#listen I know she’s kinda wallowing in misery but the hair

[mysterioh]

The Ignorant Beauty and The Beast of New York - Ch. 9 

PAIRING: MOB!STEVE ROGERS X READER

Synopsis: Y/N is an exhausted bio major. Steve is danger with a capital DANGER. She thinks he’s a sarcastic prick with an impressive knowledge in art history. He thinks she’s cute even if she’s only running on one brain cell. All he wants is a single date, but she’s adamant upon denying.

Masterlist

We Meet Again My Dearest Mobster

“You guys know each other?” May asked with a smile.

“Nope,” Peter quickly replied. “I’ve never met her in my life.”  

You looked at him. Yup, you’ve definitely seen this guy somewhere. May’s phone goes off and she reaches into her pocket to check.

“Oh, it’s the supplier,” she said aloud. She looked over to Peter with a frown. “Mind if I take this, it’s really important.”

Peter shook his head with a sweet smile. “It’s okay, I can wait.”

“You’re the sweetest,” she said with a chuckle, ruffling his hair as she walked by.

You waited until May closed the door to her office behind her to speak.

“Alright, punk, who are you?” you questioned. “I know we’ve met before?”

“What? Honest, Miss!” he said. “I’ve never seen you in my life!”

“Cut the crap and play straight with me,” you deadpanned, crossing your arms.

“Now I understand why the boss likes you so much,” he chuckled.

You dropped the spoon in your hand. "Wait what?"

Peter cupped his mouth. "N-nothing!" Peter exclaimed. "I said nothing!"

"No, no, no," you hurried towards him. "You just said something. Say it again."

"I just remembered I have to go somewhere. Bye, Aunt May!" He took a dash for the door, but you caught him by the collar of his shirt.

"Not so fast, pipsqueak," you said, yanking him towards you. "Who the hell is your boss and how does he know me?"

"Well, uh - um - you see," Peter stuttered, not knowing what was worse. Outing his boss or your wrath.

"Spit it out already!" You exclaimed, pulling him closer.

"His name is Steve! Steve Rogers!" Peter confessed. "The King of Brooklyn!"

Your grip on his collar loosens at the blonde's name. "Steve?" You said in shock.

"Yeah," Peter fixed his collar with a sigh.

"The freak from the museum's gotta crush on me?" you murmured to yourself in disbelief.

"I think it's time I go," Peter slipped by you.

"Not so fast," you said flatly and he froze in his steps. "You've got a lot of explaining to do."

“Let me wallow in my misery, Nat,” Steve groaned from his office chair.

Nat rolled her eyes at the sight of him. He was leaned back in his seat with a book on his face.

“Listen here, Romeo, enough’s enough,” Nat crossed her arms. “I’m sick and tired of you acting like this.”

“It’s a free country,” he replied from underneath his book.

“Free country my ass,” Bucky deadpanned. “We’re worried about you man,” he said. “You’ve been acting weird for the past two weeks.”

“Listen, I’m fine,” Steve stated, “And what the hell are you three doing here anyway? Don’t you have work to do?”

“Don’t change the topic,” Sam warned, leaning toward him on the desk. “You gotta talk to us, man, ‘cause you’re messing up everything.”

“You gonna tell me how to do my job, Sammy?” Steve sits up, making his book fall onto the floor. His tone quickly shifting from tired to serious. “Cause I’d really love some pointers.”

“Maybe I’ll have to cause you’re acting like a dumbass!” Sam said. “What made you think nuking the Gambino brothers was a good idea? Are you trying to start a war here?”

“They lied to my face,” Steve snapped back. “You saw it with your own eyes. They’re working with Hydra behind my back.”

“You know they got a brother out in Chicago,” Bucky reminded. “You think he’s just gonna let you do that?”

“You think I’m afraid of some punk from puny Chicago?” Steve retorted, standing up with blood rushing to his head. “I’m the fucking mob king and I do what I want. I’m sending a message. Anyone who even thinks to go against me is gonna regret it. I’m maintaining the order. ”

“By creating more chaos?” Sam asked. Steve’s eyes cut to him sharply, but it’d take more than that to scare Sam off. “This wasn’t the way to do it, Steve, and you know it.”

Steve’s lips pursed into a scowl. He was stubborn to admit it.

“Stevie,” Nat called him, “You sure this isn’t about something else?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You sure this isn’t about the girl?”

Steve’s heart dropped. “No,” he stated, if they really listened they could hear his voice shake.

“Yeah?” Bucky said, disbelief written in his eyes.  

���Y-yeah,” he affirmed. The three look at him with blank expressions. "It isn't okay?" he stated firmly. "So quit bringing her up in every damn conversation," he brushes past Sam and Bucky and walks towards the door.

"Steve, don't you think you're just repeating the same steps you did with Peggy?" Nat said boldly.

Bucky and Sam look at her, scared out of their minds. Steve freezes at the door, his grip on the metal knob was tight. He turns towards them with sharp, icy eyes.

Red Alert. Red Alert.

"Why can't you just let us help?" She asked. "You'll end up hurting yourself more. Just like you did with-"

"Don't say her name," he interjected, his tone dipped in venom. "And I can handle things on my own. I don't need anyone's help." He said.

With that, he opens the door and leaves with a loud slam. The three winced at the sound of the door then slump in their defeat.

"He's gonna make it worse," Sam prophesied, "and he's gonna drag us with him."

"Till death do us part, y'know?" Bucky chuckled sadly.

"Bro, don't say it like that," Sam snarled.

"Can you two shut up for once?" Nat hissed.

"What's with you?" Bucky asked, placing his hands on his hips.

"Shut up, I'm thinking," she snapped at him.

"Oh great," Bucky huffed. "Steve's being an ass and now you're thinking." Nat shoots a glare his way. "What's becoming of this world?" He cried.

She elbows him hard in the gut and he bends over with a whimper.

"What are you thinking, Nat?" Sam asked nicely but cautiously.

"Thinking how we can help, Steve."

"He just said he didn't want help," Bucky wheezed.

Nat clicked her tongue. "You know how stubborn he is! He won't ask for help because he's too damn proud of himself!"

"So what do you have in mind, Romanoff?" Sam asked with a smirk, leaning against Steve's desk.

"We find the girl and talk to her," Nat said.

"Yeah, and how do we do that?" Sam questioned. "I mean, what would we even say?"

“Hold on, I haven’t thought that far yet,” she grumbled. Her lips pursed into a pout and she furrowed her brows in rumination. C’mon Nat, think, think.

And like a blessing in disguise, her answer comes through the door in the form of a ruffled brunette.

“You guys won’t believe who I just met!” Peter beamed.

A few moments ago…

“You know he really likes you,” said Peter, sitting across from you in the empty restaurant. He took another bite of his banana bread. “Like a lot,” he said with his mouth stuffed with bread.

“Yeah?” you said nonchalantly, propping your chin upon your hand.

Although your exterior was calm and collected, your insides were going wild. Yeah, you knew he had some sort of interest in you. But you always thought he just wanted to get in your pants. Isn’t that what all guys like him wanted to do? You weren’t so sure anymore.

“Yeah,” he took a sip of his milk, “when he found out about your boyfriend he was totally bummed out.” Your stone face crumbled and you frowned. Oh, this is bad.

How ya been?

Good.

He lied.

“Well, that’s his fault, not mine,” you pointed out in denial.

“It is,” Peter agreed, “but I kinda feel bad for the guy.” You raised a brow. “I heard he got his heart broken before. Like torn into shreds. I don’t know much about it cause I’m still new.”

Something deep in that little grinch heart of yours stung badly. Why you felt bad, you didn’t know, but you did. Sure, he came off a bit hard, but he was a nice guy overall. Minus the whole mob thing, that is.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” you sympathized, awkwardly shifting in your seat.

Peter’s phone lit up on the table and he looks over to see who it is. He picked it up and replied quickly. He shoved the rest of his bread in his mouth and you looked at him slightly disgusted.

“Sorry, I gotta go pick up my girlfriend from her yoga class,” he said, slipping his phone in his pocket and getting up.

“No problem,” you stood up with a smile, “thanks for answering my questions and sorry about being so — uh rough.”

Peter chortled in reply. “Nah, it’s fine. Y’know you’d make a great mobster the way you hold yourself. You interested in a job? The pay’s real nice.”

“No,” you smiled sheepishly, “I’m fine.”

Peter shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he walked over to the door before turning again. “Oh, can you tell Aunt May I had to leave?”

“Yeah, no problem,” you replied, following him.

Peter waved before opening the door, letting in a gust of cold winter air. You wrap your arms around you while standing, trying to figure out what to say.

“Uh, Peter,” you called after him, making him turn back. You sighed, hot breath vaporizing in the cold air. “Tell your boss I said hi,” you said with a sweet smile.

He nodded with a grin. “Sure thing!”

The place was packed to the corners.

Steve looked around at the busy tables. An old couple eating side by side studiously bent over their meals. A group of women around their thirties collapsing in fits of laughter over old memories while a lonely woman not too far off looked on with a frown. A family with exasperated teenagers and businessmen negotiating over a glass of wine and steak. It's like the colors of the rainbow and Steve can't help but hate being squished in the middle of it all.

"Why did you bring me here?" he asked pointedly.

Nat smirks. "Peter recommended this place to me so I thought we could check it out," she told him.

"But why me specifically?" Steve questioned. "Why not Sam or that one chick you're always fighting with?"

"Because," Nat said with an exaggerated sigh, "I felt like it. Besides we have to talk."

"I already told you I'm not-"

"Shut your face, it's not about the girl. It's about Lucky."

Steve grumbles and glares. "You know I'm the boss right?" He warns.

Natasha laughs from her stomach. "Stevie, you know better than anyone," she said, shifting her weight onto one hand. "I work under no man. I'm here because I want to be."

"Sure it's not because of Bucky?" He snickered making her groan.

Nat kicked him hard in the shin and he yelps in pain. He leans down and rubs his leg. "You jerk."

"I'll kill you, Steve," she hissed through gritted teeth.

"I'd like to see you try," he said before taking a sip of his soda as the waitress sauntered down the aisle.

"Hi, my name is Y/N, I'll be your waitress for today," you greeted. Steve's drink almost goes through his nose at the sound of your voice. He coughed and patted his chest while Nat smirked at him.

Why Why Why Why

He's afraid to look up cause he knows you're going to be there and in all honesty, he didn't want to see you right now.

"You okay, Stevie?" Nat asked with an amused grin.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he wheezed, shooting her an evil glare. He looks up to see you giving him a sweet lopsided smile paired with a small chuckle from his reaction.

"Hey, dude, how's it been?"

There's an indescribable warmth behind that smile. As if you're happy to see him again. It could be skin deep but he refused to see it that way. He'd stay blind if you kept on looking at him like that. He'd be Pygmalion as long as you were his Galatea.

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[coffeesuperhero]

fic: you can’t go home again

2900 words, somewhere on a continuum between Gen and pre-OT3, rating: Mature. Eliot-POV, set immediately after Low Low Price, but like, in the correct universe, where Low Low Price Job came before the Rundown Job instead of after. 

I wrote this because it bugs the heck out of me that afaik there’s no in-canon answer to why Eliot cut his hair, so I wrote 2900 words of post-Low Low Price blathering to explain it to myself...and actually addressed that in like one sentence, lol. I am who I am. 

It's an hour from the house that used to be Eliot's home back to Oklahoma City, or at least, it's an hour if you care about speed limits. On this particular occasion, Eliot makes it in a little more than half that. He spends the time he made up driving aimlessly around, looking at all the shit that's here now that wasn't here when he left. What his hometown lost, this place has found. He doesn't really know how to feel about that. Good? Bad? Vindicated? He left home behind the first time for a long list of reasons, but one at the top of the list was that he didn't see a future where he was, not for himself, not for anybody else, and what do you fucking know. He wasn't wrong.

Even so, maybe he could have called at least once in the last decade.  For all the good it would have done. At least he could say he tried. But he didn't, and now there's so much water under the bridge there's an ocean where there used to be a river.

There's a parking garage entrance on his right, one of the ones downtown connected to one of the big old hotels, and he pulls into it and just sits there for a bit. Looks at the empty space on the passenger seat where the six pack of beer was sitting. Looks at the signs on the wall of the garage directing him to the hotel's entrance. Thinks about staying the night. Thinks about how he's supposed to be back in Portland in a couple of days, because he asked that nice lady from the last job on a date, a real one, because he was suffering under some kind of delusion that he could be a normal guy instead of a miserable fucking bastard whose longest relationship to date is, ha, probably the one he doesn't actually have with Parker and Hardison.  

"Fuck," he says, staring at himself in the rearview mirror.

Whatever he decides to do tonight, he's pretty sure at this moment that all attempts at normalcy are a no-go, so he pulls out his phone, finds Tabitha's number, and cancels all of that bullshit with what he hopes is an appropriately apologetic note. He doesn't type You reminded me of home and that was nice but you know what, I tried and it turns out they're right, and you can't go home again, and trust me on this one, you're better off without me, because he may be miserable but he knows full well that misery doesn't actually love company, misery doesn't love anything, and he's not passing that on to a nice lady who's just trying to run her business and go about her day.

He hits send, and then he turns off his phone and leans against the headrest.

"Fuck," he says again. Now what?

He assesses the situation. Plays out his options. So, this fucking hurts, first of all. But that's fine. Eliot's no stranger to injuries. Getting them, fighting through them, healing up after. First rule of injuries: don't fucking lie to yourself about how bad it is. Well, the first rule is probably, get yourself the hell away from whoever did that shit to you, but the second one is definitely some variation on be honest about how much it sucks. And this shit may be an emotional fucking injury but that doesn't mean it doesn't fucking suck. Hell, it's his own goddamn dad, and that bridge isn't just burned, it's in little pieces floating downriver. It'll keep hurting tomorrow, regardless of what he does tonight. It'll probably hurt for a while.

How do you treat any of that? If this was just a broken bone or a concussion or some shit he'd know what to do, but he's kind of at a loss, right now. After all, the last time he went through this particular kind of injury the way he treated it was to fuck off and join the army, and none of that is an option anymore for any number of reasons.

He looks at the hotel sign again. What the fuck is he gonna do here tonight, anyway? He's close enough to Bricktown, which has really fucking taken off since he left here, so he could probably wander into some bar, pick somebody up, bring them back to a hotel room-- and then what? Fuck them and hope in the morning it doesn't sting as much?

Maybe it wouldn't be the worst way to spend an evening but it also just doesn't hit right, tonight. He's not good company right now. Doesn't want to fake being charming or happy or whatever for somebody for a night so he can feel just a little less miserable for a few hours before he leaves this place and never comes back. He came all the way out here for a real conversation that he's never really going to have, and now he has a very real ache in his chest from years and years of regret, and whatever he does after this he just wants it to be real, too, even if it's just wallowing in real misery for a while.

That does sound more like what Nate would do, though, and that isn't particularly interesting to him. He knows where that road goes and it's not anyplace he wants to be, because if it was Nate in this situation there's a good chance he'd crawl right into a bottle and never come out. And there's Sophie, who would paint on a convincing smile while she quietly bottled up all the pain and the hurt to use later for motivation, like it was some magic potion she could drink later to fuel a con, and who knows, maybe she could, but he doesn't think he can. And what would Hardison do? Eliot snorts. Like he even has to ask. Stay, definitely. Drive back down there right now and try again. And again, and again, patiently offering his heart to people whether they deserve it or not. That's Hardison all over. And Parker-- Parker would cut and run and you'd never know she'd been there.

Except no, that's not right. That's Eliot's play, or it used to be. Parker would never have come back in the first fucking place. Parker would have known better.

If he had known better, he'd still be in Portland, probably cooking the two of them dinner, because that's how he spends more evenings than he'd like to admit, lately. That, or re-planning the menu for the brewpub, because someone has to, and it looks like that someone has to be him, because if he leaves it up to Hardison the pizza will have anchovies and pineapple and the beer really will live up to Parker's promise of mouth crimes. They need him. And-- well-- okay, he needs them, too, probably. If he wants something real, they are definitely that. Sometimes they're just real weird, but even on their worst days hanging out with them is better than sitting here alone. They're his; he’s theirs. They're family. The only one he's got.

So he starts the truck and drives straight to the airport and asks the ticket agent if there's any way in hell he can get back to Portland tonight.

