole book we’re reading past-tense lines. But this one, out of all of them, is present-tense. And because of that sudden shift we regard it differently. Allie’s death isn’t something that happened in the past. His being dead is something that’s happening in the present. It’s the reminder that this is a story Holden is telling, which solidifies the illusion that Holden is real. Holden is not real-- Salinger, the writer, is real, and Holden is made up. But when Holden has the dimensionality of having both memories of the past and feelings of the present, he seems more real than another, living person. It illustrates the beauty of prose writing: Movies can give us spectacle, and visuals which evoke emotional depth that words can’t. Games give us agency and interactivity to act as ourselves or as someone else in a situation that is alien to us. Prose gives us no visuals, and affords us no agency. What it gives us is the opportunity to see the world through someone else’s eyes. And Holden Caulfield will always be one of my favorite characters for exemplifying that.

#4 - Luke Skywalker from Star Wars

After all that, Holden is beat out by Luke? 

Yes, but listen: Holden I like for professional reasons. Luke I like for personal reasons. See, I have some anger problems. The causes are as numerous as they are complex, and not very interesting. The bottom line is that my emotions are pretty untrustworthy. I actually dislike when people say that a space is dedicated to letting people feel their feelings uninhibited. What if my feelings are violent and hateful? What if without inhibition, I become the kind of person I hate? I have seen things that I wish I could unsee, things that I hate. Being told to let go of that hate feels like being told to permit evil to exist in the world. I cannot abide that. There are certain behaviors that I will oppose no matter the situation. Through this I put myself in an awkward situation: Everyone who doesn’t feel this way begins to look complicit in the wrongdoings of the world. Focus too long on what makes you unhappy, and happiness seems like an unnatural luxury. Feed anger too much, and you forget how to feel anything else. This is what’s called the “Dark Side”.

Luke struggles against the Dark Side. How could he not? His family was taken from him by a system that exploits and murders with impunity. He took the fight to his enemy and destroyed their greatest weapon-- but they’re still not defeated. In the Empire Strikes Back, Luke is terribly impatient to seize the powers of the Jedi. He wants to win. He wants the Empire destroyed. Anything in his way is wasting his time.

When we see him again in Return of the Jedi, he is as close to the Dark Side as a person can be. He walks into a gang leader’s palace, strangles his guards, mind controls his adviser, and pulls a gun on said gang leader. When the gang leader takes offense to all this, Luke promises him death if he doesn’t submit to Luke’s demands. Luke is indulging in every wrathful instinct he has. But he knows that what he’s doing isn’t right. He meets Vader and the Emperor expecting to turn Vader away from this same behavior, but the Emperor has concocted a situation where only might can make right. 

If I was given the opportunity to decide between offering patience to the evil people I’ve met, and killing them without consequence, I don’t know if I’d make the choice Luke made. His story is fantastical, but to me it feels very real. It’s a story about finding balance. One has to act to stop bad things from happening. But one must also restrain themselves, or become one of those bad things.

#3 Guts from Berserk

So I just talked about anger problems and the Dark Side and all that, so you’re probably thinking, “Oh, Guts is that, but just like...more.”

And okay, that’s a little true. A find that in Guts a lot too. But similar to Holden, I’d like to take a moment to appreciate the literary structure Guts is constructed with as well. None of his empathetic qualities would mean anything without this structure. If he’s not going somewhere, then he is just the angry, violent stereotype of a manly man that solves all his problems through violence that people stereotype him as.

So let me introduce you to Booker’s Seven Basic Plots:

Going to an art school has resulted in me feeling that it’s necessary to spend some time justifying the existence of a textbook about structure. So I’m going to detour away from Guts in order to do that.

To keep a literal textbook’s worth of storytelling analysis very short, the seven basic plots are not meant to be the only plots that should exist, or even the only plots that do exist. They are an incredibly versatile sets of story frameworks. Allow me to explain by comparing two stories that share one of these seven plots: Crime and Punishment and the Catcher and the Rye.

These two stories are “Rebirth Plots”, and Rebirth Plots are comprised of five elements:

Falling Stage: A young hero or heroine falls under the shadow of the dark power.

Recession Stage: For a while, all may seem to go reasonably well. The threat may even seem to have receded.

Imprisonment Stage: Eventually the threat returns in full force, until the hero/heroine is seen imprisoned in the state of living death.

Nightmare Stage: This continues for a long time, when it seems like the dark power has completely triumphed.

Rebirth Stage: But finally comes the miraculous redemption, either by the hero (if the imprisoned figure is the heroine), or by a young woman or child (if the imprisoned figure is the hero).

