#like I wanted to befriend them so badly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spotaus · 7 months ago

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AYYYYY!!!! I actually have something silly I wann reply to this with so @ancientschampionau I'm writing it in the actual blog post this time! (I might miss some details because the main posts are hidden under Read Mores for me but I think I got this 🙏)

Okay so first off... HELLO??? Gods I love them. Thank you so much for breaking down exactly what's going on here with theur magic and stuff because I love puzzling things out from writing of course, but getting the full dissertation on these guys straight from the source is like Diety coming up to me and whispering Forbidden Knowledge in my ears (/pos) so now I just need to spew my thoughts!

I'll start with how Soul-bonding with Night and the mutual wants to take care of/wants to be taken care of vibes spread the power between them! It's such a great method of introducing them as Acolytes now! Night trust them, cares about them a lot, and they do the same for him! Mortals can try to raise a God, but you're so right in saying that if they figure out their domains first, then they can help Night later on!!

Now having said that, I have *got* to figure out wtf is going on with this power symbolism. Because easiest put, I definitely think it just draws on their original strengths (sonewhat) of what they were best at working under Nightmare in the beginning. But I also am theorizing that it's playing a lot more into their mental states too. (<- forgive me if you already established this, I read the post at like 5 am with bleary eyes lmao)

Horror has always been revered for his strength (mentally and physically) so it makes sense he'd have the power that takes the most active concentration mixed with the most physical movement. He's very stable, and thoughtful, and moving the earth itself (EARTHBENDING POG!!!) Is something that's not be done on a whim. (Like, you can't convince me Killer wouldn't have already tried to impulsively make a Giant Hole or smth if he had that power). But Horror's whole "job" from the start was to stabilize the others, make things safer and easier. He was only capable of doing that because he took time to learn, observe, and take his time, which were all in part to his patient and calmer nature and personality. Now he's using his powers in the same way, starting out small, but his first priority to to make things safer (moving the cliff) and easier (rearranging things) to maintain and co-exist with. I also gotta point out that his version is obviously pretty nature-sensative thanks to Night's influence, but he clearly has a respect for the world around him. It's not like normal landscaping or terraforming where ya gotta dig-up/build atop the nature there, he just... moves it a few more yards to the side, flattens it a lil, etc. Very cool of him!

Then there's Killer. Of course Killer was always the one quick to speak (improv king), the one to hatch plans, and as Nightmare's first cronie and his right hand man, it makes sense that Killer would develop a power that helps the gang in a social way. Nightmare, as well-spoken as he might always be with his advanced vocabulary, is now an anxious and shy bean, so Killer can't let him do all the talking. Cross and Dust are no-gos because, I mean, look at 'em (my beloveds), and Horror is always level-headed but sometimes there needs to be someone who *isn't* going to level with a person when they don't deserve it. Killer's impulsive and creative nature makes this power obviously great for him. It protects them (ex. That Lady + Her Kids, which was GREAT foreshadowing btw, oh my gosh) and it also makes it a Lot Easier to explain away their weirdness. Like, they're from another universe, and stuff happening out of the blue is smth they'd like to keep under wraps. Killer is now their Alibi Man like he was from the start! (And now that I'm thinking on it... i don't think Killer would really *need* to compell Elli to not talk about Night's lil God Miracle when that happened, they've got a mutual trust, but that's another prime example of the kinda situation where they'd need it. It's very easy to convince someone magic was a slight of hand or actually something very important and dangerous that can't get out when you've got as much conviction (rizz) as Killer does! Plus my trail-on about how it reflects his mental status? Uhhh. Hmmm.. I just think that he's a little unhinged, and maybe in the past reality slipped away from him a bit, lies easier to believe than the truth, and now he can use that on other people to the benefit of his family? White-lies style I suppose.

Cross is up next because he's my problem-child with the predictions I'm trying to figure out here, haha! But I think my main idea with him is. He was a late addition to the team, after the others had already (sonewhat) bonded, or at least had gotten used to their antics. He's kinda the odd-man out in his own perspective of things, I'm sure. It might be that subconsciously it's easier to fade into the background (literally, now) and observe what's going on from the distance. Then he can catch up with reality. His was really the one that caught me off-guard (and maybe I'm projecting a bit-) but it felt like more of a personal power to Cross than the others were, because it's a *visual* one. Dust and Horror both have physical attributes that affect the world around them, abd Killer can affect people, but Cross? Cross is using the environment to help himself (<- which might be my entire point here) literally. Subconsciously or not the universe is bending around him to hide him!! There's no danger right now though, that's the kicker. It just kinda... seems to *happen* as he develops it. Which happens to all four of them, but again it's the execution that got me here. The way that instead of Cross being the one to notice and control when he disappears, it's the others who seem to locate him or notice and drag him out of it. And op I don't know if this was intentional or if I'm just insane, but this feels super heavily like a metaphor for Cross isolating himself because he feels out of place with the others? (Again, I could definitely be projecting, but) If all of these powers rely on control and intentions in their souls to manage them (Killer not tricking the guys, Horror learning his by taking his time, Dust's just overwhelming him in the same way he was uses to before?) They seem to feed on old habits and strengths, and *insecurities* (<- getting to Dust with this one) I just think it's really neat that Cross seems to literally fade into the background. And something something symbolism of his family *literally* dragging him back into the present every time it happens because they care about him and Literally want him around. ...Also he was usually the one (if I'm not mistaken) who was extra worried about getting found. Whether that be from Dream/Blue when they were first on the run or now with people finding out about them, and with Error showing up now it's a trend with him. There were so many times they could've been caught, and Cross probably is subconsciously trying to figure out how to conceal them all away from harmful prying eyes now that they have a place to stay. (<- I feel like he's eventually going to progress into literally weaving a weird cloak around their farm or the universe itself if he needs to so that no one will even know they're there. Percy Jackson Mist style-) This last bit was my actual prediction but I got lost in the sauce (emotions tying into magic and desires lore) earlier lol.

And Dust! Last but certainly not least! He was the first to start developing his powers (the first to adopt Night too) and I think it's fascinating that his is electricity. Of course it's got fun quirks like tying into his handyman hobby or potentially his past as a Svientist (Idk if his AU follows that track so ignore me if it didn't-) but the important thing is that Electricity is quick and powerful. And I know that we're classifying it as a 'storm' kinda magic, but until he makes it do a nice drizzle I can't really wrap my head around it so I'm gonna lean more on the Electricity part lol- since the start, Dust was always the strongest and most unpredictable member of the team. He was sonething the others had to prepare for when they sat him coming (Killer not being as... well, Killer, Horror preparing to stop the inevitable fight, and all of then eventually learning how to redirect that boiling energy elsewhere. Dust has always been sparking with metaphorical electricity. Having said that, he's also been insanely worried about being seen as Weak and Lesser (and Worthless) by the others. His main goal this entire time has been to protect Nightmare (as evidence hy... everything but specifically this time the storm not hurting him). His power, already dangerous and strong, manifested into sonetjing stronger. Like an electric fence that shocks everyone but Night. Night would be safe anywhere in one of Dust's storms, but so far even the rest of the gang still get hit sometimes. It's like Night literally is in the eye of the storm whenever Dust has too much energy (or potentially might need to defend him later on down the road). Eye of the storm... like Dust is always watching over Nightmare because Dust is the storm... please tell me that was intentional? Anyways yeag. He got stronger, and stronger, in a less controlled and mire tangible way. He wants to leave 0 doubt in the mind of anyone who crosses him that he's the strongest of the four and if you try to touch his babybones *nothing* would get in his way of protecting Night. (Including, for the moment, his family.) Also the 'getting hit but it not hurting as much' is really giving some sort of emotional backlash vibes. Like, it's hard to get Dust to crack, but when he cracks it's like breaking a jar, and sometimes the glass shards can hit people they weren't meant to. And it hurts less to the people hurt because they know it was an outburst (or accident) and they're understanding and supportive and knew that wasn't the intention of whoever did it. Though I do figure that as the boys keep getting closer Dust would be able to let his subconscious accept them in too. Once Dust is finally sure with hinself that the others really do respect him.

Okay I coukd be 100% wrong with some of this, but like, hoping this lil analysis got at least a bit right? Op you know I'm always honored to be able to hear lore and see you expand on it so if you ever want to elaborate further this is you invitation! (What's that one thing? If RealAgeAU has no fans then I'm dead. Or sonething? Haha!)

Once again, I am spoiled, and thank you so much for cooking all of this up. Every update I kick my feet in the air and giggle happily about it-

RealAgeAU Drabble - The Tavern

*kicks in the door* HELLO! :D Guess three times who had an idea?! IT is me! Your homie!

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

I am so excited because I finally got an idea on how I wanted to mention a few things! And It fits together! :D

Also, The mentioned OC is from @spotaus Who made a lovely drabble that I personally also consider canon for this AU <3 Give it some love and look at it okay? They are very talented!

*---------------------*

Dust looks up at the building as he tilts his skull. It looks nice enough and doesn't look like the general Grillby's building. It looks grander and like it has been expended a bunch. Dust can see some newer repairs around the fench and the walls and can only assume those had to be repaired.

Cross shuffles somewhere near him "Are we sure about this?"

Killer hums as he looks at the building himself "I mean. Dusty got that cash reward for that repair thing at the last market..." and he shrugs.

Dust nods "WAs a lot." and that is an understatement. When the mayor had said they would send a thank you for Dust repairing the generator and fridges he had figrued it would just be like some flowers.

That was usually with political people did. Send some weird present and a card about how good of a free service yoou did and all that crap.

Instead she just send a cash package that none of them had expected. As thank you for saving their market. Aparently it was the normal amount they payed for a emergancy service of this big with a nice tiny bonus. As a welcome to the community present!

It had been welcome mostly because it would help get them started after the winter and made sure they didn't need to keep getting by with tiny jobs here and there.

Horror nods in agreement "Crop said this would be a good way to get more friendly. Be seen less as hermits." Dust blinks back into the conversation and actually pays attention as he is suposed to be part of it.

Cross sounds deeply unhappy "I like being hermits..."

Dust hums as he keeps holding Nightmare. Nightmare stares slightly enchanted at the building before shaking his skull to snap himself out of it. Dust thinks they are doing a good job with helping him unlearn the bad and unhealthy habits he had from being forced into his guardian position.

But it will take more time, Nightmare still feels awkward and weird for being a child and childlike sometimes. They will eventually get that mindset out of his little skull.

More shuffles and Dust glances over. Yup. No Cross in sight. Dust doesn't point it out and just thrusts his elbow out into the general direction he last heard Cross. A groan and Cross sends him a glare as the weird invisibility starts to shift off of him.

That is another thing all four of them had silently decided to just... not talk about. Much like how he tended to now be more charged with actual electricity instead of just mana. How Killer's silver tongue has gone to the extreme and even the most stupid lies seem to be believed if he says it with enough confidence. How the very layout of their own farm shiftly slightly when Horror had been staring and nudging the area.

They just...

It is probably fine. Ngihtmare hadn't seemed alarmed by it and they just figure it is because of the apple situation. Nightmare is still slowly losing that old magic and they are nearby a lot. It would make sense they took it over slightly.

They hadn't been actively bothered by it yet and while annoying and something to keep in mind it didn't seem dangerous.

Dust nods to the door "Lets go." and he walks forwards wiht Ngihtmae in his arms.

The inside is nicely lit and warm. People are all around and Dust recognises quite a few people from all of his trips to town to repair things. he also sees some of the people who came to help them with their new house. Dust still doesnt'quite know the names of them all as he never was the best with names. That is more of a Killer and Cross thing.

Dust looks around and spots a table which is empty and marches over there. By this point easily ignoring the curious glances. He also knows that Killer is shadowing him with most likely that same stupid challenging and charming grin on his stupid charming face.

Dust takes a seat and looks at the chairs around him. He ends up pulling one near and putting Nightmare in it. Nightmare manages to look over the edge but it is a near thing. Dust tilts his skull "That good?"

Nightmare thinks it over before nodding. Then he looks to the side as he takes in someone playing the guitar and singing live music. huh. Dust wonders if that is a regular thing.

