#sometimes out of habit when im pacing around in my room i will start speaking in a goofy voice

[iwakuraz]

[goofy voice] donald duck and I are getting old but we still haven't walked in the glow of each others majestic prescence listen donald, hear my words, they're the ones you would think I would say if there was a me for you

[almostnugget]

Here Lies...

Reggie x Ghost!Reader

It’s on an off day that you find Reggie on the beach, quieter—more mournful—than you’ve ever seen him. You propose an unusual solution.

Warnings: vague mentions and talk of death/dying, angst, talk about inadequate parents, etc. also the word ‘hell’ is written Once? (twice now ig)

A/N: y’all seemed into this idea so im Delivering. had the idea awhile ago when i read a few fics about reggie dying first and now I’ve actually...dOne something with it. so here! hope you enjoy!

Reggie was acting strange. You aren’t sure when you noticed, how you noticed, but he was. There was a certain quietness to him, something like that wasn't normal. You wanted to think nothing of it, but when you found the others in the studio without him, you couldn't help but wonder.

Alex and Luke seemed hesitant to tell you where he'd gone, as if they knew what you had already suspected and didn't want to tell you. Alex caved—despite Luke's protests.

It feels weird to be back at the beach, your hands laying stagnant at your side as you spot the familiar figure sitting in the sand.

Your better judgement tells you to leave. You never bothered to involve yourself like this before, there's no reason to do it now. Yet, you still walk over and settle down in the sand beside him.

Neither of you talk. You don’t know what to say if you wanted to, instead just absentmindedly pulling at the strings of your jeans and trying not to nervously bite at your nails.

You’re still looking out at the ocean, listening to the dull chatter of passersby and the crashing waves, when Reggie finally speaks.

"Did they tell you I died first?"

Your breath almost catches in your throat. Instead, you don’t reply, only sending him a quick glance. Nothing could quite articulate what went through your mind when he said that. It never quite occurred to you that one of the boys had to go first, and it never occurred to you that it would've been Reggie.

"In the ambulance," he continues, fiddling with his own hands. It's a nervous habit of his that you’ve noticed before, but only rarely seen. "I can still remember it." He lets out a shaky breath and you fight the urge to frown. "All of it."

When he doesn't speak again, you both fall back into silence. You’ve never been good at this. Comforting people isn't your forte, you can hardly comfort yourself. Hell, maybe Reggie doesn't even want that. He wanted to be alone, probably, and you forced your way here.

Your words fall out before you can stop them.

"I don't," you breathe, still looking out at the ocean as your eyes trail over the horizon. "I remember everything that led up to it. But I don’t actually remember how it...felt.” You instinctively wince as you remember the cold water against your skin, but you press on. “I remember some of the dark room, but then...I was just back on the beach.”

Reggie watches you and the way you continue to tug at the frayed strings of your jeans. You both fall into silence again. It's like neither of you really knows what to say, what you want to say, what you need to say.

You’re not sure when you speak up again, how long after, but you do. “Have...have you seen it? Your grave?" You ask tentatively, looking over at the ghost beside you. Reggie's looking forward when he shakes his head. You nod a little, biting your tongue before letting out a sigh. "I've seen mine."

That catches his attention as he looks over, his thoughtful expression switching to one of concern. "Y-you have?" You nod again. He stammers a little before blowing out a heavy sigh.

You push herself to your feet, Reggie watching as you does so. "Come on," you say finally, holding a hand out. Reggie's gaze flickers from you to you outstretched hand and there's a moment before he takes it, allowing you to pull him to his feet.

When you get to the cemetery, it's fortunately pretty empty. Reggie looks around apprehensively, but he still follows you as you walks. It's clear you’ve been here more than once.

Your pace slows, the pair of you coming to a stop in front of a grave at the end of a long row. The tombstone isn't particularly ornate, but it isn't overwhelmingly plain either.

"Tada," you say mirthlessly, removing your hands from your jacket pockets to gesture toward the rock. You go to move, before stopping. "Think it's disrespectful to step on your own grave?"

Reggie lets out a weak laugh that makes you feel marginally better about the entire ordeal. You smile sorrowfully before kneeling down in front of your own tombstone, ignoring the faint chill that runs down your spine when you do.

He notices that there isn't much on the stone to begin with as you trail your hand over the etchings: Y/N L/N. It's painfully simple, even more so by the muddied years below your name, worn at with time.

"That's all?" Reggie asks, a certain degree of hesitance to his voice. "No...quote?" You smile a little as you glance up at him.

"No quote," you confirm. "I was a foster kid, Reg. Not much to say when you get bounced around a lot." Your hand trails over your last name. "This is all I've got from my parents."

He swallows thickly, unsure what to say now. It feels like he has to apologize somehow. But you lean away from your tombstone and push yourself to stand, the ghost of a smile on your face.

"Don't feel bad, I've had a while to get used to it," you assure, shrugging a little. Reggie doesn't reply, but you can tell he's desperately trying to think of something to say. "Reg, it's okay," you repeat, stepping closer and setting your hands on his arms. Your hands eventually fall and you look out at the rest of the cemetery. "Do...do you wanna see yours?"

Reggie's eyes widen a little. "I-It's here?"

You nod, moving to stand beside him. You point out a grave several rows away, but he can see it—feel it—even from here. "I saw it the last time I was here," you admit, frowning a little. "Small world, huh?"

"Yeah," he says lowly. There's apprehension before he starts moving towards it, but he does nonetheless. You follow him. You try to create distance now and then, but he looks back at you every time you do like he doesn't want to be alone, so you stop.

When the two of you get to his grave, you almost wince as Reggie stares upon his very own tombstone. You can't remember dying, but you can remember seeing your grave. You imagine it feels similar.

Reggie kneels down in front of the tombstone, eyes carefully reading the engravings; Reginald Peters, 1978 - 1995, Loving Son. The grass is a little overgrown at the bottom, but it's all still legible.

He lets out a shaky breath, you carefully watching him in case this turns out to be a bad idea. Neither of you speak for what feels like a long while, but Reggie doesn't seem eager to leave, so you hope it's okay.

Biting your tongue, you look around before settling on an idea. "I'll be right back," you state, causing Reggie to look away from his tombstone. He can't even argue as you start to walk away, he can only watch with a frown. He wanted to be alone before, before all of this, but not now.

Fortunately, you do come back like you promised. Your hands are behind your back as Reggie glances up. You fidget uncomfortably before bending down and setting some flowers in front of the stone.

“It looked empty," you admit softly, shrugging a little when Reggie looks away from the flowers and back at you.

A faint smile tugs at his lips. "Where'd you get those?"

"There's a stall, nearby. I might've...stolen them," you confess, wrinkling your nose as Reggie lets out a laugh. Of course you did. The gesture won't be forgotten though. "Are you...okay?"

He looks back at the grave, wondering that himself. However, there's something cathartic about seeing his grave like this. It finalizes everything, sure, but it puts things in perspective.

Reggie stands up, you worriedly watching him. He doesn't speak, only moving back toward a nearby bench and taking a seat. You tentatively follow, settling beside him, your back pressed against the opposite arm as you cross your legs.

“Reggie?" You call softly. He doesn't think he's ever heard anyone say his name that softly. He looks over, taking in the expression on your face and the way your brows furrow. "I...I can leave you alone?"

Instead, he shakes his head. You frown a little, letting your hands fall into your lap as you continue to watch him and the way he looks out at the rest of the cemetery.

Reggie lets out a shaky breath. "It's okay," he finally says, you sitting up. He fights himself on his next words, but they come out regardless. "Good to know my parents cared enough to...you know," he gestures weakly to the tombstone.

"Oh, Reggie," you sigh, scooting closer until your knees brush against him. He looks over. "Just because your parents fought doesn't mean they didn't love you."

“Felt like it sometimes," he admits softly, you frowning further.

“I'm sorry you felt like that," you settle on, but it's clear you’re not done. "But them fighting? It's not your fault." He doesn't know how you know what to say next, but you do. "Dying wasn't either." He looks momentarily surprised, wondering how you could've possibly guessed. You shrug, as if continuing to read his mind. "It wasn't hard to guess."

"Yeah, Luke and Alex said that too," he responds with a sigh, shoulders falling as he lets his hand rest against the arm of the bench.

“I don't say this often, and I won't, but they're right." He looks back at you, noticing the serious look on your face. Neither of you are hardly ever serious, at least not like this. "It's really not your fault, any of it." There's a pause, neither one saying anything before you begin to smile. "I've got an idea," you say excitedly, hitting Reggie in the leg before getting to your feet.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Reggie asks quickly, furrowing his brows.

“I think you deserve a eulogy," you admit, with a deep breath.

Reggie's confusion furthers. "But...it's not my funeral?"

You let out a light laugh, stepping back towards his spot on the bench as he cranes his neck to look up at you. "But you are a ghost,” you whisper, leaning in close.

"Oh."

You step back and straighten up. "So! You'll be getting a eulogy by yours truly! This is a once-in-an-afterlifetime opportunity, so prepare yourself!"

Reggie can't help but smile now as he sits up, almost on the edge of his seat now. "I'm ready!"

“If this gives you an ego? I will be taking it all back," you warn him, but his smile doesn't falter. He only nods, bouncing his legs a little in excitement. You sigh, shaking your hands loose and clearing your throat. "Reginald Peters, better known as Reggie, was...an incredible person. He was, apparently, a loving son, but he was more than that."

You’re too busy trying to choose the proper words to even notice the way Reggie's face seems to soften as you speak.

"Reggie was talented. He could shred on the bass—"

"—and the banjo!"

You chuckle softly. "And the banjo. His country songs were pretty good too." Reggie watches the way you tug at your sleeves, a soft smile on his face. "More than that, he— he was one of the nicest and funniest people I've ever met. Anyone was lucky to meet him, but they were even luckier to have him in their life."

You carefully avoid his gaze, as if finding your own words too much, but Reggie can only continue to watch you with a fond expression that you don’t even notice.

"But, none of that really matters because Reginald Sinclair isn't someone you can ever forget. His memory and his soul will forever live on. ...Not just because he's currently a ghost in a band in LA or anything like that."

You both laugh a little as you finish, stepping back up to settle beside him on the bench. Your eyes cast back out toward the cemetery as you do, carefully missing the gaze Reggie fits you with.

"That would've been better if I actually wrote something, but—" you start, wrinkling your nose as you already begin to recall everything you said a moment ago.

"Thanks," Reggie cuts you off. When you look at him, you meet his eyes this time and you both seem to go quiet. You hadn't meant to sit so close, but now you can feel his breath on your face as your breath hitches.

"Yeah, well..." you trail off, voice barely above a whisper. Biting your tongue, you get to your feet before anything can happen—not that it would, of course. "So, do you wanna head back or...?"

"Wait! What about you?" He asks, shooting to his feet. Your brows furrow.

"What about me?"

“Your eulogy," he supplies and you’re quick to realize he's prepared to give you one. The thought alone makes your face heat up. Reggie saying nice things about you? You’re not sure you could handle it.

You shake your head. "No, no, we don't have to do any of that," you insist with a forced chuckle, ducking your head to walk past him.

He's quick to rush after you. "C'mon—"

"We can do it another time," you settle, nearing the exit of the cemetery. Your words slow Reggie in his tracks.

"Right, next time," he mutters, prompting you to turn back. He suddenly looks crestfallen and you waste no time in pressing toward him.

“Yeah, like we can come back?"

"Yeah..." Reggie trails off, your eyes falling to watch as he plays with his hands like he does when he's nervous.

“Reggie?"

He squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a sigh. "The guys and I— We have to cross over," he admits slowly, eyes carefully watching the ghost in front of him.

Your face seems to fall. "Oh."

The dots in your head seem to connect. No wonder he’d been feeling so particularly...low today, of all days. He hasn’t the time for much else.

"We don't want to!" Reggie says quickly, not wanting you to get any kind of wrong idea. "We really don't want to, but—"

“Caleb's stamp, right?" You ask, quirking a brow. "Wasn't just a stamp, was it?" Reggie frowns, shaking his head. "Yeah, I figured as much." You almost want to roll your eyes as you pivot on your heels to begin walking again.

“It's either that or join his house band for eternity or stop existing, so!" He adds on, hurrying after you. His shoulders fall. "Not like we can cross over."

“Why not?" You question after what feels like a long moment of silence. Reggie watches you and the way you choose to keep your eyes ahead instead of sparing him a glance.

"We might have to play at the Orpheum."

“Of course," you almost scoff, and it nearly makes Reggie wince. He assumes you’re mad at him or something akin to that, but you suddenly stop. "We'll figure something out," you then say, crossing your arms over chest and actually turning to look at him now.

“Are ghosts even allowed in the Orpheum?"

“Doesn't matter, you guys are gonna perform there one way or another. Better than not existing at all, right?" It's like that was supposed to be a joke as you force a smile, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. You then bump your shoulder against his in an attempt to dissipate the tension you inadvertently created.

You didn't mean to be upset, to make Reggie feel like you were mad at him, instead of for him—maybe for yourself too, as selfish as that sounds. But you can't ignore the tightness in you chest either when you think of losing someone you never even had. All you can do is push it down.

It's with that fading tightness that you start walking again, Reggie lingering back. He didn't want this to happen, any of it. He meant what he had said, they really didn't want to cross over. As you glance back, he knows it to be even more true.

You usher him to follow, your expression subtly softening, and it's with a deep breath that he follows after you.

[quiet-kunoichi]

“ please….stay, just for tonight. ”

[ misc quotes meme | @suck-my-tomato | verse; post-modern ]

She had come over.

Well, that's not entirely true. Initially, Sasuke had showed up to her apartment after a missed call from her, followed by a quick [text:] im sorry about that. So; in lieu of their weird and strangled conversation the other night, where he offered his support any time she felt close to relapsing (or otherwise, but he wasn't ready to say that aloud just yet) -- Sasuke's slingshot brain thought of the worst conclusion and immediately called her back. But in fact, the call back wasn't so immediate, after all. It had been forty minutes since she had attempted initial contact. She doesn't pick up, and her awkward and uncertain voice tells him 'sorry you missed me. uh, yeah - leave a message and i'll get back to you .. eventually. probably.' The beep of her voicemail catches him off guard; a weird beat of silence begins the message before he mutters a quick, "Hey.. I hope you're alright-- Call me, okay?" Minutes pass with him staring expectantly at the screen. She doesn't call him back; he curses himself for getting caught up in his most recent painting. Unable to contain the swirl of emotions, Sasuke rises to his restless feet. He paces the room a few times, biting at the skin of his lip and glancing over to his blackened phone screen now and again. He even tried sitting back down at his canvas, picking up the brush and the palette again: just to get his mind off of it. Sasuke knew it would be pushing boundaries if he just showed up because she didn't reply in.. twelve minutes. "She's probably fine," He told the room, the drying paint, himself. But clearly he wasn't certain enough - because when his phone vibrates against the coffee table, Sasuke risks the detailed linework by nearly diving out of his seat to snatch his phone. But his once high-strung heart was now rocking heavy in his gut and making him seasick. Just a text from Naruto. He doesn't even bother to read it - instead pulling up the sporadic text conversation with Kimiko and rereading her short message as if he could read between the lines. Fuck it. In cases of recovering addicts, sometimes boundaries would have to be pushed; he was personally familiar. So, Sasuke snatched his car keys from their place beside the door and heads for her apartment. His hands were clammy and stuck to the steering wheel with an iron grip the whole time. What was he going to walk in on? Would this behavior bring up old, bruised memories - would it roll their hesitant friendship back a few steps? Maybe she truly didn't mean to call; maybe she was not even home. Or she was home, but had someone else over. That thought tightened his throat. But nothing compared to the nagging gnat of trauma whispering something much more foul in his ear: perhaps he didn't come soon enough, and the apartment would already be empty. Worse yet - a repeat of the scene he came across a few months ago. No. Sasuke refused to let his brain run down that beaten path: instead, he barely made it through a yellow light and parked on the street across from her apartment building. The next time he blinked, Sasuke was standing in front of her door, fist hanging in the air. Had he already knocked? He can't remember. Kimiko hadn't even the time to quickly soak up the leftover water from her hair and wrap up decently when the second knock came. It sends a zip of fear up her spine; her mouth is gummy, so she cannot even reply. She just wraps the nearest towel tightly around herself and quickly ( and carefully ) pads over to the front door of her rather.. 'minimalistic' apartment. No, she hadn't unpacked fully, yet. It wasn't that she was expecting to pick up and disappear at the drop of a hat; it was just too hard a task, truthfully. Opening the door a crack (seeing as this apartment didn't have the foresight to install peepholes) Kimiko peers through a sliver, a single dull yellow eye landing upon his face. Oh --