But there's nothing direct from here to Portland left going out today on any airline, and no matter how much he sweet talks the nice lady behind the counter, that ain't changing. She kinda reminds of his grandmother, which honestly is just not helping his emotional state, and is probably the reason why, when he opens his mouth to plead his case to this lady what comes out is, "I just really need to be with my family," instead of literally anything else.

"Bless your heart," she says, reaching across the counter to gently pat his hand, and fuck, isn't that just the worst thing she could've said. People from other places tend to assume that phrase only means one thing, but the actual truth is that it can mean anything from boy, are you a dumbass to I see your pain and I want you to know that you are not alone in this cold dark world and I don't rightly know how but trust me, it is going to be okay, and this is the latter one, for sure. And he has held up under torture, under hours and hours and days and days of physical pain, without cracking, but this sweet lady and her voice and her eyes that crinkle up like his grandma's and her bless your heart kindness are going to be the death of him, probably. He gives her a very watery smile in response, and she pats his hand again and says, "Let's find you a flight."

It takes four connections and an overnight flight to do it, but eventually, Eliot and his newfound best friend, Miss Roxanna, queen of the American check-in counter at the Will Rogers World Airport, work this shit out.

"Listen, honey," she says, as she hands him his tickets, "I don't know what you've got going on and I don't need to, but it's gonna be all right."

"Thank you, ma'am," he manages to say, and he's glad he has to run to make it through security and find his gate because he can't stand here and do this shit much longer without spilling his guts to a total stranger.

He doesn't sleep on the plane to L.A.. He does try, he just can't get there. Every time he closes his eyes he just sees his dad's stupid hardware store. So he stays awake. He even does the crossword, or most of it. He eats the plane snacks when the flight attendant comes around with the basket of slightly fancier shit that they serve in first-class. Maybe he flirts with her a little, but only out of habit. Mostly he just stares out the window and wonders what Parker and Hardison are doing right now and why he thought he needed to leave in the first place, and then he thinks about that last job and that old guy, Martin, and realizes that he was always going to try to go home again, so maybe he can at least stop beating himself up for that.

He cuts his hair in the bathroom of the American Airlines Admirals Club Lounge in terminal four of LAX at one in the goddamn morning, because he's tired and plane-sweaty and even though they have showers here his hair just won't stop sticking to his damn neck and he's got two more flights before he's back in Oregon and he's about over it. So he palms some scissors from the lady at the lounge desk when she's not looking, hits the bathroom, and hacks it all off. It ain't clean or neat and honestly he doesn't give a fuck. It suits his mood. And when he looks at his reflection and feels a little pang that it's gone, that's even better. What does it matter? It's just hair. He's not Samson; his hometown wasn't Delilah. He doesn't get his power from it or some bullshit like that.

Because airlines are bullshit, from L.A. he actually has to go all the way back to Dallas before he can get to Seattle and his last flight, but at least after all of that the flight from SeaTac to Portland is over almost before it starts, and he shuffles off the plane and out of the airport like a zombie coming back to life. Eliot never thought he could be so goddamn grateful for Portland, so different from the home he left behind and still carries around in his heart. Portland, with all its rain and tall cedars and the looming specter of Mount Hood in the distance, is nothing like the place he left, but god, he could almost fall to his knees at the sight of all of it now.

What he means to do, when he gets in his car, is go to his place and pass out for a few hours before he inevitably finds his way to the brewpub. The drive is so easy and there's so little traffic this early that he just sort of autopilots himself around, and he doesn't even register that he's not at his own place until he's putting in the alarm code on Parker and Hardison's apartment door, muscle memory piloting his fingers through the sequence when his tired brain can't be bothered with the recall. The code's keyed specifically to him, he knows, so if anyone up there is awake and cares to see it, they'll know he's here and probably go right back to sleep, because it is early the fuck o'clock and he knows it.

He's exhausted and he feels like he's been on twice as many planes as it took him to get here, but he walks in, closes the door quietly behind him, and tosses his keys on the table by the door where he always leaves them when he's here. And it's just right. This, right here, this specific place, is just where he needed to be. He sinks onto the couch in the living room, too tired to haul himself any further, to the spare room that stays spare, just in case. Just in case of Eliot. He knows that. They've never told him it's his space. They also never told him he couldn't leave his shit there. So he's got clothes in the closet and maybe a few other things besides, a little home away from home, for the nights when he's here too late or has an extra beer or just plain does not want to go home to an empty apartment when his heart is here.

He's trying to will himself to get up when he hears the door to their bedroom open, catches a few lines of whispered conversation, first Hardison, then Parker. There's noise in the kitchen-- the soft beeps of the coffee pot, the click-hiss of the gas stove, the sizzle of bacon-- and then there they both are, right beside him.

Nobody looks at him funny. Nobody even says a word. Hardison sets a steaming cup of coffee on the coffee table in front of him; Parker follows it up with a plate of toast and bacon and eggs. A few minutes later they curl up, one of them on either side of him, holding their own plates, and nobody tells him to eat or drink, they just leave him be. But that midnight meal in the American lounge was hours ago, now, and he should eat before he passes out, probably, so he reaches for his plate and digs in, grateful that someone around here who isn't him has apparently figured out that you can have something besides hot pockets or cereal for breakfast.

The silence is comforting for a while, until it isn't, with neither of them saying a damn word, and what are they waiting for, anyway? He's never here this early unless it's for a reason, even if the reason is just that there wasn't anyplace else he wanted to be.

"Don't you want to know what I'm doing here?" he asks finally, when it seems like they're just going to keep on waiting until he says something.

"Why would you need a reason to be here?" Parker asks, and Hardison just looks up from his phone and says, "Yeah man, you're home," and shrugs, like of course there's nowhere else he would be, and god, if he's home, then no, there really isn't anywhere else. It’s funny, because up until this moment, at least in his head, home has still been a tiny town two-thousand miles east of here, but that’s not right, not anymore, and now he knows it, for sure. Looks like the lady at the ticket counter was right after all. It was gonna be okay.  

"Yeah," he says, with a grateful smile. "Yeah, okay. I'm home."

He's so tired he can't even clock who moves first, maybe Hardison, maybe Parker, hell, maybe it was him or even all of them together, but the end result is, there are two sets of arms wrapped around him and two sleep-warm people pressed against his ribs on both sides. And it's been a long day and a long year and a long life, to be honest, and he may be tired but he's not alone and he's home, so he just lets them hold onto him for a while, and he holds on right back. Maybe you can't go home again, but you sure as hell can make a new one. This one, at least, he is going to do his goddamn best not to burn to the ground.

[queerbutstillhere]

Hi how are you? Yo remember that Jercy fluff piece with them realizing they’re gay for each other and both going ‘oh’. If you are up to it please make a part 2 it was so cute and I want them to like confess or something I stg you are such a good writer and your stuff is so cute thankssssa ❤️❤️🥰🥰

HI! Thanks for Asking!!! I’ve been wanting to write a part two to this for a while!!!! Click the link just below for part one!

Part One!

It had been two weeks since their sleep over.

Neither one had addressed anything, but the sad pining from across the dining pavilion and the mildly sexual sparing fights and the constant flirting was driving their friends insane.

(So insane that they had literally made a bet on when the two were going to get together. Nico and Annabeth said it wouldn't be until the last day of summer camp, while Will and Grover insisted it'd be within the first few weeks.)

The truth of the matter was neither one of them had any idea how to handle this. 

Sure they had both been in relationships, but that was with girls, plus what if the other one didn't feel the same? Coming out to themselves had been a whole thing on its own, let alone coming out to their friends. Percy had told Annabeth first, and she just smiled and ruffled his hair. Meanwhile Jason nearly had a breakdown, bursting in on Will and Nico(who had been trying to have a nice evening in) and just ranted to them for nearly twenty minutes. They had heard so much about how hot Percy was in those twenty minutes. Nico had responded bluntly with "then go fucking kiss him, you dumbass".

"But what if he hates me after!" Jason had cried, truly distraught.

"He's not going to, trust us, Jason," Will had assured him.

Jason had promptly ignored their advice and returned to wallowing in self misery and hopeless pining. If only he had known it wasn't hopeless.

Percy, on the other hand, was accepting this rather gracefully. He wasn't terribly surprised he was bisexual, or pansexual, whatever. He'd spent enough time in Camp Jupiter, working out with hot Romans to have begun to realize that he wasn't just attracted to women. The problem was that he was hardcore crushing on his best friend. The boyscout, Jason Grace. Who was probably straight.

Why was his life a constant wheel of disappointment?

So, with the two idiots hopelessly in love and hopelessly dancing around each other, their friends abandoned the bet and decided to start playing matchmaker. Their rules were simple, however. They would not outright tell one that the other was crushing, because it was Percy and Jason's job to come out to the other. Even if it was so painful to watch.

There were so many times when they had arranged a group hangout, and then everyone else bailed fairly early, in the hopes that they would get talking and confess. But alas. It had yet to happen, and they were nearing mid July.

The turning point came when a group of them were hanging out around a campfire, late at night, and Percy, having forgotten that he hadn't told everyone, just spoke without thinking.

"I'm thinking about coming out to my mom."

There was a brief pause of silence before Will spoke.

"Yeah? How do you think she'll react?"

"Dunno, I think she'll be okay?" Percy said, glancing up from his intense staring into the fire, and then looking over at Jason.

Jason's blue eyes were the size of the full moon behind him, his mouth hanging open.

"What?" Percy asked with a laugh, and then it hit him.

Jason didn't know.

"Oh," he said softly. "Yeah I'm . . . Bi or something."

"O-oh," Jason squeaked out, voice cracking uncharacteristically. "Cool."

Nico suddenly burst out in laughter, immediately getting yelled at by Will and Katie Gardner. Percy frowned at them, before glancing at Jason, nervousness filling him. What was Jason thinking? He was chill with Nico and Will, surely he'd be okay with Percy being Bi?

Surely.

Jason was freaking out. Very silently. He did know how to keep his chill. But he was struggling. Because his brain was a screaming mess of "oh my gods he's bi. Oh my gods I might actually have a chance with him. Oh my gods-". Listen, he's just a chaotic, messy disaster bisexual, he doesn't know how to do these things.

It took nearly two days for him to bring it up, and even then it was just to Nico at breakfast.

"How long have you guys known he was bi?" Jason asked softly.

Today Nico was sitting with him. Will had pulled a late night at the infirmary and was still asleep, so Nico had no reason to sit with the Apollo cabin. The big three kids usually sat together, but Percy had gone home for the weekend, so it was just Jason and Nico sitting at what would have been the Cabin 1 table, but had just become the joint table.

"For like, weeks."

"Why didn't you tell me!"

Nico shrugged, pushing around his eggs on his plate. "Wasn't my place? You remember when Eros outed me?"

"Oh, right. Shit. . . "

Another shrug from the younger teen. They sat in silence.

"Are you gonna tell him?"

"What!" Jason asked, glancing up at Nico, who was now done with his eggs.

"Percy? Are you gonna tell him you're not straight?"

"I dunno. I dunno what I am."

Nico frowned, reaching to steal Jason's bacon. Jason didn't complain.

"What do you mean."

"It's like…. It's hard to explain. Like." Jason sighed, turning to face Nico. "Katie is really pretty, right?"

Nico turned to look at their friend, shrugging lightly. "Yeah."

"But I'm not like… attracted to her, or really, any woman? And when I realized I thought, oh, maybe I'm gay, but like. Malcom is really handsome. And I'm not attracted to him either."

Nico's gaze swung to the co-counselor of the Athena cabin. Then he looked back to Jason, frowning lightly.

"So then I was thinking, maybe I'm ace?" Jason continued, rambling now, more than anything. "But bro, Percy is hot as hell, and I'm incredibly attracted to him. So I'm just confused."

Nico was silent, staring down at the table.

"Demisexual?" He said randomly.

"What? What's that?"

"It just. . . Demisexual's don't really experience sexual attraction unless they have a strong emotional bond with someone. It's kinda what you just described to me."

Jason stared at him with wide eyes."Holy shit."

Nico smirked slightly, collecting his dishes and standing. "I gotta go get Will, but feel free to come chat during lunch."

"Yeah," Jason murmured, staring at the table and Nico walked away.

Mind blown.

By the time Percy got back Monday, Jason was mostly through his crisis. He had spent most of his free time Sunday researching sexualities and mostly demisexual. He felt that Nico had been right. 

Percy came jogging over after his return Monday afternoon. Jason was in the middle of sparring with a kid from the Ares cabin when Percy called him over.

"Hold on," Jason told his opponent as he stepped back. 

He still fought with the Roman style, and it drove the Greeks insane, Percy most especially.

"Yeah, sure," the younger camper said with an amused smirk.

Jason turned away and walked over to Percy. He was wearing an orange t-shirt and what looked like boardshorts, as well as sandals, and a couple bracelets that ran up his forearms. He was grinning, sunglasses pushing his messy black hair up.

"Hey, boy scout," Percy hummed, hands in his pockets.

"Hey, Percy, how was your weekend?" Jason asked, throwing an arm around Percy's shoulders and leaning on him.

Percy groaned dramatically, tilting his head away. "You're gross!" He exclaimed, yet slipped his arm around Jason's stomach, turning and leading him away from the other kids who were sparing in the small arena.

Jason couldn't ignore the flutter in his stomach as Percy's strong arm pulled him in tight against his side.

"My weekend was great. Estelle was so stoked to see me, we went to the park all day Saturday while mom and Paul went out grocery shopping."

"That's great!" Jason exclaimed, thinking faintly that he couldn't wait to see Thalia.

"Yup, and I talked to mom and Paul. . ."

Percy had stopped walking but hadn't let go of Jason yet, swaying them back and forth lightly.

"What about?" Jason asked, eyebrows furrowing as he tried to remember.

Percy looked down at him, looking amused.

"What?" Jason asked with a slight laugh, head tilted to be able to look at Percy comfortably.

"I was coming out to them this weekend?"

Oh gods Jason was an idiot.

"Fuck, I forgot!”

Percy laughed, eyes crinkling slightly. Jason's heart fluttered as his friend grinned down at him.

"Did you have a busy weekend?"

"Uh, a little? Nico and I hung out most of Saturday, Sunday I was in charge of activities."

"Oh yeah? It's good that you and Nico are so close," Percy hummed out.

"Yeah. He's a good kid. Wiser than his age."

"That's for sure."

They looked up at each other in silence for a bit, neither speaking, they were incredibly close, Jason could probably just lean in and kiss him…

Two things happened at once. First, Jason watched Percy's eyes flicker down to his lips, as he licked his own and started to lean in. And then they both heard the explosion from across camp.

"Oh shit," Percy exclaimed, pulling away. 

Annoyed shouting could be heard.

"Harley," they both said at once, then laughed.

"I got it," Percy said, pulling away. "See you 'round!"

Jason watched him jog away and just then processed that Percy had been about to kiss him.

Thursday night at campfire was the next time they were actually anything close to alone. They were sitting together, off to one side, munching on their smores and listening to campfire songs.

"Hey, do you wanna get out of here?"

Jason looked over at Percy, realizing suddenly that Percy was looking at him and not the campfire.

"What?"

"Come on, we're counselor's aren't we? Let's abuse our powers," Percy told him, standing and offering his hand to Jason.

Jason put his clean hand(his other one had marshmallow on it) in Percy's and let himself be pulled up. Percy snagged a bag of marshmallows and led Jason towards the lake.

"Why'd you get the marshmallows?" Jason asked with a laugh as he sat on the dock.

"The nymphs like them."

Percy ripped open the bag and pulled a few out. He held his hand out and a few nymphs popped out of the water, snatching them and then disappearing.

"Huh. . . " Jason said softly, staring at the ripples in the water. Percy kicked off his shoes and then sat next to Jason, dangling his feet into the lake. 

They sat in silence for a while, shoulders just barely brushing, Percy occasionally giving the nymphs more marshmallows, occasionally eating one himself.

"Hey, Percy."

"Yeah?"

"I think. . . " Jason stopped, clearing his throat. He was staring at the water, watching the way it rippled around Percy's ankles. "I think I'm demisexual."

Percy was silent for a bit, then looked over. "Okay. . . Could you explain that to me?"

Jason smiled slightly as they made eye contact, he carefully explained it to Percy, who listened silently, absorbing this information, his feet kicking through the water as he thought.

"Thank you for telling me, Jason," Percy said softly, putting his hand on Jason's thigh. "And I support you completely."

"Thanks," Jason said softly, smiling at Percy.

Percy grinned back, offering him a marshmallow then looking back over the lake. Silence stretched over them, they could faintly hear the campfire songs drifting over.