The others join them and they all take a moment to really familiarise themselves with the area. It is different but small details are the same. The shade of the lighting. The colour of the shelves. Tiny things that make the scene more familiar.

Dust used to get disbalanced and well, fucked in the head by seeing things that reminded him of his own universe. He still gets missed up if it is too much alike but he likes to think he got a bit better at handling it all.

They look up when Light walks over to them. Their flames bright as they carry menu's in their multitude of arms. They greet them and gives everyone a menu before getting a small notepad out "Any ideas for drinks?"

Dust shrugs as he lokos at Ngihtmare. Nightmare reads the drink part of the menu wiht a serious and thoughtful look before looking up at the fire elemental. he pauses for a moment before speaking "Can I have a root beer float?"

Light's flames flicker happily as they note it down "One root beer float for the very polite skeleton." they looks at them and wait.

Dust hums and mutters "Same." Light nods nad notes it down.

Killer looks at the different drinks and settles for some latte coffee which he will probably put an unholy amount of sugar into. DUst would be worried about the caffeine if he didn't already know that caffeine just didn't affect Killer.

Horror ends up asking for some fresh mint tea and Cross just asks for sparkling water.

With those orders out of the way Light lets them be to look at the menu. Some items hit the guilt filled part of his soul as it reminds him of things of the past but he shakes it off. Those are normal menu items. Even so Dust decides to take the chicken and egg dish. Mostly because it seems like a this universe thing.

Horror ends up picking the same as Killer ends up going for an unholy amount of fries. Nightmare ends up picking pumpkin soup and Cross joins Nightmare with his order.

Light brings them their drinks, which honestly? Rather brave of the fire elemental to bring them liquids. They take their order and leave for a short while to get everything ready.

Nightmare goes back to listening to the live music as Dust and the other three make light conversation. They keep their conversation vague as they talk abotu old missions and stupid stuff that happened. They share chuckles and it is honestly nice to relax.

Their food is brought over and Light looks at them nervously "So... How is the flower doing?"

Horror looks up before answering "It is well. It stands in the window near the fire place."

They had ended up moving the burning flower there as it served as a nice night light for Nightmare. Nightmare denied being uncomfortable in the dark but Dust thinks the darkness still freaks him out a bit now that he lost his nightvision after becoming little again.

Dust can only imagine the panic he feels if he thinks he was left alone agian. Abandoned again.

It is also why Cross invested some of the hard earned cash into fairy lights and strung those up all along and above the nest. Light it up better.

Nightmare slept much more soundly and woke up less int he middle of the night now and for them it hardly mattered if it was dark out or not.

Light, heh, lights up as they say they are happy to hear that before happily skipping off.

Dust snorts and shoots Cross an amused grin "they are enchanted by you." and he snorts again when Cross sputters.

"Hardly!" Cross glares as he blushes and his arm disappears out of view again. Luckily Killer sees and nudges where the arm used to be, bringing it back into view.

Cross crosses his arms and huffs.

Killer grins and winks at Cross "I can see why. soldier boy is so strong and reliable and a true knight in shining armour." and he winks again.

Cross sputters and his blush grows even darker as he looks away from Killer "Stop being weird..." Killer laughs and hugs Cross.

Horror watches them with a fond look before turning his focus on Ngihtmare and getting him to eat his soup. Something about little babybones needing energy to heal and grow.

Dust gets to work on his own meal as he watches the others. Soul feeling warm and content to see them all here. He really likes not being alone anymore.

*---------------------*

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And if you haven't check out Spotaus's lovely drabble !!

#realageau #sorry this is so much haha!#I just really wanted to dig into it!#feel free to snatch anything from here you like and if I got smth wrong feel free to tell me! i wanna understand these guys #so badly!! (observing them under a microscope moment)#i said everything I needed to in the post this time! so less tags! but I do have #one more annoying thing because I thought about it #and it's gonna be my last Light mention for a bit but- That flame is 100% the kinda monster to go back to the counter by grillby and sigh #dreamily about the guys but (I headcanon that Flame Elementals can read intentions/words through flames and speech is optional) get flicked #on the forehead by Grillby because he can tell what they're thinking and he'd tell them to knock it off lmao--- (<- Light is thinking really #really hard about befriending them. for context. they are just a silly lil ace guy who thinks they're pretty to look at and would make great #pals hehe-)#OKAY done! finished!#thank you op!! now I'm just gonna try and go do art because I have a day off from work and intend to make the most of it!!!

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darknights04 · 2 years ago

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Sensing You

Pairings: Ominis Gaunt x reader

Summary: You and Ominis have been friends for as long as you've been at Hogwarts. He's felt more for you for almost just as long. He's never thought about telling you, but that was until the new fifth year put you in great danger.

Warnings: Spoils for Hogwarts Legacy (obviously), pain, cruciatus curse, unedited, not proof read. Reader is not mc

Masterlist

When it came to you, Ominis was no stranger to the idea of the long game. You, Ominis, Sebastian, and Anne had been friends for as long as you could all remember. Ominis has had a crush on you for almost just as long. It was worst this year. With Anne staying home all your attention was turned to the two boys. Usually you would turn to Anne some days and have girl time between the two of you. Now, Ominis had nothing but time to grow more and more infatuated with you.

Ever since the new fifth year beat him in a duel, Sebastian had been mostly with them, giving you and Ominis even more time alone together. It was driving him crazy. Every time you laughed in the way that he loved, rested your chin on his shoulder to look at what we was doing, leaned your arm against his to whisper something during class. He had to hold himself back so he didn’t just grab you and slam his lips onto yours. One of the only parts of you he has yet to be able to identify. As children you would play games, Ominis feeling all of his friends’ faces and guess who was who, so he knew the general idea of what your face looked like. But your lips was a mystery to him. A mystery he badly wanted solved.

Today, you were sitting with Ominis in a corridor near the slytherin common room. You had spent most of the day trying to cheer him up after Sebastian repeatedly would bother him about Salazar Slytherin’s Sciptorium. You knew that he wanted nothing to do with dark magic after the hold it has had no his family for generations. Sure, Ominis had been exaggerating his hurt feelings just a bit, but if all it took was a little pouting to get you this close to him, then you best believe he was about to win an oscar for this performance.

“He just doesn’t understand how dangerous it is!” he complained with a dramitic sigh, smiling internally due to the hand you had running soothing circles across his back.

“He’s just trying to do anything he can to help Anne,” you replied, wanting to defend him.

“I know. I don’t like seeing Anne suffer either, same as you. But I know where this path leads, and it’s never a good place.”

Ominis’s internal smile fell as he heard you greet the new student Sebastian had befriended.

“What are you doing here?” He asked them with a small scoff.

That scoff, of course, resulting in a small smack on the shoulder from you, muttering a small “Manners,” in his ear. Ominis rolled his eyes, but the smile he had inside, reserve just for you, came back once more.

“Do you have a moment?” the new student spoke up.

Ominis didn’t want to, but he heard them out. After lying about Sebastian showing them the undercroft, Ominis has been wary about this student. Even so, he was feeling at ease due to your presence, and in turn agreed to show them where Salazar’s Scriptorum was located.

“I hope we don’t regret this,” he said with a sigh as he revealed how to access the door.

“We’ve just been sitting outside of it?” you asked with a chuckle, noticing you didn’t have to even move to be at the door.

Ominis shrugged, his internal smile showing through just a bit on the outside. “It was the first place I thought of.”

“First place you thought of to go and complain about the scriptorium?”

“Precisely.”

Before any of you knew it, Sebastian and his new friend had opened the door, ushering each other inside.

“I just hope we’re ready for this,” Ominis continued to sigh.

“We’ll be fine,” you tried to reassure.

“We?” Ominis had repeated. “You’re not coming.”

“What? Ominis you can’t possibly expect me to stay behind.”

“I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“If you’re going, I’m going,” was all you said, standing your ground.

“Y/n…” he had tried to coax. You didn’t say anything, hands finding their way to your hips. Ominis sighed. He knew you were stubborn, so he also knew there was no talking you out of this. “Fine.”

Your stubborn glare quickly faded into a cheek to cheek grin as you almost skipped next to Ominis, linking your arms together before making your way into the door, following behind Sebastian and the fifth-year who had already found their way inside.

Not that you would ever admit it, but hearing Ominis speak Parsetounge did something to you. Yes, the language often ties a witch or wizard to dark magic, and for Ominis it serves only as a reminder to his family, but that doesn’t mean you can’t appreciate how attractive it was when he spoke it.

“It worked!” the fifth year spoke as the door opened. “Ominis, you possess a rare ability indeed.”

“It’s nothing,” he brushed off, retreating back towards you and linking your arms once more.

“Truly,” you agreed. “It’s fascinating.”

If you weren’t near positive that Ominis would never think about you in a romantic way whatsoever, you would have sword you saw a small tinge of red grace his cheeks at your comment. But it was probably just the lighting.

Once the door was open, the other two were fast to start figuring out the puzzles and the maze in order to get through the scriptorium. You and Ominis had stayed behind. Ominis wanted nothing to do with this, his job was just to open the door. You were curious about the area, yes, but Ominis was more important. You wanted to make sure he was okay. Usually throughout the days he would have plenty of distraction from his family and their legacy. But now? In the heart of Salazar Slytherin’s Scriptorium? All that surrounded him were reminders.

As the doors opened one by one, you all moved further and further until you reached a black door.

“Looks troubling,” was all Sebastian had said.

Ominis scoffed. “This whole place is troubling.”

As the other two went into the strange room, you didn’t budge. As Ominis was stopped from the firm grasp you still had on him, he turned towards you confused.

“I don’t like the looks of this room,” you whispered. “I have a bad feeling about it.”

“So do I,” he responded,his hand finding the top of yours to comfort you. “But for my aunt’s sake, we cannot stop now.”

“You’re right,” you nodded, taking a deep breath. “We’ll be okay.”

As soon as you stepped into the new room, the door closed behind you.

“The gate!” Sebastian called out, “We’re locked in… again.”

“Then Salazar Slytherin is not yet finished with us,” Ominis sneered. At this point, you began to panic. There was no clear way out. You began to lose even more hope when you looked in the corner and noticed-

“A skeleton,” the new student pointed out. “And Noctora’s last journal entry. She mentions being trapped here. Trapped by… and unforgivable curse.”

Your eyes widened. The incantation “crucio” etched into the floor suddenly making sense.

“No,” you said in a slight panic. “No there has to be some other way out of here. Another puzzle? Another brazier to light?”

“What?” Ominis asked, confused. “What are you talking about? What is it?”

“They know what we need to do,” Sebastian said plainly. “One of us needs to cast crucio.”

Sebastian turned to his friend by the door, discussing the curse with them while Ominis began to pace.

“Ominis,” you called to him. “Ominis relax, we will figure something out.”

“No,” he said simply. “No this all could have been avoided. I could have refused, we could have just gone to dinner. I could have protested more to you joining.”

“Ominis none of this is your fault.”

“Yes it is! Don’t you see? I put you in danger.”

“I chose to be here.”

“But you had doubts, and I assured you that it would be alright.”

“And we are alright. We’ll find a way around this.”

Before anything else could be said, they heard the new fifth year shout out “Crucio!” in Sebastian’s direction. The two of you looked towards the pair with wide eyes, about to call out towards Sebastion until… nothing happened.

“Did you do the movement wrong?” Sebastian asked.

“No,” they responded, shaking their head. “No, I think that I just couldn’t mean it. I care for you, Sebastian.”

“You have to try,” he urged.

“I can’t.”

“Cast it on me,” you spoke up suddenly, taking a step towards the pair.

“No!” Ominis had interjected quickly.

“They can’t cast it on Sebastian,” you began to explain.

“You can’t-”

“We don’t have the same connection so they could-”

“Not you!”

“Ominis,” you sighed, quieting your voice as you pulled him aside. “I will be fine.”

“I’ve felt the cruciatus curse before so I-”

“Shouldn’t have to go through it again. Let me do this, please.”

Ominis didn’t say anything more. You took his silence as a sign of agreement, so you approached the door.

“You ready?” Sebastian had asked you.

You nodded. “Ready.”

Ominis braced for the moment that the spell left their wand. He knew what to expect, but he’d never heard the sound of excruciating pain from you. That was something he was not curious to find out.