Blinking a few times, Kimiko's death grip on her door is slackened in surprise. The door comes open a few more inches, and reveals that she indeed just got out of the bath. "..Sasuke?" She questions, as though the man before her might chameleon into someone else with her next blink. He stammers a reply; an apology - and she tells herself that the color of his cheeks was likely due to the strangeness of his voice, because she could not picture any other reason why he'd feel embarrassed. "H-hey. Uh, I'm sorry. I was just --" He's struggling to figure out how to express his thoughts coherently while she's standing there with her hair dripping and a towel tucked tightly around her slender frame. "You didn't answer, so.. I'm just checking in on you." Was it more awkward to look at her while she was sorta-kinda indecent, or more glaringly awkward to obviously not look at her at all? Her neighbor's door opens; Sasuke is ogled at from across the hall. Kimiko's stare slides over and the decision is made for her: she opens the door and gingerly takes his wrist, beckoning him inside. Closing the door behind him and locking ( the knob, the dead bolt, the chain, the swing-bar guard ) it, Kimiko turns to him and draws his attention back from where it wandered about her empty apartment. Well - mostly empty. Suppose the issue of not having any clutter or decorations was that a lone bottle of whiskey appeared like a glaring centerpiece on her coffee table. She'll behave as though it didn't exist. "Sorry. It's nothing personal; she stares at me, too." Kimiko murmurs, catching that telltale look of concern hardly concealed in his stare as he turns back to her. "Kimiko.." His voice is careful, as though they stood on thin ice and he was chancing the very real possibility that whatever he would say next could make them fall through and catch hypothermia. "I should get dressed," She'd reply, dipping her head and passing him by on her way back to the bathroom. Despite her hope that he would ignore the obvious, too - Kimiko returns to the front room once dressed, and Sasuke is leaning his weight into the arm of her couch rather than sitting upon it. She catches him in a staring contest with the bottle of liquor. Arms tucked across her midsection, she stands adjacent to him and awaits the backfire from being caught -- even if she hadn't indulged in it (yet). "I'm sorry I didn't pick up." Instead of scolding her, Sasuke apologizes. It's.. strange, but quietly welcomed in the stead of worse repercussions. She doesn't respond, because she doesn't know quite how to. So, with fingers steepled and head dipped to the floor between them, he speaks up again; but it's not without strain. "I know I said I'd be available for support if you needed it-" She's expecting him to follow this sentence with a 'but I said it too soon' or a 'but I changed my mind', and she doesn't want the heartache that would follow hearing that kind of statement, so Kimiko cuts him off. "It's fine, Sasuke. Really.. I'm fine." She shouldn't lie like that, but old habits die painfully slow. At last, his gaze lifts and they share a look; one that's hard to place. She knows that he knows she's lying, and she swallows the guilt and shame that comes with that. "I didn't have any. The cap is sealed, if you want to check." She offers the olive branch, and Sasuke truly considers it: but decides against it, in an attempt to show his trust in her claim. Even still, a short sigh escapes her; fingers come up to rub at her eye. Now having a proper look at her, Sasuke recognizes an old shirt she used to wear in high school. It draws attention to how much she's thinned down since then, the fabric now loose in places that it used to hold onto her curves. Dark crescents are worn like ghosts under her eyes, her cheekbones are taut and pronounced in a way he hasn't noticed before. Kimiko speaks up before he has the chance. "I did think about it," She admits, sounding tired. "And I did call," Another admittance, this one with a twinge more shame behind it. He gives a little wince. "But I walked away from it." A half-hearted shrug follows. Actually, she had tossed her phone on the couch and fled to the bathroom, mid-panic attack and desperate to scald and then simmer in a soup of flashbulb memories: just so she could watch them wash down the drain with the soapy bathwater. But a knock on the door interrupted that sequence, and now here they both were.

"It's okay that you didn't answer. I know that .." She hesitates, the fingers at her side starting to pluck at the edge of her shirt. "I know you're busy, with stuff." Ah, real smooth, Kimiko. That totally wasn't obvious. Her lips press firm, and she can no longer bear to hold his gaze, so she drops her own while slowly curling her grip over opposite arm. "And I'm fine to handle it on my own. I've done it before." Yeah, that probably wasn't the best thing to add in, either. "I was working on a painting." Sasuke replies, then turns over his palms to expose the flecks and streaks of paint that litter his pale skin. He's not sure why he felt like she needed the visual proof; but she had offered some tactile evidence with the sealed cap to her bottle of whiskey, earlier - and he wanted to extend the same offering in exchange. To make it a two-lane street, like his therapist had mentioned last week. Before her.. self-inflicted incident - Kimiko had been the only one expressing her efforts to make amends. He wasn't proud of the result; so now, in light of the aftermath: Sasuke wanted to try, too. "Oh." She replies, dumbly. "Um," Umber hues roam around the room, but he continues to look up at her. "..Sorry you came all the way out here to check on me. I didn't have my phone, I was in the bath, and-" Her fingers are plucked from her side and engulfed by the dual caress of both of his palms. He holds her small hand in his own, and places his other hand on top. It strikes her heart, giving it a kickstart as she looks between their clasped hands and back up to him. "Don't apologize." He begins, "I came to check on you because I wanted to." A thumb runs over the top of her hand, trying to soothe. Instead it just gets her heart in a weird flutter; unused to this intimacy, even after all this time. Or, perhaps especially after all this time. "I see." Is her quiet reply. Parting his lips, Sasuke realizes that she's transfixed on her hand sandwiched between his own. He returns it, but admittedly, it isn't without some reluctance: like pulling apart two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle after finally connecting their uneven ends. "..Have you eaten?" He asks, and she appears dumbfounded by the question. "What?" It comes from her mouth laced in confusion. "Have you had dinner? I parked by a sushi restaurant and I was thinking of ordering takeout." He looks up at her expectantly: Kimiko clearly hasn't been eating well enough, and he wouldn't let that slide by him. So, without an answer - Sasuke is already pulling up the menu on his phone, swiping a finger down the menu. "Do you still like salmon, and eel?" He gives her an upward glance; she's getting obviously flustered. "Sasuke.." Now it was her turn to lace her voice with the careful and wary tone of warning. It dawns on him, then -- He'd just invited himself to stay in her space. Casually, too: as if it were commonality. It hadn't been, not in a long time. The realization ( and deflation ) must have been rather obviously etched upon his features, because Kimi is quick to the draw and apologizing. "I'm sorry, it's just- I don't mean-" His hand comes up, and she quiets down. "No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped the gun like that." He rises to his feet, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. "It's not like that,.." She trails off, and without transparency, Sasuke decides to play it safe. "It's okay to be uncomfortable, Kimiko. You've done well to respect my boundaries, and I don't want to push you. I'm glad you didn't relapse." They stand there for a few beats more - until he can't take it anymore, all the things left unsaid hanging between them; he heads for the door. "Sasuke, wait." Kimiko's voice is pressed with a twinge of urgency; she's gone as far as to take a few strides and grasp for his wrist. When he stops and looks down at her over his shoulder, Kimiko reflects the little girl at the playground all those years ago: doe-eyed, perpetually a tad afraid, knowing what she wanted but not yet certain on how to ask for it. She lets go of his wrist and returns her hands to herself, one arm still tucked around her center as the now free hand comes up to collect a strand of her hair. Sasuke turns to face her properly.

"It's not that I don't want to spend time with you," She begins to explain, pressing the knuckle of her finger ( wrapped with a coil of dark hair ) into her cheek. "I really appreciate the offer of sushi, and.. your time." A little inaudible gulp, and a stolen glance back up at him. "I just don't want to be here, really." At last, she's admitted the true hang-up to this entire situation. Slowly, his eyebrows raise -- he understands where her reluctance is coming from, almost immediately. "Kimiko, did he send-?" His concerned question is cut off with a quick toss of her head: No. Or, more likely: No, I don't want to talk about this right now. With a nod of acknowledgement, Sasuke folds his lips before proposing a solution. "Do you want to take the sushi to my place, then? We could watch a movie." His offer is received with a hopeful look on her part: like he had offered a child if they'd like to get ice-cream instead of doing their homework. "..Are you sure?" She has to ask, and it brings a little smile from him, exhaling through his nose. "Yeah, I'm sure." ------------- So their night together had officially begun; ( Kimiko did in fact still like salmon and eel ) - sushi was secured, the drive to his place was shared in amicable silence with the background of music, and the movie was picked effortlessly. Of course, she had perked up after that first ( and hesitant ) bite - and also to nobody's surprise, Kimiko had easily agreed to the movie he suggested; for it was a movie that she was planning to watch, anyway. The night played on without a single scratch or trip in the record, and conversations flowed back and forth without a hitch. They were truly getting along without so much as a hiccup or awkward pause along the way. Now satisfied and lulled, Kimiko was starting to drift upon his couch, curled against the pillow between them. The TV screen washed in red, and Sasuke hums in amusement, dipping his ear towards his shoulder and murmuring, "I guess you were right, Brenda didn't last longer than Stacy. Still, I don't think there's going to be a Final Girl." Kimiko hums something nonsensical, half-muffled by the pillow she'd nuzzled down into. Properly looking over now, Sasuke double-takes the scene beside him; and his heart swells. She was ..well, undoubtedly cute, curled up and dozing off in the smack-middle of a slasher movie. In the moment of privacy, Sasuke unfolds into an unseen smile. A few moments pass as he studies her sleep-slackened face, peaceful and unmarred from bruises or tears. Picturesque from their early highschool years. A little sigh escapes his nostrils, the familiar sense of nostalgia clutching him. Reaching forward, Sasuke plucks the remote from the coffee table and turns down the movie a notch or two before rising to his feet and taking care of the takeout boxes. She's done well to eat most of her food; he's proud that she made the effort. Returning to the couch, Sasuke brings with him a clean blanket from his storage closet. Gingerly, it's draped over the slumbering girl. He returns to her side, arms stretching into his wingspan across the back of the couch. His weight pressing into the cushions beside her causes Kimiko to stir; she tucks herself closer to him, nose following his familiar scent and notching against his shoulder. Sasuke stills in his spot as his old flame stitches slowly back into his side, the familiarity in such an action eliciting a similar response from him. His arm lifts from the back of the couch; it hovers just over her shoulders before slowly settling upon her. A hand cups her arm, sinking down into his seat on the couch and feeling his heart hammer in his chest: God, how he felt like a teenager, again. Those first few instances of intimate physical contact with his best friend whom he had an enthralling crush on: it came rushing back in, now. That twist of excitement tightening his chest in all the right ways, a weird warm flutter in his gut.

Thumb slowly begins to slide up and down over her bicep, Sasuke looking right through the TV screen as he dares let his cheek lower, one centimeter at a time, until it brushes just over the top of her head. He could just close his eyes and be content like this, turn into a statue forever in this position that he didn't realize how much he truly missed. But a shrill shriek from the movie is enough to pull Kimiko from her dreams; eyes slowly blink open before she realizes the circumstance and quickly retreats from the intimate embrace. Kimiko's heart is thunderous in her ears as she reels from the comedown of her otherwise peaceful slumber - eyes rounded into full moons that blink at him while she tries to collect her surroundings. "I- God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- I just; I fell asleep." She's tripping over apologies and excuses for her 'inappropriate' behavior, and Sasuke's face is burning with the childish shame of being caught. Now he's flustered, too. "No- It's fine, really -uh, I didn't mind; you were just sleeping- I know." Their awkward dance stifled down into an even worse silence. His fingers twitched at the back of the couch, wanting to reach out and grip her arm so gently, to just quietly pull her in and tuck her under his chin, like the old times. But he doesn't, and her unforgiving grip on the pillow clutched to her chest slowly comes undone. Sasuke watches her, but again, she's receded back into her shell, unable to look over at him while coming down from the level of embarrassment she'd catapulted herself into. On the table between them, Sasuke's phone lights up with a text. Neither of them can see who its from, but Kimiko catches the time before the screen goes dark. "It's late.." She trails off; and he doesn't pick up on what she was insinuating. It was one in the morning, and he’d received a text. She could’ve read the name if she really tried, but she already had a good guess; and it made her stomach curdle. So, with a small swallow, Kimiko rubs her arm and starts to stand up. "I should get going." Suddenly, Sasuke understands - and he cannot bear the thought at this moment, not after all that's transpired: even if given the option this morning, he would've likely not felt any one particular way. Or maybe he would have - thoughts and feelings are scattered all over the place. But one thing was for certain, it was screaming in his head as she collected her things and tucked hair behind her ear, lingering; as though she were waiting for him to say something, anything, god damnit-- "Um, well. Thank you for dinner, and.. sorry I couldn't stay awake through the movie. Guess I'm aging fast," Her attempt at a little laugh breaks his heart. He feels like such an idiot, his tongue tangled into knots and sitting useless in his mouth, his body sewn into the couch. She must think he was just sitting there, waiting for her to excuse herself from his apartment on her own. Fuck. So much time has dragged by, when in reality it was only a single beat of silence before she cleared her throat softly and dropped her arms down. "Don't worry about driving me back, I know the bus routes." Her voice falters at the end, and suddenly, she's turned on her heel and heading with purpose towards his door - like ripping off a band aid. "Kimiko, wait-" Finally, words choke from his throat with his sheer desperation to keep her from leaving. Not again. Up on his feet now, Sasuke made it a whole three feet before realizing with subdued surprise that she had in fact ..waited. Almost as though she were hesitant to actually leave, in the first place. So, she stalls facing the front door and clutching her phone to her chest, lingering - waiting to hear him out. A single golden beam rolls over her shoulder and drinks him in, eyebrow dipped up in an expression of both uncertainty and hope. “ please... stay, just for tonight. ”

Slowly, quietly, Kimiko turns. They share a encapsulating moment, holding a tender stare from across the room. She recognizes the fear etched into his face - that telltale look of expectant abandonment, the childish shrinking away from his own vulnerability. Kimiko won’t leave him; not like she had, before. Before she weighed the fear of entangling him into her corrupted life against the knowledge that every time she slipped away and into the night, a little piece of his heart broke loose. So, as long as he would ask her to -- Kimiko would stay. He holds his heart in the base of his throat - truly expecting that she would turn back around and leave him here, alone. Maybe laugh at him for the inflated hope that she would stay for the night; be there when he woke up in the morning. Instead, Kimi breaks his expectations and approaches with careful, practiced steps - returning to his side. Without a hint of hesitation this time, Sasuke reaches out and scoops her into his embrace. His body was moving of its own accord, playing out the complicated desires of his heart. Kimiko doesn't fight it, nor does she still into ice. In fact, the girl just melts against him; doing what came naturally. It was second nature to tuck her head into the crook of his collarbone, to delicately slip her arms beneath his and hook her fingers into the fabric just over his shoulder blades. His chin rests atop her head, fingers gingerly running large, comforting circles over her back. Everything fell back into place; as natural and second-nature as breathing. There was no effort involved, in this moment of soft re-collision. Only a wish, on both of their parts - that this connection would have happened sooner. That their selfish games of head vs. heart would have been silenced and put out well before this night. Accompanying that desire was the hope that things would really be okay, this time: he would ask her to stay, and she would - he wouldn't mind, and it wouldn't be just for tonight. So, Kimiko had come over; and in the end, she wouldn’t leave his side unless he had asked her to.

[evansfm]

𝙗𝙚𝙩𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙣  𝙢𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧  &  𝙙𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙧   :  𝗲𝘃𝗮𝗻  &  𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗶𝘀𝗲  .

eloise  connely  was  kind  above  all  else  .  nurturing  .  she’d  always  wanted  to  be  a  mom  ,  even  when  she  was  little  .  a  mother  first  ,  then  maybe  a  veterinarian  on  the  side  .  she  liked  looking  after  people  ,  and  she  was  GOOD  at  it  .  so  when  the  universe  gave  young  eloise  twins  ,  she  could’ve  sworn  the  heavens  opened  up  .  when  she  lost  one  of  them  eighteen  years  later  ,  she  thought  the  world  might  end  .  

but  there  was  still  evan  .  with  her  father’s  eyes  and  her  mother’s  curls  .  a  smile  that  could  light  up  the  room  and  dimples  passed  down  from  the  macalpine  side  .  rambunctious  and  reckless  evan  ,  with  a  heart  too  big  for  her  chest  .  one  of  the  things  eloise  admired  most  about  her  daughter  was  the  beautiful  way  she  moved  through  life  ,  stopping  to  feel  every  emotion  along  the  way  .  it  made  her  vibrant  and  empathetic  and  bold  .  .  .  but  it  also  meant  lows  felt  like  nosedives  .  and  this  was  the  kind  of  low  eloise  hadn’t  seen  in  YEARS  .  .  .  maybe  even  at  all  .  she  hadn’t  gone  numb  like  she  had  when  they  lost  beck  ,  and  she  wasn’t  quite  angry  like  she’d  gotten  with  her  father  .  this  was  a  kind  of  sadness  that  rivaled  london’s  storm  clouds  ;  it  was  a  kind  of  sadness  that  had  blue  eyes  void  of  the  wonder  she’d  clung  to  for  twenty  -  two  years  .  she  was  miserable  ;  anyone  who’d  known  her  for  so  much  as  a  day  before  all  of  this  began  would’ve  been  able  to  tell  the  difference  .  sometimes  it  felt  like  even  eloise  was  walking  on  eggshells  .  

“  ev  ,  come  ‘ere  a  minute  ,  ”  she  sighed  ,  inviting  her  to  sit  with  her  on  the  couch  . 

“  well  ,  t’at’s  a  tone  i  don’t  love  ,  ”  evan  sighed  ,  speaking  of  the  wariness  in  her  mother’s  voice  .  she  emerged  from  her  kitchen  with  a  warm  mug  between  her  palms  and  the  pitter  patter  of  a  dutiful  watchdog  trailing  after  her  .  dark  circles  formed  under  her  eyes  ;  curls  swept  into  a  braid  too  loose  to  contain  strands  around  her  face  .  at  least  she  wasn’t  puffy  from  crying  ,  “  can’t  imagine  t’is  is  going  to  be  good  .  ”

“  do  you  remember  much  about  your  father  leaving  ?  ”  a  thoughtful  crease  formed  between  eloise’s  brow  as  she  stared  at  her  now  -  closed  novel  resting  in  her  lap  . 