"Percy?" Jason said softly, trying to get his attention.

"Yeah?"

Percy looked over at him, and Jason leaned in, quickly kissing him. Percy made a slightly surprised noise but was instantly pressing back into him. Jason pulled away first, just far enough that he could look at Percy in the pale moonlight. Percy swallowed, licking his lips before leaning in and kissing Jason again, hand resting on his leg.

"Wow," Jason breathed out.

Percy started laughing, falling back to lay on the dock.

"Hey!" Jason protested, hitting his friend's stomach. 

"I'm sorry! But we kiss and what you have to say is 'neat'?!"

"Shut up! I didn't think you actually liked me back!!!"

Percy just laughed and shook his head, looking up at him.

"Jason, you were literally my gay awakening."

Jason felt his eyes go wide. "Oh-"

Percy grinned at him. "You remember that weekend you spent the night at my house?"

Jason nodded.

"That's when I realized I was attracted to guys, and specifically you."

"Oh. . . " Jason said, yet again.

Percy nudged his hip. "And here I was worrying you did like me like that."

Jason made a noise that can only be typed as 'ajdjshdhs', shaking his head rapidly. "No. You're- you're the first person I've actually felt this way towards in. . . Well a long time."

"Really? Not even Piper?"

Jason shook his head. "That was a weird situation . . ."

Percy shrugged. "Yeah, you're right."

He sat up and turned to face Jason, crossing his legs. Then he laughed again, shaking his head.

“Wow.” He whispered, mocking Jason.

"Shut up!" Jason yelled, lunging and shoving the still laughing Percy off the dock. 

Send me a prompt!

[godlydolans]

Not Enough {e.d.}

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

Warning: Angst.

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

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

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

"It's not you, Ethan."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart sinks.

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

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

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

And stay you will.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he's not your man.

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

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

He wants someone else.

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

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A friend is all you are ever going to be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And you?" Grayson inquires quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh, "Gray-"

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

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

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

"Good night, Gray. Sleep tight."

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

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

If only he could fix them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[merryfortune]

Day 25 / Clouds

Ship: Elfinshipping | Ema/Hayami

Universe: Vrains

Word Count: 1,227

Rating: 

Tags: Vaguely Canon Divergent, Minor/Implied Ships, Unrequited Akira/Hayami, Unrequited Akira/Ema

  Another day, another dud date.

  Hayami had really thought that Akira would come this time. It was supposed to be totally casual. Totally platonic. And he had been totally up for it until Hayami got a sudden text from him. Something had come up, something involving Aoi and being a woman who aspired to have a nice, cookie-cutter family, she couldn’t make Akira come on this totally not a date date because it was a family issue.

  But knowing that she was being selfless, didn’t make Hayami feel much better. She stood out, in the rain no less, just adjacent to her favourite ramen and udon restaurant, poking the bowl of salt on the ground with her foot, listening to the sizzle of gyoza from inside. She sighed to herself. Another lost opportunity. And it made Hayami realise.

  She was never going to be anywhere close to Akira’s top priority. They were barely friends and very likely, they were just going to remain co-workers forever. Hayami very much wanted to shrug such thoughts off but it was finally time to face the writing on the wall. He just wasn’t that into her.

  A sigh escaped her lips and not a moment sooner, someone suddenly showed up in her life to turn that frown upside down.

  A motorcycle screeched and Hayami was drenched in muddy city water as it pulled up in front of her. A gorgeous woman sat, strident, over the machine and as she haphazardly tore her helmet off, her mane of long, fluffy hair fell back and in a panicked way that only the coolest of the cool could be, she asked: “Are you okay?” A jostled exclamation which rung out across the cold rain.

  Hayami laughed, shrugged her shoulders. “It’s not nearly as bad as how I feel.”

  “Aw, sweetums, what’s the matter, Risa?” she asked.

  “Huh?” Hayami blinked. “How do you know my name... hang on, wait a minute. You! You’re the girl from that thing! You know Akira! Uh, c’mon... your name’s on the tip of my tongue... wait, got it! Ema! You’re... Bessho Ema.”

  “Right on the target.” Ema replied with a playful wink. She dismounted from her motorcycle.

  “My apologies for forgetting your name...” Hayami murmured.

  “None taken. Though, personally, I never forget a cute girl’s name.” Ema said and she quickly came in under the restaurant’s crimson pergola.

  Together, they stood side by side, just out of the rain, it splashed out noisily towards their feet. The bowl of salt was all that separated them. Hayami fidgeted with her hands whereas Ema kept stealing curious glances towards her.

  They had only met briefly, and it was quite a while ago now. At least sixteen months ago, now but Ema didn’t know Hayami to be so dour. She looked weirdly defeated. Her shoulders all slack and sloping. Her cheery face wiped of all that tenacious mirth. Even her wavy hair had lost so much of its curly shine. And Ema suspected that it wasn’t just because her and her cute little pantsuit were all drenched with muddy rainwater.

  “What’s the matter, hon? Life got you down? Cat got your tongue?” she asked quietly beneath the sound of the pelting rain.

  “Yeah, something like that...” Hayami murmured.

  “There’s a restaurant behind us,” Ema pointed out, “wanna go inside and talk about it?”

  “Maybe. This place is my favourite but... I don’t know if I’m in the mood anymore.” Hayami said.

  “That’s just tragic.” Ema sighed, folding her arms. “We’re absolutely going in if it’s your favourite.”

  Without even giving her a chance to reply, Ema reached out and grabbed Hayami’s hand. She dragged her inside and to the barman, she yelled: “Sitting for two, please, sir!”

  He gestured the seats in front of him and the barman barked at someone on his staff. A waitress came over and gave the two ladies some glasses of water, and a nice fresh towel for Hayami to dab over herself. Sitting down, in the thick of all the savoury scents, finally returned a smile to Hayami’s face, even if it was feeble. Ema noticed and was a delighted.

  “Excuse me, sir, I’ll take a pork bowl please. Make it extra spicy, thanks. And I’ll pay tonight, so whatever she orders is on my bill. It’s our date now.” Ema teased, throwing another wink towards Hayami but Hayami groaned. “Oh, sweetie, did you get stood up?” Ema looked as though she had regretted her choice of gab.

  “Kinda.” Hayami said. “It wasn’t really a date, but I was meeting the guy I liked.”

  “Akira?” Ema guessed.

  Hayami nodded quietly.

  “Thought so. I know that feeling. I chased him for a bit as well but just between you and me, I don’t think he goes for gals like us. Or gals in general.” Ema whispered.

  “Oh...” Hayami murmured, eyes widening, and she started to laugh. “Oh, uh, good for him. Oh gosh. Well...”

  “Yeah.” Ema replied, something of a chuckle in her voice as well. “So, what can I order for you?”

  Hayami smiled, wider this time, and she flicked a few tears from the corner of her eyes. Or maybe they were raindrops. Who’s to say?

  She licked her lips, “If you don’t mind, Ema, can I call you Ema?”

  “Yeah, absolutely.”

  “I’d like chikara udon... I like my mochi. It reminds me of home.” Hayami shyly said.

  Ema tapped the top of the divider. “Hear that old man, my date here, so cute and wonderful, would like a chikara udon, please.”

  Hayami blushed and now she was the one stealing glances at Ema. She was beautiful. She had derisive eyes, long lashes, a curvaceous body. She was way out of Hayami’s league, she felt but goodness gracious, it felt so good to be called her date. Hayami could only imagine what it could be like to be called her girlfriend. Or her wife. But that was probably getting way too ahead of herself, but it was just like her to infatuate like this. As quickly as a downpour, that’s what Hayami’s feelings were like.

  Ema smirked when she caught Hayami staring. “So, Risa, why don’t you tell me more about yourself? You said mochi reminds you of home? What’s the story there, if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t mind at all,” Hayami replied, growing hungrier by the second because the restaurant smelt so good, and so did Ema, truth be told, all coy perfume downtrodden by the rain and by a bit of gasoline as well, “well, I was born on March third, Hinamatsuri and...”

  She went on to explain the associated memories with her family and childhood. After wallowing in such misery prior, the way Hayami’s face lit up was absolutely precious. Ema listened, sweetly, not quite intently as such pleasantries were vaguely alien to her because of the trouble her birth had caused her family, in a way, but it was nice. Her eyes were utterly lovestruck as she listened to Hayami ramble. Meanwhile outside, the clouds were beginning to part and the rain was beginning to ease, allowing moonlight and the luminous glow of the city to shine through. Romantically, Ema liked to think that the weather was shifting all for Hayami who finally shone with some sort of cheer for the first time since they ran into each other outside.

[flyswhumpcenter]

Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled. I don’t have any request left, so feel free to send in suggestions for this card!). 

["Android Girl" in the background intensifies]

I'll most likely sink with this ship, I'm afraid. I therefore makes it my task to bring the ship another sickfic, and even if it's kind of the same as before, it's still different in its own way I think. It's kind of OOC here, this much I'll admit, but I got carried away and couldn't stop. It's been a while since I've allowed myself to go wild and far, so this was a bundle of fun and I hope someone else appreciates it!

yeah boi it's another sylvgrid sickfic what ya gonna do 'bout dat

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Tastes Like Iron

Summary: There is a turning point in Sylvain's life and vision of the world around him. A point that just so happens to take place in the middle of a college corridor.

Fandom: Fire Emblem: Three Houses (Modern AU, pre-timeskip personalities) Ship: Ingrid/Sylvain (pre-relationship)

Wordcount: 2.8K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version available here.

----

It’s early in the morning when Ingrid comes up to him, emerald eyes staring right into his soul. She looks angry at him (when isn’t she? She always seems to be angry at him for a reason or the other, this won’t change soon), footsteps heavy in the echoing corridors. It’s not a sight he hasn’t seen before, frankly: they’ve been like this since they were children, only their appearance and buildings around them changing over the time.

It’s a dynamic that feels comfortable, though, so Sylvain is starting to wonder if he isn’t feeling better with this company around. This is a real paradox in itself: who likes to get scolded?

 He’s on his way to class when she bumps into him directly, as she always does to convey her words to him. She takes his scarf in her hand, gets his face nearer to hers (it’s kind of awkward, but he likes it), fury raging in her stare.

“Hello, Sylvain.”

Yet, her frowned eyebrows aren’t of anger, or at least, not as much as one would have thought would they not know Ingrid personally. However, Sylvain knows better than that, knows her better than he’d let on; and guesses this isn’t just going to be about skirt-chasing tendencies he’s trying to keep in check anyway.

Blame it on the butterflies.

 “Oh, hi, Ing,” he tells her as he musters the best grin he can give her right now. “What’s up?”

He keeps a coughing fit in as not to prove the point she’ll inevitably present him with.

“Well, I’d like to know what’s up with you, that’s for sure.”

“I don’t see what you’re talking about,” that fit escapes from his throat anyway. A few passers-by stare at them, but Ingrid seem not to give a single damn about that, so he focuses back on her.

“This. You absolutely know what I’m referring to, Sylvain. Quit granting me for dumb.”

Well, what can he reply to that? She’s already had him figured out, as she’s always done. This is getting tough, but he’s always liked having a challenge, hasn’t he?

“What’s ‘this’, huh? I’m afraid I don’t understand!” But he coughs again and his head feels stuffed, heavy on his shoulders, and he can only hope he’s doing a decent job at hiding how it really is on the inside.

“Stop taking me for a fool.”

 He may have known her since they were children, but that doesn’t prevent Ingrid from surprising him and play him like a fiddle. It’s something she has that people who have tried dating him for his heritage doesn’t have: honesty, frankness, an insight into who he is aside from his surname. There’s no point wallowing in that misery, because he knows where he’s going to end up anyway, and spending time with his childhood friend is worth more than what his family wants him to be.

And it’s because Ingrid has known him since she was a little girl that she does the thing nobody would have in the middle of a corridor like that: put the back of her hand on his forehead, keeping his weight in balance as her frown deepens. He’s spotted for sure.

 “Have you still not seen a doctor, Sylvain?! Take your health more seriously than that, you’re going to infect everybody in the school!”

The way she says his name with heavy insistence, a manner unique to her shall he add, as if she was putting a seal on it to enforce her speech, hurts in a strange, agreeable way.

“I thought you’d be the kind to scold me for not attending class.”

“Urgh, don’t try and smooth-talk me out of this! Go back home before you get someone else sick!”

He shrugs.

“If you insist then…!”

 Without a forewarning, his focus having shifted from retaining the cough in to sounding convincing in his, a fit breaks out in his throat, making its way outside, as he finally stumbles out of her grasp. His body falls forward, hands almost failing to catch him before he can entirely meet the floor. It hurts deeply and seemingly doesn’t stop, until he feels something in there wanting to exit.

Kneeling in the middle of a corridor, Ingrid��s hands wrapped around his chest, he puts a hand against his mouth as the trembles racking his chest push against his palm. The thing who wants out eventually does so, spilling between his fingers, and it doesn’t feel like harmless phlegm having formed because of the infection.

 When the fit lets off, Sylvain glances at the contents of his hand, only to realize how deep he’s gone.

Red slips off from his fingers, some dripping onto the floor, and he suddenly feels much sicker than before. No injury has ever made him react this way.

 He glances at Ingrid, panting, to notice her expression has changed from concern to horror. Her mouth is in a sort of awe as she gulps, her hands moving on their own to put his back against the wall while her stare doesn’t let go, eyes trying to search for an answer.

“This is it,” she says with a trembling voice trying to sound steady. “Sylvain, you’re seeing someone, even if you don’t want to.”

Yeah, he wasn’t going to go against that anyway.

 Sounds and images alike grow distant, even Ingrid’s voice as she speaks into her phone with vigour and a sense of urgency, even the irritating noise of his own cough. He’s drenched in sweat, his hair sticking to his skin in front of his eyes, the shift in temperatures never letting go and biting harder every time. Pulling his knees against his chest, wrapping his arms around his lap, he’s waiting for the moment where the tempest will calm down and allow him to make a run for his life.

The tempest never soothes and, instead, Ingrid’s eyes try digging into his with a sense of desperation, the phone now gone and maybe not even calling anymore.

 “Sylvain, can you hear me?!” She asks with her hands on his shoulders, slightly shaking him in the commotion.

He nods while in the midst of a coughing fit, that phlegm escaping again.

“Thank goodness…” She whispers to herself, before she changes gears entirely. “How the hell were you still standing…?!” She muses as she puts her hand on his forehead again. “It’s risen too… You’re the biggest of fools, Sylvain, do you know that?!”

“Was… aware of that by now…” He tries laughing, but it only comes out as forced. “Keep telling me that…”

“Then apply them, once and for all! Where do you think that brings you?! What the hell is going on in your head?!”

Ingrid looks aside before her glare comes back, eyes shimmering, and the world disappears behind her. Her voice echoes in the distance, yet so near him, anguish painted all over the picture he can make out of her with his tired eyes.

“Why do you always scare me so much, you jerk!”

 His breath is stolen away, lungs locking for a solid moment before he can exhale again. The hands on his shoulders weaken.

“I’m tired of cleaning after your mess, skirt-chasing or not! Even if I tell you crystal-clear, even if I insist on having you finally behave properly, you never take anything seriously and I always have to be behind you so I don’t end up losing you in the long run”

Her finger brushes against his face, right under his mouth, and she shows him a red stain left on her skin.

“This, Sylvain. Do you see it? Do you even know how much hassle you’d avoid for yourself if, for once, you’d take things seriously? If you just listened, we wouldn’t be there!”

“W-well… It’s only my business, right…? I don’t know why you get so worked up for me… Is it because we’re friends…? Are you in love…?”

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear that dying voice of yours!”

“Oh c’mon, that’s kinda mean…”

“Healthy people don’t cough up blood, you fool! Stop talking about it as if that was just the cold it was two weeks ago!”

“Still… My business, not yours, Ing;” His flirtatious tone is nowhere to be seen.

“It’s my business too because I don’t want to lose you!”

Her voice breaks, a part of his heart follows.

“… I don’t want to lose someone again,” she mutters as her gaze lowers. “Especially not like that.”

The rest of his heart crumbles under the weight of the feelings it stores endlessly.

 He musters what strength he somehow has left, brain almost entirely numbed by a fever blurring his sight and rendering his touch inaccurate, and pulls her against his chest, asking for no cue. There is a puddle of blood in the back of his throat, but he tries smiling if not just for her, and realizes in his daze just how much he’s fucked up.