Ominis listened as the screams left your throat, as you fell to your knees on the ground. He expected this. He expected the screams to last for several seconds. But this was too long. If they had just cast the curse and left it at that, the pain would have subsided by now. This was prolonged for too long.

“Stop!” he yelled over the screams. “That’s enough!”

He waited for what felt like eternity for the screams to stop. For any sign that you were no longer in pain. But when your screams had cut off abruptly, it did not give him the relief he was waiting for.

“Y/n?” he asked into the silence. “Y/n are you okay?” Never had there ever been a moment in his life that Ominis had wished more that he could see what was happening around him. When you didn’t respond, he began to walk towards the door, calling Sebastian’s name instead. “What’s happened? Are they okay?”

When Sebastian didn’t respond either, Ominous really began to panic. “Answer me, Sebastian!”

“They fainted,” the student told him flatly.

“What?” he hissed, rushing to where he last heard your voice, hands failing about to try and find any sign of you. When his hand landed on your shoulder, he let out a small breath of relief, almost as if he expected you to have disappeared entirely. “I’m taking them to the hospital wing,” he then announced, following down your arm to find the bend of your knees, intending to pick you up.

“No!” Sebastian protested. “You can’t.”

“And why not?”

“They’ll know we were using unforgivables,” the fifth-year stated.

“What if we need you to open another door?” Sebastian commented at the same time.

“Glad to see you both care so deeply about their safety,” Ominis scoffed.

“You can’t carry them and use your wand to lead you both,” Sebastian continued, looking for another excuse to keep the boy there. “Let’s find the end of this tunnel and then we’ll take them there together, deal?”

Ominis sighed, head faced towards the floor. He didn’t want to delay getting you the help you needed, but Sebastian was right. He could crash you both into a wall and injure you further. As much as he hated to admit it, your health was in their hands now.

“Just hurry up, will you?” he muttered quietly.

---

When you finally awoke from your unconscious state, Ominis was asleep next to you. Looking around you noticed you were no longer in the dungeons, but instead in the hospital wing under watchful eyes. Well, not that Ominis could very well be included in that.

As you turned to look at the boy next to you, you moved as quietly as possible. Lacking his sight, Ominis seemed to have much higher hearing abilities than anyone else you knew, so you knew that any sudden noise would be enough to wake him. Your theory was proved correct as he stirred awake at the small ruffle of the sheet.

You watched as he opened his mouth, but no sound came out as if he changed his mind on speaking up. Instead, you saw his hand slowly reach out towards you, as if to confirm you were there.

“I’m awake,” you told him with a smile.

Ominis let out a small breath of relief. “Are you alright?”

“I’m alright,” you nodded. “I didn’t expect it to last that long.”

“It shouldn’t have,” he said, almost with a sneer. “That new student had to curse on you for longer than it needed to be. All we needed was for it to hit you, they made it linger. They’re lucky I don’t go straight to professor Black and have them expelled.”

Ominis’s thoughts stopped in their tracks when he felt you lay your hand on top of his.

“I’m alright,” you assured him again. “Lay with me.”

“I- What?”

“Please? I don’t want to think about any of this anymore.”

Ominis sat still in thought for a moment, stammering slightly to himself before standing from his chair, feeling around the bed to make sure you were out of the way before laying down beside you. You layed your head onto his chest and exhaled deeply with a contented sigh. Ominis smiled gently to himself, his nose falling into your hair as he inhaled your scent. He decided then and there that it didn’t matter that he could never see you. Every other sense he had t otake you in was just fine for him. Your voice was enough to bring a small smile to your face, your laugh even more so. Your smell felt like home to him. He could tell you were in a room just by the smell of your shampoo. He could pinpoint which brand it was in a shop just with a small whiff alone. The touch of you skin never failed to comfort him in times of distress. The soft, delicate touch of your hand on his would always bring a smile to his lips. Your taste.. He was yet to be abpe to experiance. The only one of his available senses that has yet to experience you. The rest thought you were perfect, he could only imagine that would be the same.

That is, assuming he ever decides to do anything about his feelings for you.

For now, however, this was enough for him.

Part Two

#ominis gaunt #ominis x reader #ominis gaunt x reader #gaunt #slytherin #sebastian sallow #anne sallow #hogwarts #hogwarts legacy #harry potter #crucio #second person pov #x reader #fanfiction #dark magic #mc #angst

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arttrashking · 3 months ago

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Is it alright if we can get more baby MK and more info on how Mac raised him?

BTW mac I bet you were the best mama Mac-

In early years it was only Macaque being the active parental figure, mostly due to his intense desire to be a father- Wukong was hesitant out of many many many fears and concerns he had

He didn’t want to ruin the kid, and he didn’t want to really accept a child with his own opinions about the idea of being a dad. Especially after the experiences he had witnessing how badly Mihou seemed to spoil him in the beginning but he didn’t dare take away someone that made his moon so alive again after centuries seeing such a lost and dead eyed look

But eventually MK being so empathetic and innocent…Wukong felt it was time he never let him see their problems again and preserve that kindness and help nurture the good heart Xiaotan has and be a good mentor for the boy to look up too. In making sure he never ended up like him that empathetic behavior was a savior to Mei and Redson, MK managing to befriend both in separate personal moments that shaped their view of him

MK is too late in their breaking marriage to really fill the gap that has grown between them unfortunately, but it did give them both a reason to try staying longer and make the best of their situation

#lmk #shadowpeach #heavenly emperors au #lmk macaque #lmk shadowpeach #my art #sun wukong #sun wukong x macaque #lmk xiaotian #lmk redson #lmk mei #angst

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getsuuna · 3 months ago

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KNY Fandom so fucking insufferable I'm gonna start behaving like those GiyuShino and SaneKana shippers and go around spreading misinformation and say "no you don't get it SaneGiyuu was implied!!!" /j

because I'd actually have more content to mention without even mischaracterizing them

wanna talk about how they're a two-faced mirror? almost as if they were written to parallel each other and there's so much to talk about on this matter

or, since not everyone in this Fandom can dive into analysis, wanna mention how Shinobu figured Sanemi could've made Giyuu smile by inviting him to eat his fav dish with him? why not ask him directly instead? why Sanemi out of all people?

wanna mention Sanemi's pseudo-obsession on that man? he disliked his ass, but if we go back to analysis, his intolerance to someone feeling superior can be tied to a multitude of factors and one of which is being low-key reminded of himself, and he loathes himself while at the same time he puts on that strong façade. he can't face it though. and he wanted to understand why Giyuu felt that way SO BADLY he went to him for training and tried to speak with him, he wanted a contact, he wanted to understand, he needed Giyuu to speak up but he didn't.

on the other hand don't we wanna talk about Giyuu's perspective? Giyuu never hated him nor did he really feel sad knowing he disliked him, contrary to how he felt towards Obanai. not to mention he even got to be sarcastic towards Sanemi's dumb ass at least twice.

and the iconic ohagi scene? idk about y'all but between the hashira I think that's THE iconic scene, alongside Giyuu and Shinobu beefing and Shinobu almost stabbing him (don't get me wrong platonic GiyuShino has my whole heart)

the first time we saw Giyuu smile in the series is while imagining to befriend Sanemi??? and out of everyone he chose Sanemi? the hashira who is canonically the most difficult to talk with?😭 he only ever smiled either for food, for Sanemi or Tanjiro

oh and let's not talk about how Tanjiro, after getting knocked up, wakes up and the first thing Giyuu says is "yeah Shinazugawa left" ..? or the whole novel chapter in which they end up talking about him (supposedly right after that scene in the manga) and Giyuu cheered up. what

anyways, likewise, the first time Sanemi was seen smiling genuinely outside of his family was with Giyuu. Obanai and especially Masachika were both closer to him, not to mention the most important person in his life, Genya...yet here we are ig?? (after Giyuu he also smiled more in general, the scene of him smiling at Nezuko was one of my fav panels ever so keep in mind I'm taking in consideration the chronological events and not the impact of the scenes per se)

or let's talk about the most important part in their development which is when they fought together.

Sanemi saving him, telling him not to zone out while throwing the sword at him, it made Giyuu realize he's the water hashira, it was the first time Giyuu acknowledged it. Sanemi influenced Giyuu's character positively, and so far Tanjiro was the only other one who managed to. Sanemi saw him as his ally (rightfully so), and hopefully seeing him fight also made him realize he wasn't that much of a conceited guy, he was just like him, as he initially wanted Giyuu to understand (despite the fact it was a miscommunication)

Sanemi teaming up with Giyuu out of everyone, in such an impactful panel.... idk, if it was a straight ship that would've felt like a confession for the Fandom 💀

they impacted each other's character, they were the only two hashira surviving after facing the same war, they faced similar struggles during their lives (but let's not get into analysis, once again...), they could've understood each other better than anyone else would ever have, and they ended up bonding and eating together

that panel was there, in the middle of other panels all portraying important bonds, whether canon romantic bonds or platonic and sibling-like ones (Tanjiro and Nezuko, the Kamaboko squad, the swordsmiths etc.)

if it wasn't important it wouldn't have been there, but the funniest thing is that if either of them was a woman it would've been considered canon since it also included TanKana, ZenNezu and InoAoi🙏🏻

but oh, if we try to name either of these things and more, people will rightfully say "can't they be friends anymore?", which is valid, but I wonder why this doesn't apply to equally fanon straight ships.

a show so peak has so many fans that are so dense😭😭😭

#kny #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #sanegiyuu #giyuusane #sanemi x giyuu #kny ships #sanemi #giyuu #sanemi shinazugawa #giyuu tomioka #toxic shippers #i hate y'all sm #platonic sanekana #platonic giyushino #they're just so peak #am i talking about sanegiyuu or about platonic giyushino and platonic sanekana?#the answer is both #I need more m/f friendships in media bc I can't take this shit anymore

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rogueddie · 1 year ago

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A Spot in My Life T | 953 words Prompt for @steddielovemonth: Love is keeping a spare sweater or blanket in the car because they always get cold

Steve Harrington is a bitch.

It's something that Eddie knew, all through high school, but he had thought that Steve had somehow became a new person- thanks to the Upside Down and constantly almost seeing the world end.

Steve isn't a bad guy, he can admit. He's still trying to keep an eye on everyone, make sure they're ok, even checking in with Eddie in his own way.

But he's very sly about it, hiding it being playful jabs, eye rolls and cocked hips.

It rubs him the wrong way. And it's only made worse by how much Eddie still likes him. It's as if the bitchiness only draws him in more, even as it makes his chest burn with irritation.

He tries to avoid Steve for as long as he can. He knows that finally befriending him like they both want will only end badly, but he knows he can't resist the temptation.

He enjoys the time before as much as he can, reveling in how often Steve will try to corner him so they can hang out, how much he whines and pleads and pushes. He enjoys the illusion that Steve could feel anything for him like he does for Steve.

And, when they finally do hang out, his fears are confirmed.

Steve is amazing. He's funnier than he comes across as at first too. He pays attention to what Eddie says and tries to get him anything he wants.

He's the type of friend that anyone would fight for, Eddie is sure. It explains how he ended up so popular in high school too.

If Eddie had known what Steve is truly like, he'd have been lining up for a scrap of his attention like everyone else.

"They're assholes," Steve explains, when Eddie finally asks about his old lackeys. "Tommy always took shit a step too far. I didn't need them. Probably shouldn't have befriended them in the first place."

"They were your friends," Eddie reminds him.

Steve sighs, leaning back. "Yeah, I guess. Just wish I'd realised sooner, how they were getting."

He never complains about the kids, not genuinely. In the quiet moments, when Steve is honest with an almost painful degree of vulnerability, he talks about how amazing the kids are. He talks about how honored he is to be friends with Dustin.

It only makes Eddies feelings inch ever closer to 'the L word'.

"You should talk to him," Robin suggests. "He really is amazing."

"I know, but... guys that are ok with lesbians still get weird about gay men, you know?"

"Yeah, but Steve isn't like that. Did he ever tell you the full story of how I came out to him?"

"It was after the Russian torture drugs, right?"