“  not  really  ,  no  .  there  one  day  ,  gone  t’e  next  ,  ”  evan  stiffened  ,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  couch  next  to  her  mother  .  with  everything  happening  ,  tristan  connely  was  the  LAST  thing  she  wanted  to  talk  about  .

“  mhm  ,  ”  a  distant  hum  before  she  was  moving  to  abandon  her  book  on  the  table  ,  “  i  always  t’ought  i  was  doing  the  BEST  t’ing  by  moving  us  to  lorcain  and  starting  over  wit’  a  clean  slate  .  t’ought  i  was  doing  the  BEST  t’ing  by  never  talking  about  your  da  .  .  .  ”  hazel  eyes  shifted  to  her  daughter  ,  worry  clear  in  the  way  they  flittered  over  her  ,  “  ever  since  you  were  tiny  ,  you’ve  always  taken  on  ot’er  people’s  feelings  .  you  can’t  really  help  it  .  .  .  and  it  certainly  isn’t  a  BAD  t’ing  ,  but  it  was  hard  enough  on’ye  .  i  see  now  maybe  it  prevented  us  from  ever  TRULY  moving  forward  .  ” 

“  mam  ––  .  .  .  ”  evan  interjected  ;  she’d  never  blamed  her  mother  for  any  of  it  .

“  no  ,  just  .  .  .  hear  me  out  ,  ”  she  sighed  ,  rubbing  her  palm  over  her  forehead  ;  even  after  more  than  a  decade  she  could  feel  the  nakedness  of  her  ring  finger  .  she’d  never  remarried  .  .  .  never  changed  her  last  name  .  she  was  a  hopeless  romantic  after  all  ,  believing  everyone  got  one  GREAT  love  .  for  a  while  ,  she  thought  tristan  was  hers  .  then  she  had  the  twins  ,  and  she  knew  she  could  love  nothing  more  ,  “  i  was  young  when  i  had  you  ‘nd  your  brother  ,  and  being  a  mother  was  .  .  .  everyt’ing  to  me  .  still  is  .  i  love  not’ing  else  like  i  love  being  your  mam  .  but  i  was  SO  in  love  wit’  being  a  mother  ,  i  hardly  had  any  time  to  notice  my  marriage  was  miserable  .  we  were  bot’  miserable  .  what  we  had  was  gone  LONG  before  your  da’  left  .  and  t’at  isn’t  any  excuse  for  him  leaving  YOU  ––  i’ll  never  forgive  ‘im  for  t’at  ,  but  ––  he  ‘ad  his  reasons  for  leaving  ME  .  i  wasn’t  loving  ‘im  the  best  i  could  ,  and  he  wasn’t  loving  me  the  best  he  could  .  it  was  a  long  time  coming  ,  but  for  YOU  .  .  .  he  was  there  one  day  ,  gone  the  next  .  one  day  he  just  .  .  .  found  someone  better  .  you  trusted  the  two  of  us  more  t’an  ANYONE  ,  and  when  we  split  ,  ‘nd  he  went  ‘nd  got  remarried  ,  t’at  trust  was  BROKEN  .  .  .  ”

evan  kept  her  eyes  trained  on  her  mother  .  specs  of  silver  were  beginning  to  appear  in  her  long  ,  dark  hair  .  .  .  but  time  was  kind  to  eloise  connely  .  her  eyes  were  as  kind  and  welcoming  as  ever  ,  and  her  voice  did  wonders  to  soothe  anyone  .  .  .  no  matter  the  topic  .  still  ,  evan’s  voice  was  a  ghost  of  a  whisper  ,  “  why  are  we  talkin’  about  t’is  .  .  .  ”

“  because  right  now  ,  whether  it’s  true  or  not  ,  THAT  is  what  you’re  feeling  wit’  kieran  .  you  trust  him  more  t’an  anyone  ,  ‘nd  now  ,  ”  she  reached  forward  ,  tucking  a  rogue  curl  behind  evan’s  ear  ,  “  my  sweet  evan  .  .  .  now  you  aren’t  eating  .  you’ve  hardly  slept  .  and  whether  you  want  to  admit  it  or  not  .  .  .  he’s  all  you’re  t’inking  about  .  all  those  old  wounds  got  torn  open  and  filled  wit’  salt  .  and  t’at’s  okay  ,  but  .  .  .  ”

“  are  you  seriously  about  to  take  kieran’s  side  on  t’ings  ?  ”  evan  bristled  ,  immediately  turning  defensive  .  mikey  ,  ruairi  ,  conan  ,  adam  .  .  .  he  had  all  of  them  ;  he  didn’t  need  her  own  MOTHER  as  well  . 

“  no  .  absolutely  not  ,  ”  she  studied  her  daughter  for  a  moment  ,  then  exhaled  ,  “  but  he  did  call  last  night  .  ” 

“  ma  –  ”

“  and  i  answered  .  ”

“  MOTHER  ,  ”  evan  shoved  off  of  the  couch  ,  eyes  wide  in  panic  ,  “  i  told  you  ––  BEGGED  you  ––  not  to  meddle  .  ”

she  moved  away  from  the  couch  ,  both  eloise  and  ziggy  watching  her  with  careful  eyes  as  she  began  to  pace  back  and  forth  ,  back  and  forth  .  her  she  wrung  her  hands  ,  fingers  falling  over  each  other  in  nervous  fidgeting  .  a  habit  when  she  was  stressed  ,  when  her  thoughts  came  too  quickly  to  sift  through  .  kieran  was  always  so  good  at  calming  her  down  when  she  got  like  this  ,  gentle  hands  covering  hers  .  he’d  intertwine  their  fingers  or  kiss  the  inside  of  her  wrist  ,  tethering  her  to  himself  and  keeping  her  from  floating  away  .  .  .  or  drowning  .  she’d  forgotten  how  to  deal  with  it  on  her  own  ,  and  above  all  else  ,  it  made  her  miss  him  even  MORE  .  she  hated  that  she  was  missing  him  .  blue  eyes  darted  back  to  her  mother  ,  and  she  stopped  in  her  tracks  ,  wrists  flicking  to  shake  out  her  hands  as  though  she  was  getting  rid  of  excess  water  after  scrubbing  them  clean  .  i  shouldn’t  ask  ,  she  thought  ,  i  don’t  want  to  know  .  i  don’t  want  to  know  .  i  shouldn’t  ask  .

“  what  did  you  say  ?  ” 

eloise  shifted  ,  treading  carefully  ,  “  somet’ing  similar  to  what  i’ve  told  you  .  and  t’at  giving  you  SPACE  was  a  good  thing  .  ”

she  shouldn’t  ask  .  she  didn’t  want  to  know  .

 “  what  did  HE  say  ?  ”

she  hadn’t  spoken  to  him  since  the  night  he  called  ,  the  night  she’d  felt  her  heart  tear  entirely  in  half  as  his  voice  cracked  on  the  other  end  of  the  line  .  though  it  was  less  of  an  actual  conversation  and  more  of  three  days  of  emotion  blowing  up  in  both  of  their  faces  ,  evan  coming  down  on  kieran  HARD  .  the  pictures  were  fresh  in  her  mind  then  ,  and  the  thought  of  him  finding  someone  better  ,  falling  in  love  with  someone  better  ,  was  so  terrifying  ,  she  hadn’t  even  let  him  get  a  word  in  .  emotions  were  jumbled  up  in  her  head  and  searing  in  her  chest  .  she  was  ANGRY  with  him  for  not  listening  to  her  ,  for  brushing  things  off  like  she  was  just  a  silly  ,  paranoid  girl  .  she  was  angrier  with  bex  ;  rumor  or  fact  ,  the  girl  had  never  paid  any  mind  to  boundaries  .  .  .  or  to  evan  .  because  evan  was  NOTHING  to  her  ,  and  she’d  done  well  to  make  her  feel  exactly  that  .  she  was  terribly  SAD  ,  too  ,  as  she  felt  like  the  one  person  she’d  truly  loved  had  been  ripped  away  from  her  .  the  one  person  who  she  never  thought  would  hurt  her  ,  had  .  on  top  of  it  all  was  a  winding  confusion  ;  why  had  she  been  so  ready  to  believe  the  rumors  ?  why  would  kieran  swear  to  marry  her  one  moment  then  leave  her  the  next  ?  why  was  she  so  set  on  refusing  to  listen  to  him  ?  what  was  so  special  about  bex  .  .  .  that  made  him  want  to  throw  away  TWELVE  years  ?  where  had  she  gone  wrong  ?  why  wasn’t  she  good  enough  ?  

you’re  MORE  t’an  just  fucking  enough  for  me  ,  evan  .

she  could  still  hear  the  desperation  in  his  voice  ;  it  made  her  hate  herself  .  

“  what  did  he  say  ?  ”  she  asked  again  ,  barely  a  whisper  this  time  .

“  he  rambled  for  some  time  .  i  LET  him  ramble  for  some  time  ,  ”  eloise’s  fingers  lifted  to  the  birthstone  pendant  around  her  neck  ,  opal  for  october  .  when  she  spoke  again  ,  her  tone  was  even  more  careful  than  before  ,  “  sounded  like  he’d  been  drinking  .  ”

evan  straightened  ,  seemingly  snapping  out  of  her  own  wallowing  .  she  could  picture  a  happier  version  of  kieran  ,  drunk  in  a  pub  full  of  people  celebrating  the  beginning  of  the  found’s  very  first  headlining  tour  .  flushed  cheeks  ,  messy  hair  ,  crooked  smile  .  she  could’ve  kissed  him  that  night  .  in  retrospect  ,  as  she’d  tucked  herself  into  his  jacket  with  arms  wrapped  around  his  waist  ,  and  he  brushed  away  curls  with  light  fingertips  that  ultimately  tucked  away  behind  her  neck  .  .  .  maybe  she  should  have  .  then  again  ,  the  later  years  of  their  friendship  was  full  of  moments  like  that  .  and  the  flush  of  whiskey  on  his  cheeks  was  something  she  loved  paired  with  a  smile  .  to  celebrate  .  not  to  COPE  .  he  knew  better  than  to  step  even  an  inch  in  that  destructive  direction  .  she  could  only  hope  that  conan  was  looking  after  him  .  .  .

“  he  wanted  me  to  pass  somet’ing  along  ,  to  tell  you  somet’ing  ,  but  i  won’t  if  you  don’t  want  to  hear  it  .  ”   

evan’s  arms  folded  over  her  chest  ,  and  she  thought  about  it  for  a  drawn  out  moment  ,  “  go  on  .  ”

“  he  wanted  me  t’  tell  you  to  remember  what  he  said  to  you  the  night  before  he  left  .  that  he  meant  every  word  of  it  then  and  still  means  every  word  of  it  now  .  ”

she  clenched  her  eyes  shut  ,  arms  unfurling  to  press  the  heels  of  her  palms  into  her  eyes  .  of  course  he  did  .  .  .  OF  COURSE  he  did  .  because  amidst  the  photographs  and  the  rumors  and  the  distance  ,  evan  had  lost  sight  of  the  words  that  truly  mattered  .  you  ,  evan  ––  my  love  ––  are  t’e  love  of  my  life  and  you  will  be  even  after  i  take  my  final  breath  .  t’ere’s  no  one  else  .  t’ere  never  was  anyone  else  .  you’ve  seen  me  ,  and  i  know  you  .  i’m  not  going  anywhere  .  .  .  her  breath  hitched  ;  the  tears  crept  up  on  her  faster  than  before  .  THERE’S  NO  ONE  ELSE  .  it  was  just  as  true  for  him  as  it  had  been  for  her  ,  and  for  the  first  time  since  those  damned  photographs  came  out  ,  something  finally  felt  stronger  than  the  anger  and  the  sadness  and  the  confusion  .  

the  love  she  had  for  kieran  walsh  came  without  conditions  ,  and  somewhere  along  the  way  ,  he’d  learned  to  love  her  back  just  the  same  .  

unconditionally  .

the  only  thing  she  felt  absolutely  certain  of  was  that  no  matter  what  lay  behind  the  photos  and  the  rumors  ,  no  matter  if  he  hadn’t  listened  to  her  and  she  hadn’t  listened  to  h​​im  ,  no  matter  how  angry  or  sad  or  confused  she  was  :  she  LOVED  him  .  more  than  anything  .  more  than  anyone  .  she  had  for  years  ,  and  she’d  continue  to  do  so  for  always  .  

unconditionally  .  flaws  and  all  .  

“  fuck  ,  ”  she  swore  ,  hands  pushing  back  loose  strands  of  hair  as  teary  eyes  made  the  room  blurry  ,  “  i’ve  really  gone  and  made  t’is  worse  .  ” 

because  the  night  before  he’d  left  ,  he  told  her  flat  out  that  there  wasn’t  ANYONE  else  .  he’d  told  her  that  he  wouldn’t  LEAVE  her  .  .  .  that  she’d  have  to  break  up  with  him  herself  to  get  rid  of  him  .  he’d  traced  the  edges  of  her  features  and  whispered  that  he  didn’t  WANT  to  leave  her  .  he’d  held  her  face  and  told  her  that  he  belonged  to  HER  .  he’d  kissed  her  and  swore  that  she  made  him  happy  ,  that  he  only  ever  needed  her  .  

that  couldn’t  be  UNDONE  by  a  set  of  photos  .  it  couldn’t  be  undone  by  a  girl  with  ill  -  intentions  .

it  could  only  be  undone  if  the  SPACE  evan  asked  for  became  wider  and  more  permanent  ,  and  she  couldn’t  imagine  the  misery  .  she  couldn’t  imagine  a  future  without  him  .  no  matter  what  the  truth  was  .  

because  she  loved  him  ,  unconditionally  and  relentlessly  .  

“  i  t’ink  ––  .  .  .  ”  she  blinked  away  a  few  tears  ,  feeling  them  damp  on  her  cheeks  as  her  mother  came  into  focus  ,  “  i  have  to  go  see  him  .  ”

her  flight  to  new  york  was  booked  within  the  hour  .

[mochideleche]

can’t keep away from fate | CH9

Pairing : Percy jackson x demigod!reader

summary : The daughter of destiny- literally, along with inevitability, compulsion and necessity. Being the child of a primordial goddess doesn’t really assure you a quiet, calm life but when you return to new york after five years of being shipped off to boarding school, your once mundane life says goodbye.

A/N thank you all for all the lovely support and messages, they honestly make my day uwu. Also! i’m so sorry for keeping you waiting but im giving myself a break from school work so here you go!

contents page

Normally percy would hate sleeping. As much as he needed it - which he found was very often these days, the nightmares were nothing to look forward to. 

However these day, percy found a little enjoyment in them. 

Sometimes he’d dream of kronos and his army, luke’s golden eyes, camp half blood but now he saw dreams of you. 

It had been a few months since he’d seen you, since he kissed you- percy always relived the moment, snapping back to reality to find himself smiling like an idiot and flushing red, but his dreams were the only way he could see you. 

Undoubtedly, Percy tried to iris message you, but to no avail, you’d never be reached or the line would go black every time it went through. 

That worried him. 

He’d brought it up to chiron the first time it happened, but chiron suggested that you were probably cutting the line of yourself- if luke had somehow got to interfere with the iris messages he’d figure out what you were doing. 

Sometimes when percy made visits to camp he’d see new faces along with hearing about the heroic journeys the children had taken to get to camp along your side. 

“She was so cool!” one of the kids who percy had asked about their arrival (obviously wanting to hear about you), “She fought off this army of half dog half seal men with just waving her hands!” 

You had acquired a new nickname, ‘the guardian angel’ seeming the way you delivered demigod kids safely to camp so stealthily that they wouldn’t even had known it until the children popped up on half blood hill. Then you were gone without a trace again, off to find other demigods. It sometimes pained percy that you were frequently within reachable bounds to camp but he never got to see even a glimpse of you. 

There were also rumours, which were most definitely true, about how luke’s ranks were decreasing in number- random disappearances, as nico di angelo had described them as, of your doing. 

“I sensed her presence when i was in the forests of new jersey,” nico explained to the counsellors during one of their meetings, “along with about 2 dozen  laistrygonian giants and by the time that i got there-” he clicked his fingers and scrunched his eyebrows in confusion “they were both gone” 

Gosh somehow it made percy feel bad that all he could do was sit back and wait whilst you were out there surviving on your own and fighting monsters and saving children. 

What a hero he was. 

Yes, he was fated to fight with the titan lord but right now, he was busy fighting his math homework.

Percy stared dejectedly at his unfinished work, gods he missed you. 

The way you’d laugh when he did something stupid, the way you smelt like magnolias, the way you would place your hands on his to comfort him and the way you seemed like nothing bothered you and how you say everything would always turn out right.

Percy definitely needed to be told that right now. 

------

Whenever percy felt like he was done for, he’d think about you. Even if he did just see one of his friends sacrifice his life, had an arrow shot through his leg and was falling 20 feet towards a huge mass of water- he was able to keep himself just that little bit more hopeful by just thinking about you.

I need to see her again, Percy thought as he his collided with the water. 

He blacked out and was immediately pulled into a dream. 

He found himself on top of Mount Othrys in a greek pavilion of black marble that seemed to blend in with the shadows. Through the darkness he was able to make out two giant figures : one seemed to glow against the black walls of the building and the other seemed to melt into them. 

“Quite an explosion” one remarked.

“it doesn’t matter, our army shall rise again to destroy the gods” the other snided. 