Crime and Punishment and the Catcher in the Rye are both Rebirth Plots, but they focus on different aspects, and are thus completely different stories. Most of Crime and Punishment is the Recession Stage, where the main character has gotten away with his crime. Contrast Catcher in the Rye, where the Recession Stage ends basically as soon as he leaves his school, whereupon he spends a short time in the Imprisonment Stage and everything until the last chapter is the Nightmare Stage.

So even though the Seven Basic Plots presents an outline, it's not an outline meant to exclude strange stories that don’t fit it. Quite the contrary, it’s designed to include radically different stories, sometimes within the same categories as more traditionally-told ones.

So with that in mind, what story does Guts find himself in? Well, that’s the exciting thing: Guts is so incredible because he goes on every kind of adventure.

Overcoming the Monster - This is Guts’ story when Casca is captured by the Holy Seein the Conviction Arc. He has to fight against a whole society built around zealous hatred-- zealous hatred that mirrors his own obsessive pursuit of Griffith.

Rags to Riches - The first third of the Golden Age Arc is famously this kind of story, as Guts goes from a nameless mercenary to one of the most famous commanders in Midland, making friends along the way and overcoming his apprehension towards close personal connections.

The Quest - The journey to cure Casca of her trauma during the Fantasia Arc is a very long version of this kind of story. Guts gathers allies, teaches lessons, and watches the world change around him, as he changes as well, allowing his heart to soften again.

Voyage and Return - The Black Swordsman Arc and the beginning of the Conviction Arc sees Guts gallivanting around Midland killing demons, only to return to Goto’s cabin to find Casca has departed due to his own failings.

Comedy - The middle of the Golden Age Arc is this, with Casca and Guts falling for each other as he begins to develop into his own man separate from Griffith.

Tragedy - The end of the Golden Age Arc, which I would feel bad about listing here three times if it wasn’t fourteen fucking volumes long. Here Guts loses every connection he’s made over the years, then finally loses himself as he chooses to pursue vengeance rather than stay with Casca. 

Rebirth - The whole of Berserk is a Rebirth Plot on many levels. To start with it’s Guts’ shift from the antisocial Black Swordsman to a symbol of hope in a world overrun with demons. For the world of Berserk it’s a change from being centered around an Idea of Evil to believing in something Good.

Guts is a fascinating character for how he changes again and again, yet still stays the same. 

And Unlike Luke, Guts does sometimes fail. But despite the fact that he fails, he finds chances for further redemption. This is because despite every awful thing he’s been through, he still goes on fighting. There’s this brilliant moment when Guts is a child, where he’s run away from home after killing his abusive foster father in self defense. Guts is surrounded by wolves, injured, and starving. He tells the wolves to kill him, because he doesn’t want to live anymore. And yet when the wolves attack, he reflexively defends himself. Even as he wants for death, there’s a part of him that denies it. He wants to go on living, no matter how bad things get. There’s a lot of strength to be learned from that.

I hope Miura will live to see the series end. The character has been at war for so long, and he deserves to put down his sword and live in peace.

#2 Conan the Cimmerian

Let’s take a detour from all my personal issues and literary analysis to talk about the wisest character on this list. It might not seem so, but the original Conan stories by Robert E. Howard are some of the most brilliant and insightful works of fiction ever published. 

Holden Caulfield gives us a realistic look at a troubled teenager. By viewing this teenager’s uncensored thoughts on the world, we’re allowed to see the world through his eyes. Doing so teaches us a lot about ourselves, and what we discover isn’t always so attractive. Conan is similar. Conan hails from Cimmeria, a gloomy and unforgiving land. There is no civilization in Cimmeria. Its people are tribal and nomadic. There are many different languages and ways of writing, no currency, and scarcely any agriculture. But Conan’s story does not take place in Cimmeria. Conan’s stories take him all over the world of Hyboria, which itself is essentially a pre-historic earth, where he explores the cultures of all the “civilized” nations. This, more than the violence, adventure, or lurid depictions of women, is what makes Conan worthwhile to me.

Allow me to share with you a passage:

Conan has seen how people behave when there are no rules imposed on them. He knows how cruel they can be, as well as how kind they can be. More than anyone Conan knows the dangers of civilization, how its rules and customs and trappings might convince a person they are good when they’re letting their fellow man starve, or that they’re bad when they’re committing violence against someone whom the rules of society declares above reproach.