"We were in the bathroom, near the cinema. I thought we might have puked it all up, so we decided to test it, ask each other questions. So, I asked him if he was ever in love..."

"Oh... oh no."

"Oh yes. He liked me, told me so, and that's when I came out to him."

"Holy shit, Robin."

"But that's my point. He was a little surprised, sure, but he started making jokes, like, immediately. Didn't phase him at all. He got with it immediately. We're just friends, and that's not a problem for him."

Eddie groans, throwing his head back so it thumps into the wall behind him. "But that just makes him more hot!"

The story plagues his mind, to the point that it's the only thing he can think about when he picks Steve up for their next hang out.

In the dead of winter, Steve feels the cold worse than anyone else that Eddie knows. He runs hot, and the sudden temperature drops brings out the worse in him.

He's shivering when he climbs into Eddie's car.

"Fuck, why isn't your heating on?" He whines.

"It's broke," Eddie reminds him. "It's fine, don't worry."

"Don't worry? I'm gonna get hypothermia, Eddie! I don't want to turn into an ice sc- what is that?"

He takes the blanket that Eddie had reached back to grab, staring at it.

"It's a blanket."

"No shit, I mean... it's yellow."

"Yeah? You like yellow."

"You got this for me?"

"You see anyone else shivering in my van?"

"No, it..." Steve pauses, glancing at Eddie before slowly wrapping the blanket around himself. "Sorry, uh... thank you. This is, um, nice."

"it's nothing."

"It's not. Just- take the thanks, Ed."

"Alright, alright."

They're silent for the rest of the drive. It's so unusual for them that it has Eddie nervous, glancing at Steve every other moment.

When they finally pull to a stop, Eddie turns to Steve, who stays where he is. He stares out the front window for a moment, before turning to face Eddie.

"Are you alright?" Eddie asks.

"Yeah, I am. Enjoying the warmth."

"That all?"

"... yeah."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "You're a terrible liar."

"Wh- hey, I'm a good liar!" He tries to glare, but quickly backs down with a huff. "Alright, fine, but it's really sappy! Don't say I didn't warn you!"

"Oh, no, the horror."

"Shut up. I was just thinking about how, like... there's so many little things in your life that are for me. My tapes in your room, spare clothes in your closet, this blanket... I really appreciate it, man. You've made space for me in your life. It means a lot to me."

"Oh, right. That's... yeah. Of course, Steve. You're always welcome. I love- uh... spending time with you."

"Good. I love spending time with you too."

"Good."

"Great."

Steve's smile is wide and goofy. He's sure that his own is just as cheesy.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #ficlet #nav.slm

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moutainrusing · 7 months ago

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pen pals

943 words, @wolfstarmicrofic

On the other side of town, there was a hospital, where children in need of long-term care spent their days and nights. On this side of town, there was a boarding school, where children in need of discipline spent their days and nights.

As an act of further discipline, the Headteacher, Professor McGonagall, had decided that the students of Diagon Academy should write a letter to a patient in Pomfrey’s Hospital, and forge a new friendship, become pen pals for life.

According to Sirius, she was delusional. But he still wrote a letter.

- - -

With his incredibly bony, stick-like, shaking fingers, Remus wrote a letter to someone in the rich, stuffy boarding school, who would apparently become his pen pal for life. (Unlikely.) Firstly, he was Remus. No one wanted to be his friend. Even if they weren’t in their right mind, he was a sick, frail loser, unable to do anything except stutter and sit in awkward silence.

Secondly, the people at Diagon Academy were judgemental snobs. Posh and pretentious and loaded. Why would he befriend that?

- - -

Minerva and Poppy sorted through the letters in companionable chatter, pairing a student with a patient in a match they hoped would lead to a long-lasting friendship.

Once the pairs had been made, the children could keep addressing letters to their pen pal; the school Prefects and hospital wardens would be able to deliver the letters by reading the name on the envelope, ensuring the children got the privacy they needed to open up to each other.

Minerva wanted the slightly troubled (okay, very troubled) students at her school to learn how to care for someone who didn’t live in their narrow-minded world, and Poppy wanted the minorly self-loathing (okay, very self-loathing) patients at her hospital to open up to the possibilities of the world around them. Together, the couple had come up with the idea of pen pals, and together, they wanted this to work so badly.

“I think we’ve found the perfect pair,” Minerva commented as she held Remus’s and Sirius’s letters side-by-side.

Poppy grinned. “I bet those two’ll end up more than friends.”

- - -

Dear pen pal (for life, apparently; I think the nurse may be barmy, but she’s well-intentioned and she’s my favourite and I want it to be known that I am doing this for her. So if I make an embarrassment of myself, it was for her. And I’ll never even get out of this hospital, so I don’t care if you think I’m weird.)

I’m supposed to write about myself. I’m fifteen. I’m a boy. I’ve been sick for as long as I can remember and I look like undercooked pastry. I like reading. There’s not a lot you can do in hospital. But you do get stickers. I’m actually fond of my sticker album. You get a sticker for every injection you take, and when I was younger, I used to get stickers for talking, because I was and am an anti-social freak. I’m really selling this.

Anyway, I’ve organised the pages of my sticker album because I have nothing better to do. There’s a page for leaves from deciduous trees, animals that specifically live in the savanna, fruits which are FRUITS and that includes tomatoes, and a lot of other fully sorted pages. This is my legacy. I might die any day but I still made this impact.

Look, if you’ve read this far, I’ll have to assume you’re as weird as I am.

Yours,

Remus Lupin

Sirius traced over the wobbly penmanship of his pen pal with a grin on his face. Remus was funny. And nice. Those seemed like such simple adjectives, but Sirius meant them to such an intense degree.

He got to writing back about how he was so much weirder than Remus. Although Remus must already know that from Sirius’s introductory letter.

- - -

Dear pen pal,

Minnie, our lovely Headteacher, and my future wife, even though she’s resistant to my charms at the moment (I don’t know why, I’m literally the hottest hunk of meat in this school I’m kidding sorry too soon) (also it may be because she’s gay and so am I) anyway, Minnie came up with the fanciful idea of pen pals. She really hopes this will mean something, and I don’t wanna let her down now, do I?

I mean, I also hope this means something because she has POISONED my brain with these delusional fantasies, and so has my best mate. James really believes this will benefit the country or something from the way he talks.

So, about myself. (It may seem I like talking about myself. I hate it. I’d rather show people who I am.) So, I’m not gonna talk about myself! I’m mysterious like that. Oh-so-interesting.

Like, yesterday, James and I put bouillon cubes into all the shower-heads and the boys ended up smelling like chicken broth (us included). It was fucking GROSS. And fucking awesome. Minnie immediately knew it was us though. My mystery works on everyone but her (another reason we’re soulmates, I should tell her).

LOTS OF LOVE

SIRIUS BLACK, EL AMOR DE TU VIDA

Remus actually snorted. He’d been worried, initially, to see ‘POISONED’ glaring at him in swirling cursive when he cast a cursory glance down the letter, but then he saw ‘THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE’ in Spanish, and found that Sirius was a hyperbolic little shit.

He proceeded to write a letter to tell him exactly that. Oh, and another prank idea, because why not? It wasn’t like he’d be suspected. Maybe he could help Sirius and James with an original idea that couldn’t possibly be pinned on them.

#marauders #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #remus x sirius #wolfstar microfic #minerva mcgonagall #poppy pomfrey #professor mcgonagall #madame pomfrey #minerva x poppy #wiseflower

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tinytennisskirt · 5 months ago

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From Pain to Promise

Summary: based on a dialogue request- Art has been in love with you since he met you at twelve. He's been pining for six years, so it kills him when you get a boyfriend over the summer. He's your friend, he's supposed to be happy for you. Instead, he's just hurt. And jealous. Too blinded by it to see the way your boyfriend is really treating you. After a climactic event outside of a party, you're freed from it all. And Art is right there, waiting, the way he's always been.

MAJOR WARNINGS: violence, abusive relationships, mentions of unwanted sex/attempts at unwanted sex. a fight. mentions of injuries, nothing too graphic, just bruises.

Warnings: pining, yearning, angst, jealousy, mentions of drinking, a kiss. badly edited.

Kat Zimmerman had nothing on you, that was for sure. Only a few nights after his little learning experience with Patrick, you came into the boy’s lives and their worlds were forever changed. Art’s more so. It was that one fateful day when you were picking out a tennis racket, the new girl at MRTA, and those two little boys knew they had to befriend you before Jake Dalton did. Both little boys, stumbling over each other, made their way over to the rackets and said hi, overlapping pre-pubescent voices telling you their names. And you smiled, hair braided, cheeks pink and rosy, exchanging their names for yours.

And you were friends. That’s how it was. You were friends. You, Patrick, and Art. But more so you and Art because Patrick didn’t know how he felt about being friends with girls. Especially when you were such a girl. Patrick didn’t have a painful little boy crush on you the way Art did. You told Art his hair would be perfect for pigtails and he’d let you do what you wanted, clips and bows and all, just so you’d touch him. He bragged to Patrick later that night. Patrick just laughed at him. “She put bows in your hair, dude. That doesn’t count as touching.” He was humbled.

Patrick did feel a little different when fourteen rolled around and you had boobs, but Art was the same, if not deeper in it for you. You remained their friend. You were always around, playing with Art’s hair on the bleachers or studying with them, making sure they actually paid attention. You went to all of Art’s games and maybe, for a few split seconds, he thought maybe you liked him back. But it’s a tale as old as time. He couldn’t ever be sure, so why would he tell you and potentially ruin everything? If he told you and it wasn’t reciprocated, he could say goodbye to all the casual touching and the things you granted him somewhat platonically.

Patrick was one of the only people who knew how bad Art had it because even after their first little incident, Patrick had once or twice heard or walked in on Art masturbating and it was a little obvious who he was thinking about. It was fine, it was nothing new.

One thing was so very clear and that this was all just pining. Pining after you, pulling strings to be closer to you, to hang out with you. Cancelling plans, switching partners, everything. He’d go insane when your hand brushed his, he was there for you every time you needed him. And by twelfth grade, he could say he loved you. It’d been six years of pining, he knew it to be true. So when you called him over the summer to say you had a boyfriend, it just about killed him.

“He’s really nice and he’s a tennis enjoyer, but not a player. It’s refreshing to find someone who doesn’t know every single term and I get to be the smart one for once,” you gushed to him. He was your best friend after all. You’d been friends, best friends, for six years. Art was glad you managed six years without any real crushes for more than a day and he could handle those because they weren’t real, but this was very real. Or you said so. “God, I can’t believe it, he just asked for my number two weeks ago and now we’ve been together a week. It’s so surreal.”

“That’s great, I’m happy for you,” Art said through clenched teeth. Six years of wanting you and this guy asked for your number and had you as his girlfriend in under a week. He wondered if you’d kissed him. He remembered when you had your first kiss just after his. Just about killed him though he’d just kissed Amy White two days before and bragged about it. He hoped it would make you jealous, but you had your own beau. This was worse than that. You were going to Stanford with him in a month or two, he thought if there was any time to make that change and tell you, it would be when he saw you next. And there wouldn’t be any college dating scandals and maybe he could live happily and find some girl to forget you with, though he knew he couldn’t.

“So it’s serious?”

“Very. I’m excited.” Just about took him out.

He didn’t eat for maybe two days. Would have been longer if Patrick didn’t come over and force-feed him nachos. Art told him the whole situation and Patrick, who had, of course, been rooting for you and Art since finding out Art liked you, was pretty pissed off about it. The two went back and forth just emphasizing ‘six years’. Six years of what? Six years of you hugging him and playing with his hair, going to movies with him, helping him study, spending time with him alone for you to just go and find some guy on a whim? And start dating him? You were all Art had wanted and it was then that he confessed that he was probably in love with you to Patrick. Patrick wasn’t surprised, then went and stole some beers from a friend, saying they needed to drink about it.

You still called as you usually did and Art never got to really feel himself heal when every phone call was an update and a fresh wound. The poor boy was yours and you weren’t his. There was nothing he could say to change that, he was a good friend. And he wanted you to be happy, so he kept his mouth shut. You talked about dates and how good of a kisser he was though you wished he used less tongue sometimes and every word was a papercut that added up to a bigger hurt. He had never wanted anyone the same way he wanted you and he was so sure he couldn’t. He buried his face in his pillow and got so frustrated it drove him to tears. His stomach hurt constantly and he felt like his heart was being pulled down to his stomach.