“hm, quite so,” the other agreed calmly, “but the demigods are becoming more, diligent. First the disappearances of our troops and now the explosion, right in front of kronos’ nose, ha”

Percy’s heart dropped, he knew what was causing those disappearances- it was you. What if they find out it was you? what would they do? would they try and track you down? kidnap you?-

“This would have not happened if you would let me fight!” a voice shouted and percy realised that there were in fact three giants there, crouched below in the centre of the room under what percy thought to be a statue was the titan atlas. 

he struggled under the weight of the sky, a swirling funnel cloud, but still managed to strain his voice to argue, “let me out! take my place!”  

But before Percy could watch any further his dream shifted. The voices became quiet- they were distant, he was no longer standing in the greek pavilion but about 20 feet away, standing behind one of the supporting columns and beside nico di angelo.

The boy faced him, “You see percy, we’re running out of time, do you really think we can win without my plan?” 

The fact that nico had seen him shocked percy enough but his message was more than enough to shake percy to try and wake himself up from his dream. 

But the image began to fade and he found himself off of mount Othyrs and in a more flattened out land.

At first he thought he was in the forests of long island but he noticed the trees here were thicker, Their branches coming down lower than the ones around camp and the air was more chilly. This was not New York. 

Percy tried to take in his surrounds then caught his breath. 

There standing behind a large oak tree was a petite girl with her long hair flowing down her back, wearing an army jacket and black ripped jeans and holding out two long drakon bone swords. 

You looked distressed. Your face was pulled into a slight scowl as you peered around the tree and into the forest behind you. Percy knew you were in some sort of trouble but he couldn’t help but smile.

But the smile quickly disappeared when an arrow shot out of nowhere and embedded itself in the oak tree you were standing behind. 

You broke out into a run and percy followed in suit. 

Unknowingly, percy reached into his pocket and pulled out riptide, his first instinct was to fight whatever wanted to hurt you but he quickly realised that there wasn’t much he could do so could only keep up pace beside you. 

Most dreams you were in seemed heavenly to percy, but this was a nightmare. 

Seeing you need his help but not being able to do anything killed percy. Of course he had no doubt that you could handle anything by yourself, but then again, you wouldn’t be running away if you could. 

Despite not actually running percy found that he was becoming short of breath, you were an awfully fast runner.

“Percy you’ve done so well, but I think it’s time you woke up”

Percy’s head snapped towards you. you were staring right at him.

You glanced away momentarily to keep track of where you were going before placing your gaze on him again, “I miss you” 

Percy was at a lost for words. Months he’s spent trying to contact you, dreamt of you, trying to reach out to you and now, when time was limited, you had answered him and not only that, you were telling him to go away. 

“Y/N-” but the scene began to fade and percy panicked, why of all times he had to start waking up now?

He felt himself began to slip into consciousness but he stubbornly did his best to try to go back to sleep. 

but alas, your soft smile disappeared along with the dream as percy’s eyes shot open. 

----

Percy didn’t think things would go so downhill. If anyone told him that the highlight of his week would be a midnight panic with a goddess, the son of hades and a hell hound, he’d pretty much expect it. 

As he sat down by the magical fire, he got some time to think. 

After being told that he’d end up dying either way and committing to a plan that would probably speed up the process, he was pretty miserable.

“things will only turn out that way if you think they will” 

Your voice echoed in percy’s head, it had become a sort of habit every time he found himself thinking negatively.

Yeah but it’s in the prophecy princess, i die no matter how positively I think. 

Then a sudden pain stabbed percy in the heart, If he didn’t survive nico’s plan he wasn’t going to see you again. 

He was hoping some how you’d turn up in the next few days, (after nico assured him that you in fact were still alive and he had not felt your death- but that only gave percy temporary relief) He knew there just had to be a way he would see you before his destined fight, you were the daughter of fate after all- maybe you had to like... force great prophecies like this...? it was ridiculous but thoughts like this made percy hopeful.

“you are distressed” Hesita commented and percy was worried that she could read his thoughts. 

“the time will come and you will know what the right decision is” the goddess said vaguely

“Uh, thanks” Percy nodded, not knowing what else to say and the goddess return to attending the hearth, why couldn’t gods ever speak plain english?

----

Percy had been to the underworld when he was 12. It was a long, tiring trip that took them to los Angeles and had nearly killed him bout 7 times. And only now did he find out about an entrance to hell which was literally 20 minutes away from his house- brilliant. 

the stairs to hell were exactly how percy imagined them, dark, slippery and narrow. The only way he could actually see was by the light of his sword and the fact that mrs o’leary bounding down the stairs noisily reassured him that the stairs didn't end in a great drop to an endless pit to Tartarus. 

Nico lagged behind, a look of doubt evident of his face. 

“You alright?” percy dared to ask, hoping the boy wouldn't become defensive at the question.

Nico nodded, but opened his mouth to say something, “i saw her you know” 

Percy stopped, saw who? he thought for a quick second then immediately knew nico meant you. 

By this point nico had caught up with percy and stood just two steps behind him, “ She- when we first met she offered me the keys to her apartment”

“She what?” Percy interrupted, too surprised not to. he knew that you owned an apartment in Queens- a gift from your father for when you stayed in New York, and he knew that whatever you and nico had talked about had stayed between the two of you, but this? Why didn’t he get keys to your apartment?  

Nico turned away to avoid eye contact, percy realised he must have been staring at him hard and tried to change his expression 

“She told me that i could stay there anytime if i needed it. I wasn’t going to step near that place at all. But one night i got into an argument with my father and had nowhere else to go...”

Nico trailed off and percy was worried that he was beginning to back track on himself and regret ever saying anything to Percy, but thankfully after a deep inhale of breath, he continued. 

“I was only planning to stay there for a few hours, but it just so happened she was there too. She was asleep but it seemed like she was having a bad dream. kept murmuring things-”

Nico shuddered, “I woke her up in the end and asked her about it but she shook it off. Moved the subject onto the fact that i had actually taken up her offer and decided to make me dinner. What she said though- it, it seemed important”

“What did she say?” percy asked, if nico was scared then he knew this was serious. 

“Something about to storm or fire the world must fall” 

Percy looked up at nico’s face, he seemed as disturbed as he was back at mrs castellan’s house. Panic rose up within percy.

“It’s probably nothing though” nico shrugged but percy could tell that he didn’t mean it at all, but despite that nico walked past percy and continued down the stairs, “we should hurry up, we’re losing valuable time”

Percy had no other option but to follow and wonder, why did nico chose to bring this up now?

.....

“Percy!”

before he was fully awake, percy had reached out and pinned nico to the floor with his sword pressed against his neck. 

“we-have-to-get-out-of-here” nico struggled.

“Oh yeah? and why should i trust you?” percy growled, pressing down harder.

“No-other-choice?”

Percy rolled his eyes, he really did have no other choice. 

He stood up as nico curled to the side and retched up for air. Percy would’ve almost felt sorry for him if he hadn’t just betrayed him to his father. 

“Does your dad want to ‘talk’ again?” Percy seethed and nico sat himself up.

“honestly percy i had no idea, he tricked me!” 

“You know what your dad is like!”

“Yeah but-” nico paused and stood up, quickly realising that there was no point in reasoning, “If we don't hurry, we’ll never get out” 

Percy nodded once and allowed nico to take the lead as they plunged into darkness. 

by the time the two of them had reached an exit via the palace kitchen, percy was half dragging, half carrying nico who spent every other minute pointing at skeleton guards or zombie servants and knocking them out before they could think about stopping the two escape. 

Problem was, nico was going to be knocked out pretty soon too. 

“Stop that” Percy said, “your power drains you too much” 

by this time nicos legs stopped working all together and percy had no choice but to swing the younger boy over his shoulder.

“With great power,” nico said drowsily, “comes great need to take a nap” 

Then the sound of a great gong echoed throughout the building. 

“Alarms” nico said drowsily from behind percy, “Mrs O’leary” 

“Right” percy said, and whistled. 

Mrs O’leary came bounding across the fields of asphodel, probably excited to be back in her own grounds, and circled percy who desperately tired to throw nico onto her back. 

“Hey, girl, think you can get us to the river styx?” Percy asked as calmly as possible, despite the sounds of a thousand skeletons footsteps coming their way.

Mrs o’leary barked in response and bounded off into the fields. 

On approaching the river bank, Percy force fed Nico some ambrosia. He was scared that he had given him too much but the boy was knocked out pretty good. But after a few shakes of his head, nico was steady enough to stand on his own two feet. 

the two boys slid off Mrs O’Leary’s back and ran towards the river.

“Percy you need to prepare yourself” nico said cautiously, causing percy’s stride to slow.

“How do I do that?” Percy asked and nico shook his head.

“You know I don’t think this is a good idea-” 

“What?! this was your plan in the first place!” 

“Yeah but-” nico seemed to struggle for words but exhaled as if he was angry and shook off his previous statement, “Think of a point on your body which will tie you back to reality and don't stop thinking about it otherwise the river will burn you to ashes, okay?” 

“You know what maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all-”

“Percy!” 

“Right right,” percy defended, inching closer towards the river.

at first when he nico had proposed the idea, percy had a long think of where the point would be. Somewhere difficult to reach during combat, maybe his armpit? but then he decided he wanted it to be somewhere more dignified. 

he hadn’t thought on the matter since then, which was pretty stupid since the decision could possibly end or save his life but as his foot touched the river he knew exactly where he wanted it. 

Percy wanted to walk cooly into the river, but as soon as the water touched his legs, his muscles went numb and he fell face flat into the water. 

Then he stopped breathing.

It was terrible, this was the first time he struggled to breath underwater and the thought terrified him. images from the past few days flashed before his eyes in the darkness, beckendorf, rachel, grover and even lukes golden eyes.

instead of resulting to panic, percy kept thinking of that point, the one point where his life would end in a single blow, thinking about how that was his connection to the living world. 

“You alright?” you said suddenly as you came to stand next to percy.

Percy jumped, he hadn’t heard you or sensed you coming up behind him, (although you were getting better at hiding you presence) and he flashed you a smile, “Yeah, just thinking” 

“About what?” you asked calmly. 

He stared at your face, it was always so stoic, as if you couldn’t care less about what he said but he knew that you genuinely cared for his happiness as much as your own. 

“You” 

Your eyes widened as you turned away but percy was able to catch that small flash of blush before you did, “shut up” 

percy laughed, a genuine laugh that came from his stomach, you were just so damn cute.

he wasn’t exactly thinking of you, so to say, he was thinking about you amongst other things such as how to kill kronos, how to become better at sword fighting, how to do question five on his trig homework. 

He faced the river again so that you would turn back towards him, which worked- of course. 

“Stop being so sad all the time will you?” you said light heartedly as you tapped percy on the small of his back, “you being sad makes me sad too just so you know, so stop it” and you began to jog past him towards the surf. 

percy struggled, trying to win the fight against the current but there was no use. He felt his arms and legs disintegrating and his soul felt like it was being ripped from his body.

he thrashed around in the coldness trying to reach for the surface and trying his best to keep thinking of his mortal point,

percy was on his last class of the day, he had set them a few drills to practice for the second half of the hour and was watching them with tired eyes. all he wanted to do was sleep. 

suddenly he felt a little poke on his back, at the bottom of his spine. 

“They’re doing well, aren't they?” 

Percy craned his neck to face you, your head tilted slightly to be able to see past his shoulders, your hands still rested just above his hips. 

“of course, i taught them” percy scoffed

“and so did i” you countered, “and just for your information, they enjoy my lessons better” 

“Who says?” percy laughed, uncrossing his arms and fully turning his body to face you.

“I do” you smiled, making percy’s knees go weak. 

Percy tried to push his way to the surface but it was no use, the more he moved, the faster he sunk. This is it, he thought, i’m going to burn alive in hell. 

“Sleeping again jackson?” 

immediately your fingers tapped the small of percy’s back and he peeled open one eye to see your figure silhouetted against the shine of the sun.

He had taken a nap on the deck, laying on his stomach, one arm under his face and the other hanging off the edge of the deck, and you were currently crouched down with a mocking smile on your face. 

“yes, and you're disturbing me” he slurred out and he turned his face to the other side.

“Oh i wouldn’t say this is distracting” you joked, “this is”

And you pushed percy into the water. 

-

Suddenly percy felt a tug at the bottom of his spine and he began to make his way to the surface. it was as if there was a bungee cord attached to the small of his back, pulling him back to the shore. he ignored the searing pain in his lungs, arms and legs and kept his focus on his mortal point. 

think of the small of your back, small of your back, small of your back...

he did his best to look up and through the darkness he could make an outline of a hand, reaching in to help him out.

“oh gods i’m so sorry, i didn’t know you’d be that off guard! now take my hand you idiot” 

percy reached out to grab your hand. 

He sputtered as air returned its way back into his lungs and he landed on the shore of the beach, but the sand felt more solid, oddly shaped, just like-

“Percy get off me! you’re heavy!” 

Percy pushed himself up and stared down at nico who was red in the face and soaking wet too, 

“S-sorry dude-” Percy stuttered, did he really just imagine nico was you?

He got to his feet then held his hand out to nico who ignored it and pushed himself up, was he really that angry that percy had squashed him?

“Uh- did it work?” Percy asked tentatively, scared that nico was more than just pissed. 

“I have no idea” nico responded, sounding surprisingly bitter, “feel different?”

“Not really” percy said slowly, but before he could apologise again for landing on nico a harsh voice shouted in the distance “THERE!”

The two boys’ head snapped to the top of the hill where about a hundred skeleton soldiers stood, weapons raised and all- eyes? they didn’t have eyes, all heads, faced towards them. 

Hades stood in his chariot, dressed in battle gear, his nightmare horses skittering on the ground as if they were eager to stampede over percy’s body, “You will not escape this time jackson, DESTROY HIM”

“father no!” nico exclaimed but a line of british red coat skeletons charged with their rifles aimed.

Mrs o’leary did not hesitate to pounce at them and that tiggered percy.

He didn’t want his dog getting hurt just because hades was being a dick, and he charged without any other thought. 

If he was going to die, he wanted to die fighting. 

Percy was reckless, but this? this was a whole other level, damn- even another building. He charged straight through their lines, slashing his sword, not even thinking about where to strike but just did. 

Bullets? didn't hit him. Swords? couldn’t cut him. Clubs? couldn’t even get an inch near him.  (Hotel? Trivago.)

He’d successfully tore his way through the ranks and pounced right over hades’ horses and grabbed the god by his collar and pinned him to the ground.

Silence. 

Percy was expecting skeletal hands to come down on him but as he looked around, there was nothing there- they were all gone.

“listen here jackson...” the god said.

“No you listen!” percy growled, “tell me about the trap!” 

but the god just snarled and melted into darkness, leaving percy’s hands closed around nothing.

“You killed them all...” nico said dazed, breaking percy out of his cursing spree.

Percy stopped and looked around him, there was nothing apart from the three of them, a bunch of bones and a variety of weapons.

“I guess it worked then” percy offered.

“Oh gee” nico said sarcastically, “you think?”

the two of them stood silent momentarily and percy stared at nico.

He’d come a long way from where he began, and percy still felt like that it was his fault that nico became so bitter. 

“You should go back to your father” percy started.

Nico looked shocked to hear this, “no, I want to fight-”

“You’ll be better off down here” Percy said, the harshness in his voice surprising even him. 

the look of hurt on nicos face made him feel guilty, “I mean, we need your father to fight on our side, you’re the only one who can convince him” percy continued, trying to sound kinder.

“You don’t trust me anymore, do you?” nico said dejectedly. 

Percy was shocked, did he trust him? 

“Work on him. I know you can do it” 

Percy couldn’t help but notice how nicos face lit up slightly after hearing him, “thanks but don't get your hopes up” 

“Okay, I’ll see you for the battle, me and Mrs O’leary will head up now” Percy said, waving over his hell hound.

“Where are you going?” nico asked, tilting his head as percy jumped on Mrs O’leary’s back.

Percy smirked, “to start a war” 

[sunasbabie]

congrats on 500!! v proud of you and thank you for holding this event. sorry if this is Too Long i didn't know what to cut

im ren(they/them), calm, dont have a lot to say unless i really like the people im around and i know them. honestly though. if a physical fight or like. an opportunity to start chaos appears im almost always on board(i love parties). a lil mean sometimes and easily annoyed/angered. i have a hard time trusting and opening up to people(bc im traumatized lol) but if i like the person, i wanna spend a lot of time with them and go out of my way to do things for them. a lot of people think im serious when im trying to be playful.

ive developed a habit of not speaking up if something bothers me. instead ill marinate on it and decide if it's worth confronting the other person. i try fairly hard in school but i mainly use it as a buffer zone before im forced into Real Adult World. but honestly i kind of wish i could just be someone's trophy spouse lol. gifted child burnout yknow. my top love languages are acts of service, quality time, and physical touch.

some things i like are painting(mainly my nails lol but i do wanna try watercolors more), weather that isn't too hot or too cold, animals(plush or real), fashion. i don't like messy, unclean, or unorganized spaces(though my room is almost always unoragnized), my boundaries being disrespected, people who feel like they need to prove themselves all the time, and when people like. stop in the middle of an aisle or walk way and just dont realize how much space they're taking up. like please move.

some Fun Facts about me. i got my black belt in karate in highschool(i had to stop bc of college), i have a huge backlog of games i wanna play, and freshman year i joined the game devs association on accident and somehow became vice president.

thanks a lot <33 and it’s okay if it’s long, i don’t mind

i match you with kuroo tetsuro

i think at first you and kuroo wouldn’t like each other but as you spend more time with him and get to know him you lowkey fall in love with him. when you get into a physical fight with a person a feel like kuroo would support you but would pull you away when things get too out of hand, he just doesn’t want to see you hurt cause he cares about you. kuroo loves going to parties with you omg you guys are like the IT couple everyone wants to be you. it takes a lot of time for you to open up to him but he never rushes you and makes sure you take everything at your own pace. lmao both of you guys are like the playful couple for sure, you guys like having play wrestling and you take it seriously but sometimes kuroo lets you win and you get kinda mad cause he doesn’t take the fight seriously lol. cuddles omg!! lots of them. kuroo lets you paint his nails when you’re bored, he doesn’t mind it sometimes you even let him pick the colour HAHA. you and kuroo also respect each other on another level. you know each other well to be able to read each other. one time kuroo asked you to try a karate move on him and he lowkey cried and tried to cover it up lol

runner up: asahi azumane

[inyoursheets]

7 8 20!