“It’s not usual for you to lose your composure so much… Ing…” He whispers, the ring of classes beginning drowning in his swimming vision.

She doesn’t reply, her heart almost against his, their beats never matching.

“I’m sorry for worrying you so much, Ing…”

His consciousness is dimming as he sees dots appearing in front of his vision, but not having to retain spitting blood on her.

“Didn’t realize until now… that it mattered to someone…”

 Everything disappears before him before he knows it.

  When he eventually comes to, Sylvain is surprised he’s still actually part of the living world. It’s no better than being a corpse right now, considering his entire body stopped responding efficiently. There’s no distraction when his vision is mostly a black blur, so he has the time and peace of mind to think about how, yeah, this has been a fiasco and he can only blame himself for it. Not like he’s ever blamed anything but fate, the order of things, the world’s strange whims and himself. His business, not his, after all.

It should have only affected him, but then Ingrid burst into his secrecy, and the entire order of things got taken apart.

 His eyelids are heavier than shields and barely open at first, but they eventually allow the light to enter his sight. It hurts at first, worsening the pounding headache settling under his skull’s surface, until he gets over it and observes the change in scenery: this isn’t the corridor where he last spoke to Ingrid. In fact, aside from similar neon lights, it feels different: the smell isn’t the same, the air isn’t the same and, if he glances with how little his neck can move, he can conclude that the furniture isn’t the corridor’s.

Not that it wasn’t a dead giveaway all along, considering he’s lying in an actual bed and not against a wall, and that there are familiar emerald eyes looking in his direction.

 “I… Ing…?” His voice sounds worse than before, it’s like he’s still half-asleep.

“Sylvain,” she replies with a calm voice, her usual stern tone, and he can’t help but smile. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah…” He continues glancing around. “What’s this place…? I don’t recognize it…” He still has the urge to cough, even though it’s less violent than before. That’s a nice change of pace.

“The hospital. Don’t worry, you won’t be here for more than a day or two.”

“…makes sense.”

 The silence following this is only short-lived, as Ingrid picks the ball back up merely moments after, just enough to allow him to cough a little more.

“You’re lucky your life wasn’t directly threatened by what’s festering inside your chest. I was surprised myself how fortunate you’ve been with this.”

“I wouldn’t exactly describe being sick… as lucky, Ing…”

“At least you’re recognizing you are, now. It’s progress, I suppose.”

“How can I deny it when I’m like this?”

“You can’t, and that’s a good thing.”

 She doesn’t look as angry as she did before, but he can still tell she’s got a problem with something. Most likely him.

“Wait, you’re not in class…?”

“I’d like to officially inform you that you made the professor sick with your germs. Fortunately, he was prevented from making class by the collective efforts of Mercedes and the other professors. Which brings me to the point I wanted to discuss with you…”

Here it comes.

“Can this please serve you as a wake-up call, once and for all?”

Huh, that’s less painful than he expected it to be.

“Oh…”

 He’s too tired to play pretend and too conscious of her feelings to pretend like he doesn’t know what she’s referring to. It’s been years since he’s started taking less and less things seriously, to the point his own future is something he’s not worried about for a long time, and he’s just realized how harmful this has always been. He’s something more than his heritage, this he now knows for sure, but this wasn’t the way to go.

This has never been the way to go around with this, and Ingrid has always been right; but he’s been too deaf to hear her until now.

 “I finally see why you’ve been so insistent; or so I think…” He’s not sure of much anymore.

“To say that I had to see you cough up blood to hear you say that…” She sighs. “At least, I can hope this means I won’t always be to be behind you, right?”

“Yeah… Sorry for worrying you all the time, Ing…”

“You better be sorry!”

The small laugh she tries to contain is the cutest thing he’s heard in ages.

“Still… Thanks for always having my back. I don’t thank you nearly enough…”

He’s still weak, this much he can tell by how low and gravely his voice sounds, but he’s grateful and doesn’t want to close his eyes if it’s for her to vanish by the time he awakens.

 This, in itself, reminds him of how much Glenn’s death had an impact on Ingrid back then; and he cannot help but hate a part of himself for failing to notice that before.  

After all, if he wants to win her heart over, he has to take in account her feelings, right? It’s only normal, he has to work more on that.

 “I have to say,” she continues leading their conversation, “you’ve made an effort, recently. I see you flirting with anything that moves less than usual.”

He blinks. He’s surprised, but she’s right: he’s been less preoccupied with girls, recently, but he didn’t think it was actually noticeable. Blame it on the butterflies again. Right now, they’re rampaging throughout his abdomen.

“I just wish you’d be more careful to your actions and yourself, that’s it. I won’t be there to keep you in check, one day, you know.”

“I know… That’s why I didn’t want you to worry, but I guess I couldn’t prevent that…”

He coughs again, the iron aftertaste never letting go, but never coming back either.

“How bold of you to assume you could stop a friend from worrying about you.”

 He wishes they were more than friends, but he’s a coward and she’s too good for him. The irony: she’s the one girl he knows doesn’t hold an interest in him only for his bloodline, and yet she’ll never be more than his childhood friend because she knows him too much to accept dating him, even as a joke.

The red he sees creeping on her cheeks has to be a feverish delirium.

 “Anyway, I hope this bronchitis will make for a good lesson,” she scolds him again.

“Yeah, same,” he replies as he looks back to the ceiling. He hopes the blushing he senses on his own face is hidden by the splotches of fever he could see in the mirror this morning.

His eyelids flutter without his consent, and he sees her less and less per second, having run out of strength to keep himself awake.

“I should let you rest at last,” she eventually says as she begins getting up, which is when he notices her hand leaving his. His skin feels cold again, hair on his arm rising underneath clothes he wasn’t wearing earlier today.

“But… Will you be there, when I’ll wake up…?”

 His question, his façade slipping up and shattering to the ground in its fall, makes her stop in her stead and, instead of facing the door, she turns her head in his direction.

“I’ll try my best. I can’t always be behind you, right?”

“I get it… Have a nice day, Ing…”

“Goodnight, Sylvain,” she tells him as the door opens and closes.

It feels soothing to go back to sleep.

[the-cookie-of-doom]

"You're right, I have no idea what it feels like to lose someone I love." Laura's stomach dropped at the glacial tone in Mitch's voice. His dark eyes were empty and blank, giving away nothing. She could tell by his scent that he was hurt, and it was enough to extinguish her misplaced anger. Unfortunately the accusation ignited his own.

"Mitch, I didn't mean it like that--" Laura reached for him when he got up but he pulled away from her touch.

"I know what you meant." Mitch grabbed his keys, clearly intending to leave. The predator in her wanted to chase after him, pin him down and make him listen. When had that ever worked in her favor before? At the door he paused before leaving, not looking at her when he said, "They were my pack, too." The reminder made her eyes sting, and she jolted when he shut the door behind himself with more force than necessary.

Laura rubbed at her eyes fiercely, angry at herself for crying. Angry at Mitch for leaving. Just angry, at everything and everyone. That anger was useless when there was no one to direct it at, instead turning itself inward. 

"I know you're there," she said, just loud enough for John to hear where he was eavesdropping in the kitchen. He at least had the grace to look sheepish when he came out.

"Sorry."

"It's okay, I'm used to people listening in. Usually isn't intentional, though." Now, all that was left of the Hale pack was her and Derek. Laura exhaled deeply, wrapping her arms around her knees and holding them to her chest. She leaned into John when he sat beside her on the couch, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. His scent was familiar and warm, but it just made her miss her own father.

"He'll come back," John offered, rubbing her arm comfortingly.

"How do you know?" she asked morosely.

"Because otherwise I'll have to conduct a manhunt for a runaway teen, and he knows I'll ground him for life." Laura laughed wetly, managing to smile, just a little. It hurt. Like she shouldn't be allowed to smile, not now, so soon after losing everything. "It's going to be alright."

"Doesn't feel that way."

"It never does, kiddo." John pulled away just enough to look down at her. "But whatever happens, you've always got us. We're not much, but…"

"But your pack," Laura finished on a whisper. John kissed the top of her head.

"You and Derek are family. Anything you need, we're here for the both of you."

-

"You don't have to sleep on the floor."

"What?"

"C'mon." Stiles scooted over to try and make room for Derek on the twin-sized bed, patting the free space beside him. "I fall asleep there sometimes, it's not comfortable. You can sleep up here with me. It'll be a little squished but wolves like to cuddle, right? It'll be like a puppy pile."

Derek stared up at the eleven year old earnestly watching him. When he didn't move from his sleeping bag on the floor Stiles started to fidget with the hem of his batman-themes pajamas. Anxiety filled Derek's nostrils; he didn't know how he could smell anything past the ashes that filled his senses. He could still feel it on his skin. It didn't matter that he'd already washed it off, scrubbing his skin until it was rubbed raw, he couldn't get rid of the flaky feeling.

"Um, I'm really sorry. About what happened. Dad told me I shouldn't talk about it, but… I get it. If you want to talk about it, you can." Stiles wanted to talk about it. The Hales were like their really, really big extended family. After his mom died Talia stepped in to fill the position for him, without ever trying to replace his mom. Not that she would have ever tried; Talia knew just what Stiles had lost. Claudia was her best friend and emissary, and her loss was a blow to the entire pack.

"No," Derek finally said. His voice was scratchy and dry from disuse. Even Laura hadn't been able to get a word out of him in days.

"Okay. That's okay. Do you want to watch a movie instead? I have Star Wars, or Batman, or, um, Disney?"

"No."

"Do you want anything?"

"No."

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" Stiles sounded significantly more timid this time. It would be kinda hard to leave Derek alone since this was his bedroom, but he would try, if that's what the teen wanted. This time Derek didn't reply. Stiles decided to take it as meaning Derek didn't want to be alone. He could work with that. "I'll be right back."

Stiles got out of bed, careful not to accidentally step on Derek, and slunk his way down the hall. Dad was still downstairs by the sound of it, and there was no light coming from Mitch's room. Stiles thought he heard a car leave a little while ago so maybe it was his brother and Laura going somewhere.

Careful to be quiet as a mouse because he was supposed to be in bed asleep, Stiles snuck into Dad's room to forage around in his closet, coming up with a precious box. Inside was a quilt that had been lovingly hand stitched by Mom, kept put away most of the time to preserve it. It was only taken out in times of dire need, and Stiles figured if ever there was a time, it's now. He put the box back and stole back into his room.

"My mom made this," Stiles announced, fluffing open the blanket. "Sometimes when I really miss her, this helps it hurt less. I know it's not much, but maybe it'll help you, too." Stiles draped the quilt over Derek.

"Thank you," Derek whispered hoarsely, clutching the edge of the blanket. It still smelled like Claudia even after all these years, the memories of his mother's emissary overwhelming him. Stiles gave him a small smile and crawled back into bed.

-

It was almost 11:00pm when Mitch came back hours later, feeling equal parts exhausted and guilty. All the lights in the house were turned off, except for the one over the kitchen sink that Dad always left turned on. Moths bumped repeatedly into the porch light, their wings flickering against the glass. He shooed them away so that he could get inside without the swarm following him, only to be greeted with the sight of Laura curled up asleep on the couch.

He kneeled down beside her, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Laura," he whispered, trying to wake her without startling her. He'd already done that once on accident this week, and almost ended up eviscerated by her claws. When she didn't stir he plucked one of the wildflowers he'd gathered into a small bouquet - a wispy white baby's breath - and brushed it down the bridge of her nose and over her lips. The ticklish sensation had her scrunching her nose up and batting away his hand.

"Mitch?" She asked tiredly, slowly blinking open hazel eyes. The lack of alpha red was a relief. 

"I'm sorry for acting like a dick earlier." He held up the small bundle of wilting flowers in front of his face to hide behind, part olive branch and part shield. "Forgive me?"

"Yeah." Laura pushed herself up on her elbow, smiling despite herself. A small and wilted thing, just like flowers, which she accepted. One of them was a dandelion tuft. She blew on it, sending the seeds into a puff, most of them landing on Mitch's hair like snow. "I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have said what I did."

"It's okay. I said some pretty nasty stuff when my mom…"

"Yeah…."

"Anyway," he cleared his throat, "What I mean is, I get it."

"I know." Laura looked down at the flowers, picking at the purple petals one of them until Mitch took her hand, lifting it to kiss her palm.

"What were you doing sleeping down here?"

"I was waiting for you to come back."

"You didn't have to."

"I know. I just… wanted to make sure you would." It was a silly concern. Of course he would come back, this was his home. Still, in the wake of so much pain and loss, the fear that he wouldn't didn't seem so irrational. She watched Mitch turn her wrist so that her hand was palm up, brushing his thumb along her pulse point. An intricate black tattoo marked her forearm, a perfect match to the one on his opposite arm, binding them together. Alpha and emissary. A soul-deep bond that not even their mothers had completed.

"Always," he said earnestly. Laura gave him a watery smile, pulling him in to wrap her arms around his neck and breathe him in.

-

Minutes later Stiles came creeping downstairs with his arms comically full of pillows. He stopped short upon finding Mitch and Laura still cuddling on the couch, his eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" Mitch asked sternly.

"Um… shouldn't you?"

"That's your best defense? Really?" Stiles grinned impishly at his brother, continuing on his way to the living room so that he could drop the pillows on the other end of the couch. "What are you doing?"

"Making everything better."

"What?" Laura picked her head up off Mitch's chest, looking between the two of them in confusion. Mitch seemed to realize what Stiles was talking about, but she felt lost in the dark.

"Everyone is so sad, I wanna try and help, so I'm gonna make a blanket fort! Everyone loves blanket forts."

Mitch ran his hand through Laura's hair, tugging lightly on a dark lock. "What do you think?"

"Sure?"

"Yes!" Having been given the greenlight, Stiles went bounding back up the stairs, leaving the two teens smiling at his enthusiasm.

"I'll be right back," Mitch said. Laura got up to let Mitch out from under her, taking a quick kiss before letting him leave.

Mitch met Stiles back upstairs to strip his bed, gathering up the pillows and blankets, then going back a second time to clear out the linen closet.

"Derek won't get up," Stiles complained as he watched Laura and Mitch move furniture out of the way. "He's awake, but he's ignoring me."

"He probably just doesn't want to come down, Stiles."

"But he has to! It doesn't work unless we're all here." Seeing how distraught Stiles looked at the idea of Derek not joining them, instead staying upstairs to wallow in his misery alone, Laura chimed in.

"I'll go get him."

-

"Hey, cub." Derek rolled over so that his back was to his sister, pulling his quilt up higher. He didn't want to be around her right now, to feel her pain, or see the disappointment in her eyes. "Are you gonna come down?"

"No."

"Please?" Silence. "Derek, you can't cut yourself off like this. Now more than ever, we need to stick together." Laura crossed into the room, sitting on the ground beside Derek. She reached out, waiting for him to recoil. Instead he stayed perfectly still, letting her pet his hair the way Talia used to do. "I can't take care of you if you won't even speak to me."

"You don't have to take care of me," Derek mumbled.

"You're my little brother, I'm always going to take care of you," she reminded gently. Not because she was the alpha now, not because their family couldn't. Just because she was his big sister, and that was what big sisters did.

Laura could smell the salt of Derek's tears without having to see them. Slowly she coaxed Derek into rolling over, pulling his shoulder until he finally turned over. "I think Mitch and Stiles are making coco," she offered. "They might even share without the usual dog jokes."

"In that case…"

"That's the spirit. So you're coming down?" Derek hesitated before nodding. Laura smiled warmly. It was getting easier, the more she did it. "Bring the blanket."

-

"Derek!" Stiles cheered excitedly when he saw the werewolves coming downstairs. Derek stuck close to his sister's side warily, the quilt draped around his shoudlers. Still, Stiles took it as a good sign that he came at all, cheerfully rushing over to hang him a mug of hot chocolate piled high with whipped cream.

"Thank you," Derek said softly. Stiles beamed, feeling like he was finally doing something.

"The fort is almost done," Stiles announced. Laura went over to accept her own coco from Mitch while Stiles crawled inside the blanket fort to put on the finishing touches. Derek stood awkwardly off to the side. He felt like he didn't have a place among them, not wanting to get between Mitch and Laura and not having the same easy familiarity as Stiles did, never mind that he'd known the Stilinski's his entire life.

It was near impossible to accept their kindness when everything was his fault.

"Done!"

"Shh, you're gonna wake dad up."

"Oh, sorry. It's done," Stiles whispered yelled, sticking his head out between the blankets that served as the entrance.