He was a little scared of how he’d act when you talked to him in person. He just finished settling into campus, his dorm room. You’d done the same with the agreement to meet him for coffee at the campus diner. You were still you, he noted, still painfully beautiful. And you were two months into dating this guy Greg. He sounded like a dick. You said he liked country music and he wasn’t going to post-secondary, he was older and going to a trade school. An asshole. Art did his best to change the topic.

“Mmm, so they have campus events all the time, they’re showing E.T. this Friday if you want to go.” You said. “We should.”

“We should talk them into playing Mac and Me after. A real movie.”

“Shut up, oh my god.” You laughed. Your laugh was one of his favourite things. He found it just a little painful to be here with you, knowing you couldn’t be the way you used to be now that you had a boyfriend. “Do you want to come with me to E.T. or not though, I’m terrified of new people.”

“No, yeah, I’ll go,” he nodded.

Your boyfriend visited on Thursday, so he didn’t see you then. Usually, you called him regardless of being on the same campus, but you didn’t. And then when you said you’d meet Art on Friday, you didn’t show up until the movie was half over. Art sat there, watching the movie on a stupid lawn chair with stupid Reece's Pieces and you came and joined him, apologetic. Said you were with Greg and Art could only imagine what that meant. It was too dark for him to notice how red your wrist was.

It was Art’s first step to breaking. The movie finished and he walked you back to your dorm. “Just saying, if you have plans with your boyfriend, don’t make plans with me. I’m not that kind of guy,” he reasoned, heading up the stairs with you. He tried not to sound bitter. He was only half-bitter anyway, he was mostly genuine.

You sighed, rubbing your left eye just a little. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Does he know about me?” You were quiet. Too quiet. “Y/N?”

You bite your lip, “He knows we’re friends. He doesn’t know the full extent and he doesn’t need to! There’s nothing to worry about, but I just don’t want to worry him. He knows you’re my friend, he doesn’t know… everything.”

Art pressed his hand to his forehead, “I’m a secret, that’s crazy, that’s… fine, I guess. I don’t want to ruin anything for you.”

“You couldn’t.” You told him. “He’s secure. He’s good. And I’m sorry again for being late, I’ll make it up to you with coffee tomorrow if you’ll let me.”

Art nodded in response. How could he not forgive you? How could you stand here and be so beautiful and so apologetic and have him not forgive you? So he swallowed all his words for the thousandth time. “Coffee sounds good. Bring doughnuts. Campus library?”

“Campus library…”

“3 pm?”

“Perfect. See you then.” You kept your sleeve over your wrist which was still pinkened. “I really am sorry, Art.”

He smiled just a little, forced, “It’s okay. I promise. But I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Y/N.”

You said goodnight back and slipped into your dorm room again. Greg had gone out to the local bar, he didn’t come back until 2am when he said he’d be back at 12. Came back drunk and wanting to kiss you quite badly, smelling awfully of whiskey and weed.

Art wanted to forgive you for it all, but he felt like he couldn’t. Maybe he was bitter. He was bitter that you found someone and he didn’t, he was bitter that you had someone who wasn’t him. He’d yet to meet Greg, but he wondered if you smiled at him with your eyes... or when something funny was said if you'd lean into his shoulder while laughing. He wondered if you were the same, or if it felt the same when you were alone with him- like you could say anything and be unjudged. And that any darkness could be made a joke and made better just by talking for hours. He wondered if Greg had any of that the way he had. But Greg probably had that and more and Art would have to deal with that. He felt his heart physically slow its beating as it slowly, but surely, was beginning to crack.

You met Art the next day and of course, he noticed the hickey on your neck. It made his stomach do flips and tie itself in knots and he wanted to get up and leave, but you had the doughnuts and coffee. And he was supposed to be happy for you. He had to remind himself of that. He looked at you, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear and laughed and engaged with what he had said and you were still the most gorgeous girl on the planet. Nothing could or ever would change that. He was still head over heels and he couldn’t help it. He would call himself pathetic, he would degrade himself for still wanting you, but after six years, he couldn’t get away from it.

Greg was over quite a bit. You never called when he was around. You said you’d come hang out when Patrick was in town but you were late again, said you tripped down the stairs and the boys thought it was some excuse for sex with Greg, but you had the injuries to prove it, so neither of them could really be mad. “It hurts like a bitch,” you huffed, sitting down with them. “But it’s fine. We should drink tonight.”

“Your dorm room or mine?” Art replied, a smile on his face. He was happy about an excuse to drink, he was happy you weren’t late because of Greg, and he was happy you were here.

Your eyes widened and you answered much too quickly. “Yours.”

The three of you headed back to Art’s dorm. You lay on his bed, checking your phone every minute or so. It looked like you were getting an abundance of messages, but you were never texting back. Your phone rang twice before you silenced it. The boys chalked it up to Greg and the obsessions of an early relationship, but it wasn’t that early. At one point you tossed your phone off the end of his bed and on top of Art’s laundry. “Please, please, please, pass the vodka,” you enthused. Art and Patrick chuckled, watching you take a pretty large swig.

“Might want to slow down,” Patrick said, looking at Art, then back at you. You were out of the three of you, the person who hardly ever drank. And here you were chugging it like water. “Don’t want to return you to your boyfriend off your ass.”

“It’s fine,” you replied. “He’s fine, it’s all fine.”

“Yeah, I see that,” Patrick replied, taking the vodka back from you. Art grabbed it out of his hand and took a swig equal to yours, trying to drown out the way he was feeling. You were in his bed, talking about your boyfriend. It was fucked. And it felt awful. He looked at you, clouded by alcohol and god, he wished he kissed you in high school. He wished he told you how he felt. If he had, maybe you wouldn’t be so far out of reach. It took him all his strength not to tell you that while drunk. Instead he just laid on the bed next to you, laughing with you about some stupid shit Patrick said.

“This is why you’re not in college, Pat,” you laughed, out of breath. You had turned on your side, your hand was resting on Art’s upper arm. Patrick just groaned, laughing as he turned his head down to the floor. Art was too aware of your hand on his arm. The way it moved up and down almost the way a person would soothe another, but it was you. And this never meant anything, so why should Art let himself believe it did now?

“You’re so smart, tell us how good you are with context clues, go-” Patrick teased. But your eyes met the clock on Art’s desk. Your eyes widened a little. You’d lost track of time.

“Oh my god,” you said, a little bit of panic in your voice. “It’s almost midnight, fuck, I have to go.” You jolted upright and literally climbed over Art to get off his bed. “I’m so sorry, guys, I’ll see you tomorrow, please text me.” You grabbed your phone and your bag and in seconds you were gone.

Art just shut his eyes and sighed. “I feel that,” Patrick nodded. “What the fuck was that?”

“Greg beckons,” Art replied bitingly. “Can’t be late to see Greg!”

“Fucking Greg,” Patrick grunted. “You want the vodka back?”

“Yes please,” Art groaned, covering his face with his pillow.

You returned a little tipsy to Greg, who was tipsier. You used to think he was really great. He was funny and nice and he helped you drown out your feelings for Art. It felt like a step forward, progressive, real. Like a real relationship. One you knew you needed so maybe liking Art with no proof he liked you back would be easier. It was for a moment, but bliss is temporary.

“You’re back, doll,” Greg said, greeting you on messed up bedsheets, not even bothering to meet you halfway. “I’ve had a night. C’mere, I missed you.” You’re afraid to say you’re tired and you just want to sleep. You slink into bed with him. He smells like whiskey again. It’s stronger, more potent, and he needs a shower. The second you’re in bed with him, he’s on top of you. “So why don’t you tell me why you didn’t answer my fucking texts, huh? Or when I called you four fucking times. You know how embarrassing to call your girl and she doesn’t pick up, huh? Had to do that four fucking times in front of my friends, were you trying to embarrass me?” His hand is tight on your arm, leaving bruises, the other hand is on your hair as he keeps himself propped up. It’s pulling and you feel the headache starting.

“N-no, I’m sorry,” you manage. “Greg, you’re hurting me, you’re pulling my hair.”

“Thought you liked that?” He smirked. Not once had you ever liked having your hair pulled. Not once had you ever said that to him in any context.

“You’re hurting me!” You repeated. His hand eased out of your hair but his grip on your arm turned into a grip on your shoulder, just as hard. It hurt. You could feel it bruised already. “Greg, off, please.”

He made a noise sort of like a whine, his breath horrible. “But I missed you, thought we could have some fun when you came back.” He kissed you. He kissed you. He kissed you. You didn’t want to kiss him, you wanted air, you didn’t want his hand down your waistband. “Don’t fight, pretty, come on. I know you want this.”

No, you didn’t. You didn’t let it get so far without a fight. You were left to sleep alone as he stormed out. You tended to the injuries from earlier, the ‘stairs’ incident, plus the new injuries you’d have to make stories for because you’d be hanging out with Art and Patrick again. But the bruise that was already forming on your cheekbone looked bad enough that you texted Art saying you couldn’t make it tomorrow and you cried into your knees.

Makeup didn’t do a very good job, especially when every time something healed, there was something new. You did see Art a few days later when Greg had gone ‘fishing’ with a friend. The bruise on your cheek had faded, but not enough. Makeup hardly fixed it either. “Ball to the face,” you sighed, pressing your lips into a straight line when Art noticed it. He grimaced. “I mean at least my partner has upped her miles per hour but it’s…”

“Ouch,”

“Yeah,” you chuckled, walking next to him. “So I was thinking maybe we could hang out Tuesday night.”

He looked at you, “You have something in mind?” As if he could say no.

“Yes, actually. It’s like an improv show thing, it’ll probably be awful. We can get candy and make fun of them behind their backs.” You smiled just a little.

He grinned, bowing his head just a little, “Sounds perfect.”

“Thought so,” you laughed, nudging him a little so he walked off the sidewalk and onto the grass. He tried to nudge you back, but you dodged him and he nearly tripped down the hill you were walking next to. You laughed, but it only laughed so long as his expression turned into the determination to get you back for it. He chased you down the hill until it became a rolling matter, both of you falling into the lush grass and rolling down the last bit of it. He rolled into you, turning it into a chaotic tumble that slowed to a halt with him on top of you. Art breathed out hard, eyes meeting yours, his breath smelling like the mint gum he was chewing. You smiled first with your eyes and then the grin spread up your face. “Ouch,” you mumbled, almost a whisper. His eyes lingered on yours, his face hovering just above you.

His eyes flickered from your eyes to your lips and his brain told him to move, but he didn’t want to. But he had to. You were taken. It would be wrong. But you didn’t move either. You were both breathing hard, smiling at your compromising position until Art did move. Though maybe you didn’t want him to. “You’re okay?”

“I will be,” you replied. He helped you up and once again, your faces were just inches apart. It was dangerous, wanting you.

Greg threatened obscene things in the face of if you ever were to leave him. He’d tell your secrets, said he’d end his life, said he’d hurt you. You cried. A lot. For hours, later. He was terrifying. You cried so hard your eyes were completely bloodshot the next day. Your girlfriends were concerned, but you played it off as allergies.

You saw Art another day and it was good to talk to him about everything and nothing. He was a good distraction from the throbbing pain in your ribs from Greg’s reaction to you mentioning a celebrity crush. He had been drunk. Too drunk. And you couldn’t get away fast enough.

Tuesday rolled around. You kept your hair down to hide the bruise on your temple. It still ached, along with where your hair was pulled once again when you refused to have sex with Greg again. He was sitting bitter on your bed, angry still. You put on your jean shorts and a t-shirt. “Where you going dressed like that?”

You looked up, “Like what?”

“Why the fuck do you instantly talk back? What’s your fucking problem. I’m asking you where you think you’re going dressed like a slut?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, “Just getting dessert with Bea from my tennis program. She’s got this-”

“Go change.”

You weren’t looking for a fight. You put on jeans and a sweater. It made you five minutes late to meet Art and you hated it. You looked at Art with sadness in your eyes and he recognized it but didn’t know what it was. “Are you okay?” He knew you.