What do you think are the characteristics of your personal writing style? Would others agree?

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh im not sure???? ive been sitting on this ask bc i have very little insight into my own writing style bc i know next to nothing about writing i just do it / my brain basically just goes: let’s make these two characters kiss!!!! and then i decorate around that a little. but here’s my attempt pls correct me if im wrong

unnecessary  details just cuz

internal dialogue-esque / glimpses of character’s inner world

the occasional metaphor

the opposite of time jumps. time…..falls? yeah

?????????

idk

Is what you like to write the same as what you like to read?

i mean yes, but not exclusively

Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

i like this format let’s do more of it

OK SO warm water includes ~symbolism things~ in the usage of color + doors/anything that could be used as a door (like windows)

the fic was born out of me seeing an illustration of an apartment in a lot of blues yet giving of a very warm, home-y vibe anyways

cue me going crazy with blue + warmth / blue + the space that rio & beth share, which evolved into lots of water-y imagery ??? bc water is blue i guess

water is so rich

anyway

other spaces and people in the fic get their own core color(s), which we’ll see later in the fic as well

idk something with color i haven’t thought it all the way through but it kept coming in handy during the writing

then for the door thing -- it’s such an easy, obvious way to indicate transition / closeness / distance / the changing relationship between beth and rio in this fic

so this is why many a threshold appears in this fic

bc in some ways the line between friendship and romance and the dance between them, the ever-present potentiality of something more feels like standing on a threshold and somethings swinging more to one side and sometimes more to the other??? i guess????? idk if im explaining this right

some examples:

we begin the fic with a door locking when beth comes home -- the door gets locked bc what they are at the start of the fic is steady, while ambiguous

The weight of it’s-only-Wednesday is settled deep in Beth’s shoulders as she steps into the apartment, locking the door behind her and toeing out of her shoes, only to kick them next to Rio’s without a look.

then things start shifting slowly, starting with everybody’s favorite cashier observing the pair, convinced they’re a couple -- so the door starts swinging

“Like a goddamn puppy,” is the last thing she hears from behind the register, as the doors swing closed behind them.

we get some rio-in-the-threshold action, trying to maintain some sense of distance / boundaries, which we learn is not a new habit

It’s late when Rio suddenly bursts in her room, the way he always does -- leaning his torso inside the room, his left arm stretched, his hand on her doorknob, but leaving his feet planted firmly in the threshold, like he’s trying to avoid stepping onto holy grounds.

he gives in, goes into beth’s bedroom, but after aria’s interruption of his speech, he closes off again

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go back to bed,” he says, voice devoid of the anger it just held. He moves away, touching Aria’s shoulder as they make their way to the hallway, and he glances back at Beth with a loaded look that pins her into place.

He waits a beat, then shuts the door without so much as a goodbye.

then! a wild thanh appears at a door!

Beth’s thoughts fly back to this morning, to Thanh’s lingering kisses at the door after their lazy, hungover attempt at morning sex, which involved more laughter than anything else. It was nice. Light, in a way she had missed.

we get to see rio near a door again, trying to get some distance (again)

“Rio,” she starts.

He turns back around when he reaches his bedroom door, dark eyes taking her in with an incredulity she can’t make sense of. His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks.

“Does it matter?”

He disappears inside. The question lingers.

then there’s windows, also indicating that there’s always something more possible between beth and rio -- which is why their windows never shut (just like rio’s in canon). any mention of a window shows that potentiality

examples:

It’s a silence filled with noise -- the hum of the fridge, the sound of the oven working, their upstairs neighbor playing bass-guitar, the sounds of the street below them flowing inside from the window that’s cracked open in the living room, and vaguely, a conversations being held out in the hall.

(…)

Beth shivers, the cold wind coming from the window that’s cracked open in the living room suddenly strong enough for her to feel her nipples pebble and get goosebumps all over.

(…)

His hands warming her shoulders steady her, despite the erratic pace of her heart. It feels like they stand there for hours, in their living room, early dusk bleeding from the windows and spilling into the room with the rush of the street down below. He’s just calmly taking her in without moving away.

in future chapters we’ll see the contrast between beth and rio and beth and thanh and aria and rio through windows, such as (spoiler):

Unlike those big, awkward ones in her apartment that never shut, Thanh’s windows -- floor to ceiling, sleek, dripping of casual wealth, much like the rest of his place -- don’t open.

so yeah! windows! doors! colors! also water! in the first chapter and in upcoming chapters!

idk if any of it does exactly what i want it to do, but it’s useful for me to play w these things, so that’s fun. and that’s all that matters in the end, i guess

thank you for letting me ramble!!! meta writing asks!!!!

[nosferatyou]

New Tune: Part 1 (Jake Kiszka x Reader)

Summary: Two guitarists meet at a Rock Festival, only having a week with each other before they have to return to their own lives. The bond they create is unfeigned and resolute. 

 WC: 1.7k

Warnings: Cursing and drinking

Hello! This is the first series i’ve done in years! And i’m honestly really excited about it. The title is cheesy and probably wont make sense till the last chapter, but its a heartfelt story. I know its a short first chapter but we are just getting started. I really hope you guys like it! 

The rush of performing is worryingly amazing. Just playing for hundreds of people who all share the love of music harmoniously together in one room is even something magical in itself. But playing the music that joins us together? Its indescribable, and its why I fucking love my job. I get to do that almost every night for hundreds of different people. The thing I love most is just being able to jam onstage with my best friends, and creating music with them. Most of our songs are created through our live shows, and it’s all 100% us in every performance. Not what our managers think will make the most money or sell out the most shows, but it’s exactly what we want to create. Fucking Rock and Roll.

Which is what we are doing now, at some random festival in California just trying to play some fucking music. We were lucky enough to get on the roster at all, first of all our name isn't too well known yet and we play a bit heavier than the people on the setlist as is. It's  all of course Rock, but there is a fair share of indie and folk thrown in for good measure. 

We more play psychedelic rock? I guess that’s the way you could describe it, lots of fuzz, delay effects, and weird ass lyrics that could make Jim Morrison say “What the fuck?” Luckily our manager was friends with the event coordinator and squeezed our name in last minute. I honestly don’t think we are even on the Lineup. 

“Hey fuckface! Come help me with this keg!” Screamed the Lead Vocalist to our band, but also my best friend, Matt. 

I looked up from my phone to see the exasperated boy doing his best to get it up the stairs of the tour bus, but failing miserably. I get up from my spot to attempt to help move the heavy keg from the base of the stairs. 

“A keg? What are we in high school? I mean yes, we could very easily drink our way through this, but wouldn’t cases of beer just be easier?” I asked, also struggling to get it up the stairs” 

“I mean… Where's the fun… In that?” He said, pausing in between his words to lift the heavy thing. 

We finally got it to the top, both letting out a whoosh of air before going to fall back on the couches in exhaustion. We sat in silence, settling with the fact that we were both extremely out of shape despite doing countless shows. WHich honestly in itself is a huge work out. 

“Alright! Up we go, it’s up here so let’s get this party started before we die of exhaustion.”

Matt hopped up quicker than expected and grabbed the valve for the keg off the counter.

“Now that. Is a fantastic idea.” He pushed a filled cup and then filled his own. We clinked our drinks and threw them back, both easily swallowing it all. 

“Let's get absolutely fucked.” Matt said, emphasizing the word fucked. "Wait..." I half questioned. "If our thing is drinking outside, then why are we putting the keg in here?" 

He gave me a blank stare and then dropped his head in shame. 

"Fuck." 

Jakes POV

“Jake I swear to god if you don’t walk faster I'm going to steal that guitar of yours and add my own special touch to it.” 

“Well calm down and slow your pace, and then I'll catch up. And Honestly josh, I don't even want to think of what you'd do to my girl.” 

Josh suddenly slowed down and got right into my space, and then very animatedly started to explain how he would decorate her. 

“I'm sure you remember that one very fun tambourine I had at that one show. You know, the one with all the tassels.”

“Mhm, That one tambourine from that one show.” I absentmindedly replied, not really paying attention to his whole show.

 More taking in all the surroundings of all the buses around us, housing all the artists playing throughout the week. Josh and I have a habit of doing this at every festival we’ve been too, which wasn't much, but it was enough to create the tradition. These were always fun to go to, meet different musicians and wind down for a week. Festivals were always fun simply because we could take a real break. We tend to get a bit overrun with tour dates because of management, but here we play once or twice, and spent the rest of the week doing press or enjoying ourselves. We all honestly looked forward to it. 

Josh suddenly stopped talking about his favorite tambourines and said, “What was that?” 

We wandered around with a bit more direction lightly following the voices that bounced off of all the buses.

I stopped to listen and heard two people very aggressively discussing what seemed to be Jimi Hendrix and Stevie Ray Vaughn. As we kept walking, we started to hear them more clearly. 

The girl yelling “Honestly Matt, If you tell me right now, that your prefer Stevie over Jimi I’m fucking leaving this band.” 

“Y/N, I prefer Stevie.”

After that the man, presumably Matt, said that all hell had broken loose and swears and counter arguments were thrown left and right. 

Josh seemed very interested in the whole scene and did his best to follow the voices so he could find the source. I was honestly pretty interested myself. 

We finally rounded a corner to find two, seemingly, very drunk people intensely arguing while still half laying down in the lawn chairs they had set out in front of their bus. A keg sat between them, and a stack of red solo cups on top. Nothing but a lantern and the moon keeping them alight.

“Sure, we all love Stevie, he’s a chill dude. But Jimi? He ascended. He fucking made music. He created most of what Stevie played. I honest to god, Matt, will physically fight you.” 

The girl caught my eye when we rounded the corner, and very aggressively pointed at me. 

“You, long haired pretty boy in the Chelsea boots. Come here.” 

I looked over at josh and we seemed more than happy to see what this random stranger had up her sleeve. He kind of pushed my shoulder forward so we could make our way over to them. I had no idea what to expect. 

She sat up in her chair and Matt stayed unmoving, still half laying in his chair. 

“Which is better? And there is a right and wrong answer. Stevie Ray Vaughn or Jimi Hendrix.” She glared at the Matt when she said Jimi's name, he seemed unbothered. 

“I mean Jimi is the obvious here, any guitarist would agree.”

“Ha! Fuck you Matt Im right, its just factually true. Suck. My. Dick.”

“Well he’s one random guy that doesn't answer the whole mystery.” Matt slurred.

Josh quickly butted into the conversation, which isn't new. 

“Well if my opinion has any weight than I vote for Jimi, but speaking of strangers. Im Josh, and this here is my twin, Jakey”

“Its Jake.” 

The mood quickly changed and a smile appeared on the girls face. She held out her hand and gave a quick but firm handshake, introducing herself.

“The name is Y/N, and this Ignorant bastard is named Matt.”

She reached over to the keg in between them and refilled her cup, then poured two more for Josh and I. 

“For my two new friends.” She smiled, handing the cups to us. We happily accepted, and Josh made his way to sit on the ground in front of them, I quickly followed.

“Alright boys, Name your band and then instruments, seeing as were here and all.” She said gesturing to the place.

 Josh quickly spoke first “Well we are two halves of Greta Van Fleet, and I sometimes play vocals, occasional screams, but mostly tambourines.” He joked.

Y/N snorted at Josh's introduction. 

“And you?” she asked directing her attention to me. 

“As Josh said, two halves of our band Greta Van Fleet, And I play Lead Guitar.”

Her eyes seemed to light up at that comment and quickly responded with a smile.

“ Isn't that a coincidence, so do I,” 

As the night went on the booze flowed more, and so did the conversation. We all quickly learned we had a lot in common, and got along pretty damn well. Matt wasn't very present, because, well, he passed out moments after we got there. But as the night went on, the more we all truly felt comfortable with each other. It was simply one of those times in your life when you meet someone you truly feel akin too. Maybe it was because we were all drunk, or maybe it was a fluke. Her love for music dripped off of every word she spoke, she just gave off positivity and confidence, and her passion for life and work truly shined through. She consistently listened to us throughout the night, less worried about discussing her personal life. She seemed genuinely interested in every little thing Josh and I had to say.

It felt like we were there for all of five minutes, but before we knew it, it was 4 am. By that point so much random shit was coming out of our mouths that it wasn't coherent. Eventually Josh and I helped her round Matt onto the bus and said our quick goodbyes before we left. 

As we walked back, Josh's already never ending smile seemed brighter, seeming touched the domestic events of the night. 

“I really like her, Jakey.” 

A smile was growing on my face as well, though ever so slightly more subtle.

“I did too, Josh.” 

We eventually stumbled our way back onto our own bus, not bothering to change before hopping into our bunks.  It would've been pitch black if it weren't for the dim blue lights under the seats. In the bunks next to ours were Danny and Sam, sleeping pretty soundly in their own. Lucky for us they can sleep through anything. Especially Sam.

I heard a loud thump, looking over to see josh sitting on his ass and looking more grumpy.

“Fuckin bunks are so high up. I swear to god…”

He eventually got up, mumbling to himself angrily before eventually climbing up and falling asleep.

I laid restless in my own, sleep seeming unlikely for the night. My mind could only focus on the enigma that was the girl we had the pleasure of meeting. So I just laid in my bunk, staring at the low ceiling, mind unfocused on anything except what just happened.

Chapter 2

[greensleevesredlipstick]

new life, new love || Anne

just got a fic request for this, big time shout out to @abithemusical​!!! im actually obsessed with the prompt so im really excited to write this!! this is my second fic ever so ill take any advice anyone might have!!! anywayssss here we go!!

anne had a lot of feelings about being resurrected. After all, she had a hell of a lot left to say after henry’s brutalization. she always had to have the last word, and her final fight was no different. She couldn’t be more eager for the chance to speak her truth to the world.

all that was well and dandy but when it came to her personal life, Anne couldn’t be more confused. first of all, she was devastated to have left Elizabeth behind. although she knew she hadn't abandoned her daughter, starting a new life without her sure felt like it. no amount of research praising elizabeth’s action’s would make her feel better that her baby had to grow up with only Henry to protect her. she shuddered. 

then, there was the other aspect. seeing how her last relationship went, Anne wasn't surprised that she was wary to find another man. but that was beginning to be the problem. Anne wasn’t sure that she wanted a man. 

she watched as the other queens, now her sisters, started to adjust to the new time. although everyone had changed it was her cousin, Katherine, who's new development had most fascinated her. Kat, the queen rumored to a slut who had slept with many men as a child, was no longer interested in that. pretty soon after they came back, in fact, Kat came out to the family as gay. her and an alternate for the queens, Genesis, started dating. Anne really admired Kat’s bravery in coming out to her new family. But as more and more time passed, Anne started to wonder if she admired Kat for other reasons. While none of the other queens were in relationships, they had each gone on a date or two, and Cleves had been rumored to have a one-night stand after a particularly wild night out. Anne, however, just hadn’t felt the desire to go out with the many men who asked her out. 

meanwhile Anne began to make a habit of frequenting the local coffee shop. sometimes she didn’t want to be in the company of the other five queens (kind and caring though they were, they could be a little...stuffy) but didn’t want to be alone in her room. she loved the coffee shop not just for it’s delicious cinnamon buns, but also for the background noise it provided her. sometimes, her thoughts got to be too much and needed the distraction. although the queens were a family, she sometimes felt alone in her new life. as she mulled this over, the barista brought her cinnamon roll over. Anne smiled as the barista-who’s name tag read “Jess”-leaned over her and set the plate down. Jess grinned back and whispered conspiratorially “don’t tell anyone, but there's a little extra frosting on that one”. impulsively Anne responded “then I guess we’d better share it”. surprised for a second, jess beamed and turned to grab another fork. 

anne was transfixed as jess’s blonde hair flipped, a bounce in her step as she grabbed the utensil. eyes sparkling as she took a seat next to Anne, Jess said “so what are you doing here anyways? you’ve been here more and more lately. not that I've minded” she winked. Anne, not wanting to dive into her history, brushed it off “I just can’t get enough of these pastries!” mouth full, Jess only laughed. Anne couldn’t help but notice as her nose scrunched as she laughed, how her eyes gleamed, her head tilted back. the two of them discussed the latest ru Paul episode, until Jess stood up. she said “I have to get back to work, but don’t worry. that roll was on me”. she quickly disappeared into the hustle of the store, and Anne decided to walk the long way home. she cheeks flushed, jess’s laugh kept replaying in her mind.

that night, the other queens decided to go out to the new restaurant that had opened down the street. still wanting to be alone, Anne decided to stay home. she started to think about the possibility of her being gay more and more. she was confused-she was pretty dang sure that she had been straight in her previous life. after all, didn’t most of her problems in that life come from her attraction to Henry? or had that only come after her father pushed her to get in his good graces? her thoughts started to torment her. was she faking her marriage with Henry? was she really the manipulative, bitchy home wrecker that some historians made her out to be? was she really gay now, or was she just really jealous of Kat’s happiness? tired of driving herself crazy, Anne decided to stop pacing in her room and get a snack. as she boiled water for a box of Mac and cheese (her usual dinner when parr and Jane weren’t around to cook for her) a certain pink bottle caught her eye. bought by one of the queens in preparation for a party that never happened, it had been abandoned in the back of their cabinets. 