Laura pushed Derek inside first, just to make sure he didn't try to escape at the last second, and he was amazed at what simple blankets and pillows had been turned into. The sheets that served as a roof diffused the light from outside, bathing the interior in a soft, warm glow. He couldn't even feel the floor beneath the many layers of thick blankets, and a rim of pillows around the edge made it feel like they were in the softest nest imaginable.

"Nice, right?" Stiles asked knowingly.

"Yeah…"

Laura and Mitch came in after Derek, the four of them piling in together. Despite the small space it didn't feel cramped at all. It felt like a den. Warm and filled with the scents of pack and family. Catching Laura's eyes across the fort, he gave his sister a grateful smile. This was way better than being left alone. She smiled back, reaching out to him, welcoming him to come sit beside her, putting her hand on his neck to scent him when he did.

On either side of them was Mitch and Stiles, the four of them huddled together under Claudia's quilt.

Stiles opened Mitch's laptop and pulled up Netflix, struggling to do it one-handed until Derek quietly took his coco so that he wouldn't spill it. "Thank you," Stiles said, patting Derek's head affectionately. Once Brother Bear was set up and playing on the laptop Stiles leaned back and got comfortable snuggled up beside Derek, Mitch and Laura mirroring them on the other side.

For the first time all week, the four of them felt just a little more at peace.

[woundedheartwithin]

from these dark waters (from this dark world)

Far Cry 5 | Hurk Drubman Jr./Female Deputy | Fluff and Angst

Previous chapter: prologue

For notes and extras, find it here on AO3!

Note: I’m posting this early because I just realized I now have 700 followers!! 700 followers? Holy shit you guys, thank you!!!

chapter one

The first time she disappears, Hurk thinks nothing of it, even if she had just left mid-conversation. He’d only known Deputy Bailey Correa for two days, and while he’d instantly liked her for both her penchant for blowing shit up and the fact that she’s fine as hell, he doesn’t know much about her. He knows that she’s a cop, and he knows that the Seeds have a real creepy hard on for her, but he has no reason to keep track of her daily habits.

She resurfaces the next day with a far away look in her eye, spacey like she’d gotten really fucking high and hadn’t quite sobered up yet, but fairly normal. Hurk had had no reason to believe she’d even met Jacob, let alone gone through the first stage of his “re-training” program.

The second time she goes missing, Hurk does start to worry. He asks Eli Palmer about it, but he only shrugs and tells Hurk that she probably had other shit going on. They are in the middle of a war after all. This time, it takes her five days to resurface. And when she does, she’s covered in blood and has a wild look in her eye.

“You look like hell, Ladybug.” He says softly, grabbing her elbow when she sways to stabilize her.

“Feel like it, too.” She grumbles, dusting her pants and smearing the blood worse.

Then she disappears again a week later, and stays MIA for two fucking weeks.

The Whitetail Militia goes DEFCON One, locking down everything and pulling scouts from the entire region all at once. Hurk has a real problem with just hunkering down and hoping Bailey comes back in one piece, so he takes to driving all over the region. Nick Rye has already been searching for her from the sky, and it doesn’t take much convincing to get Sharky patrolling the water in his fishing boat. Dutch Roosevelt checks in often, asking anyone who might be listening if they’ve found her, and each time there’s a resounding chorus of no.

Sheriff Whitehorse is convinced that the eldest Seed has her, and is calling everyone back to the jail to plan an assault on the Veterans Hospital where Jacob makes his base. Hurk’s listening to the sheriff on his radio when he sees a big box truck pulled over on the side of the road. The driver is in front of the truck taking a piss, and Hurk wastes no time popping the guy so that he can safely loot the truck.

He’s opening up the back when he hears a groan above him, then something drops off the roof with a heavy thump.

Hurk peeks around the back of the truck, gun in hand, at the still lump of fabric lying on the ground. Then it moves and groans again, and Hurk trips over himself getting to it.

“Oh sweet Monkey King, Bailey!” He gasps, breathless, going to his knees next to her lifeless form. She’s skin and bones, covered in blood and shit, her eyes wide and glassy, and if she weren’t taking short, raspy breaths, he would think she’s fucking dead. “Hey, hey, Bailey, it’s me. It’s Hurk. Holy shit.” She’s cold when he touches her, and he can feel every bone in her body as he puts his arms under her and lifts her up.

He puts her in the passenger seat of the box truck and buckles her in, then runs to the driver side and climbs in. The key is blessedly still in the ignition, and he turns it and tears off onto the road, scaring the shit out of himself when he nearly flips the goddamn thing.

She groans and her head lolls to one side, and Hurk reaches for her hand without thinking, seeking connection, needing to know that she’s actually here and she’s alive and that this isn’t just some hallucination.

“Where am I?” Bailey groans, squeezing Hurk’s hand weakly.

“You’re okay. You’re safe.” Hurk replies, glancing over at her. “We’re headed to the Wolf’s Den. Everythin’s gonna be okay.”

“No. No, not the Den. Can’t go there.” She says, groaning again and shifting, getting upset.

“Okay. Okay, where?” He asks, confused. Why wouldn’t she want to go back to the Wolf’s Den?

“Anywhere. Just not there.” And then she passes out.

So Hurk takes her to Dutch. He doesn’t know where else to go, and he thinks she wouldn’t want too much of a fuss made over her (why else wouldn’t she want to go to Eli?), and Dutch isn’t exactly known for making a fuss.

“What the hell happened?” Dutch rasps when Hurk pulls up. He’s got a shotgun cradled in his arms, obviously on edge since they just rolled up to his bunker in a cult cargo truck, and a sour look on his face. “She looks like shit.”

“Yeah.” Hurk huffs, unbuckling her and lifting her gently out of the truck.

“Why didn’t you take her to Eli?”

“She didn’t wanna go to the Wolf’s Den.” Hurk replies. “And you’re closer than the jail.”

“Why not take her to your pop’s place?”

“Are you kiddin?” Hurk snorts. “You honestly think my daddy’d help?”

“Well, probably not.” Dutch replies. “C’mon, then. Let’s get her inside. I’m guessing Jacob starved her?”

“Good a guess as any.”

“Where’d you find her?”

“By that cult truck. She came to on the way here, but that didn’t last long.” Dutch leads him into a room with a bed and gestures for Hurk to put her down.

“I’ll start fluids. Get her warm.” Dutch says gruffly and leaves the room.

Hurk rummages through the lockers and finds a few scratchy blankets. He makes a face but covers her with them anyway, then sits next to her on the edge of the bed and rubs her arms and legs and sides vigorously. She groans and turns her head, but doesn’t open her eyes.

Dutch returns a few moments later and sets up an IV drip. He mumbles something about a dextrose solution, then leaves again. Five minutes later, Bailey is trying to sit up and pull the needle out of her arm.

“Hey, stop. You’re okay.” Hurk says, grabbing her hands and hanging on when she starts to fight. For a moment, she’s a hell of a lot stronger than she looks, and she nearly frees herself. But then she stops and sags back against the pillow, panting and staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes.

“Where am I?” She asks, her voice rough.

“Dutch’s bunker.” Hurk replies, letting go of her hands.

“Okay.” She huffs. “When can I get out of here?”

“Dude, you’re practically a fuckin’ skeleton.” Hurk says, incredulous. “What happened to you? You’ve been gone for weeks.”

“Jacob Seed.” She snarls. “He kidnapped me and starved me.”

“Why?”

“How the hell should I know? Keep me weak and useless?” She snaps, then takes a deep breath. “Sorry. I don’t know.” She’s quiet for a moment, then takes another deep breath and meets Hurk’s eyes. “Wanna know something really fucked up? I actually kinda feel bad for him. He’s fucked Pratt all up, he nearly killed me, but I feel bad for him. He talked about his buddy that died in Iraq, and how mean his dad was when he and his brothers were kids, and I can fucking see why he’s like this.” She huffs and bares her teeth. “God, I hate him. Fucking asshole. I gotta find a way to put him out of his misery. Get him the fuck outta my hair.”

“Sounds good to me.” Hurk chuckles, shaking his head.

She kills Eli Palmer a week later. Just marches right into the Wolf’s Den like a woman possessed, still skinny and weak, kills half of the Whitetails and blows Eli’s brains out. Hurk catches the tail end of Wheaty’s distress signal and heads toward the mountain the bunker is situated in.

He finds her standing over Jacob Seed’s hunched body, slumped where he’d died up against a rock. Her back is stiff, her fists clenched, and when Hurk reaches out to touch her shoulder, she whips around and takes a swing at him.

“Whoa!” He yelps, catching Bailey’s arm before she can actually hit him. “S’just me.”

“Sorry.” She replies, detached.

“I heard about Eli.” He murmurs. “I’m sorry, Ladybug.” She sighs and shakes his hand off her shoulder.

“So am I.”

—

Bailey sits at a table in the corner of the dining area in the 8 Bit Pizza Bar, carving lines into its surface with her hunting knife, looking like she’d just lost her puppy. Hurk’s been watching her for an hour already, nursing a beer and only half listening to Sharky’s ideas for Hurk’s Gate, wondering if it would be better to go talk to her or to just leave her alone.

He finishes his beer and chucks the bottle out the open window. On a normal day, she probably would have reacted to it. “Cult’s doing enough to destroy everything, they don’t need help,” she’d probably growl, punching his shoulder and laughing.

Today, she doesn’t even flinch. Probably hadn’t even heard it shatter outside.

Hurk sighs, grabs two more bottles from the fridge, and makes his decision. He doesn’t know if it’s just better to leave her alone or not, but it seems shitty to just let her wallow like this. So he crosses the room and opens the bottle with his teeth.

“Looks like you need this.” He says, offering it to her. She doesn’t even look up, just takes it out of his hand and tips it back, draining half of it without once taking her eyes off her carvings. “Whoa there, Ladybug. Take it easy.”

“Sure, Hurk.” She huffs, taking another pull from the bottle, shorter than the last.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He says, sitting down and opening his own bottle. “Or beer, I guess.”

“Just thinking about Jacob and Eli.” She says quietly, rolling the bottle between her hands and closing her eyes. “Don’t feel right.” Hurk doesn’t say anything. He’s not sure there’s anything to say. Instead, he reaches out and drops a heavy hand on her shoulder. He expects her to jump or jerk away from him, but she doesn’t. She just lifts her own hand and puts it over his.

“Anything I can do?” He asks, catching her fingers and stroking them with his thumb. She doesn’t respond for a long time.

“No, Hurk.” She says at last. “Thanks though.”

He should probably push, insist that she talk to him and let him in. Let him do something to make her feel more at peace at least. But he knows there’s nothing he can do.

So instead, he sits down in the chair next to her and drinks his beer in silence. He doesn’t push, he doesn’t do anything. He just sits with her.

Finally, after they’ve both drained their bottles and the sun has set outside, Bailey sighs and leans back in her chair. She’s still too skinny, her eyes are sunken in and her cheeks are hollow, but when she looks at him and smiles wanly, he can’t help but think she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever met.

“You know, if you took a picture you wouldn’t have to stare so much.” She says softly, grinning when he huffs and rolls his eyes.

“Puh-lease. I’m just wonderin’ when you’ll notice that big-ass booger on your face.” He teases, laughing outright when she gasps and covers her nose and mouth with both hands.

“You’re a dick.” She growls, but the skin around her eyes crinkles and she starts to laugh too. She snorts and they both laugh harder, practically howling.

[coloursflyaway]

Dirk+Todd: 57+24 - Thor+Loki: 100+4 - Harry + Eggsy: 60+70 (You don't have to do all of them, but I'd be so happy :D)

Dirk/ Todd, 57: Forgotten First Meeting and 24: Soulmate AU

Oh Jesus, I actually kind of started to write a fanfic about that and never finished it!But anyway. This is like, almost but not quite what you asked, but I hope good enough after all (: (Meine Deutschlehrerin hätte es wohl trotzdem eine Themenverfehlung genannt)

They’re younger still, Dirk has just come to America, and everything is new and bright and loud and beautiful and he loves every second. He’s scared, too, also every second of it, but that doesn’t matter quite as much, not when everything is so exciting. He buys new clothes, and incredible amounts of pizza, and life is good, at least for now. Sometimes there are cases,  sometimes he even solves them, and it should be enough, but after a while, it isn’t anymore. There’s has always been this itch inside of him (if Dirk had ever known a home before, he’d call it homesickness), and back in England he had learnt to live with it, but now, in this new, strange land, he finds that it gets worse with every beat of his heart, every breath he takes. He doesn’t know why, or what causes it, but one night he wakes up, choking on it, and there is just one thought left in his mind; he needs to walk. And walk he does, without knowing where to, only that with every step he takes, it gets a bit easier to breathe. The city around him turns dirty, run-down, but he keeps walking, until he’s standing underneath a window that’s brightly lit, open although Dirk is fairly certain that it’s dangerous to keep it that way in the night.A moment passes in which he doesn’t know why he has stopped, then a guitar starts to play, and a voice belts out two, three, four words, and Dirk is home. He knows that voice although he never heard it before, he knows the person behind it, although they never met. And he knows they’ll meet, someday, somewhere, and that he’ll look at them and never leave again. It takes another five years, seven months, two weeks and twenty-eight days until he finds out that the band he listened to under that window was called Mexican Funeral, and seven days less than that to find his soulmate. 

Thor/Loki, 4: Coffee Shop AU and 100: Accidentally Savingthe Day

(I’m really bad at getting these topics right 100%)

It’s not that Thor wanted to start working in the shop, it just happened. The world is quiet after all, now after Thanos has only left half of them alive, too many empty spaces to be filled. Thor tries not to think of what is left of him, or his heart, or what used to fill it, so he spends as much time as possible outside, sometimes just walking, sometimes helping, sometimes finding a spot in this empty city that’s loud enough to make it impossible to think. One of those is a small café, which used to be run by a couple, now only one woman who looks twenty years older than her age, and cries in the kitchen when she thinks no one notices, clutching a tattered photo to her chest. At first, it’s only supposed to be a small act of kindness, because Thor knows she needs the money, and there is a man, who has been waiting to be served for ten minutes at least without her reappearing, swollen eyes or not. So he gets up from his seat, walks behind the counter and makes the best cup of coffee he possibly can. It must still taste bitter, but the man just thanks him, hands him a bill and leaves. Thor doesn’t need his dead brother’s magic to know that the man he just served is as broken, as splintered inside as he is, as the woman running this café is. And it doesn’t help to help him, not really, but it is something to do and something to forget yourself in, and Thor figures that, if any of the Avengers needed him, they’d find him eventually. So he stays.

He doesn���t come to work every day, and if, he doesn’t always help, but the owner, Ingrid, he learns, and he find an understanding without ever talking about it. Sometimes, she leaves for hours on end, comes back drunk, or crying, or not at all; sometimes he flinches when someone with green eyes comes inside, or cannot speak when a young man smiles with just enough mischief in his eyes. Once, he punches a hole into the wall when a young woman asks him how he is holding up. Ingrid just puts a poster up over it.

Then, one day, there’s an attack. Nothing special, at least not by his standards, some other race, come to enslave humanity once more, and Thor could fight them, should fight them, but he’s tired. He has lived millennia and suddenly he feels each year weighing him down, and he knows Ingrid feels almost the same, so while he could try, he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a punch, takes a second, finds that the pain gets easier to bear with every drop of blood they beat out of him.

His nose splinters under a fist, his lip splits open, and suddenly the air next to him moves, swirls, tastes tart and familiar on his tongue. Thor opens his eyes, although the blood makes them sting, watches the air turn golden and green and black in front of him. It shouldn’t be possible, not until he’s stepped foot in Valhalla, and yet Loki is there, his armor glistening in the sunlight and his expression screaming murder. Slender fingers thread themselves into his hair, pull his head back until Loki can look at him properly. There is something like pity in his eyes, or maybe it’s just pain; Thor only has a moment to recognise it. Maybe it’s love. “Stand down”, Loki hisses, and although his words are hardly loud enough to stir the air, no one dares to move. “He’ll be mine to kill once Ragnarök comes.”

Harry/Eggsy, 60: Poorly TimedConfession and 70: Locked in a Room

“Oh, you have got to be kiddin’ me.” Eggsy tries the doorknob again, pushes his shoulder into the door, but it won’t budge, just like the last time he tried this. Or the one before. Or the one before. It’s not his fault, though, not really, because the Statesman HQ is huge, and he has gotten lost more often than not, and there are four different doors to choose from in the kitchen. Usually, he chooses the right ones, too, but apparently not in a panic. 