“Yeah, can we just… go make fun of bad improv?”

“I brought the gummy worms,” he nodded. You leaned slightly against him as you walked down to the outdoor theatre. You were glad to be out for the evening. Glad to be away from Greg and his anger and his hurtful words and the way he treated you. Art was the calm. He was the safety. He didn’t even know it, but he was what kept you going. If you ever got away from Greg, maybe you’d tell Art how you felt. As the feelings for Greg dissipated, your feelings for Art resurfaced.

“The clown bit was actually so good,” you laughed, walking back up the steps of the campus theatre. ”Reminded me of what Patrick said the first time we got high.”

His eyes widened and he swallowed the gummy worm he was eating, “Mm- I was thinking the same thing. It was him for sure.”

“You think I’d be a good clown?”

“Mmm, no.” He shook his head. “Your feet aren’t big enough.”

“And yours are?”

“One, who said anything about me being a clown and two, big feet are supposed to mean something, right?”

You laughed, “Shut up, so boyish.”

His hand brushed your upper arm, just slightly, and you were all too aware of it. In fact, you were all-too aware of how close you walked to him. It was always an unconscious thing. A forever type thing, always walking close, always leaning against each other in the cafeteria lines, always near each other- never near enough. He then nudged your arm again, this time on purpose, so you opened your hand so that he could dump a few more gummy worms in it and you just smiled. It had never, not once, been more apparent that finding someone to replace your feelings for Art was a mistake. Not when this boy, blonde curls and crooked grin was putting a pile of gummy worms in your hand. Wordlessly. Seamlessly. He just got you and the feeling to kiss him right there, right then was overwhelming. And wrong.

It was wrong. You pressed your lips together for a moment before eating a gummy worm. If your boyfriend was around he’d smack them right out of your hand saying you don’t need more sugar. Maybe that’s why he was so bitter, you thought. Lack of sugar. You tried not to think too hard about the urges Art brought with him. He was so lovely, he was such an escape, and he was only your best friend. It was all he could be. You had no idea he was fighting the very same urge, paying extra attention to the fact he didn’t even have to ask you to open your hand, you just knew. But it was wrong. You had a boyfriend.

You said goodbye to Art at the entrance to your building, rather than your dorm. If Greg heard you talking out there, you’d be in for something for sure. “Thanks for coming out with me tonight-” you started. “I needed it.”

Art’s hands slunk into his pocket and he tilted his head just a little, “Yeah, about that. You’re doing okay?”

“Oh, yeah, my mood lately has been down, it’s nothing big. I’m just extra appreciative of anything that brings it back up.”

His eyes were understanding and a little apologetic. “If you want we can do something tomorrow? See a movie or play Scrabble or something stupid. We can get takeout? Takeout and going through Patrick’s Facebook and making fun of him.”

That made you grin. You scrunched your nose just a little, “That sounds good! Really good. I’ll call you tomorrow and I’ll let you know. I have to check with Greg.” Of course you did. Greg. Fuck. “But I’ll call you, I promise.”

“Okay,” he nodded. His gaze lingered on your lips. He wished they wouldn’t. He wished his mind wasn’t on who you were going back to after he said goodbye. He walked back to his dorm room in this perpetual state of angst and longing. There was no pain like it. Ever. In any part of his life he’d never known a greater emotional turmoil. You weren’t his. And he loved you, he didn’t even like you, he loved you and he knew it and you didn’t and there was nothing he could do.

He went back to his dorm and got into bed in his jeans and his shoes, not bothering to turn the light off, not bothering to pull the covers over himself. He just hugged his pillow and thought about you and it and everything until he fell asleep. You didn’t have that luxury.

“You’re late,” Greg said, sitting on your bed. He’d been smoking in your room, you could smell it. Potent and cheap, assaulting your nose. You’d give anything to walk out and not return, but this room was yours. If you left now, he’d have you back in your room with some threat or worse. “Care to tell me why?”

“I thought I was home early?” You set your bag down on the chair. “You said 11.”

“I said 10:30,” he replied.

“Did you?”

“Did I stutter?”

“No. Look, I’m tired, can we just go to bed?”

“Of course we can, doll,” he smirked a little bit evilly. You sighed, running your hand over the back of your neck. He wanted to fuck you. And you wanted to go to bed. “Come over here.”

“Greg, I’m tired,”

“Too tired?”

“Yes. I’m too tired. I’m just going to wash my face and go to bed.”

“Fuck you.”

“Greg, that’s uncalled for.” You said, standing your ground, just a little. “I’m just tired.”

He shook his head, “Yeah? You go out for hours and come back and don’t even want to fuck. Sounds an awful lot like you’re getting your fill somewhere else. Hm?”

You pressed your hand to your temple, “It means I’m tired, god, Greg, I’m not cheating.” And some voice in your head told you that you wished you were. “Please.” You slipped into the bathroom, locking the door, just in case. You washed your face and changed into your pajamas before getting in bed next to his heavy scent. As he wrapped an arm around your waist you thought maybe you could tune him out, but his hand slipped over your chest, coming to rest with your breast in his hand. You couldn’t pretend anything. He was himself. Even if you wished it was someone else, it wasn’t.

The next morning, he was gone. Where to? You had no idea. You were just glad. You spent the morning with windows open, cleaning your things, wiping down surfaces and sorting laundry, spraying air freshener. And it dawned on you to call Art. Greg wasn’t around. You hadn’t asked him, but you would make some excuse, maybe.

“Hey!” You greeted him, laying back on your bed, fresh sheets beneath you. “You still want to get takeout and make fun of Patrick’s facebook?”

Art walked to the side of the tennis court, his partner yelling at him to make it quick. He smiled, sitting on the bleachers. “Yeah, if you’re up for it. My dorm, around seven? Does that work?” His smile grew to a grin.

“That works,” you replied, smiling too. “Who is yelling at you right now?”

“My partner for singles today,” he answered with a chuckle. “He’s telling me to get back on the court.”

“Doesn’t he know you’re super busy making super important plans?”

He looked at his partner, frustrated in waiting on the court. “That’s what I’m saying.”

“Right?” You rolled onto your stomach. “I’ll let you get back to him, I’ll see you later, Art.”

“See you later, Y/N,” he said. You wished he didn’t have to go. You had nothing to do, Greg wasn’t around. Patrick was touring for another week before he came back around here. You decided to go out and meet up with some girlfriends for the afternoon. It was nice to be out and unbothered by having a set time to be home. There was no pressure. Greg didn’t call or text, not once, and it was a strange sort of peace. You talked to your friends about tennis and classes and their current crushes and it was fun and it was good. You retired back to your dorm around six thirty, showered, and did a little makeup. You were just about to leave to meet Art when Greg walked in.

It was like the light was sucked out of the room along with all the air. Or the fresh air. He smelled gross. He tasted worse, kissing you disgustingly. “Hey baby, I missed you,” he slurred. He needed to shave. “Where you headed?”

“Bea’s,” you replied. “She’s having a movie night.”

“Stay,” he breathed. “Missed you all day. Need to feel you.” He disgusted you. Hands on your chest with the door not even closed yet from his entry. “Come on, doll. Said no yesterday, can’t say no today.”

“No.”

“Don’t give me that attitude, come on. I’m being nice.”

“Greg, I have plans, I’m going to be late,” you tried to laugh it off nervously, but his hand was around your wrist in seconds. “Greg, please. Come on.”

He narrowed his eyes, “You’re staying. Bea can fucking wait. Don’t your little friends know that I’m more important than them? Jesus christ, the company you keep.”

You avoided his gaze. His hand slipped down to undo his belt. You debated running. He’d catch you, he was fast. You debated an argument. You didn’t want to fuck him, you didn’t want to have sex with him. He was expecting it more than wanting it. Like all you were was some object, some toy, some possession. His eyes were dark with lust and his words laced with alcohol. You were afraid of him. “Greg, I have to go. I’ll be back around eleven.”

“You’re not fucking going,” Greg made it known. Flat out. He shut the door behind him.

“I am. I made the plans, I can’t bail.”

“For me, yes you fucking can.” He said, pushing you back onto the bed. “Come on, Y/N. You’ll like it soon enough.”

“No. Greg. I’m serious. I have to go.”

“You know better than to talk back to me,” he warned. As if you were a dog. Or a child. “You don’t fucking listen? You’re not going out. Cut the attitude before you regret it.”

“Greg.”

“What did I fucking say?” He yelled, then dropped his voice. It was nasty, his breath, his tone. “I’m gonna fuck you and you’re gonna like it.”

“No-” his blow came like lightning through your body. A shock. A volt. And then the sting. “Greg, please-” another. And more. And then he left again. You couldn’t move. You didn’t want to, it hurt. Your ribs ached, your head pulsed. Your lip was bleeding. What could you do but cry and cry and cry? You wanted to call Art, you really did, but you knew if you cried on the phone he’d come over here and with Greg on the loose, it wasn’t a good idea. So you curled up into a ball and cried yourself to sleep.

Art sat in his dorm room waiting all night for you. Until about 2 am, when he gave up calling and texting and went to bed. You called him the next morning and he didn’t pick up.

You couldn’t reschedule for any day nearby because of your fat lip and new bruises. Greg came back and apologized like usual, dismissing the purple and blue on your face. His doing. His work. When he was in the bathroom, you called Art again, leaving a quiet voicemail.

“Art, I’m so sorry about my no-show last night. Something came up and I couldn’t make it and I’m so sorry I didn’t call or text. I feel like such an asshole. But next week, for sure. We’ll do whatever you want, my treat. I want to make it up to you, I feel terrible about this. Please call or text me when you get this. I’m sorry.”

Art gazed over his screen. He wasn’t sure how to feel. Loving you was choking him out and these no-shows and being late and canceling, it was just… too much. You were you and you were everything he could ever want, but you had other priorities, it seemed. He could want you all he wanted, wish for you as often as he could, but you didn’t wish the same. That was all he knew, not knowing the whole truth. Not calling him that night was one of the hardest things to do, but it was for safety.

You couldn’t even see Art if you wanted to for a few days. Not until the bruises faded enough to be covered by clever concealer. You wanted so desperately to go over to his dorm. You wanted to see your friends. Anything to feel better. Anything to get out of this fucking room, but you called in sick to your classes and worked on the material in your room, completely unable to really exist in the outside world. It was just you and Greg in this tiny little room. And he didn’t stop the aggression. You couldn’t escape it.

You called Art again when he left for an hour or two to go to the bar. You had stifled your crying, feeling so completely alone, needing to hear his voice. Maybe he’d save you for even a moment. He was the light, he made things better.

He picked up this time. “Hey.” It was singular, a little quiet.

“Art, hi,” you said. You weren’t sure why you were so overwhelmed with emotion at his simple greeting. “Did you get my messages? I left a voicemail, god, I’m so sorry for the other night. We made plans and I made a commitment but I got tangled up. I wanted to call, I’m so sorry I didn’t.” You gushed. “I understand if you’re angry. I know I promised you I wouldn’t do what I did, but you have to believe I didn’t mean to. And I’m really sorry.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I know.” He wasn’t sure what to say. What you did wasn’t okay, but it was you, so he’d always forgive. “I get it.” But he didn’t. “You have a boyfriend, I can’t expect you to be free all the time. It’s fine.” But it wasn’t.

“Art, really, I-”

“I forgive you. Just call me next time? Please.” His words were so easy, it hurt you. “I heard your voicemail, if you still want to make it up to me, I’m free Friday night. There’s a party, Patrick wants to go. You should come with us.”

You squeezed your eyes shut. A party would be hard to lie about. But it was Art and he was asking and you so desperately wanted to see him that you agreed. You agreed. And the conversation mellowed into something normal. Your usual conversation and banter, slight teases, and warm words. And it felt better. You had plans for Friday and that was that. You wouldn’t let anything or anyone stop you this time.

Getting ready for the party with Greg around sucked. You did your makeup modestly, you couldn’t look too nice or he’d stop you from leaving. The concealer didn't quite cover the bruise, but your lip had healed over pretty nicely. The dim lighting would be your friend for sure. You put on a long skirt over a mid-length one. You couldn’t be too careful, he once called a skirt slightly above the knee slutty. And you wore a dollar store t-shirt over your black tank top.