Conan brings a perspective to things that is sobering and unique, and looking at things through his eyes helps a person see humankind not as one divided by lines on a map, but as a singular entity which expresses itself in many different forms.

#1 Eren Jaeger from Attack on Titan

Gif source: https://weheartit.com/entry/214956834

Anger, Dark Side, hopefulness, blah, blah, blah. What makes Eren so special? What makes him more special than Guts?

Let me tell you something personal about me: I have a best friend. And contrary to all my expectations growing up, it’s a person who considers me her best friend right back. 

She is the only person I know that I consider my intellectual equal (arrogant statement, totally true). I love her immensely. Indescribably. Just like, a fucking lot. We express this love in a lot of different ways. To begin with, we talk all the time. Almost every day, for hours. We share with each other the things going on in our lives, our thoughts, our opinions, the games we play, the movies and TV we’ve seen, our desires for the world, all of it. She is the first person I ever talked to about some of the stuff I experienced in my childhood. 

In short, she is pretty special.

When she watched Attack on Titan for the first time it was I who showed it to her. We watched up to episode 11 on that first night, and the rest of the month she texted me her reactions to the events of the first and second season. As she watched she got really enamored with Mikasa, as Mikasa is a lot of what she would like to be in life (capable, dedicated, beautiful, six feet tall, etc). But of Eren, she said that he reminded her of me. In fact, she said that she started to just look at Eren as me-on-the-screen, and when Eren would do something reckless or talk back to someone, or give a crazy-sounding speech about what he believed in, my friend told me she’d say “Classic Nathan [

There is a quality among the great heroes of literature, both from the east and the west, that Eren exemplifies in spades. While Eren has a tendency towards action that makes me admire him and a defiant nature that makes me envy him, his most powerful quality is his immense capacity for hope. You can see this represented in every character on this list in some form or another. Holden hopes against all reason that his sister can be saved from the falseness of the world. Luke hopes that a person can turn from the Dark Side. Guts hopes that life is worth living, even if it’s shown itself to be nothing but suffering. Conan’s hopes are the most justified, as he places it in the vastness of the world, and the world can’t help but satisfy him. 

Eren hopes that the titans, insurmountable as they seem, can be defeated. He hopes that the world, tiny as it may seem behind the walls, can be explored. He hopes that people will listen to him when he speaks. He hopes that when he fights for what he believes in, he won’t die. He hopes for so much, and no matter how much is on the line he is ready to fight for those hopes, and to deny anyone who wishes to restrain him.

And my best friend told me he reminds her of me.

I’m not saying she was right. I’m not as strong as Eren. I’ll shut down socially when I’ve judged people to be dumb, evil, or boring. My hope doesn’t carry me over every mountaintop. Not that it does that for Eren; part of what I love about watching his story is that he struggles and falters. Hell, he dies in his first engagement with the titans.

But like Guts he keeps fighting.

Like Luke he struggles against his lesser qualities.

Like Holden he has a viewpoint of the world that leads me to consider myself.

Like Conan he is different from everybody else, but still believes in himself.

And that’s all I want to be.

[mcwxlr]

For All the Light That I Shut Out

prompt: “I haven’t slept in four days” // a 2010!dan dealing with insomnia and depression and seeking comfort from 2010!phil.

tw: depression, insomnia, starvation (unintentional)

word count: 2.5k

genre: comfort, angst

this is also on ao3!

    ‘8 AM’ the too-bright digital numbers blared directly into Dan’s eyes. He rolled over, sweat-sticky sheets clasping onto his warm skin and contemplated throwing the stupid device. He placed a hand over his forehead and groaned audibly. Here marks four days of no sleep! Dan sarcastically thought to himself. By now, his usually straight hair had began curling wildly. He wasn’t trying out a new style, no, he was just too drained to leave his room, let alone spend an hour straightening his messy hair.

    To be quite honest, this probably wasn’t the healthiest of lifestyles but what could he do? He’s just some sad kid trying to get by. Dan knows his insomnia isn’t helping whatever’s going on in his head but he just can’t bring himself to care. So what if I’ve stayed up for some 80 hours with a total of six hours of sleep? I’m not gonna die. It’s fine.

    Though, it wasn’t exactly “fine” as Dan had convinced himself before. As he wasted away in his prison-like dorm for the fourth time in a row, he realized this was probably not the best course of action for him. He remembered what Phil, the love of his puny little life, had told him as Dan exited the Manchester flat. Stay hydrated! Well, mark that off. Dan’s mouth was drier than the Sahara at this point. Remember to eat! Nope, Dan actually had only eaten a little packet of crackers from beside within his little stay in his bed. Socialise! No hiding! Ha. Haha. Ha.