“Eggsy?”, comes a voice from the other side, Harry, who sounds genuinely concerned. “Are you alright?”It’s a difficult question to answer; physically, yes, psychologically? Not quite. Not after he unthinkingly told Harry, “G’night for now, love you”, before realising what he had said, tried to run out of the room, but instead got himself locked up in the supply closet. “Yes?”, he tries anyway, finds that he sounds as unconvincing as he feels. “Mostly.”

There is a pause, loaded, it feels at least to Eggsy, who stops jingling the doorknob and instead just sinks down onto the floor to wallow in misery there. He doesn’t think Harry is going to hate him for this - he can’t call it crush, not when it’s so much more - this thing, but he will try to talk to Eggsy about it, and everything between them will be incredibly uncomfortable from now, and at the moment, that sounds almost as bad. 

“Is there something you would like to tell me?”, Harry finally says, every word pronounced carefully, slowly, like Eggsy is a small animal he is trying not to frighten. “I really think saying it once is bad enough”, Eggsy responds, and there is half a chuckle in his voice, born of desperation, not mirth. “It hasn’t changed much in the two minutes you haven’t seen me, bruv.”Again, a pause, the shuffle of shoes and a mumbling that sounds like Harry is talking to himself, then, “So you did mean it.”

Harry says it with wonder in his voice, something almost sounding like amazement, and Eggsy won’t hope, he won’t, he - “You know, dear boy”, Harry says, and his voice still sounds the same, just warmer, softer. “I quite return the sentiment.”

It doesn’t take a moment for Eggsy to understand the words Harry is saying, it doesn’t even take a minute, or two, it takes a year at least, a century at most.“You what?”, he asks back, halfway through it, and Harry, still hidden behind that blasted door, laughs. “Love you too”, he replies, and Eggsy’s brain short-circuits, has him on his feet, pressed against the wood within a second. “What?”, he asks again, like it‘s the only word he’s still able to form. “Do I really have to repeat myself?”, Harry asks instead of answering, “The answer hasn’t changed much in the few seconds you haven’t asked.”“Kinda. Yeah”, Eggsy mutters, rests his head against the door; if he has wished this door to hell before, now he’s ready to carry it there himself. There’s a tentative happiness starting to blossom in the back of his mind, lighter than anything else he has ever felt, and so overwhelming Eggsy isn’t sure he’ll be able to take in all of it at once.

“I love you, then”, Harry says again, softly now, as if he was pressed against the door too. Eggsy really hopes he is. This time, the happiness almost washes him away, makes him dizzy. It still hasn’t quite sunken in that he could really, truly have this, Harry by his side, holding his hand, kissing him, but it will with time. As soon as he can get past this door, and look at Harry while he says those words again.

“Get me the fuck out of here, Harry”, he says, no, demands, closes his eyes and tries to imagine how it’ll be to be with the only person he never thought he could have a chance with. “And I swear, if you don’t kiss me so hard I’ll see stars once I am, you’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight.”“I think I can do both.”

Send me two tropes, a ship and I’ll write you a far too long ficlet about it

[abdicatedarchive]

ladies and gentleman, her || wren and rory

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍: wren’s dorm room// just after exams 2021.

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: wren x rory.

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐒: none.

𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐒: rory is back and wren hopes she is better than ever!

"Wren open up." She said opening the door of his dorm. Instantly regretting it as she remembered he shared the room with Jet. Lucky for her only person in there was her brother. " No welcome party?" She smiled looking through his  stuff for his snacks.  She found two snickers, looking over at her brother she sat at the edge of the bed. " I assume it was your idea to have me here instead of under the parental thumb." She opened the candy bar and took a bite. She spent a few days with them and they wouldn't start asking her questions. She was sure they thought she was in drugs with her attitude but they were not the easiest to talk to. Nana encourages her coming here if she didn't want to stay home. Now that she was here she just wanted to disappear. She knew she would have to pretend more than she wanted to. " If it was, thank you. I love them but they were suffocating." She admitted. " Anyway how are you?" 

Wren was honestly shocked to see Rory in his room, it felt like a hallucination. He had no idea she was coming and he had been studying for exams all week. Now she was transferring, so not only did they have the summer but they had the next three years too.  "You're pretty casual, it's good to see you Ror" said Wren with a big smile, "I'm doing pretty bad, as per usual. How are you doing?" Something about telling someone you're not doing great with a smile on your face just makes everything a little better. "Also, in celebration of you officially transferring, I have started looking at on and off campus housing for us to live in. Dorms are kinda tired, dontcha think?" he said. He wanted a place where he could keep Rory as safe as possible. Where she could feel as safe as possible. Plus they could have the dog there, the dog Chanel had gotten him but that was besides the point.

Rory nodded, if anyone knew about putting on a mask to hide Wren knew. It was like their go to coping mechanism without the actual coping part. "Why? What's wrong?" She opened up the second candy bar. How was she? She didn't even know. She was trying to number herself to what happened so most of the time she felt just that...nothing. "I look better but I still feel like hiding in a ditch somewhere." She bit into the snack. She didn't see a reason for her to lie to him  she was sure they were passed that. " Thank goodness, I'm in a hotel right now and it's not bad. I mean the room is nice and our parents send someone up to make sure I'm not  strung out  or something." She shrugged. "You're my favorite roommate, I think we need better privacy than a r.a being nosy, and telling us we can't have air fryer." She also needed more room if she was going to actually try and find her spark again. She missed designing clothes but her muse seemed have disappeared. Everything just seemed horrendous.

“No hiding in ditches in the fall, also I heard a rumor that this summer is going to be great. Nana said ... hot girl summer?” Wren said to be as encouraging as possible. Things weren’t great for him right now, but nothing he was going through was any comparison to Rory. “I am a pretty great roommate. We could even see about inviting some friends to also live with us if you want. We have a few months to figure out a lease” he wanted to make her living arrangements as positive as possible. A good place to live with people she liked was going to make life better. Happy Rory means happy Wren.

She shook her head in amusement. " I heard the same thing." She wasn't sure what she was going to do this summer, she had a suite to herself and she could wallow in misery in peace. " From personal experience I know exactly what kind of roommate you are." They were together most of their lives so they were used to each others habits. Her mother thinks that them being so far away from each other was why Rory wasn't doing so good. Rory wasn't sure she agreed a hundred percent but she might of been right. " Don't think I didn't catch on to you not telling me what's wrong." She crossed her arms." Go on, spill."

With their parents being so busy and them moving more than once, Rory was the only solid constant in his life. Yes, their family was strong but there was something special about their relationship as twins. Reliability and accountability between them. "Big fight with Chanel, some fucked up things were said by both of us. I am aware that I messed up too, don't worry. I just think that she was in the wrong" he said stubbornly. He wasn't going to let go of this at all. This was a fight to hold on to. A fight they weren't going to be coming back from. A lifetime of friendship destroyed. "But it's no big deal. I'm just going to get out there for real this time. No random hook ups. It's time to rebound and actually date" he said confidently. He had no idea who would want him now. Too much baggage.

Rory always felt lucky to have Wren. She lived her parents and loved how close of a family they were even with her fathers sweater vest. With Wren she knew she had someone who understood her and loved her unconditionally. They could fight and make up and no love was ever lost between them. " You know I support you in anything that you do. I think you should eventually apologize for the things you said because we're better than that." Maybe. " Also of you slept on it and you still feel likes she wrong then its serious. Most things.calm down over a little time. " She laid back on his bed. " If you date I want to vet these girls first. I don't want them taking advantage of you." Rory didn't believe the two would stay away for long but she wasn't going to say it. Plus what did she know anytime her and Jonah broke up is was amicable on the outside and heart wrenching on the inside.

He was not backing down this time. "And let her think she can still walk all over me? No, I'm not doing it" said the boy, even though he still missed her on a major level. They had had such a good day together only a short while before, but then he had to let people get into his head about everything. "She just wants me to forget all that shit that happened in senior spring, and I don't want to. Its a big deal, right?" he said, looking for validation. He laughed when she said she wanted approval first, "We'll see about that. But you know who always has a gold stamp in my book? One mister Jonah Keller" said Wren with a shrug. He didn't want to push her to reconnect, but Jonah was such a good guy. Such a safe option to keep her safe. One of his friends, someone he could trust.

It was always obvious that Chanel had a pull on Wren. She wasn't sure what the argument was this time but she could  he was really upset. It was a family trait to blow up at things unnecessarily but when the smoke clears they could see their wrongs and fix it. Didn't seem like he wanted to fix it. Rory couldn't deny that he had every right to be mad about it, she was sure he never fully dealt with it. "Absolutely, it's huge. " She couldn't tell him he had to work on getting past that. It would make her a hypocrite, internalize until it all goes wild. "Who?" She asked already knowing the answer. " I'm going to marry that man..eventually." She ran her finger through her hair. " I love him but I don't think he'll want if he ever found out." Her voice drifted off. " He deserves better but I still want to be his wife, that's selfish right?"

"Okay good, I'm not being crazy" said Wren, he was constantly doubting himself. Gaslighting his own emotions every minute. He never knew if he was in the right until someone else told him he was. Sometimes he didn't even know if he was angry until he checked with other people that he had the right to be. Wren listened to her about Jonah, "It's not selfish, and I promise you that he will care, but not like that. He cares about you, and nothing is going to change that. He's going to be there for you, all you have to do is talk to him" Wren encouraged. He was so happy that there was a chance for those two to get back together. That Rory would have that kind of support.

" No not crazy." She repeated. She understood him and what he was thinking. She did it too. Over think and make up scenarios in her head. Let other people whisper in her ear things are not always true. The only difference is Wren was impulsive with his words, he said things that hurt but usually felt bad later. Rory never really argued, if she did she was cold and of she said it she probably meant it. " I'm going to talk to him I'm just not going to tell him." She sighed. " I don't want him to look at me differently or secretly resenting  me. "

While he couldn't control his mouth, Wren on a good day was a great communicator. He valued honesty above most things, and he hated himself for every lie he ever said. He had spent so much time lying to himself, letting his brain lie to him, that when he was doing good it was all truth all the time. "Don't be afraid to tell him when the time is right, but take all the time you need. He won't look at you any different, I know I don't think any differently of you" said Wren with candor. It was important that she was still Rory to him. Nothing could ever change that, especially not other people's choices. She was and always will be Rory. "But enough about that. If you want we can ask Jonah and Chase to live with us next year, or tell them to get a place nearby. I would love to have the boys nearby" he added as the conversation changed. He loved his friends, how easy it was with them. Things with Jet had been so difficult recently, he was looking forward to having his own room again.

Rory had played how she would tell Jonah, if she would tell Jonah so many times in her head. She couldn't shake how it made her feel. She could feel herself getting angry and then sad. Deep down she knew she couldn't do it, she didn't even want to tell Wren but he was persistent." Maybe." She said as her thoughts swirled in her head. "Chase is here too?" She smiled. " Sounds good." She never lived with them but she was sure it wasn't any harder than loving with Wren, especially with how they were always at the house, eating up the pizza rolls. " I don't think living on my own would be productive so it's perfect.

"We can get a bunch of people together. Our own little college fam. It'll be fun, and when it isn't we can all just go to our own rooms" said Wren, it honestly sounded like a really good support system for all of them. No matter what got difficult, they could always just go home. "Are you taking any summer classes, or are you just chillin" he asked, wondering what her summer plans were looking like. There were good times to be had, and he was ready to be completely done with school. Rory was back and things were going to be good, he was sure of it. The looming Chanel problem would be in the rearview before he could even overthink it anymore than he already had.

" I'm going to ask Zoe if she would be down." She tapped her chin thinking about it.  "Maybe do a college vlog." She thought outloud. " I have to come up why three designs by August if I want to bring up my grades. Besides that I'm free to eat ice cream in my room and watch young and the restless."She said only half  joking. It might be good for her to be around people that actually cared about her.  It was also appealing to have Jonah in the house to.

"I'll message the boys, Stevie'll probably be down too" said Wren as he messaged in his discord group. It would be really nice to have everyone at home with them. He was mostly excited to live with Rory. The year apart has been way too long, especially with everything that happened. "I'm going to be lifeguarding, but in the evenings I will definitely be down for young and the restless. Maybe even some new stuff?" he suggested. He wanted to make sure they weren't sticking to any depressive patterns, "Other than lifeguarding I have therapy and some basketball stuff, so it's a Bishop summer for sure" he encouraged.

"Sounds like a plan." She looked up at the ceiling. "I would day we need hook up rules but I don't think this group would need to many of those." She teased. She knew for her and her brother they lost their virginity later than most.  " Everyone seems to be doing something, maybe I could find a little  job at a boutique." She sighed. She had to work on her designs She didn't have one that came to mind it was frustrating. " We'll see about all that." She teased. " That reminds me I have to do yoga. Mom insisted."

"I feel like a boutique job is perfect for you. Nana's got connections, it would be super easy for you to work at any one you want" he said, thinking positively about her getting back into what she loves. "You had any of those amazing Rory design ideas recently? Or are you ready to fix my wardrobe again. I've been wearing exclusively hoodies for the whole semester" said Wren, hoping that would tempt her with a good time. Knowing she didn't enjoy fashion school was just killing him. It would be like if he hated basketball. It's hard to see people let go of things they love.

" I will I just want one where I could also do my designs." She looked over at him and pouted. Sitting up she and pulled her book out of her bag. " I made a dress for Zoe, that's the only design in there. " She shook her head. "That was drawn before I left high school. I finally put it together and that took over three months." She sighed. " Maybe I need to find another major." She looked over at him.

He was worried that she was loosing all her passion. He hoped going to Brindleton might fix it. "I would hold out on switching majors just yet. Maybe just take a class outside of it to, in something you're interested. See how the fashion classes go here. New year, new teachers" he encouraged. He wouldn't push her like this if she wasn't talented, but she was honestly so excellent at everything to do with fashion. It would be hard to see her working a 9-5 at some desk when she had so much skill and talent in her soul.

He was right, even with her lack of passion and confidence she couldn't imagine herself doing anything else but that. "All my classes center around it so  maybe it'll help me. I just hate this. I used to have fucking ideas pouring out of me and now it all empty. " she got up to look for more snacks.  "I just feel like I was robbed twice, and it's frustrating."  she was frustrated. "And where are all your snacks Wrennie, no ones room should be this empty of sugar and salt." she wanted to smoke  but she didn't want to get in trouble.

Wren gave her a smile, "you'll get it back" he said. He knew she would, it would just take time and therapy. He hated that guy who took so much from her. Wren did not often get full of rage, but he was explosive even teetering about thinking about it. Wren shrugged, "I just don't eat food like that. Just a reminder of who you're talking to" said the boy, "Chase and Jonah are down the hall, you can always go see Jonah?" he said with a smile. He wanted to know that she was connecting with other people than him. He couldn't be her only friend here.

She wasn't sure if she would get it back but she was going to try, she looked up at her brother and rolled her eyes at him. "So what are you not eating again? "  she raised her brow. "Don't worry i won't tell or convince you to do so if you don't make to to anyone." she smiled, opening his drawer and looking at his clothes and started to pull things out

"Not really eating candy, nana dropped off those treats for me just in case I wanted something for exams" he explained. Wren was doing really well, just not eating sweets unless they were homemade. "I'm going to have to be looking fresh if I'm going to be dating this summer" he said with a positive vibe. Letting go of Chanel was going to be such a bitch, and they had just been together again. No girl compared to her. Not emotionally. Not physically. Not anything.

"I need to call her so she can make us brownies and then come steal the ones she makes for you." She rolled her eyes at his comment. " Not with these clothes you're not." She started taking out his clothes and separating them. "Text me your sizes I can't have you moving on with twenty something pairs of sweatpants." She said in a disapproving tone.  " it's like you don't even care." She turned to him. "We're going to get you summertime fine for all the ladies."

Wren laughed, "I thought women loved a man in gray sweats. It's when I get my best compliments" he said with a laugh. "Just nothing too tight" he said as he started to text her his sizes. He was going back and forth on whether or not he should just go to Chanel and apologize. But a part of him knew she was in the wrong. That it would be an admission of guilt if he were to apologize first. Wren didn't want to seem weak.

Rory made sounds like she was about to throw up, "Eww." she rolled her eyes folding up his nice clothes which they ones she had got him or made him. "I would never, i'm going to have you looking so good that Chanel would look at you and immediately try and win you back." she winked. "You know if you're into that." she knew he was. She had a pit in her stomach for missing someone and it wasn't hers. She missed Jonah but it was more of a longing so she knew it was her feeding off him.