Anne’s thoughts began to race. she needed a break from her thoughts and what was the harm? by the time the queens got back from the party rapidly developing at a friends house, Anne would be asleep. she could have a little fun, and there would be no harm!! 

she started to hum to herself as she started pouring the drink and finished making her dinner. the song had been in the back of her mind for the whole day but she finally recognized it as “I kissed I girl” by Katy Perry. she must've heard it in one of those pop mashups that Kat played to get an idea of current music. 

drinks poured and pasta made, she skipped back to her room. although Jane didn’t approve of her eating in her room, it was just more comfortable. Anne was personally convinced that Mac and cheese in bed was God’s way of apologizing for their past lives, but none of the other queens to share this belief. she took a gulp and turned on “Keeping up with the Kardashians”, pleased that she would have a night away from her thoughts. 

just as she was starting the third episode she heard a knock on the door. grumbling as she paused the tv, she tightened her robe and opened the door. she was shocked to see Jess standing there, quickly pulling her hair out of the two messy spacebuns (as parr affectionately called them) that they had been in. jess quickly said “hi! sorry if this is weird, but you left your wallet in the store this afternoon. It had your drivers permit on it so I found your address”. Anne grabbed the wallet gratefully, not even aware that it was missing. she engulfed jess in a hug, and couldn’t help but notice her sweet but faint perfume. as they awkwardly broke apart, Anne said “well...do you want to come in? I’m having a bit of a wine night” and then instantly regretted it. why was she telling this stranger that she was drinking alone?” Jess replies “although that sounds like something I need right about now, my dogs are definitely wondering where I am.” Shyly she continued” I need to get home to feed them but if you want to get a drink sometime, I would really like that”. she pulled out a spare napkin from her barista apron and wrote her number. she winked and left, leaving Anne stunned. what had just happened?? she had been looking for a peaceful night away from those thoughts-that she might not be straight-but they were back in full force. was jess coming on to her or was she just being friendly? head spinning, she took another gulp of the drink she had poured. 

she couldn’t get jess’s golden-brown hair, how she had beamed at her earlier that day, how she felt as they hugged. lost in her thoughts, she didn’t notice that the other queens had decided to come home early from the party. they found her day dreaming on the couch, clutching an old napkin. Jane shut off the tv and put a concerned hand on her forehead. “are you feeling okay? what’s gotten into you, love?” Anne slurred back “you have pretty hair, but not as pretty as their hair”. confused, the other queens gathered around. Cleves, the first to understand what she meant, let out a shriek. “Anne’s got a new man!!!!” I think she's been drinking about a new boyfriend!!!” excitedly, the queens started bickering about who he could be. “the guy that checks our mikes before shows?” guesses Aragon. “the hot one from down the hall? “shoots back Cleves. Even in her state, Anne notices that Kat is the only one that stays silent, and grabs her hand. pulling her closer, she clumsily whispers “I've got a secret to tell them. you already figured it out”. Kat knew instantly what she meant, and stumbled back. the other queens watched in silent confusion as Kat jumped up and down for a few seconds, then threw herself on top of Anne in a bear hug. Anne muttered “I think im going to be sick...” and her stomach lurched, but she hugged Kat back tightly. Parr finally said “kid come on. Tell us!!!” and Anne slyly states “well Cleves was half right... I was drinking it over a new someone. but that someone is a she, not a he. as she realized what she had just announced to her six closest friends, her stomach lurched again. this time, she wasn’t so lucky, and that nights Mac and cheese (along with a pint of ben and Jerrys) came up onto the floor. “I guess I didn't exactly measure how much I put in that drink” she muttered weakly. 

sighing, Jane and Parr each grabbed an arm. this wasn't the first time they had to help Anne out after a long night, but this is most definitely the first time that Anne is in pajamas, not a killer outfit. Parr went to get new clothes, and Jane helped Anne clean herself off. as she waited for the water to heat up, Jane rubbed Anne’s back. they stayed there for a moment, until Jane heard Anne whimper.  tears escaping her, Anne wordlessly clutched onto Jane, and they stayed like that for a moment. parr returned, and the three worked quickly to get Anne ready for bed. stumbling down the hallway, the Jane and Parr got Anne tucked into bed. parr left the room and Jane slowly followed. as she crossed the threshold, she stopped for a second and whispered “love, you know that I’ll always love you. always. no matter who you chose to love, ill always chose to love you”. half asleep, a smile broke out across Anne’s face as she drifted off. 

[angrylizardjacket]

when i said it i thought it was true [3] {Ben Hardy}

A/N: 2973 words. Fake Dating AU.

[part 1] [part 2]

Roger Taylor has barely spoken two words to you since the start of filming, and it’s caused you so much anxiety. Were you disappointing? Did you not look or act accurate enough? Sometimes you catch him watching you when you’re with Ben, the two of you in costume, and he just looks... pensive. 

Brian’s nice enough, soft spoken and always kind when he speaks to you, actually mentions that seeing you and Ben together makes him a bit nostalgic, and you’re not quite sure what to make of it. 

The day you see the real Amanda, the woman you’re playing, you feel like you’re about to pass out. It’s as if you’ve got a direct look into your future, she could be your mother, though her hair’s just a little lighter than yours, hence the wigs they keep putting you in. She’s incredibly beautiful for her age, but that’s not the most striking thing about her. She cries the first time she sees Rami in costume, and she doesn’t speak to Roger. 

The moment she meets you, she has to take almost a full minute, hand covering her mouth as she looks you over. It’s like a test, and all you can do is stand there awkwardly in full costume, watching as she tears up a little.

“What do you think?” Brian asks with a proud smile, and she lets out an incredulous laugh. “It’s a little uncanny, isn’t it?” Nodding, she approaches you, smiling brightly and greeting you warmly. 

“Feels like I’ve gone back in time.” She’s surprisingly soft spoken, and she tugs at your collar, straightening it, before she rests her hands on your shoulders. “I’m flattered they’ve got you playing me, dear.” She tells you, and you think you might cry.

She only stays on set for about a week, the week you’re filming on the Garden Lodge set. The two of you are talking before filming starts for the day, you’re trying to glean any information you can that would help bring depth to your character, and Ben joins you. It’s the first time she’s seen him in full costume, and when he presses a kiss to your temple in greeting, her voice dies in her throat. Ben looks confused, concerned as she has to excuse herself.

It keeps happening, something about seeing the two of you in costume, together and sweet, it’s something she can’t stomach. She can talk to Ben normally, even when in costume, but the moment you arrive, and he smiles at you like he does, she feels her heart in her throat.

“I loved Roger, perhaps to my detriment.” She admits, taking a long sip of wine. She’d invited you out to dinner with her before she has to fly back to her family. “And I know what they’re saying in the movie, but he never really loved me.”

When you go to Ben with this information, he’s quiet, before he admits that Roger told him that when they were younger, their relationship was far from the sanitised version that was being presented in the film. 

They’d been together for years, and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she loved him, and he took her for granted, always assumed she’d be there when he got back from trips and tours, he’d even proposed to her, and yet he’d do any pretty young girl while he was away because he knew he could get away with it. He’d cheated on her, and lied to her, and strung her along because it was easier than letting go. 

Roger Taylor can’t bring himself to speak to you; you’re the spitting image of his biggest fault. Perhaps the way they’ve got it in the movie is his attempt at an apology, not that she’d accept. 

Something about your relationship with Ben changes after that. It doesn’t feel like a performance, the way it used to, it feels more grounded. Neither of you are sure how to deal with the new information, but when the cast go out for dinner together, he’s got a hand on your knee under the table, and when you’re hanging out in his trailer between scenes, you let yourself fall asleep against him where you’re watching Netflix. The two of you go out with some of the others for the night, and he kisses you as you’re leaving the club together, his hands holding your face so softly, the kiss so surprisingly tender that you don’t even hear the click of the paparazzi’s camera from where they’re hiding around the corner of the building, and when you see the kiss on instagram the next day, you don’t think you care.

“Have you seen my nice, black blouse?” You called, elbow deep in a pile of clean washing on a Saturday morning.

“Which one?” Ben calls back from the shower, and you frown at the clothes before you; you really had meant to fold them sooner.

“The nice nice one, the one I wear for callbacks, you know the one I’m talking about.” And you move to rifle through the closet again, glaring at each piece of clothing as you flip past it.

“You sure it’s here?” The shower shuts off while you’re eyeing off a perfectly fine cream shirt that could serve as a decent replacement if you came to it. “Are you sure it’s not at your place?” He asks, stepping out of his adjoining bathroom wearing only a towel.

“No, I’m pretty sure I came back here after my last callback.” You mused, and you could hear him getting changed behind you as you tried to recall the last time you’d found yourself in the shirt in question.

“This would be easier if you just lived here.” He muses, letting the statement hang in the air. After a beat, you turn to look at him, brow creased as you considered his words. “If you want to, you can.” He offered, standing there in just a pair of jeans, his hair still damp. It might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Are you serious?” Voice quietly hopeful, your expression brightens as he nods, grinning. Blouse forgotten, you cross the room in a few paces, throwing your arms around him. “Really really?”

“‘course I am.” He doesn’t tell you he loves you, but it’s there in the tone, in the way he kisses you, and it’s there when he spends the next twenty minutes helping you look for your shirt, though when you admit you don’t need it for a few days, he suggests breaking in the bed to fill the time.

“It’s the same bed.” You laugh as he flops back on it, coaxing you over.

“Yeah, but it’s ours.”

The wrap party for Bohemian Rhapsody is... a lot. It’s a bit overwhelming; you’re by Ben’s side and everyone wants to talk to him, congratulate him, and they want to talk to you, tell you how beautiful you look. Everyone is everywhere at all times, and the only constant is Ben. 

His arm is around your waist when the two of you are standing by the bar, he’s chatting to someone who’s name you’ve forgotten, though you’re pretty sure he’s the second assistant director or something, and you’re trying to communicate to the bartender what you want over the music, leaning over the bar. The moment the bartender finally nods in recognition and scurries off to get your drink, Ben turns, sees your eyes shining bright in the light of bar, and he forgets what he’s saying, just for a moment. The guy he’s talking to leaves, pulled away by someone in the crowd, and you turn, smiling brightly, confusion creasing your brow when you see Ben watching you.

“What?” The bar is in a terrible location, far too close to the band they’ve got set up, but Ben can read your lips well enough in the bar’s fluorescent lights. He shrugs, doesn’t even attempt to answer as the band, not ten feet away, blast their way through a guitar solo. They’re mostly playing classic rock, a few Queen songs here and there of course, and they’re not bad, they’re just loud. 

With your drink in one hand, you take his without thinking, weaving through the crowd, his fingers linked with yours. When you find the door to the courtyard, which is significantly quieter, you feel like you can breathe again. The air outside is cool, and you drop Ben’s hand now that you’re not likely to lose him in the crowd, and the two of you find seats to the side by a tall table. 

“You don’t have to stay with me all night.” You tell him, resting your head on your arms, watching as he lights up a cigarette. It was a filthy habit, but damn if it didn’t make him look a hot. Hotter. 

“I know that, dude,” he pauses, taking a draft and looking, watching all the people talking and laughing and bopping along to the music, “I like your company.” He says it easily but it still has you grinning, and when he catches sight, he grins in return.

He doesn’t leave your side. Not for the rest of the night. 

Photographs are being take all night, and when you look back on them, you see you and Ben sitting side by side, his arm around you as you lean into him, laughing, and he grins at something off camera. You see the cast together for a group shot, all smiling brightly, most a little tipsy, and you’re holding Ben’s hand, your linked fingers just visible in a gap between Allen and Lucy. You see the two of you in the background of a shot of Rami looking absolutely ecstatic; you’re fixing Ben’s hair, and he’s giving you such a soft, endeared look that you hadn’t noticed at the time. If you crop it enough to make it your phone background, you don’t feel the need to call attention to it; for reasons you can’t quite articulate, it makes your heart warm.

It’s strange, and the thing that terrifies you is that it doesn’t feel like acting. It’s that grey area you keep finding yourself in, where it feels so familiar, and it’s like swimming upstream to remember that it’s all fake. 

The two of you don’t even share a kiss, not even when you’re both tipsy, not even when you lean in to murmur something in his ear, and his answer brings his lips inches from yours. You want to kiss him, to forget that it’s all fake, but he sees you hesitate, and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. Lips twisting in to a sad smile, you look out at the crowd of coworkers around you, dancing where the band had been replaced with a DJ, and you take another sip of your drink.

You’ve passed tipsy and dived straight into being drunk by the time you’re ready to head home, or well, back to your hotel room, but that required a taxi. Ben’s not much better off, and when you tug him into the back seat with you, he doesn’t argue. He’s the one who tells the driver the hotel they’ve got you all set up in, and you just lean against him, eyes fluttering closed, contentment filling you as he wraps his arm around you. 

“I don’t have any makeup wipes!” You gasp into the silence of the hotel elevator. It feels like the most natural thing in the world to head to his room, your arm tucked into his to keep you from swaying in place in the elevator. It might also be that Ben refused to let you be by yourself after you almost face planted getting out of the taxi.

“I’ve got some in case of emergencies.” He assured, fidgeting with his key card before the elevator comes to a stop.

“See, this is why I love you.” The words come so easily that neither of even catch at first as you make your way down the hall. Ben slows once your words have sunk in, and you both realise what you’d said. “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry.” Voice quiet, there’s a sudden sinking sensation in your chest that dampens the whole night for you, but he doesn’t say anything, just opens the door and starts rummaging through his suitcase for the wipes once he’s inside. Once he tosses them to you, he follows it quickly with an oversized shirt to sleep in. 

There’s a solid five minute argument about who would sleep on the sofa, both of you trying to give the other one the bed. It takes you yanking a pillow from the bed, laying on the sofa and refusing to move for Ben to concede defeat. The sofa, however, is the single most uncomfortable piece of furniture you’ve ever had the misfortune of trying to sleep on. Sucking up your pride, you clutch the pillow to your chest as you make your way to the edge of the bed. He’s turned away from you, engrossed in his phone.

“Ben?” You ask, and he looks over his shoulder at you, eyebrows raised in question. “The sofa is really uncomfy.” You pouted. With a grin, he shifted, making room for you.

“Holy shit.” Ben looks like he’s just seen a ghost. The two of you are in a nice restaurant in the city, it’s not five stars or anything like that, actually it happened to be your favourite little hole-in-the-wall restaurant with surprisingly good food and excellent service, and you were treating yourselves to a night out before Ben had to step outside to take a call. You didn’t begrudge him, that’s just how life was for the two of you. “Holy shit.” He repeated, and you looked up from your meal with raised eyebrows. 

“What’s up?” You ask, and to see the smile spreading slowly over his face has your heart warming. When he meets your eyes, he’s beaming.

“I think I’m going to be in X-Men.” He said quietly, and your fork fell from your hand, clattering against your plate.

“Holy shit.” You echoed, and he laughed a little, taking your hand when you offered it to him, squeezing gently. 

The stars seem to shine a little brighter as Ben beams up at them, your hand in his as the two of you walk home. Sure, there’s paperwork, nondisclosure agreements, rehearsals, and a few months until filming actually begins, but Ben’s landed a role in a high-budget action movie, and you’ve never been prouder. 

He spends the next few weeks in countless meetings, almost constantly in and out of phone calls with his manager and various producers, and when he’s not filming with Eastenders, he was usually training. He’s barely home, though neither of you are home a lot, you’re busy with your own projects, but when you see each other, he’s elated. You haven’t seen him this excited or motivated about a project before. 

Sometimes you miss him. Of course you miss him, you love him after all, he’s your boyfriend and your housemate, and you tell him all of this over dinner and he looks like he wants to say something, like he wants to freeze this moment in time forever, to bottle it up if he could.  You’re so proud, and you love him so much, and it’s the most beautiful thing in the world to watch those two parts of you coming together over a microwave dinner.

In the weeks leading up to filming, things change, and you feel like you never see him anymore. It’s not like before, then you were just busy, now he’s all over the country, in meetings and fittings and workshops. He calls, but your bed is so empty and sometimes you just want to come home to him and he’s not there, and he won’t be home until the end of the week. Things are still good and bright when you see each other - he’s always eager to make up for lost time - and you never once doubt how much he cares about you, but you feel... out of sync. 

The two of you had fallen asleep not facing each other, but you wake with his arm draped across you, and it feels so familiar, so right, that it stings when you actually come to and realise where you are. 

It’s been years since you’d woken up next to him, and you’d forgotten how pretty he is in his sleep. Part of you thinks that’s a good thing, that if you start to remember now you might keep dwelling. Another part of you urges you to go back to sleep; pretend or not, you should savour this moment you’ve missed so dearly. That’s the part that wins.