    What Dan needed now was Phil. But Phil was 15 minutes away in an entirely different building. He couldn’t get up. For several reasons. One, he’d tried and he had literally blacked out. Secondly, he felt trapped as if his mattress held him in a death grip. Lastly, he’d have to call a cab and walk and move his arms and honestly that sounded more like climbing Mt. Everest than going to pay a lovely visit to his boyfriend. The best Dan could currently get was the occasional vibration from his phone, knowing that one (if not all) of the messages were from Phil. Phil. Phil asking if he’s okay, like always.

    Mustering up all of his energy, Dan counted to three… five… okay, ten will do. Dan counted to ten, preparing his arm to reach over and snatch his phone from where it laid on the little stand beside him. It was silly if you really thought about it but Dan was pretty proud of himself. He held the phone close to his face, opening it up, and gazing at all of the texts he’d received. 10 messages from Phil, 6 missed calls. 2 messages from Mum.

    Instinctively, Dan opened up the text messages from Phil. Most asking if he was okay, others being little quirky stories. The most recent one asking if Dan wanted to come round to Phils. For the first time in a solid week, he swore he felt a little spark of hope deep in his chest, somewhere. It was gone before he could relish in the feeling of something. He swore he was actually a bit hopeful. Unfortunately, that feeling had gone so quickly because his mind shut it down. Dan you fucking idiot! Going to Phils place requires movement and heaven forbid you move your uncooperative body. End of the bloody world, yeah. I bet.

    Dan deleted his response of agreement to Phils invitation, dropping his phone back onto the nightstand beside him and throwing an arm over his face so that he was hidden in the crook of his elbow. A few involuntary tears slipped out of his eyes, breath hitching. He rolled onto his side and faced the white brick wall and closed his eyes in an attempt to sleep. The fuckers shot back open though, emitting a sharp pain through his skull. A groan managed to die in his throat.

    Dan laid practically lifeless in bed for what felt like minutes, though upon glancing at his clock, had actually been several hours. Time flies when you’re having fun. From then on, Dan had just focused his gaze on different things. He was wallowing in self pity just wishing he could do something, anything. Thanks to his mess of a brain, though, he could only roll around and occasionally sit up if he put all of his energy into it.

    As evening rolled around Dan felt completely gone. He honestly felt as if he was just a body and a brain. Nothing else; no emotions, no will to do anything, no nothing. Just as he was about to attempt to sleep once more, probably to no avail, he heard his phone stream out vibrations, rumbling the wooden surface it was sat on. He rolled over to face away from the wall and stared at the light emitting from the screen and shining throughout his dark and murky room. Sitting up slowly and achingly, Dan reached his weak arm out and swiped his phone off the desk. Incoming call from Phil<3. On what was probably the final ring Dan tapped the small green circle, watching as the call connected the two before Phil’s voice flooded through the old speakers.

    “Dan?” Phil called, worry heavily lacing his voice. Dan managed to respond with a little hum. “Hey… how are you?” He asked.

    “I don’t know. Not great.” Dan admitted, his voice raspy from not talking for such an extended period. It could’ve gone a lot worse than just a rough voice considering he had managed to fight off a fit of coughs which surely would’ve drained him even more.

    “Yeah? Why?” The boy on the other line questioned, sadness and guilt edging into his voice.

    “Dunno.” Dan sighed out.

    “Would you like to come ‘round to mine? Or I could come and get you from yours? We can play video games.” Phil dragged out the a of the last word, then taking Dan’s silence as a chance to bribe him with more options. “Or we could watch a movie. Or just lay on the couch or the bed or wherever you want, so long as it’s not on some hard surface that’ll mess up our backs.”

    “I want to.” Dan replied in a quiet voice, barely audible to Phil. Phil formed his mouth around a word to cheer, and instead being interrupted by a loud scratching noise as Dan changed his phones location. “-but I don’t think I can.” He huffed out, voice wobbling a bit at the end.

    “Why not?” The older questioned, obviously disappointed which just made Dan feel even worse.

    “Can’t move.” Dan blankly stated.

    “What? Are you hurt? Should I-”

    “No, Phil. No.” Dan cut him off before Phil could panic. That was the last thing he needed happening.

    “Oh.” Phil paused, racking his brain for anything else. “Tired?”

    “Something like that.” Dan mumbled.

    “Shall I come ‘round to yours then? We can stay there or we can go to my place. I don’t- I just really miss you.” Phil let out a weak laugh that sounded more like a huff.