He thought about his words carefully, "I mean, I don't think that's a reality at all" he said. Wren wasn't sure if he even wanted to be back with Chanel, part of him felt like he needed to be back with her. He knew he was happier with her, its just all the shit that happened when they weren't dating. And that thing right at the tail end of their relationship. "But testing the theory doesn't sound too awful" he relented.

"Crazier things have happened." She said absent-mindedly. She knew what ot felt like something wasn't going to work and it came together. At one point she thought Jonah was in love with another girl, but they ended up back together. What if he was in a relationship? Nah she was sure Wren would of given her the heads up. " No and if you can atleast turn her head the  you know you got it in the bag."

"I think we both know that Chanel Hampton has always been and will always be the head turner" Wren insisted. Sometimes, he wished she wasn't so beautiful. Because Wren loved her for everything else about her too. It drove him mad how much attention she got for just her looks, even when they were younger. There is so much more to Chanel than that. And there was nothing about Wren like that, and it constantly made him worry that she would leave him for someone who was in her league.

" Yeah well you're nothing to cough at either." She turned to him. " Dearest brother of mine, you are a catch. You possess everything that a girl wants for in a man and with my help you'll also dress to impress." She said proudly finishing up folding the clothes he was going to keep. " In all seriousness Laurie, Chanel is a great girl I'll never lie or deny it. But you can shine so much brighter than her you guys compliment  each other when you're together." She closed the drawer. " You're a catch without her."

She had a point that they complimented each other. Chanel was everything he admired, and somedays he believed it when she said that about him. It was just hard knowing that you don't feel complete without someone else there. Someone specific. But that ship had sailed, and that was the new reality. "I'll believe it before you know it" said Wren, "fake it till I make it" he added. "I have to get to the gym, but text me when you talk to Jonah" said Wren with a little wink, "go get him".

[missmeikakuna]

Tired Girl Ch. 1- F/F Fantasy story

Rated: T

Fandom: Original story

Relationship type: F/F

Description:

High schooler Nosderag is childish, impulsive and- worst of all- powerless in a magical world. Her strong sense of empathy leads her to rescue an injured fairy and bring it back to her dorm, to the chagrin of her love-powered rumoured lesbian roommate Dalzonf. Together they try to return the fairy to its enclosure before they get arrested for animal theft.

The problem is, people with love powers are seen as criminals, putting a giant target on Dalzonf’s back. CONTENT WARNING: This story will have homophobia, bullying and discussions of sexual assault.

Chapter 1: Powerless Girl

Nosderag tried to tune out of the conversation, she really did. 

But sitting a table away from an incredibly loud person made it rather difficult to focus on reading her spellbook. Not that Nosderag could ever use the spells anyway.

Sosoka was talking about herself. Of course she was. Her name literally meant ‘mine’, so was it really any surprise? 

Her monologuing was interrupted by the sight of a familiar girl passing by them. Dalzonf kept her head down, inadvertently showing off her frizzy black hair. Her skin was dark, even for an Astrabolerian. She was tall and lanky. Her broken glasses just barely kept their grip on her tiny nose. She wore the uniform poorly, a long black skirt and an ill-fitting blood-red sweater over a plain white button-up shirt.

‘Hey, don’t get too close to me!’ Sosoka ordered with a mocking tone. ‘Wouldn’t want to fall in love with you.’

Dalzonf opened her mouth to respond but decided it was as useful an endeavour as climbing a snowy mountain in a bikini. She put her head back down.

The visual of a girl as defenceless as this almost got Nosderag to take her side but, just like Dalzonf, she kept her mouth shut.

Sosoka didn’t like the silence. Much too uncomfortable. ‘So how many people have you manipulated into bed? How many girls?’ Dalzonf gritted her teeth and glared at her. ‘What? Everyone knows what you are. You’re a tired woman. Well, a tired girl sounds more accurate, but whatever.’

That last accusation was enough to finally open Nosderag’s mouth. ‘She’s not married, Sosoka.’

Sosoka scoffed. ‘You know what I mean. That’s why I said tired girl. I bet she’ll become a tired woman to some poor guy and lead him along until he finds out the truth.’

She put on a high pitched voice and place the back of her hand on her forehead like she was about to faint. ‘Oh no, honey! I can’t sleep with you tonight! I’m too tired!’ 

Her voice went deep and gravelly. ‘Oh, but sweety, you say that every night! Why don’t you use a love spell on yourself for once?’

Her voice returned to normal as she leaned forward in her seat, smirking at Dalzonf. ‘Can lesbians use a love spell on a normal girl? Do you need a different spell or is it the same if a female love tolxer uses it on a man?’

Dalzonf looked around her, seeing everyone staring her. It took a couple of tears to convince herself that the best course of action was to run out of the cafeteria.

‘Wow, rude,’ Sosoka said. ‘I was only asking a question.’ She turned to Nosderag. ‘No need to butt in on private conversations, omler!’

Omler. The thorns of that word pierced Nosderag’s eardrums. She shut her mouth, trying to act like no one had turned their attention from the love tolxer to her, the omler. 

She knew she didn’t belong at this school. She was alright at the theory side of things but as soon as she tried to make something come out of her hands or use a wand or do anything magical herself, she couldn’t do it.

It wasn’t fair. Her mother wasn’t omlerous but her father was. Her older brother was a powerful fire tolxer like his mother, but Nosderag? She lost the genetic lottery. No magic powers for her.

She often comforted herself by saying that she was lucky not to be a fire tolxer. At least she wasn’t feared by most people. She didn’t have to wear special handcuffs when going to sleep to prevent herself from sleep-setting the bed on fire. No one ran away from her any time she got the slightest bit angry.

And hey, at least she wasn’t a love tolxer and rumoured lesbian at an all-girls school. 

At the end of the day, Nosderag shuffled home with a hunched back, made worse by all the books in her backpack. She dropped her backpack by the couch in the living room and collapsed onto it.

‘Hey mum, can we talk-’

‘Oh, yes, we have something very important to tell you.’

That wasn’t her mother’s voice. It was her father’s.

‘We?’ Nosderag asked.

Her mother left the kitchen to join the two. She still wore her apron, tied tight around her portly figure. Her round, dark face looked much younger than she was. Magic can do that to a person.

Nosderag’s father, on the other hand, had wrinkles just about every place someone could have wrinkles. His remaining hair surrounded his head like a ring. Time can do that to an omlerous man.

He turned to his wife. ‘Is Gosin coming home soon?’

She shook her head. ‘The station gave him more paperwork. Apparently he got too angry during an interrogation and has to write a formal apology to the suspect.’

He rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘I see.’ He put his focus back on Nosderag. ‘Anyway, how does spending a bit of time in the dorms sound? Just a few months.’

Nosderag’s eyes grew. ‘Wait, what? Why?’

Her mother sat by her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘Your father and I have to work in Madagascar for a bit and we can’t afford to take you with us. And besides, we want to keep you in school.’

‘What the hell’s going on in Madagascar?’

‘Nothing, really, just a small… insurgency. We’re just helping our ally.’

‘So you’re burning superpowered terrorists alive?’ Her mother paused, then nodded. ‘Can’t I live here with Gosin? I can’t be sharing a dorm with people there.’

‘Your brother’s got a lot on his plate right now,’ Nosderag’s father said. ‘And why can’t you share a dorm with others?’

Nosderag looked at the fists on her lap. ‘No one there would want to sleep in the same room as an omler.’

Her mother chuckled. ‘It’s not like your lack of magic will rub off on them.’ 

‘You tell them that. And besides, didn’t you tell me to learn more about the world? Kinda hard to do that in Astraboleria. Take me with you.’

Her father narrowed his eyes. ‘Don’t give me that. You have books. You don’t need to go somewhere to learn about it.’

‘All I’ve learnt here is how many people think I’m useless and how I’d be better off living in the normal world with omlerous people.’

‘Trust me, people in the omlerous world are just as prejudiced as the ones in the crilerous world. At least you get to see amazing magic. You wouldn’t be here if your mother didn’t show me her fire tricks and introduce me to this world.’

‘Amazing magic that I can’t use,’ Nosderag spat, pouting like a child as she crossed her arms. ‘I’m not going into those dorms.’

Her mother wrapped her arms around her and pulled her close. ‘Look, we’ll make sure you’re put together with a girl who won’t judge you.’

‘You mean an omler? No way. I don’t want to wallow in shared misery with someone.’

Her mother stroked her hair. ‘We’ll figure something out. Come on, sweetie. I don’t want to do this either but we have no choice. Please be reasonable.’ Nosderag sighed in defeat. ‘There’s my little dragon.’

Her name meant ‘great dragon’ in Astran. After the birth of their first son, her parents had expected another powerful fire tolxer. Now the name stung whenever she heard it.

A week later, Nosderag faced the 113-story building in front of her. The wheels on her suitcase squeaked as she entered the building and headed to the supervisor’s office. 

‘Um, Nosderag Zotmin, student id NZ487856. I’m new to the dorms.’

The supervisor checked the list for her id and ticked a box next to it. ‘You’ll be in room 112-B,’ he said, handing her a keycard. Nosderag was on the verge of tears when she looked up the spiralling staircase. ‘You can use the elevator.’

She pulled her suitcase to the elevator with newfound hope, which was immediately crushed when she saw no buttons.

‘It’s powered by your magic,’ the supervisor explained.

Nosderag groaned before beginning her trek up the long, long staircase. By floor three her breaths became laboured, by floor 12 her legs felt like they were about to fall out of their sockets.

She tried to distract from the soreness with thoughts about who would be her dormmate. That barely worked since it added a layer of worry on top of the agony.

At level 20 she decided to take a five-minute break. She planned in her head how many breaks she could take without spending all week walking up these damn stairs.

By level 40 she considered dropping dead. After all, she would have to walk up and down these stairs every day.

‘This fucking school,’ she muttered. She took to counting each step, which made her more aware of how hopeless she was in this situation. There was no way she could walk up 112 stories. At least the counting did numb the aching in her calves a little.

‘Level 70 step one, two, three, ugh… four.’ 

When she reached the 80th story, the pain in her body converted to murder in her eyes. Once she made it to her dorm, she was going to kill her dormmate and go to jail and never have to climb these stairs every again.

She reminded herself that her roommate would probably be a tolxer and therefore have the upper hand in a fight. She eventually managed to calm herself down by listening to the loud thud of her suitcase as it hit each step behind her.

‘Level 100,’ she said with a borderline insane grin and deep laughter to match. ‘Hah, take that, internal doubt! Now for the almost unlucky twelve.’

Once she made it to the magical level 112, she sat on the final step and panted for a good ten minutes. Then she stood up and swayed as she shambled to her room.

It took all of her remaining energy to raise her fist and knock on the door, which was opened by a familiar face.

Dalzonf, a girl whose arms could barely hold Nosderag as she collapsed into them.

Nosderag woke up in a bed she had never been in before, in a room she had never seen before. Her breaths sped up as she tried to figure out where she was. They slowed down upon seeing Dalzonf reading a book on her own bed. 

It was not a spellbook but a children’s book, the first in the Black Helmet, Grey Heart series.

‘Man, I haven’t read that series in years. I didn’t know people over the age of twelve still read it.’ Dalzonf glowered at her without even looking away from the page. ‘Sorry. I didn’t expect a tolxer to read an omler’s book.’

‘Dinla Horas comes from the omlerous version of Astraboleria. Of course she’s an omler.’ Dalzonf’s voice was light and airy, as soft as a pillow and high in pitch as the chirp of a chick.

‘Still, reading a book from that world…’

‘I don’t see the issue. So long as she doesn’t fall into people’s arms and then insult their taste in books, I’m fine with an omler.’

Nosderag laughed awkwardly as she sat up. She watched Dalzonf read silently. She took note of her warm honey eyes and plump lips. She wore a low-cut black crop top that somehow didn’t reveal much body fat, shorts also in black and a small blue denim jacket with one side slipping down her shoulder.

Dalzonf turned her head upon hearing the smack of Nosderag’s head against the wall. She couldn’t quite see it against her dark skin, but Nosderag was blushing. Hard.

‘How did you do that?’ Nosderag asked in an accusatory voice, pointing at her suspect.

‘Do what?’

‘Do a spell without using your hands. Can you tolx with your eyes?’

The book in Dalzonf’s hands thumped as she shut it. ‘What are you talking about? I didn’t use my powers on anyone. There’s no one else here.’

‘But…’

Dalzonf’s warm eyes went cold, matching her suddenly calculating smirk. Her voice deepened. ‘Oh, I see.’ Any shred of shyness the other girl was used to seeing from her was scrapped. ‘We wouldn’t want that getting out now, would we?’

‘Huh?’

‘How sweet. My dormmate’s already got a crush.’

‘What? No, no way. You put a spell on me. I know you did.’

Dalzonf stroked her finger up Nosderag’s neck, causing the other girl to gulp. ‘And why would I do that?’

‘Maybe what everyone said is right. You’re a tired girl.’

‘Oh, please. You’re not my type.’

‘So you are-’

‘I never said my type included women.’

Nosderag grinned. ‘But you never said it didn’t.’

Silence, followed by a slow clap from Dalzonf. ‘Well played. Except for, you know, suddenly becoming attracted to me. You were so close to winning this conversation. If only I didn’t have dirt on you. I guess it makes sense for you to fall asleep in my arms. You must have been so... tired.’

Burning cheeks turned into blazing fury as Nosderag leapt out of bed. ‘I’m changing dorms!’ she yelled as she stormed to the door. ‘Why should I have to go through all this effort just to see your ugly face at the top of the steps every day?’

Dalzonf blocked the door with her body. A body that Nosderag definitely didn’t like looking at. No siree.

‘I guess your type must be ugly girls, then.’

Nosderag’s cheeks got so hot that their redness was finally visible. ‘I’m not… I’m not one of you! I’m never defending you against bullies again! Why do you even need people to defend you anyway? You can clearly throw words back in people’s faces.’

‘I guess you’re just too easy.’

That last insult dropped onto Nosderag’s already fatigued shoulders like the roof of a crumbling temple. She huffed as she lied back on her bed and closed her eyes. It was as if she thought she would wake up again to a world where her dormmate wasn’t such a prick.

Her eyes still closed, Nosderag asked, ‘So, since you’re apparently blackmailing me now, what do you want me to do?’

The sound of a page turning reached Nosderag’s ears. Dalzonf chuckled. ‘I’ll think about it.’ 

[dawnoflove]

82 Truths??? I guess

Tagged by: this hoe @princeminhyung127 who I love with all my heart

Name: Cheyenne

Blood type: Um? Nickname(s): Chey Baby or Chey, Dawn for gaming… My boss calls me Chain. Zodiac sign: Gemini

Pronouns: She/Her

Favorite TV shows: Charmed, Supernatura. Does anime count?? Bc Fairy Tail is my life sorry

Long or short hair: I guess it’s still long but I want it to grow out again.

Height: 5’4 I believe

Do you have a crush on someone: Do kpop idols count? What do you like about yourself: My eyes I suppose

Right or left handed: Right


List of three favourite colors: Blue, Green, Red

Right now:


Eating: Lime rice

Drinking: Sprite

I’m about to: Type the answer to this question

Listening to: Runaway by Aurora

Kids: Um no Get married: WELL ACTUALLY--

Career: Uh…

Most recent:


Drink: Sprite, Orange Juice, Green Tae

Phone call: I skyped with my friend last night ?

Song you listened to: Underground King by TAO, Numb by August Alsina, Trespass by Monsta X, Misery by The Maine, Starboy by The Weeknd

Have you ever:


Dated someone twice: Considering I’ve had one boyfriend lol

Kissed someone and regretted it: Kinda…

Lost someone special: Too many

Been depressed: Always tbh

Been drunk and thrown up: Never thrown up but…

Kissed a stranger: Def not

Had glasses or contacts: Wearing contacts as we speak

Had sex on the first date: Nope

Broken someone’s heart: I assume I have

Turned someone down: Yes 


Cried when someone died: Not as often as I should

Fallen for a friend: No

In the last year have you:


Made a new friend: I have <3 KIT KAT IM LOOKIN AT YOU BITCJ

Fallen out of love: Never been in love

Laughed until you cried: Many times


Met someone who changed you: I have. Not sure in the best way.