You expect when you wake again, for him to already be up and moving, as far away from you as possible, but instead you hear a sleep-rough greeting in your ear, and feel his chest firm against your back, his arm still around you where you’ve tucked yourself against him.

It’s not pretend, it feels like history repeating itself, and so you let yourself forget it’s fake for the moment, lean into him just a little and give a sleepy greeting back. Your heart already aches knowing how lonely you’ll feel once either of you move.

“I forgot how nice you smell.” He murmured, and that’s when you feel your heart already beginning to break. Instead of letting yourself crumble, your link your fingers with his hand where it’s slung over your waist.

“I forgot how warm you are; you’re like a furnace.” And you hear him laugh at that as he leans into you too, and let yourself bask in the moment.

the rat pack: @hotspacedeacon @strangeandwonderfulconcepts @itssaje @d-r-e-a-m-catchme ​ @callumidiot @rockandrollandshit @bohorap @pietrorunsforme @sweetfierceimagines @itsjackothy @mhftrs @sherlockiantheatrenerd @softbenhardy @multifandomgirlrandomstuff @virtualsheepeat @smile-nine @i-padfootblack-things @deaconsroger @spookyfrances @holyurlbatman @your-idiotic-excellency

(crossed out means it wouldn’t tag; i’ll try again for the next part, lemme know if you wanna be tagged xx)

[zettaiunmeis]

Zari talks to Sara about her feelings for Charlie and what she should do about it and Sara gives her advice and the fic has Zari acting on Sara’s advice

asdfghjkl this was supposed to be a story, but I can’t brain enough to make words go right now so have some headcanons instead:

also, this turned out really long, so everything is below the cut:

- after the witch hunt episode, whenever either sara or zari felt like they needed someone to talk to or had some stuff that they need to get off their chests, they met up in the parlor

- so at one point after dancing queen, zari just marches into the parlor and Sara knows exactly what she wants to talk about: amaya

- and at first, zari is just ranting about how much of an asshole the new shapeshifter is because of course she was on watch duty first

- (she doesn’t call her charlie because then the shape became someone that they were keeping prisoner, the same way argus kept her and behrad and her parents prisoner)

- it takes zari half an hour of pacing and ranting and anger to get everything out and then she just flops onto a chair, spent

- sara takes the chance to talk about her own feelings about the situation, because she may not have been in love with amaya the way zari was, but she had still been her closest confidant on the ship

- she’s just as upset about charlie being trapped as amaya, but she talks about it slower and quieter, opening her feelings boxes and taking her thoughts out one by one

- after she’s done, they sit in silence for a bit and sara doesn’t really have anything left to say and she thinks that zari doesn’t either

- but zari says something else, something that sara really doesn’t expect after all the time zari spent denying her feelings

- zari says, “i was in love with her.” and its quiet and sad and a little bitter

- and sara doesn’t know how to answer that, other than reaching out and squeezing her shoulder

- the next time, sara finds zari binging a box of donuts and typing away at her laptop after the tagumo incident

- she tries to grab one, but zari hisses at her like a cat, and thats how sara knew that there was something on her mind

- so instead, she finds some of the whiskey she’d hidden away from both charlie and constantine and pours herself a glass

- and she doesn’t talk about anything, just leaning against the table in the center of the room and looking out

- zari knows exactly what shes doing and she doesn’t want to give sara the satisfaction of talking, but she also hates the quiet more than anything

- so when she finally cracks and tells sara to get on with it, sara makes sure to hide the smirk on her face

- and the first thing she mentions is that she’d talked to charlie earlier, and that she really wasn’t so bad

- and zari just scowls and shoves another donut in her mouth

- sara ignores her and just keeps talking, saying stuff that she knew would get zari started

- it takes sara mentioning the similarities between charlie and amaya

- and zari gets really mad

- she says that charlie is nothing like amaya, that the shapeshifter was annoying and vulgar and constantly drinking and refusing to cooperate and

- and beautiful and playful and a bunch of other things that zari hated talking about

- and sara, despite everything, despite the heated glances she had seen pass between the two, is surprised

- but charlie was a part of her crew now, whether she liked it or not, and sara had to make sure that zari wasn’t going to end up hurting her, so she asks a question that zari is utterly unprepared for

- “do you like her because she looks like amaya?”

- and zari’s first instinct is to deny it, to try and deny any similarity between charlie and amaya, but before she can actually say anthing, she starts thinking

- when she’s finally done thinking, the thing she tells sara is “i don’t know” because she really doesn’t

- the third time they talk is after the mess with constantine and charlie and all the alternate timelines, when zari marches right into the parlor, expecting only sara to be there, but sara’s telling ava what constantine presumably told her

- and they seem like they’re in a serious discussion, so zari just starts to apologize and back away to the safety of her either her room or the food fabricator

- but they both invite her back in, and ava asks her for her side of the story and she explains some parts better than others

- (she doesn’t remember much from when she was a cat, but unfortunately has a very clear memory of being a puppet)

- (its unfortunate. she had the feeling that being a cat was much better than being an off-brand muppet)

- but soon, the mission talk dies down and sara inevitably asks if zari’s okay and zari just sighs in the tired way that’d become a habit since being put with the B-team

- ava tries to leave but zari mentions that she could use an extra ear about her predicament and also ava still wants to make a good impression on sara’s closest friend so she stays

- and sara, knowing exactly what this is about, suggests that they go to her room to talk (primarily so that charlie won’t have the opportunity to walk in on them)

- so they go there, stopping at the dining room for zari to get a large bag of chips

- they sit down and ava has no idea whats going on or if it would be appropriate for her to talk, so she just looks at sara and zari while they sit in silence

- finally, sara speaks up, and she asks again if zari’s okay

- and instead of sighing, zari groans, massaging her forehead irritatedly and it speaks louder than any “no” zari could have said

- then sara asks her if its because of charlie and ava is completely lost

- and zari is silent for a long moment, stubbornly refusing to say anything, shoving chips into her mouth instead

- by the time zari answers, with a whispered “yes”, she’s halfway through the bag of chips

- and sara asks if she’s thought about her question from before and zari nods silently as if saying it out loud would set it in stone

- so sara prods her verbally until zari finally groans and mumbles out an answer

- and that answer is, “its not because of amaya”

- “i like fucking charlie”

- (ava is just standing there, shocked, because what the fuck????? charlie and zari???? zari’s into women????? i need my gaydar replaced???)

- and sara asks if thats a problem

- and zari’s answer is a huge fuck yes it is

- because she’s never had enough time for a relationship before???? she’s never been in one????

- (the closest thing was sleeping with helen of troy in the jumpship before dropping her off at Themyscira)

- that’s not even accounting for the possibility that charlie doesn’t like her like that???? (*laughs out loud while writing that*)

- and sara is like “im sorry have you not noticed all the eye sex you’ve been having”

- and after having thought about it and mentally reviewing everytime she had been in the same room as them, ava adds “and also shes always looking at you? even when you’re not looking at her? or even doing anything?”

- zari retorts with a “you’ve seen us around each other like, twice”

- “and i still noticed?”

- sara says, “see?”

- and zari’s like, “that’s still not the point? I still have no experience with relationships and also the ship is cursed?”

- “the ship is not cursed”

- “name one couple where both people lived on the ship and it didn’t end in tragedy?”

- and everything is silent for a while, becase there is literally no waverider crewmember x waverider crewmember ship that’s ever worked

- so, zari continues, “what’s the point in trying if im doomed anyway?”

- and sara takes a moment to think about it, and finally, she looks zari in the eye, and says, “sometimes, love is worth the risk.”

- and zari groans because a) its so cheesy and b) if she disagrees, she’s gonna sound like a hypocrite

- so, she says “fine” and then sara and ava help her figure out a way to ask charlie out

- (sara suggests ghengis khan. ava suggests talking to her. zari tells them both that they’re idiots, but tries ava’s idea anyway)

- (it works. very, very well.)

(looking back, i might actually write this out as a story at some point)

[rkkyg]

mnet global auditions callback ( the interview )  called out ; @rkkhg @rksuwoong @danielxrk @joohyunrk 

as the performances come to an end and the judges start their evaluation of everyone, yugyeom notices that people around him are being tugged out of the room. he didnt pay much attention to it though until hyunggu was the one who was being called out, and the not long after yugyeom was being called. 

ah interviews. he thinks as he’s guided to sit down in a setting that kind of similar to that of the initial audition. he figured something like this would happen. most survival shows tend to have a talk part where the contestants talk about what had been happening or how theyre feeling. these are the times when things tend to get edited and it’s when he knows he has to be careful to not say anything that could get edited badly. or that could be misinterpreted in a way he doesn’t want them to be interpreted. 

he knows this from watching the previous shows as well hearing about it from last seasons. 

that is to say that yugyeom has never been and probably will never be good at watching his own words. he hasn’t ever really cared--even at work he tends to be bad at it but luckily he hasn’t been in a situation where his words got him in trouble. there’s been a few close calls at work but the chicken shop ahjummas all love him to much to ever be really mad at him. he did get shoes chucked at him once but well... he probably deserved that one. he wished it hadn’t happened when he was working with dongmin. the ahjummas always do everything they can to ruin his image with the older male. how can he properly take care of dongmin if the other sees him getting beat by flying slippers. 

he shakes his head at the thought. 

he’s able to touch up his make up and hair before the interview starts which he’s thankful for. his lip tint having faded a bit since the beginning and he wanted to be a bit less shiny. though he only did one dance, he had sweated enough to make his face feel shiny. but that was taken care of. 

then he’s sat and settled, legs crossed knee over the other, and sitting as straight as he can without appearing stiff. a casual position that still looks like he isn’t slouching. 

"are we recording?” he asks, glancing from the camera to the interviewer who nods at him. and he blinks at the camera again before winking at it. 

how did you feel when you received the callback? 

the first question isn’t a surprising one, in fact he expected this. and he has an idea of what the other questions are going to be as well. his smirks though. “would it be cocky of me to say i expected it?” he asks in return, and maybe hyunggus dumb thing of always answering questions with questions has rubbed off on him. his tone comes off as kind of joking, but he seems serious at the same time. “i guess not expected so much as i hoped? i mean, i went in with all my effort and not to seem even more cocky but i know im a good dancer.” see, this is why he knew having the knowledge of watching his words would not be helpful. 

yugyeom just doesn't care about watching his words. he doesn’t care about sugar coating his thoughts. it’s better to just be honest, right? 

how was it seeing the set the first time? 

another question he expected, and boring one at that. though he keeps that thought to himself. “ah, it was really amazing to see! i thought wow this is an important place. and really wanted to be on the stage to do well.” he nods, still speaking honestly even if he didn’t care much for this question. and he supposes that it showed as he didn’t spend very long talking on it as he had the first one.

before they can move on though something comes to mind that makes him laugh. “actually, i didn’t really get to view it all at first. see, i came with my best friend kang hyunggu, and of course were going to sit together since we were allowed to choose. so we decided on the right side.” he laughs, raising a hand to pat his bangs in a small show of embarrassment. “but i don’t know why... but i ended up going to the left side and realize oh no i can’t find ggu. he was supposed to be here. i thought he might have not come which was ridiculous and all. thats when i spotted him across the way and realized i was on the wrong side.” 

a soft sigh leaves him, he looks very resigned with himself. “so i did the first thing that comes to mind and just boooked it full speed across the stage to his side. he didn’t say anything then but i now he won’t let me live it down.” 

this time he turns to the camera and points. “yah, hyunggu yah, don’t even think of teasing me for this, okay?”

what did you think when the judges were revealed? 

“i kind of expected something like that.” he responded, nodding as he did. “they were judges for last season too and this show is all about them finding new trainees and potential idols right? isn’t it better for them to be here to see the talent themselves? i didn’t think they would be there for the first episode but it’s really cool. it kind of shows how serious they are about finding people.” he hums, pausing his answer and picking absentmindedly at one of the rips in his jeans as he does. seeming to be thinking over his answer.

after a few seconds he raises his head back up and smiles. “makes me more excited to do well on the stage, like extra pressure and all but much more fun.” he nods again, agreeing with himself. 

how do you think you did?

his eye brows raised at the question, having expected them to get to these kinds of questions eventually and he finds himself leaning back a little. it’s hard to not smirk. to not let that overly confident energy bleed out because yugyeom has always been confident. he’s always been cocky and even though his personality has tamed a bit in the last year he’s still yugyeom. still the same guy who walks into a room and thinks himself the best. 

even sometimes when he’s with hyunggu who he acknowledges as a better dancer. 

“me?” he starts, tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip before he shrugs. but the modest, nonchalant act is not something he’s good at. it’s not who he is. and there was really no reason for him to pretend any other way. so he decides to be true to himself. 

“i think--no, i know i did great.” he speaks with the confidence of someone who has the skills to back up his words. or that he at least believes he has the skills. “i can’t recall any big mistakes, or even any small ones. the dance was new to me, and it’s one i put together on my own, but i still felt comfortable with it. it was odd at first. normally i choreograph with hyunggu. he helps me out often enough, but this time we didn’t even talk about out performances.” he pauses, head tilting and eyes going up for a moment. 

“but i think the dance came out well. i felt good on stage. felt like i belonged. honestly, i didn’t want to step off the stage.” 

were there any performances you liked? 

“kang hyunggus.” he answers without a second of hesitation, and then he ends up chuckling due to how fast he had answered. though it comes to no surprise to him that he did as he has always liked what hyunggu does when performing. even back when they only vaguely knew each other in the busking circles he had been a mild fan. 

“he always brings so much to the stage. his energy and presence even when just dancing is so on another level. it makes people want to watch, draws them in.” he smiles. “thats how i feel at least. every time i watch him dance i always want to see more. i always feel so eager to see what hes going to do and it’s always so much fun to watch him.” his words are filled with so much sincerity, its’ very clear he holds a lot of affection for his friend. as well as admiration. if asked he would admit to looking up to hyunggu. “i mentioned earlier that we always choregraph together, and theres a reason i always turn to him for help with these things.” 

“he owned that stage-- knew he would--and i almost wish i could have seen him perform longer.” 

he takes a moment to think, tapping his finger to his chin before grinning. “i also really liked joohyun’s performance. i think she really showed her stuff. someone to keep an eye on for sure.” 

were there any performances you didn’t like?

“also kang hyunggu.”  again his words make him laugh, bit this time its more of a chuckle as he smirks. “see, while i really admire him for his skills i also acknowledge that he’s competition. this show is a competition, after all, right? he’s good. amazing even, and i’d be an idiot to not think of him as someone to watch out for.” 

“also suwoongs performance.” this time he crinkles his nose. the two of them are friends, and yugyeom enjoys taking any chance he can to mess with the other male. so why not here and now. “i’ve never liked trot--though i admit he did a good job with it. im still just like why trot of all things.” he chuckles. “sorry su, but maybe try something cooler next time.”

what did you think of kang daniel’s performance? we noticed you spoke very briefly with him at the beginning. 

“kang... daniel...” he says the name slowly, not because he doesn’t recognize it but because he does. and it makes him tense ever so slightly because of the history he has with said male. a history he really hopes doesn’t come to light should he make it onto the show farther than one episode. he knows his old drinking habits could come bite him in the ass.. but he really prays they don’t.

“i think...he’s got talent.” he continues in the same slower pace. as if weighing each word and being more careful with it than he had been before. “i remember seeing him on the last season but since he’s not signed now it goes to show he didn’t have the right stuff then. but well, it’s been almost a year since last season so who knows what kind of changes he’s gone through.”

“his performance was good--i think he kind of lacks in stage presence still. i thought that last season when watching. but i could be picky.” he shrugs, and the way he talks doesn’t give away if he likes or dislikes the other male. “anyway, i think he’s someone to watch out for if he makes it past this episode.”  he decides to leave it at that, not wanting to say more. 

is there anyone you are certain will move onto the next stage?

“i go back to my first question of would it be too cocky to say myself?” he smirks wider, sendin g a wink and a finger gun at the camera. that ever flirty, yet cocky attitude really making an appearance. and he knows it might not be painted well for him to be cocky like this as people tend to like modesty but well. someones gotta talk him up and who better than himself.

he’s here to get noticed one way or another. 

“i feel pretty safe.” he says a bit more calmly this time, letting himself relax. “i danced with energy and with confidence. i was comfortable on that stage and i think i was really able to show my stuff for the judges. even if i’m not the best dancer, i’m confident in the fact i was able to show a good stage presence. that’s important for idols right? a good performance is also about the energy as well as the skill, yeah?” 

“i feel comfortable in my ability for both.”

so yeah, maybe he’s going the cocky path for this. but well, he wouldn’t be kim yugyeom is he didn’t sound cocky as fuck. 

“i guess if im confident in myself then i should also be confident in hyunggu. im not scared to admit he’s more talented--or well, more trained than i am. if i’m moving on then he has to be moving on as well.”

anyone you think won’t be moving onto the next stage?

“there were a handful of performances that i felt were lacking--people who maybe had the skills but didn’t match it with stage presence. or those who just lacked in both.” he hums, tapping his knee before shrugging. “i’ll admit, i didn’t pay to close attention to anyone i didn’t know, especially if their performance wasn’t good. so at this point i don’t really have any names. i kind of didn’t notice names--i knew my friends and i took note of those who caught my eye but other wise i didn’t care as much.” 