    “Maybe.” Dan responded, stomach growling loudly causing Dan to close his eyes and clench his teeth.

    “Well it isn’t a no. I’ll be there in six seconds exactly. Love you!” Phil exclaimed gleefully before hanging up. Dan didn’t bother to turn off his phone. He rolled back over to face the wall, hoping that maybe Phil would be able to pull him out of this slump.

    A knock on Dan’s door to the beat of the Super Mario theme, a low groan, and the turning of doorknob later, and Phil was in his room. There was silence throughout as Phil approached Dan’s weak form.

    “Dan?” Phil called to get the boys attention. He sat on the end of the others bed, cocking his head to look at him. Though there wasn’t a visible face, there was another hum. “Dan, hun, you’ve gotta sit up. You’re gonna get a blood clot, love.” Phil lightheartedly scolded Dan, scooting over to the curled up lump on the bed.

    Phil placed his hands gently on the forms shoulders, giving a light pull to inform Dan he was gonna pull him up. Phil barely heard the younger grumbling before Phil hoisted him up, Dan giving little effort to help the process. When he was sat up he immediately hid his face from the older.

    “Let me see your face, pretty please?” Phil coaxed, rubbing Dan’s bony shoulders. Dan sighed and Phil took this as a sign of approval. He used his index and middle finger to lift up Dan’s head from his chin. Upon focusing on the face, Phil knew for sure something was seriously wrong. Firstly, Dan’s eyes were completely bloodshot, hollow, sunken, and held some serious eye bags. His cheekbones were hollowed out, his lips were chapped, his hair was knotty and greasy, and his skin was paler than his own.

    Phil hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath with a hand over his mouth until he watched Dan’s eyes become watery. He let his hand drop from his mouth and onto the youngers shoulders, letting out a deep breath. He did a double take of Dans features and hugged Dan. The boy didn’t have any reaction, sitting still with his arms in his lap. Phil let his cheek rub into the boys bone-defined shoulder, feeling up his far-too-prominent spine. He had managed to pull himself together enough to release the others limp form and looked deep into Dan’s glazed over eyes, taking Dan’s hands gently in his.

    “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna put on some more clothes, we’re gonna go to my flat, you’re gonna have a bath and something to eat, and we’re gonna watch something together. No hiding away again.” The older stated in a firm voice with gentle edges. All Dan could manage was a little nod, feeling his mind begin protesting. This is for the best. For Phil.

    After helping Dan slip into a large, dark hoodie and sweats, Phil guided Dan out of the building and into a cab. When they finally arrived at Phil’s flat Dan felt absolutely exhausted, despite his only actions being walking and laying his head on Phil’s pudgy shoulder in the backseat of a cab.

    Phil guided a tired Dan into the bathroom of his homely flat, sitting the younger on the toilet lid. He squatted down and turned the tap on to produce warm water and waited for it to fill up. When the water level looked acceptable Phil helped Dan strip and sat him down in the water. Phil sat with Dan for a few minutes, watching as the purple bath bomb he’d thrown in there dissolved in the water. The cozy silence was interrupted by a loud rumble from Dan’s empty stomach which reminded Phil that the younger needed food.

    “I’ll be back.” Phil stood, rubbing Dan’s damp curls before walking towards the door. Dan was only alone for probably four whole seconds before Phil popped back into the doorway. “Pancakes or cereal?”

    “...Pancakes?” Dan responded after a few moments of silence and contemplation. Phil gave a thumbs about before trotting away.

    Phil had reentered the bathroom just as the water was getting cold and uncomfortable with a sympathetic smile on his lips. He sat on the toilet lid where he’d been before, studying Dan’s hair that was still fairly damp, unwashed.

    “Hun, you’ve gotta actually wash your hair.” Phil told Dan in a gentle voice. After Dan’s eyes teared up again, Phil quickly regretted his words. “No- don’t- don’t cry, Dan. Here, I’ll help. Okay?” Phil sputtered out, reaching over to grab a cup and some shampoo.

    Phil washed the last bit of conditioner out of Dan’s hair and helped the younger stand up, wrapping him in a fluffy towel. He guided Dan to the bedroom where he sat him down on the edge of his bright duvet and helped him slip back into his hoodie and boxers with Phil’s socks on his icy feet. After getting the brunet boy dressed, Phil took him by his hand and sat him down on his sofa, continuing to disappear into the kitchen. He reappeared with two plates of pancakes that were messily stacked and looked like they were about to topple over out of Phil’s unsteady hands.