“Where are you going?” Greg asked.

“Sleepover at Bea’s, remember?” You said. You loved lying to him. It was the best you could get away with. “You said I could go.”

“Yeah. It’s fine. Talk to you later.” He didn’t make you stay or make you kiss him goodbye, which was a relief. You walked over to Art’s dorm with what felt like pep in your step. You didn’t have to be home at any certain time, you were free to roam, to have fun. Greg wouldn’t know. Greg couldn’t know. Patrick let you into Art’s room. He’d been debriefed on the stunt you pulled, but he couldn’t hold it against you.

“You look like you’re going to church,” he remarked, looking over your outfit.

Art peered over from where he sat, “Amish?”

You chuckled, pulling the shirt off over your head. Both boys were a little taken aback as you tossed the shirt to Art’s laundry. “Not quite.” You undid the button on the side of your skirt and took that off as well, revealing the shorter skirt underneath. You were beautiful, Art thought. He always thought it. But that was because you always were. Wanting you was hard and disruptive and wrong, he reminded himself. But you stood there and everything reminded him of just how fucked he was. Head over heels for a taken girl. Both of them were too distracted to pay attention to the covered-up bruise on your outer thighs. They didn’t pay close enough attention to the multitude of bracelets that covered the bruised fingerprints on your wrist. Your face was another story. Another lie.

Art’s mouth was just a little open, watching you shed the outer layer of clothes. Patrick tossed you a shooter. “So what’s with the coverup?”

You thought he meant your makeup over the bruise on your face and you held your breath for a half-second. He meant the clothes. “Oh, Greg wouldn’t like me out in a skirt and tank top.” You tried not to cringe at the words. Were they telling?

“Why does Greg have a say in that?” Patrick replied, leaning forward in his chair just a little. Art looked away, he had to. His face would say something he didn’t want you to know. Patrick was overstepping, he couldn’t bear that either.

You unscrewed the cap of the shooter, “He’s not… I don’t know. But I don’t give a fuck, I’m going out anyway,” you said, trying to ignore that line of questioning. “I’m in the skirt and the shirt. Thoughts?” You did a little spin. Art couldn’t take his eyes off of you. You were so perfect it hurt. It hurt.

“Hot.” Patrick nodded. He unscrewed his own shooter, standing and grabbing one to pass to Art. Art pushed past his thoughts and the three of you did a little ‘cheers’, downing the small bottles. You would take hot. Hot was good. Hot was the opposite of how you were feeling. Greg made you feel so gross, it was hard to be anything else. And with staying cooped up in your room, bruised and marinating in the feeling of being ugly- so hot was good. He said what Art was thinking. It was a little less than he thought, but it was a good summary.

The three of you headed out soon after, drinking on the way. You were leaning on Art as you walked, the three of you laughing at some inside joke. Your laugh was beautiful and rang out in the street. With the soft buzz of alcohol in his head, on his skin, you were an angel. You were always an angel, bathed in streetlight. And your hand was around his bare forearm and boundaries with you were always blurry but this felt odd. He was enjoying it, it was wrong, but he was letting it pass with the excuse of the alcohol. Your hand was so soft on his skin, the perfect temperature, perfect everything. When were you not perfect?

“Okay so Patrick is set on bringing a girl back- but bringing a girl back where?” You laughed, turning onto one of the little pathways between the rented residencies.

“I don’t think he’s thought that far ahead,” Art chuckled, nudging Patrick just a little. Patrick raised his hands in surrender, both hands filled with shooters. His pockets were also full. “You were going to say my dorm room, weren’t you?”

“Nasty,” you teased. “Poor Art. He sleeps in that bed, you know.”

“Uh-huh. You’re one to talk, you’ve always got some form of hickey on your neck, you don’t even try to hide it. Me, nasty? You.” Your hand immediately flew to the side of your neck. “Sit with that one.”

Art’s heart always fell at the mention of it. Every time, without fail. You moved away from him just slightly at the mention. You would usually have a retort to something like that. But you didn’t. Your hand just stayed on the side of your neck, covering the fingerprint bruises you didn’t know were visible. You pulled your hair over it. “Pass me another shooter, please.”

Art, sweet, feeling pretty shitty over the way he was viewing you, stayed quiet. Mostly. Until you were just outside the party. Patrick pat him on the shoulder, heading in right away. Art, sweet, stopped you with the extension of his arm. “You’re quiet.” He said.

“So were you,” you replied.

“Just wondering if you’re okay?” He said. Posing it as a question. “You’ve seemed upset since we were at mine, I just wanted to know before we go in there and it’s too loud and I get too drunk to ask.”

“You’ve never been too drunk you ask,” you smiled. You were standing a little bit close to him, your toes inches from touching. “You got soooo drunk at the Miller’s party last year and you still asked me if I was having fun. I wasn’t and we left and you threw up, remember?”

“I don’t,” he chuckled, eyes soft. But he nodded, “You’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I need more to drink and I want to find Bea and dance. My plans. Your plans?”

“Drink and save women from Patrick,” he nodded, his grin coming back.

You, just a little clouded from alcohol, pressed your palm to the side of his face just for a second. “You’re a saint, Art Donaldson.” He felt his skin flush. Your hand slipped away and went down his forearm once again, pulling him into the party. It was natural you let go of him, Art made a beeline for Patrick who was already talking to some girl. She was weird, flirted with Art too once he showed up.

You needed to lie to Greg more often, you thought, taking a shot from some girl you shared a 3pm class with. Bea’s hands on your hips, dancing together, hands raised over your heads. This was living, this was uncontrolled, unbridled by any abuse, any threat. You could have fun and not feel guilty about it after. Greg had too much trust in a girl he hit. You felt- though you weren’t- free. Just a little bit.

Art watched you with Bea, watched the way you moved. He was out of it. Just a little. Not too drunk at all. But enough. Numb, watching you. Hard, watching you. He hid a little behind Patrick to hide it, watching your hips sway, watching how close you and your best friend were. He couldn’t have cared less about Bea. Just you.

He should have told you he liked you in high school. Not saying anything had to be one of the biggest regrets of his entire life. You were perfect for him in every way and you were warm and inviting and you were witty and fun and you knew each other like the backs of your hands and it would have been worth it to tell you. He knew that, looking at you, that it would have been easiest to tell you when he still could. He was bitter about it. A missed chance. Patrick told him he’d regret it and watching you under purple lights, he knew Patrick had been right. It was all bullshit.

Patrick suddenly grabbed Art’s arm pretty hard, yanking him closer, “That guy over there. That’s Greg, right?” He said, voice low even in the loudness of the party. He gestured over to the guy in the weird sweater and jeans, leaned up against the wall, arm hanging above a short hardly-dressed girl. Faces close. So close. Noses touching kind of close.

“Oh, fuck,” Art breathed, eyes locked on them, watching Greg’s hand touch just under this girl’s chin. You didn’t know Greg was there, that was apparent. But of course, the dirtbag was. Art’s heart pounded hard in his chest. He looked back at Patrick, whose expression was filled with hatred. As it should be because what the fuck? Regardless of how much he was rooting for Art, always rooting for Art, Greg was still the guy you were with. Your boyfriend. And he was with someone else.

“I need a reason not to fuck him up right now,” Patrick said. “What the fuck do we do?”

“I don’t know.” Art answered truthfully. “She doesn’t know he’s here, he doesn’t know she’s here.”

Patrick shook his head, tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek, visibly pissed off. At least Patrick could be pissed off, Art’s stomach was just in knots. It was almost nonsensical. No way he would cheat on you. You? You were everything, you were gorgeous in all ways and you had a personality. How could he cheat? He looked back over at Greg in a liplock with this other girl and the anger did rise, but his eyes fell back on you and it eased. This was fucked all around. Every bit of this was fucked up. “We have to tell her, we can’t keep it to ourselves.”

“I agree but how are we going to say it? We’re in a crowd of people, it’s not exactly fun news.”

“Fucking asshole. I’m pissed. He’s slobbering all over that girl like a fucking dog. You know, I should…”

Art couldn’t keep listening to Patrick’s rant. He didn’t even want to look back at Greg. But Greg was very obviously invested in his cheating schemes. Art wondered how long he’d been doing it to you. How long had this guy been cheating? Did you not satisfy him? How could you not satisfy him, you sported hickeys so often and you were late to meet up and it was all sickening, but it didn’t add up. This guy was the world's most unsatisfied, apparently. It, he, was disgusting. Art felt his face crinkle up just thinking about it, but he had to now. Your feelings were in the balance here.

“- in the face. Knock his goatee right off. Art. Art, I’m telling her.”

“Patrick, give me a fucking second,” Art said, holding a hand up. He looked back at you, Bea pouring a shot in your mouth. You were smiling. Grinning. And you were beautiful and he hated the idea that you’d stop soon. Fuck. Neither of you deserved this. Not you, not Art. “We’ll tell her it’s time to go and then we’ll tell her outside, no bullshit.”

Patrick nodded, “This is bad.”

“Yeah.”

“I��m so fucking angry.”

“I know.” Art’s heart was leaping out of his chest. He held his hand out and Patrick dug in his pocket for a stronger shooter. Art drank it all quickly, letting it burn his throat. His heart didn’t slow even a bit. “Fuck.”

Patrick leaned over to the girl who he’d just been talking to, saying something about having to leave. Art watched her roll her eyes and walk away. It was fair, she’d been standing there for a bit listening to him trash talk your boyfriend. Art rubbed his eyes, trying to sober up just a little, but after that shooter, it was a little bit pointless. Regret seemed to be a theme around here. “He’s gone.” Patrick said. Art let the fuzz from rubbing his eyes melt and sure enough, Greg wasn’t where he was before. Just a little panicked, he set his eyes on you. There he was, towering over you, rage in his eyes. It was clear to Art what was going through your head, he knew you too well, you were cowering. Patrick was still scanning the crowd for Greg, but Art watched as Greg’s fingers locked onto your upper arm and he yanked you so hard that your shoulder went funny for a second.

Art, a little shocked, watching him drag you out of sight. And he launched into action. He started into the sea of people dancing, drinking, leaving Patrick behind. Patrick was faced the other way, by the time Art was absorbed into the crowd, it was a little late to find even him. Art pushed through people, trying to keep his sight on you, but he lost you in it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mumbled. He’d never seen anyone grab anyone the way Greg just grabbed you. It was violent and harsh and the way it happened, it couldn’t have been good in any way. He pushed through people, accidentally pushing a guy as he passed him, the guy went to push back but Art just darted out of the way. He made his way to the door, you weren’t around it, so you had to have left.

“Art Donaldson, my man,” one of his tennis buddies greeted him, stepped in front of him and Art just stepped around him, trying to find you. You, where were you? His heart rate was raised higher than he’d ever felt it. Rapid, as if he’d run a mile. He ran out onto the street, looking around, but there wasn’t any sight of you. What he would do when he found you, he had no idea, he just knew he needed to find you. Nobody just grabbed someone like that with good intentions.

Greg wasn’t a good guy and he knew that, he just thought it was his bias. That maybe he was overreacting, but it didn’t look so much that way now. “Greg, please!” You yelled from his left. Art turned his head to see two figures head into one of the thin alleyways between buildings. He could hear a man speaking back to you, Greg, obviously, but his voice was too much of a growl to understand. Art started jogging toward the sound, cautiously. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, okay, I’m sorry I lied,” you cried out.

“Little fucking whore. Lie to me to go party with your friends? Dance on some fucking guy, cheat one me? That’s what you wanted?” Art’s heart was about to break his ribs. He ran just a little faster.

“No, fuck, Greg, stop! I was with Bea, I was with Bea!”

“At a fucking party. If you wanted to be a slut you could have said so. Fucking lying to me, you’re disgusting. Fucking bitch.”

“Greg!”

“Don’t even start talking back to me now! You’re a lying, cheating whore who deserves to be treated like one!”

Art was almost there, he wasn’t sure what he’d do. “Greg, don’t fucking touch me. I’m dead serious, I’ll scream. Get off me, get off me you asshole!”