Found out who your true friends were: I suppose you could say that

Found out someone was talking about you: Always tbh Kissed someone on your fb list: Well I blocked him… R.I.P.

Which is better:

Lips or eyes: Eyes I’d say

Hugs or kisses: Um, hugs I think

Shorter or taller: Taller

Romantic or spontaneous: Both are super nice imo

Sensitive or loud: Can I get both plz

Hookup or relationship: Relationship


Troublemaker or hesitant: Usually both First:


Best friend: MY BABES KIT KAT AND ALLISON @princeminhyung127 @onlyforjihansol oh yeah and Jago but I’m not tagging him

Surgery: My neck?

Sport I joined: Uh I guess gymnastics Vacation: I went to New York a few weeks ago best vacation of my life

Do you believe in:


Yourself: I wish

Miracles: Sometimes


Love at first sight: Not really

Heaven: I’m not sure Extras:


How many people from your fb list do you know irl: Most of them

Do you have any pets: Cat and a dog

Do you want to change your name: I like my name

What did you do for your last birthday: Wallowed in depression mostly…. I think I went to the movies?

What time did you wake up today: Um… 12 pm but then again at 4 pm

What were you doing last night at midnight: Watching Logan and The Assassin’s Creed movie with the Jago

Something you can’t wait for: Everything to finally work out in my life and my friend’s lives

Last time you saw your mom: Literally an hour ago

What is one thing you wish you could change about your life: That my friends would stop suffering

Save you ever talked to a person named tom: I work with a Tom and he loves me so we talk daily

What’s getting on your nerves: The world. Trump. Impending WW3. Global warming. Sexual assault. LGBT rights being infringed. Like do I have to go on wtf

Also I’m not tagging 25 people lmao like I have that many friends on here bye

[artificialqueens]

Courtney’s Infinite Search for Love Ch. 7 (Witney) - Grinder

AN: Prepare for an unhappy ending…Nope, this isn’t the last update but yeah, not a happy chapter. And also, yes, the opening line is kinda like the one from (500) Days of Summer. I’m kinda realizing this fic seems a lot like that movie.

Also forgive me this chapter may be (a bit) long.

~Grinder

“I hate Willam. I hate her obnoxious seal laugh. I hate her dirty blonde hair and shitty roots. I hate her trampy taste in fashion. I hate her caked makeup face. And I hate that fucking David Bowie song too.”

There’s a moment of silence as Adore takes in my drunken rant. We’re just sitting isolated in the corner of this bar at this fucking staff night out. Meaning Willam is here too. For fuck sake. And I’m so drunk and heartbroken, making matters worse for myself. For. Fuck. Sake.

I just wallow in my misery and self-despair while Adore attempts to cheer me up. She’s mainly just listening and responding and giving me more booze. God, I love Adore.

It’s been two days since Willam and I went to the festival and I don’t plan on crying all day again. Yesterday was spent doing that. Then again, I am at this stupid staff do so I could be spending all night crying instead.

“Girl, do you mind if I ask what happened? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Adore replies, sipping her drink.

“Well…where do I begin?” I slur thinking back to the day before yesterday.

-_-_-_- FLASHBACK -_-_-_-

“God, that security guard was nasty. Practically ripping my bag apart.” I rant, pulling at the straps of my holographic backpack. God, why am I such a teenager?

“Yeah, and he was so fucking handsy!” Willam exclaims, looking around to the security guard. “Pervert!”

My heart jumps to my throat as the security guard looks in our direction. Willam clutches my hand tight and we flee the scene. Even when we’re out of the guard’s sight, we’re still running. Where to? I don’t even know anymore. I just continue running and enjoy the feeling of the sand crumbling beneath my feet.

Willam halts immediately causing me to crash into her. She wraps her arms around me before I fall like the big klutz I am. She’s panting for breath, slouching on me now. “God, I need to go back to the gym.”

“Shut up before I throw you into the sea. You’re perfect.” I smile, helping her up again. I know it may seem like I’m fine with her again, but I still have my suspicions.

Willam perks up as the music hits her ears. “Fuck! My favourite band is on already!”

I don’t have time to respond as she’s already taken my hand and dragged me away towards the crowd. We dance and jump around for what feels like a good 2 hours even though I know it really wasn’t that long. But Christ I need water. I offer Willam to come get drinks with me to which she says no. Um…OK?

-_-_-_-

I’m standing outside the bar now. I figured Willam might want alcohol instead of water so that’s what she’ll get. I should be a spiteful bitch and get her beach water instead. OK, maybe that’s too far.

“What do you have?” I ask the bartender.

“Beer and shots.” He replies, in a sarcastic tone.

“…Could you be a bit more specific?” I ask, knitting my eyebrows together.

“Beer and shots.” He replies more sternly.

Christ, what a dick. I can tell this is gonna add to my slowly rising anger. “Fine. A beer then.”

Now I’m thinking of my slowly rising anger. Willam not coming to get a drink with me. The fact she only called me about a wakeup call late last night. The fact she hadn’t even texted me in a week. Slamming my money down on the counter, the bartender jumps.

“And a shot please.” I practically growl. I know I’m over reacting but I can’t help it. I’m so pissed with how this relationship turned out. “Make it two.”

When the drinks are placed in front of me, the shots are practically gone in two seconds. I snatch the beer and leave, making my way back to Willam. Not to mention it’s gonna be so annoying trying to find her in the huge crowd.

“COURT!”

I’m startled at the sound of my name, spinning towards the direction of the voice. It’s Willam. At the tattoo booth. Being tattooed. By a topless man. I storm up to the booth ready to ask why she didn’t stay with the crowd and why hadn’t even texted me.

“Willam, you - -”

“Don’t worry, It’s not permanent. It’s a stick and lick. It’ll come off I swear. Calm down, Mom.” She interrupts. The man just laughs. How obnoxious. Willam nods her head towards her tricep, where the tattoo sticker is placed. “It says ‘Fuck Coachella’.”

“OK. But why didn’t you text me you left?” I ask.

“I didn’t?” Willam asks, dumbfounded by the question.

“You didn’t.” I reply.

The man coughs, reminding us that he’s watching our awkward moment.

“Look. I promise I’ll text you if I disappear. I promise. But can we talk about this later?” Willam asks.

My teeth grit together as I realise I can’t find my words. All I can do is approach her, pass her the beer and wait until she’s done. “OK.”

A few seconds later, the tattoo is done. Willam pays the man and we walk away in painful silence. The longer the silence goes on for the more I think about how it shouldn’t feel this awkward. We’re a couple. We’re supposed to feel happy in each other’s company. Not murderous. Slight exaggeration. But Christ, I’m so pissed.

“I’m sorry for disappearing like that.” Willam mutters, reaching for my hand as we continue walking. I look to Willam to find her looking straight back at me. There’s a pregnant pause before she gives a smile, “Come on. Don’t be like that, Court. We’re at a festival! Have fun – live a little. We’re not at work anymore.”

I’m weak as I fall for the smile, taking a hold of her manicured hand and returning the smile. “You’re right. Let’s live a little.”

-_-_-_-

How dumb could I be? I basically gave Willam permission to walk away only if she texted me. And now I can’t find her anywhere now. She also hasn’t texted me. Now I’m beyond pissed.

I march myself to the bar, order two more shots and receive a dirty look from the same guy who had served me 3 hours earlier.

Leaving the bar, I continue my search for Willam at the stage area, where Troye Sivan is playing his fifth song. I could’ve been having a good time right now, dancing around to the music along with Willam. But nope. I’m searching for her instead.

I push through the violent crowd – tipsy, lost and confused and after a good five minutes of searching, I finally give up when a fifth drink spills on my top and I’m shoved for the second time.

I’m walking aimlessly now, searching for the number one source of my shitty mood. But why should I? She hasn’t wasted any time to come find me, has she?

“COURT!”

Déjà vu much?

Just like earlier, I turn to the voice to see the spawn of my rage. It’s Willam hanging out with a bunch of men. Surprise – surprise.

“Get your blonde ass over here!” Willam drunkenly calls. The state she’s in only adds fuel to the fire.

I storm up to her and the group of men. This time I’m not holding back. “Willam, you’ve got some serious explai- -”

“Yeah, shut up. This is Dustin.” She interrupts me, pointing to one of the men and then to the other. “And this is James. We were just talking about threesomes.”

“You were?” I ask, not surprised in the slightest.

“Yeah, I think you and James and I would be a cool team, right?” Willam beams, chuckling like a seal.

“I thought you didn’t do threesomes.” I confront her.

“You know us women. We change our minds all the time.” She shrugs rolling her eyes. She abruptly grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me lightly. “Come on. It’s a great idea! Just live a little, please.”

I don’t even know what to say as her eagerness to fuck with someone else is clear to me now. My eyes are glassy as tears sting the corners. I just shake my head, take a few steps away from the group and turn my back to her. To the bar I go.

-_-_-_-

I’m drunk. I’m lost. I can’t find Willam anyway, but then again I’m not even looking for her anymore. I’m just dragging myself around the festival, completely ignoring the live music and attractions around me, finding entertainment in feeling sorry for myself instead.  

I’m surrounded by cars. How did I even end up at the car park? And why am I here? And why do I feel safer here, away from the drama. Maybe ‘cause there’s no one here. At least I think.

Stumbling my way through the cars, I come across an area with more space to move. I look around to see where I could head next only to see the blurry image of two individuals moving around against a van door. It’s 10 cars in the distance making it hard to see them and the alcohol isn’t helping either. What the hell are they doing? Curiosity gets the best of me as I make my way towards the distant figures. The closer I get to the people, the clearer my vision is. And the clearer my vision gets, the more I feel my stomach form a knot.

I’m five steps away from them now and my rage has reached its boiling point. It’s Willam, hoisted up against the van with her legs around James’ waist. His pants are around his ankles. Willam is moaning louder than she ever moaned for me. I don’t fall to the ground when I process what’s going on, but my tears spill down my cheeks freely.

I turn and run from the scene, not caring if I was seen or not. Fuck Willam. Fuck her for fucking James right now. Fuck her for messing with my feelings, my effort and my time. Fuck her for abandoning me at this festival. Fuck her for everything.

-_-_-_-

“Court, can we talk?”

I ignore Willam, walking ahead of her as I make my way home. I have no idea where she’s going but she’s definitely not come home with me.

“Court.” She repeats softly, to which I ignore her again. “Look, I don’t know what’s up with your ass but I really need to talk to you right now.”

She runs to the front of me, causing me to halt in my tracks. Before I can tell her to move she’s already speaking.

“Why are we doing this?” She asks.

My eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Because I’m going home?”

“Not that, you idiot. This whole thing we’re doing with each other. It’s not right.” She speaks. “I’ve just been thinking we haven’t really been with anyone else. Yeah we sleep around with strangers a lot, well not in months, but…”

‘Liar,’ I think to myself internally. Why aren’t I saying it out loud though?

“We haven’t really given ourselves a chance to date other people so how do we know that we’re really meant for each other if we haven’t met anyone else? I know this is so fucked up, but this is not normal. We’re grownups. Not dumb kids. Do you get what I’m - -”

“Have you met someone else?” I demand.

She’s silent for a few seconds before she utters out, “What?”

“Have you met someone else, Willam?” I repeat, more sternly now.

A pregnant pause. I just watch her as she looks guilty as charged.

“Courtney. I’m sorry, but I just don’t think…” she pauses trying to find her words “…we’re good together.  I feel like we really need to stop what we’re doing before we’re both completely drained and bitter from pretending all the time.”

I take her face in my hands, my cheeks red and stained with hot tears. “But we were so good together. The nights out at the bar. The fort in your house. The dates. Everything. It made me happier.”

I’m hoping she’ll lean in and kiss me and tell me I’m right and that she’s just paranoid. But she doesn’t. She’s just looks back at me with sympathy. “I’m sorry. It’s just it’s not fair that we’re doing this to each other. Just try and understand where I’m coming from, Court’.”

I take a few more seconds to look at her with pleading eyes before realizing it’s pointless. I take my hands away from her face, letting them drop to my sides. I move away from her and continue my journey home. She calls after me, but I’m too discombobulated and drunk to turn back.

As I trek home, I try to ignore all thoughts of Willam and suppress the memories for the good of my sanity. I try to think of what to do when I get home, but her face keeps flashing in my mind and I just cry more tears as I walk in my drunken and exhausted state.

-_-_-_- END FLASHBACK -_-_-_-

“And that’s why I fucking hate her.” I finish, looking around to Adore who’s already gotten another shot, ready for me to drown my emotions. She gives me a sympathetic look, passing the beverage to me. It’s gone in a matter of seconds and my ‘Done’ face masks the look of disgust at the taste.

“I’m so sorry, Man.” Adore rubs my shoulder. “Well, at least you tried. Like, it may look really shitty right now. But maybe you’re thinking too much about the good times instead of the bad. That’s only gonna make you miss her more. List her faults in your head and that’ll make you feel better I promise. And besides; there are plenty of other fish in the sea.”

I love Adore and everything, but right now I’m semi-bored and fed up with talking about Willam. Instead of bringing up a new topic, I just walk away leaving her alone and confused. I look around the place to see Alyssa alone at the bar. Let’s be alone together.

“Hey, Alyssa.” I slur, sliding onto the stool next to her. I nearly fall off but grab hold of the bar to steady myself.

“Hello, Miss Courtney Act.” Judging from her voice, she’s smashed too. “How’s the relationship going?”

I groan quite loudly, gaining Tammie and DJ’s attention also. They try to stifle their laughter as my forehead falls to the hard surface of the bar. Alyssa doesn’t hide anything as she cackles and claps her hands together. I’m glad she’s having fun watching me suffer in my drunken mess state.

Lifting my head slowly, I look to Alyssa again and mutter, “Don’t talk to me about her. I hate her so much.”

Alyssa’s smile drops grabbing a hold of my arm and practically shouts, “What did she do??!!”

My pointer finger is on her lips now as I shoosh her. “No – No – No. No talking about her. Maybe later. But not right now. Talk about something else. Talk about tongue pops and- - TALK ABOUT TATIANNA.”

Alyssa’s silent and her eyes widen at the mention of her favourite-person-in-the-whole-wide-world’s name. Before I can speak again, she leans back in her chair. Tatianna is sitting in the stool next to Alyssa, her head on the bar and her hair blanketing her face. She’s drunk and close to passing out.

“We all need promotions,” she mutters from under the mass of black hair, “And I need…more wine…”

Too drunk to move, she just continues to sit there. I give Alyssa an apologetic look for being so loud mouthed.

“To be honest…I don’t think it would work between her and I. ‘Cause she’s so…” She pauses to look around at Tatianna, who’s now completely passed out “…I don’t know. I just don’t think it would work.”

I roll my eyes, slapping my hand down on Alyssa’s shoulder. “You know what? Fuck love. Fuck love in its ass! Not literally. What the fuck is wrong with you? But yeah, you don’t need it.”

Alyssa just nods, sipping on her cocktail as I look past her shoulder to see the last person I wanted to see tonight. Willam standing across the bar actually making eye contact with me. Why is she staring?  

“Who are you looking at?” Alyssa pulls me from my daze, as she slowly turns her head to where I’m looking. Before she can even look over her shoulder, I grab her face in my hand pulling it towards mine.

“Don’t look!” I whisper quite loudly as my forehead is nearly touching hers. We’re just staring at each other in complete silence. I can feel certain gears in my head turning as my eyes glance in Willam’s direction again. Still watching me.

“Courtney,” Alyssa slurs, “Are you OK?”

Without saying another word my lips come crashing against hers. And I can already feel the joy as I know Willam is watching. She wants to see other people? So be it.

Alyssa and I just make out for what feels like a good two minutes, and all the while, I open my eyes occasionally to glance at Willam. I smile into the kiss as I realize Willam hasn’t even taken her eyes off us and she looks pretty shocked. I am living for this moment.

Alyssa pulls away, also smiling now, “What was that all about?”

“Just shut up and come home with me.” I reply.

And that’s what we do. We leave the bar, hand in hand like classic petty teenagers. Adore looks bewildered at what’s going on, but I just wink reassuringly at her.

I glare at Willam as we get to the door. She’s not even looking anymore. Instead, she’s just flirting with a guy she’s with. Do I feel any guilt or sadness or any form of negative emotion? Only, because she’s not looking anymore. But she knows fully well that I’m leaving the place with Alyssa. And she knows exactly what we’re going to do.

It may sound pretty bitchy of me to say, but I really hope she feels what I’ve been feeling for the past few weeks. God, I really do hope.