    Phil sat down beside Dan, placing the two plates onto the little coffee table in front of them, barely avoiding dropping them entirely. He pulled a nearby blanket over him and the boy beside him, grabbing the remote and turning on an episode of Sherlock, the volume slightly lower than normal. The duo laid there together, listening to the others breath and heartbeat. Just a little notion to unintentionally let the other one know they’re here. Living. Side by side.

    In the span of a single episode Dan had managed to wedge a smooth leg between Phils, the other one sprawled out in front of him. His hands were both resting on Phil and his head was laid on the olders shoulder once again. Phil glanced down at the younger boy who was yawning and desperately trying to keep his eyelids open, despite it being only seven o’clock. This was a bit out of place as Dan was well known for going to bed super light at night or early in the morning.

    “What happened to Dan Night-owl Howell? It’s not 3 AM yet, silly.” Phil lightheartedly teased the sleepy boy that was hugging him like a koala. Dan weakley lifted his head off of Phil’s shoulder and offered him the first smile of the day. Even though it was tiny, almost invisible, it was there and this was progress.

    “Mm… I haven’t slept in four days.” Dan slurred, drunk on tiredness. Phil’s face hardened a bit and Dan instinctively dropped his head back on Phil’s shoulder so he didn’t have to meet Phil’s questioning gaze.

    “Like- not at all?” Phil questioned, worry lacing his voice just as it had earlier.

    “Nah. I like… passed out ‘n all that.” Dan snuggled closer to Phil’s warm body, not really paying much attention to what was coming out of his mouth.

    “Well that’s not healthy.” Phil said with a slightly shocked tone. Dan just hummed. “Okay, how about we go to an actual bed?” Dan just hummed again. Phil picked Dan up from the sofa with his barely existent muscles, only possible because he was so light, and carried the smaller one into his room. Dan was latched onto Phil like a black bear on a tree with his head buried in Phil’s neck. As they entered Phil’s room, Dan furrowed his eyebrows at the change of lighting, the brightness sending a shock of pain through his skull. Phil quickly laid Dan down on the bed and went back over to switch the light off.

    Phil climbed back into the bed where Dan was teetering on the edge of a deep sleep. He laid down under the covers where Dan swiftly wrapped his arms and legs around Phil’s torso, curling up and letting their foreheads rest against each other.

    “Goodnight, Dan. I love you loads.” Phil whispered to Dan, not even knowing if he was even still awake or not.

    “I love you too, Philly.” Dan responded in an even quieter voice and drifting off into what would end up being a 15 hour slumber.

A/N: I wrote most of this in my global connections class. As in. I probably wrote a whopping three paragraphs at home. Also related to global connections: as I was writing it the girl beside me kept trying to read it and was like “c’mon let me read it” “is it sexual?” “pleassee can i read it? i’m not gonna tell” like klsdjfklsjd no thanks that’s horrifyingly embarrassing. (Title from: I’ll Be Good by Jaymes Young)

[mercurialmist]

To Be Something Else, Mathilda Oosthuizen, 2021

Crashing, right knee hitting hard, back, then head. Thud. The force brought her head back up from the concrete stairwell. Was she trying to get up? To move her purple jumper away from the spilt ketchup? To lift her head to joke? Complain or rib? Stillness. 

***

Adam was in the toilets. There were only two cubicles. No one else was there, yet. I’d wait until he finished, then show myself. As a scientist he would probably look at me with curiosity, making time for him to see who I was. I’d try and show him the handshake we used to do. I was sure he’d remember even though it was fifteen years ago or so. The flush sounded. Still on the ceiling, I began to make my way down. Adam flicked the lock, the door opened. 

My legs/arms touched something slippery. I stuck to every surface but not this. I scrambled to get a grip but it was no good. I was going down. I hit the hand drier and fell into the bin head first. I rustled around in the cesspool of papery germs trying to turn myself around, but there was no room to manoeuvre. The bin, mostly filled with damp hand towels from the early morning toilet goers, began to sway. This was not the entrance I had planned. The contents and I spilled out. After shaking the paper towels off, there was no sign of Adam. He had gone.

I felt something fall onto my back and saw a roll of toilet paper making its way towards the door. Adam was armed. If it wasn’t so tragic it would have been hilarious. We would have laughed as we passed a spliff. I tried to tell him it was me. I crawled closer so he could see the handshake. 