The sound of the blow made Art’s entire body go cold. He felt himself drain of colour, he felt his heart stop for just a second. It was a sickening noise. The entirety of him tensed up to a point he felt like a coiled spring, his chest tight, ribs pressing in. He hit you, that was the sound of him hitting you, he hit you. Art made it over and came at Greg with a surprising force, shoving him off of you and onto the ground. He was drunk, it was easy to do. Your hand grabbed Art’s upper arm, but missed as Art’s body followed through with the movement.

“What the fuck?!” Greg exclaimed. You moved behind Art, backward, away. Tears streamed down your face, you were choking on sobs, cradling the side of your face with one hand and your upper arm with the other. Art stepped back with you. He was so angry he himself couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t look at you, he kept his eyes on Greg, breathing hard. Shoving was tame, shoving him off of you was going to have to be enough, Art wasn’t violent. The shock of all this hadn’t settled, it wouldn’t settle. “Who the fuck are you, tough guy?” Greg advanced on Art who was nimble, but between anti-car poles, stuck. Shoved against the wall, he just avoided having his head hit the wall by putting his hand up.

“Art!” You yelled. “Greg, stop! GREG!” You screamed, you hoped someone would come. You hoped someone would call the cops.

“Art fucking Donaldson, huh?” Greg smirked, face close to Art’s. “You been fucking my girlfriend? Hm? This the one, Y/N, really? Just friends my ass, you probably came here with him.”

“Fuck you,” Art seethed. Greg was bigger than him.

“Get off of him, Greg, I’m begging you, don’t hurt him!”

Greg fumed, “Used me to get over him, huh? Big-eared, fuckass, twinkie little pretty boy, here?”

“Shut up!” You yelled. Your head pounded, your skin stung. “Stop. Now. I’ll call the police, I’ll get someone to call the police, Greg, get off of him!”

Art shoved Greg backward again, but he just walked right back. “I don’t want to fight you.” Art said, his eyes dark. “Fuck off. Leave her alone, fuck off.”

“He’s playing prince charming, Y/N. You’ve been fucking him on the side. Yeah, that’s why you never put out, you slut. Getting his pathetic skinny boy dick on the side.” Art kneed Greg in the groin, pushing him off again and stepping over to you. “Oh, you’re fucking dead.” His eyes burned with rage and he came at Art with a pouncing force, grabbing him and bringing him down to the ground. You screamed, watching Greg tackle Art to the pavement. The brawl began, Greg holding Art down, trying to punch him but being blocked. Art wasn’t violent, he was avoiding hurting Greg. For you. For your sake. You had no choice, you had to intervene. What was a few more bruises? You tried to push Greg off, but he kept at it, trying to hurt Art.

“Hey! Hey, what the fuck!” It was Patrick and he dragged you out of this with too much ease, putting you to the side and going right back to push Greg off of Art and onto his back. A bystander behind Patrick had their phone out, calling 911, thank god. You watched in pure shock, Art get punched in the shoulder rather than the head and in a swift blow, Patrick punched Greg in the jaw. And he went limp. You grabbed Art, you grabbed whatever you could on him, his shirt, his opposite shoulder, on your knees. He looked at you with eyes sadder than you’d ever seen them. You moved closer.

His hand reached up to your face desperately but also gently, despite the adrenaline pumping through his veins. “You’re okay? You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you nodded a little too much, looking him over just as he looked you over, noting the way your cheekbone was bleeding. He really hit you. “God, are you okay? I’m so sorry, Art, I’m so sorry.” You were crying a steady stream of tears, lip trembling, and you were still so beautiful.

“Don’t be sorry, don’t be sorry,” he said, trying to wipe your tears a little more desperately than he had just done. “He hit you, he hurt you, how-”

“I wanted to tell you. I was scared. I was so scared he’d do something awful. I don’t love him, I don’t want him, I want you. I want you, I’ve wanted you.” You blurted, sobbing just a little more. Art messily moved your hair out of your face. “Art, I-” You were crying so hard, it was hard to breathe. “I couldn’t leave him.” You looked over at Patrick shaking his hand out, at Greg’s unconscious self. Hands gentle, he turned your head away from it.

Art’s lips were just a little parted, eyes looking over the damage to your face. “How long has he been?”

“A long time,” you swallowed hard. “Three months in, maybe two- two and a half.” You said, biting your lip trying to stop crying. “I wanted to leave him. I wanted to so badly, but I couldn’t. He’s- he’s why I didn’t show up those times, I wanted to be there, but he’d… he was… I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry, you have nothing to be sorry for, this isn’t your fault,” he said, bracing you with soft hands. “It’s okay. He’s not getting close to you ever again, Patrick is making sure of that.”

“He was right about the using him part, I was using him to get over you and it was- wrong. It was wrong and he started hurting me and then it was too late to get out.”

In the heat of the moment, your ‘I want you’s had slipped past him. He wanted to make sure you were okay, he wasn’t focused on that. You were blurting things out, he’d missed it. His eyebrows furrowed, he lowered his head just a bit, “Over me? What do you mean?” His judgment also wasn’t the best. But it didn’t matter. You sat up just a little, still clinging onto his clothes, hands shaking. With Greg out, going to be out of the picture the words just spilled from your mouth. Rolling off your tongue in light of what was soon to be true freedom.

“I’ve wanted you forever, god, it kills me that I never said anything. It’s you, it’s been you, I don’t know why I thought I could ever try and be with anyone to forget that. It’s just, you’ve never…”

“What? No, no. I’ve liked you since I met you, we were twelve, it was bad and it’s been you. You never said anything either-” the sound of a cop car approaching interrupted. “You liked me?”

“Yes! So much. Too much, sometimes. God, I’m so stupid.” You were crying still, even more now. “You just… you never said anything, so I never said anything and then I got stuck, but it never stopped. It’s bad, it’s so bad, I probably love you, it’s awful.” The alcohol was still running the conversation.

“That is awful,” Art chuckled just a little bit. On the pavement with you, cop car approaching, lights flashing. This conversation would be over in a minute. Your eyes met his, sad, angry, mutual thoughts and mutual expressions.

“It’s bad?” You smiled just a little through your tears.

He grinned just a little, “I've been in love with you for as long as I've known what being in love feels like”

Art’s thumb wiped your tears with a little less desperation now. His heart and yours were still beating hard. “That’s so bad, that’s six years,”

“I know.” He said, grinning his wide crooked grin. The conversation had strayed from the real problem, but it was a good distraction. A welcomed one, in fact. Proof that things could and would be better. “It’s okay. Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m going to be okay,” you nodded. The policemen, two of them walked over and began their spiel, asking about what happened and Art helped you to your feet. The night was still young, the persecution was easy to figure and a diary you kept detailing his abuse was a great help to the case. You, Patrick, and Art all spent the night at the police station with forms and questions and people trying to get a grasp on the situation. A blurry security camera was also a great amount of help. Greg was charged properly, put away. It was easy to see who was the real problem. You sat with ice to your face in one of the police chairs, being offered therapy and counseling and numbers to call for trauma and crisis. Everyone was so sweet, one of the policewomen held your hand for a good while until it stopped shaking.

You still cried a lot. Sorry that everyone had to go through this just because you couldn’t leave a guy. Just because you had tried to forget your feelings for Art in someone else. But the words, ‘it’s not your fault’ were thrown around a lot. And that you’d be safe. And it felt good to know. You’d sobered back up, obviously. So did the boys. You had the most extensive questioning, the boys waited in the main room.

“All the excuses, the ball to the face, the stairs…” Patrick sighed heavily, staring forward into a void.

“It was him.” Art nodded. “I feel like such an idiot, how the fuck did I not know? I know her better than myself, she hid it and I didn’t want to think about her and Greg. It was… it hurt.” He admit. Patrick looked over at Art.

“He’s gone. He won’t hurt her again. If he tries, best believe I’m doing more than knocking his ass out. I can’t fucking believe this shit. I’m glad I got off, but jesus fucking christ, I wish I’d done enough to be behind those bars.”

“No you don’t,” Art sighed, leaning forward into his hands. “Fuck. I didn’t even fight back.”

“You’re not that kind of guy,” Patrick reasoned. “Which is fine. You got him off her, that was all you needed to do.”

“I guess, but… fuck.”

“She told you she wanted you,” He reminded Art with a slight sly smile on his lips. He gave Art a gentle little push off the shoulder. As if Art had been able to stop thinking about it. He’d sobered up just the same and the confession might have been badly timed, but at least it happened. He meant it, he hoped you did too. He was trying not to let it eat him alive alongside the fact your now-ex hit you and he hadn’t known. Maybe he missed the other clues? How did he not know? “She likes you too. It’s all you’ve wanted.”

“I know,” Art sighed. “After that, though?”

“Means she’s yours.”

Art looked up and met Patrick’s eyes, trying to verify if he meant it. As if Patrick was the dictator. But Patrick was only the reality. The gravity of the situation hung above him, but you were in front of him, free from the questioning. Your cheeks were pink and tear-stained still and your eyelashes were still wet. Patrick tipped his head toward you to gesture to Art and the second Art saw you, he was on his feet. His eyes were wide like a doe’s, hands in his pockets.

He met you halfway down the blue-painted precinct hallways. Your eyes said more than words did as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He pulled you in the rest of the way into a hug that had more sincerity and life than the walls had ever seen. His arms wrapped around your waist, grabbing onto the fabric of your shirt on your sides, holding you tight and close. He kissed your shoulder, his chin resting in your hair. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He mumbled. You shut your eyes for a moment, allowing him to envelop you in his arms. He held you so tight, it felt like he was keeping you from falling to pieces. It would take you a while to get over all of this, but right now, it felt like you’d be okay.

He was refreshingly cold, the precinct was warm and you’d been upset, so of course you were warm. He held you for a minute or maybe five. Nobody had to use the hallway and anyone who did just went back around. Patrick didn’t watch, instead, he went to the counter to ask about getting a ride back to campus.

Eventually, you pulled away from the hug. Not entirely, just almost. His arms slid over your back, his grip just loosening, not leaving. In fact you didn’t get very far in pulling away. Your heart beat fast in your chest. Even in the upset, even after the fact, Art was still your peace. He was quiet and he held you as long as you needed him to. He was always there and you knew he would be. With everything that happened just then, with that confession… Your forehead pressed against his. Gentle. Safe. You were safe. You felt safer here, like this, than you did in that room with the officers who asked you so many things.

You looked at him through your eyelashes. He must have read your mind, he must have known you too well. With a tilt of your heads, your lips met. There was the slightest, softest bit of hesitation, but it was soothed over in seconds, your hand sliding to cup Art’s cheek. He pulled you back in with slow, easy hands that didn’t grab too hard. The kiss was patient, calculated, and warm. It sent what felt like tiny sparks through all of your veins leaving goosebumps in their wake. It felt like completion, like a satisfying end to a movie, like putting a book back on the shelf after reading it. It was easy to kiss him, your heart slowed for the first time as his pace matched yours. However, out of understanding, the kiss wasn’t too long. Maybe a minute, nothing more.

You’d been through something. He couldn’t be the one to fix all of that, but he’d be there for you until it felt better. Stepping in now felt wrong, felt like it was one thing to another. You needed the time to yourself. Art didn’t kiss you again for another five months. All of which were spent the way they usually were, aside from being a little closer than usual and hanging out so much more. You were free to do as you pleased. Free to see him. Free to stay home- and you spent a good amount of your time alone healing. Physically and mentally.

Patrick was often around to help you laugh it off, but when you needed to cry, Art was always right there. After some time, you were feeling like yourself again. And you were laughing too much, smiling all the time again, spinning in a new skirt and crashing into Art. Who you then kissed, after so much time thinking about it, replaying it, wanting it again. It was finally okay to do so. After seven years, it was only fitting that he welcomed it, fully, and entirely. You were giggling, your lips pressed to his, and he knew it was okay. There was no bruise on your cheekbone to be cautious of, both of his hands held your face, your head tilted back just a little as he kissed you the way you were meant to be kissed. The way Greg couldn’t. It would never mean so much.

Greg was in your past, but Art was your past. And your future, now. Because now that you had each other, neither of you was going to let go. He promised you that between kisses. You promised it back.

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