Look! I gestured towards him. He swung his leg out, clipping what once would have been my chin. My whole body was flung into the air. Adam began to shout. Telling me to get out. To leave him alone. Upside down, I could see his face, eyes wide, nose flaring, holding a toilet roll in his right hand, ready to fire. I scrambled, remembering the earlier technique of rolling and tipping. My head was spinning from the kick. Perhaps I deserved this greeting. I hadn’t kept in touch. Things had changed, we were different now. Even after Covid I hadn’t asked him how he was, or his family. Maybe he was just angry at me. Another roll hit my back, I fled. 

**

I had to find the food. That’s what they wanted, that’s what they’ll get. I focused all my energy. I closed my eyes, searching for something, some instinct that would alert me to nearby food. 

“That’s it, come on. Just go left, then you’ll have it. Come on.” Tamzin whispered under her breath. 

That’s more like it! Keep it coming, I’m all ears. Now where? Come on Tamzin! I waited for her to give me a signal. She moved around the other side of the maze. I followed her, turning left in the Perspex maze box. My hairs skated on the smooth surface of the plastic. She stood still, I tried pointing my antennae in front, to see if it could gather any sense of food. There was a small scent coming from somewhere, seemed to be right. I followed it around the corner. My stick feet became separated from the ground. I was being swept up in something. I wriggled my legs, trying to keep my face above the water, now be pulling me around the maze. 

“What are you doing! Matt stop! Are you trying to drown it!?” Tamzin tore the litre bottle from him. 

“ Just having a bit of fun. I wanted to see if he could swim.” He chuckled. 

“Not cool Matt.” 

The water seemed to be rising. As long as I could keep my mouth out of it. I was floating along the surface of the water. My shell was keeping me from drowning, like an in-built life jacket. Each time there was a ripple in the water, it splashed into my mouth, causing my arms and legs to wriggle, causing more water to splash into me. I spluttered, or tried to. Water seemed to be covering my shell. I held my breath. I could hear Matt laughing as I felt myself becoming engulfed by the water. 

***

The lid began to lift and a thin strip of daylight blinded me. The antennae were stronger than they looked. I’ll give them that. It was time to leave this shit behind. Literally. Mounting the pile I had created over the last few hours, I used my entire body, starting with the antennae, I had finally found a use for them, even the shortened one and pushed up with all my legs. Holding the lip of the lid with my front legs, I kicked and wiggled my way out of the dumpster. 

It seemed adding an outsider to a research project wasn’t allowed. The boss had instructed them to get rid of me. And so they had squabbled. What should they do with such an animal? Matt said it would be easiest to squish me, there was an incinerator in the basement they could throw me in. Thankfully this was voted out and I ended up here wallowing in the fatty acids and squalid thoughts of getting what I deserved. It was meant to be, I was finally where I had always belonged, animal or not, I recalled the urgency of finding answers. It wasn’t just my life at stake. I remembered Suzannah, her obsession, her books, that all things have force, have agency. I needed to show the world that Jane Bennet was right. We things matter, and are vibrant. For Alfie.

Forced to make my way out of a bin for commercial waste, my ego was squashed to the size of my broken antenna. The food didn’t help. Whilst in the lab, a voluntary test subject, a guinea pig ,the food had been shit. Mostly bin scraps. Probably pulled from this same bin. I needed some decent food. Some Halušky for example.

***

Approaching the back of the shops and restaurants, overflowing bins on either side. I scrambled down the wooden slatted fence and into the alley. It was an open space. I stood still. Cigarette in hand, she was looking out, down the alley, I was in her eye line. Checkered trousers ballooned around her, making it seem like she had one leg. The tightly fastened apron suggested otherwise, as it hugged the tops of her large thighs. I froze. She could easily choose to ignore me. Right? I couldn’t think of a time, when if a large insect had come into view, I would have ignored it. There was a chance when smoking with Tom, playing The Legend of Zelda, a chance. I wished for Zelda to appear now. Something to take the pressure off. But all was still. Nothing moved except the smoke drifting from her cigarette. I was relieved when she turned away. Maybe she hadn’t seen me. 

“Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” 

The pain was staggering. I couldn’t work out what was hurting. Neither could I move. 

“Take that!” I felt a thump in my abdomen as the chef’s foot pushed its way underneath me before lifting me up in the air. I landed on the other side of the alley on some bin bags. Old fish skins seeped out along with kilos of slimy noodles and meat packaging. This was not the problem. Towering above me was a very irate human. I watched in slow-motion as she swung a wooden post above her head. For a second I thought I was on World’s Strongest Woman the strain and bulging features, penetrating through her skin. The post came down hard on the bottom half of my body. Knowing this could be the end, I forced myself over, off the bags and onto my feet as once more the post was raised. I tried to limp fast. My back leg trailed behind me. My balance was off. I couldn’t move fast enough. She was getting closer. 

“Oi! Chef! Order!” 

I caught sight of the chef turning towards the voice. 

“What the fuck man? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something here!”

“Yea, well, customers!” 

I could see her once again raise the post. I kept running, looking for anywhere to hide. I felt pain all over, then my eyes closed. 

***

I cleaned the plate. Pleased to finally be allowed such a thing instead of the rabbit bowl I had been using.“More sleep for you, I think. You need it to regenerate those legs.” Marina lifted me from the table and carried me into her study. I nestled into her arm. Once in the room, she laid me down into the small dog bed she had had in storage somewhere. It was the ideal size. In the partially lined sheepskin bed, I felt cocooned but not constricted. As I was about to close my eyes. Something large entered the room and made its way towards me. It was huge! Black with some white wiry hair and a large tail it wafted around wildly. It knew I was here. I looked over to where Marina was sitting at her desk. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t escape to the ceiling. She hadn’t noticed the dog’s entrance. Marina! It began sniffing in front of me, wanting to get closer. Go away! Leave me alone!

It tilted its head to one side and made a whiney noise. 

“Oh Rory! What are you doing in here!” Marina grabbed the dog by its collar and whisked him out of the room, closing the door behind it. She came back, and seeing my agitation, insisted the dog was gone and wouldn’t be coming back. An apology would have been nice but she didn’t go that far. I’d never been into dogs. I never knew what they were going to do. Not like cats. They were much more relaxed. Marina, why don’t you have a cat!? I looked back at her but she was fully engrossed in her writing. He nearly ate me for fuck's sake. What were you thinking letting him in here? She must have sensed my unease as she swivelled round to my direction. 

“Sleep for you. Sleepy time. Gosh I need to stop getting distracted, first the dog now you. This paper won’t write itself.”

She was right. I needed rest. I needed to get my strength back. From reading books by Ewen Cameron over Suzannah’s shoulder there was a likelihood that I would grow back the legs. The one on the right was the worst off, most of the leg was gone. This was the ideal place to heal. The study was quiet. Marina would talk to me, I liked that, even though I couldn’t talk back. It was more that she was muttering to herself most of the time. She would read too, read aloud what she was writing. At first I found it difficult to understand, it all seemed so academic, so out of reach. But as time went on and my legs began to heal, it began to make some sense. She made sure the dog didn’t get back in after the incident. I’ve never felt so helpless. Not as a human anyway. This world was not made for me, that was very clear. It didn’t know how to react to me, to treat me. So instead I got violence. I got kicked, attacked with toilet rolls, chucked into bins, twice. And worst of all, I too had been driven to violence; the only person, perhaps ever, who had understood me, was dead because of me. 

****

Crashing. I watched in slow-motion as her right knee hit the edge of the step hard, her back smashed into the concrete, then her head. Thud. The force brought her head back up. Her purple jumper just missing the ketchup spill from the old chips. Was she trying to get up? To lift her head to joke? Complain or rib? Stillness. 

“Mum?” A quiet Alfie crept up the stairwell from where he was told to hide. He looked around the corner where he had last seen his mum, stopping abruptly, grazing the top of her head with his little knee. Looking down at her and then up the stairs towards where I was standing. I lay down. There was nothing to hold me up, it felt as if all my insides had gone. Had left me. Slumped on the floor, I watched as Alfie began to pat his mum on the pack, pulling at her tight purple cropped jumper. 

“Mum? We need to go. Mum?” Blood began to spill out from her nose. Her head resting limply near the edge of the landing. A small pool formed that soon expanded, sliding onto the stair below. Realising his mum wasn’t moving, Alfie took her hand which lay dumbly in front of her. And stood, watching. The blood continued to flow, her ears too began to bleed, building up in her outer ear, dripping from her lobe, spilling over and merging with the pool from her nose. Alfie watched as the pools grew. He looked up at me, as if he might see his Uncle Greg.  

“Uncle Greg!” 

I couldn’t move. As Alfie watched the door of my studio flat, I caught Gen’s eyes, they were open, wide open. Empty, but looking at me, as if to say, what have you done? 

A door opened below, voices echoed around the concrete stairwell. And I ran. I ran for my life. Ignoring the screeches that passed me. The kicks that nearly hit me. The cries from Alfie as neighbours began to see the state of his mum. I ran for the guilt. I ran.

See more of Mathilda’s work at: https://www.everythingforever.net/mathilda-oosthuizen