“so i guess just best of luck to everyone.” he gives the camera a smile, a small show of the caring leader he has inside that keeps his stupid busking team alive, and looks after his friends who have begin calling him the mom friend. that cocky aura driiting away for the briefest of moments. “it takes guts no matter how good you are to stand on a stage like this and perform. i think every one who came today deserves a bit of merit for even coming. it’s intense, you know?” 

“but, well.” and the kindness fades back into that same cockiness he had displayed through the whole interview. “those who know what they’re doing will be the ones moving on, yeah?” he smirks again, really seeming to just bleed confidence right now. “if you don’t have what it takes you won’t move on. the more the cut the less competition to worry about.”

“not that i’m worried.” 

[an-exotic-writer]

1/? same anon on the shame Dawson ask) but uhhhhh goodboi!hoseok whomst always go to school, teachers pet, has the best grades amongst his peers (Also maybe has a crush badgirl!reader but whomst knows). You sit next to him in class, (occasionally glances towards u when ur asleep, he grumbles about how ur gonna “fail ur classes” but he lowkey👀admires ur sleeping fACE). SO, he’s all shy when you’re in the room, he’d be laughing at a joke jungkook would say & when u walk in he’s suddenly quiet

2/? He’s getting all fidgety b/c you’re there, in the room. (He also knows you fight, maybe in a gang??? He doesn’t to now but he doesn’t like that :( he doesn’t want u to get huRT). Sometimes he’ll see bruise marks on ur thigh (he’s nOt a pervert), a cut lip (maybe busted?) and a cut on ur cheek. IM RANTING AND EMO, THERE ISNT ENOIGH FOR ME TO EXPLAIN HOW I FEEL ABOUT GOODBOI!hoseok & BADGIRL!reader, PLZ H E L P

well shit dude. you just had send this to me and you just had to make this sickeningly adorable and *cues taylor swift look what you made me do - AND I DON’T EVEN LIKE THE SONG*

hoseok didn’t know what emotions were or how they functioned with the human body. to be honest, hoseok only knew the generic ones like being happy when you get to eat your favorite food or do what you like. being sad when you’re not able to get what you want and feeling like shit because you can’t just run out of pizza what the fuck. being angry and disappointed when one of your friends back out on a plan that you were really looking forward to see. yes, he’s eyeing kim taehyung and jeon jungkook super hard if he could.

then one day, a certain someone (you) came into his life (you), took a seat beside him (you) and taught him what it was like to have your heart beat really fast without giving him a reason to (you). it could be the simplest thing of offering him a smile when he lent you a pencil or a major thing to beating the shit out of the person that tore his notes in half and you made sure that person was so sorry that he had to get on his knees to beg for forgiveness not from you but from him. during the whole time he can’t even focus on anyone else but you and that’s what keeps him up at night: thinking about you.

hoseok wasn’t much of a fidgeter but with you around, honey, someone replaced those fidget toys and get yourself a jung hoseok. he can’t help himself, either. it’s a natural instinct for his body to react this way whenever you’re in the same room as him, let alone be beside him every monday, wednesday and friday. he swears on everything he owns, he’s a hundred percent sure you’re going to fail your classes but instead of waking you up when you fall asleep he... stares. how pretty you look with your eyes fluttered shut, baby hair falling over them as the breaths of air you take in, exhales out the syllables hoseok wants to breathe in and tell you how he feels.

but it’s not easy.

it’s almost impossible. he could chat up a room with his group of friends, crack multiple jokes and set the mood but the second you join in, he shuts up in fear he’ll say anything stupid. he’s envious of how anyone you talk to suddenly looks like they’re in love with you and he’s one of them. how your aura just dominates the atmosphere and all light is on you especially when you smile and when - “hobi! you in there?!”

he groans and sits up from his bed, looking at the door before he answers.

“go away, jungkook! you said you were going to come two hours ago! i don’t want to watch that stupid movie anymore!”

“open up! i have someone here with me that needs your help! i’ve got somewhere to be!”

hoseok feels his gut dropping to his gut when he hears - “it’s okay, hobi! we’ll just go to jin’s!”

the door opens in a blink of an eye and jungkook smirks when hoseok’s all flustered and unable to speak. on cue, hoseok holds you up and jungkook doesn’t even wait as he makes a run for it. hoseok does shout for him, mumbles a few profanities after but ultimately grows quiet when you’re there with him. you whistle and wave a hand in front of his face, capturing him back to earth as his wide eyes look at you.

“y-yeah?”

“if you don’t mind, could you possibly...” your voice trails to your neck and you have never seen hoseok lose the color on his face so fast before.

“y/n! you’re bleeding!”

“means your eyes work fine, hobi. that’s great-”you can’t even finish teasing him when he hauls you over to the bathroom and he’s a mess. but a cute one. with just his plain shirt and slacks on, with his round glasses staying on his nose, he nudges you to sit on the counter as he fumbles around for the first aid kit. chuckling, you get comfortable and lean back on the mirror, dangling feet for casualty.

he stands firmly in front of you and he pops the box open, then his hands freeze. like his mind went blank.

“i... y/n i...”

“you look like you’re going to pass out. and i’m the one bleeding here,” you snort, leaning closer to him and hoseok swallows thickly when he comes face to face with you.

“you alright?”

hoseok robotically nods and looks away, hands hovering over the things he knows inside out and in order of what he should do but it’s like his mind sucks at being his mind. everything is black, replaced with the image of you even though you’re right fucking there and his heart is taking off to the heaven’s.

“maybe you might want to start with the antiseptic? to cleanse the wound?”

hoseok feels his soul returning to him when you smile.

“r-right,” 

it’s a slow process, but it’s one that starts to pick up in pace when (ironically enough) you’re the one directing him on what to do. he’s gentle, for the most part, fingers daintily moving against your skin and him apologizing every now and then when you hiss in pain. when he has everything sealed up and bandaged for you, this is where hoseok gathers the courage to ask when curiosity gets the best of him.

“y-y/n,”

“hoseok,”

“no, i have a question,” he looks up, after shutting the first aid kit.

you nod with a grin, arms crossed over your chest. “hit me,”

you confused the poor boy.

“s-sorry?”

“i mean, sure. you can ask me anything,”

“well... how did you know all that?”

“all of what?”

“just now when... when i was treating your wound,” hoseok exhales deeply and breathes when you won’t take your eyes off of him. he’s turning red at an alarming rate but for some reason, you still find this adorable. you should probably not look at him but hey, he’s pretty good looking.

“yeah?”

he coughs and tears his eyes away from you before he builds enough courage to look at you again.

“you kept reading out formulas,”

“sorry, it’s a habit whenever i get treated. i sound smarter that way,”

“...but those are the hardest ones,”

“hey, just because i sleep doesn’t mean i can’t hear,”

now you’ve made him lose his shit.

“n-no! i didn’t mean that you were-i was just-oh my god y/n i’m sorry i was-”

“hey, calm down,” you put your hand on his shoulders to root him down but you’re not sure if he’s keeping quiet because it calms him down or if you’ve just made him braindead.

“i was kidding. but i meant it when i said i sounded smarter that way,” you laugh, carefully pushing his glasses back to its original spot before you pat his shoulder and hop off the counter. as you make your way out of the bathroom,  he chokes on his saliva when - “so what movie are we going to watch?”

there is no way hoseok was going to survive the night.

[marinette-sky]

Cigarettes and Leather Ch. 4

Long time no see!! (Again)

School got crazy and im stressed to the Max atm. But I really wanted to finish this chapter before AP Exams sooo

;;;;;)

Anyways, Ladybug and Chat Noir finally make their appearance! Along with some other things, but you'll see later...

(also, if you're confused on some of the stuff in the chapter that has to do with the french school system, just see the end notes)

Summary: Chat Noir is adorable, and Ladybug more then agrees (and so does Marinette).  

Word Count: 4,000+ 

A week had gone by since Marinette had (albeit strangely) resolved to become friends with Adrien-freaking-Agreste.

A week had gone by since Marinette had (albeit strangely) resolved to become friends with Adrien-freaking-Agreste.

A whole week.

A week.

Only a week.

Ladybug paced back and forth on the gravel roof she occupied, hands clasped behind her back out of habit. Below her, cars honked, lights blurred, and soft music of all sorts overlaid the pressing silence in her conscience as she contemplated events from the past few days.

Life had been almost the same, except Adrien and she had been hanging around each other more often than all four of their years in college combined. For one, his presence had frequented their homeroom almost every day that week, including early morning roll-call (which he never used to attend). He had stopped sitting in the back, instead opting to sit in the front with Nino, even if all they did was mess around and get scolded by Mrs. Bustier (Alya griped that her boyfriend was being wooed away by Adrien more and more). He was even seen around the courtyard by many people during their lunch period, even though it was resoundingly known that he smoked cigarettes behind the school wall where the cameras couldn’t catch him during that time frame.

It would good to mention the eye contact they made throughout all this was embarrassingly excessive, as they were constantly stealing glances at each other in plain sight.

It would also be good to mention that the glances increased in number when they were alone together in detention.

And the blushing, a voice in her head chimed unhelpfully, lots of blushing!

Ladybug groaned out loud, practically stomping in place to expel the thought from her mind.

God, spare me from these weird emotions!

In the span of seven days, the relationship she had with Adrien had been accelerating at a fast rate, as well as the way she felt about him. She knew she needed to take their friendship at a slower pace, but chatting with him had recently become her favorite pastime. Adrien had a lot of hidden qualities she didn’t know about until now, and every interaction brought a new surprise for her to take delight in.

Except…

She still has yet to see that soft side of him she saw on the steps of their school, with his sunny smile and soft pink cheeks.

Of course, even with all his personality traits he had been hiding from her now up in the air, Adrien was still the flirtatious rebel who wore leather and cussed far more than a person who smoked three times a day should; his temper was still intact too, in addition to his show-off attitude. It is unfair to expect him to warm up to her enough to show her such a reserved part of him in the short time they’ve been getting to know each other; just as she had certain things she uncomfortable with opening up to him about, it was vice-versa for Adrien (she suspected).

Even so…

If it took as long as their last day on campus, Marinette was determined to coax that shining part of him from beneath all the storm clouds and smog. She didn’t know why, but that brief, brief interaction with the other Adrien felt so familiar and tangible, like she was looking at her favorite design or talking with Chat Noir.

At least, that’s how she felt but maybe she was mistaking the feeling for something it wasn’t.

It would just be nice to see Adrien relax and enjoy everyone’s company, because he is definitely on most of the class’s shit list as of late.

Then again, when is he not?

God, I should stop thinking about this now.

Ladybug stopped walking to look up at the night sky, pleased to find the stars winking down in greeting. She let her gaze wander from the stars to the streets, allowing her eyelids to crescent pleasantly. It was a cool, breezy October evening, the perfect weather for that period in the month. This was her absolute favorite time of year to patrol Paris, with the autumn season at its peak and the atmosphere of serenity overlaying their beautiful city (along with the multi-colored leaves!). Everything seemed so connected and harmonious it was hard for Marinette not to escape life for a little while and appreciate her surroundings for what they were worth.

That is, until Tikki scolds me for not doing my homework.

Chuckling at the memory, the female began scanning the Paris scape for a familiar figure, searching for any sign of her partner. Chat Noir always arrived at their meeting spot around this time, but tonight it was apparent he would be late.

As long as he isn’t too late, or else we’ll be out until two in the morning again…

“Ladybug!” A voice from behind shouted, and Marinette smiled.

Speak of the devil.

She turned to address the voice, extending an arm in the air as a hello.

“Chat Noir! Little late, aren’t we?” She teased as the male landed on the roof, earning a shy smile in return.

Cutie.

“I’m sorry, m’lady! I was so busy with my shoot-…I mean my civilian stuff that time just flew by, you know? Haha…” Chat Noir tittered, rubbing the back his neck. Ladybug just shook her head good naturedly and patted his shoulder in reassurance.

“I’m kidding, kitty. You were only a few minutes’ late, not a few hours…unlike last time.” She added, frowning slightly as she recalled a particularly nasty akuma that had cropped up the night that Chat just had to be absent for three hours. By the time he arrived at the scene, Ladybug had successfully stopped the akuma and handed over the victim to the police. He profusely apologized for a good fifteen minutes before Marinette felt bad and forgave him with her kindest smile. He really is too nice for his own good.

“Last time will never happen again, I purr-omise you! Besides, I now have an alarm on my phone that goes off whenever its patrol night!” Chat smiled proudly, revealing pearly white teeth for Ladybug to admire. His cheeks dimpled while a soft blush dusted his slightly-scrunched nose, and Ladybug forgot how to speak for a moment.

How can someone in a leather body suit manage to be so damn adorable?!?! This is unfair!

“R-Really? That’s smart, why haven’t I thought of it before…” She mumbled, looking away to hide her bashful expression. Chat cocked his head to the side in confusion at her reaction, but shrugged it off shortly after.

“Haha, dunno, sounds like a you problem. You know, I’m the brain and you’re the brawn?” Chat joked nudging her with his elbow and grinning like an idiot. Ladybug nudged him right back, adding a little more force to hers. He lost his footing for a split second, arms spiraling to regain balance.

“I’m the brawn alright, kitty.” She remarked, watching the sheepish blush return to his face.

He can be so shy sometimes, I worry.

Chat Noir coughed, shaking the banana locks from that were obscuring his vision out of his face. His emerald stare landed on her again, more serious, which caused butterflies to erupt in her stomach. Although they were surrounded by the jade of his retina, she could tell the shade would be absolutely stunning without the mask.

You can’t have thoughts like this Marinette you know the rules!

“I think we should start our patrol, now, m’lady. You know that I know that we both have homework to get home to before tomorrow.” Chat took on a slightly scolding tone, referencing to the fact that it was a Sunday night and they both procrastinated all weekend.

Well, I did at least, Marinette felt herself grimace as she thought of the tablet full of literature and art history homework waiting on her work desk in her room.

Chat Noir took out his vault, readying it for launch until Ladybug swiftly clasped his tail, causing him to yelp in surprise.

“Not so fast, mister! We need to discuss a little something-something!” Ladybug exclaimed brightly, her homework all but forgotten.

Chat gave her a cautionary glance, looking from the landscape beyond them to her face. He retracted his staff immediately and placed it on his back holster, ears perked in curiosity; his lips curled into a nervous smile.

“What do you mean, m’lady?” He batted his eyelashes out of habit, and Marinette had to hold back a tickled squeal. He was so good looking, even with the mask, it was hard to cope sometimes.

Really hard.

Marinette swallowed, clearing her throat and straightening her posture.

“Your birthday is coming up, right? Next week, I think?” Ladybug asked directly, cheeks reddening ever so subtly.

Chat blinked at her slowly.

“Yeah…next Monday, the 20th . Why do you ask?” He fiddled with his hands, tapping his claws on his wrists.

“Why do I ask? Isn’t it obvious, kitty! We should do something nice, like hang out. Whatever age you’re turning, I’m sure it’s worth celebrating.” Ladybug gave him a mega-watt smile, taking his hands into hers with excitement etched into her body language.

Chat broke into a grin, holding her hands back with more force then necessary. He looked breath taking like that while bathed by the moonlight and stars.

“Wait, really? Are you serious? I’d love to do something with my best friend!” The words ‘best friend’ fractured Ladybug’s heart, but she forced herself to get over it. Not now, dummy.

“That’s good to hear, kitty! We can discuss what the birthday boy agenda is on Tuesday’s patrol, but for now I think we need to start this one.” Marinette giggled happily, tugging her poor fingers from Chat’s iron-like grip. “You know, before we turn into pumpkins.” She winked.

Play it cool, LB, play it cool.

“Awesome! Purr-fect! I think I can manage to wait until Tuesday for this.” Chat once again took out his staff, this time with more finality. “Race you to the first lookout point. Last one there is a ball of yarn.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes at his cheesy parody, slipping her yoyo from her hip and readying the string.

“You’re such a cheese ball, Chat Noir.”

“Don’t you mean hairball?”

“Yeah, yeah, sooo funny. You’re on, kitty!”

They both took off running, and she could hear his laughter over the roar of the wind.

---

By the time Ladybug bid Chat Noir a ‘good night’ and ‘see you on Tuesday, or the next akuma attack’ (whichever comes first), it was already 10:30 PM. Ten minutes later, she had dropped through the trap door above her bed and already wanted to give up all responsibility and go to sleep. Unfortunately, her plan was foiled by Tikki, who was very insistent that Marinette stay up at least an hour and a half more ‘to get as much done as possible’.

‘As much done’ my ass, I’ll get a C on my work either way.

“But Tikki—” Marinette drawled out, already painstakingly making her way down the bed ladder, “My muscles are sore and I’m super tired—!” She made sure to drag out each word to show how unwilling she was to do a two-page report on the blind, French painter Claude Monet.

“I understand, Marinette, but you still need to keep your grades up too! Since we got home late, I can help you out a little.” Tikki patted her cheek sympathetically, and flew to her compartment on Marinette’s desk to fish out a cookie from her designated cookie jar.

The female whined, but nevertheless complied with her kwami’s wishes and dragged her exhausted body to her pink desk chair. Plopping down in a heavy manner on the cushioned seat, Marinette grabbed her touchscreen stylus and booted up her tablet. As soon as she typed in her password, the lass got to work first on her advanced literature homework (they were currently reading Oedipus, and she honestly could not be more disgusted with most of the characters). After scanning and finishing three mind-numbing acts, she began planning out the outline for her report on Claude Monet.

I think my hair is going to fall out at this rate.

Marinette stopped writing to gaze into oblivion at the countless pictures decorating her desk-top surface and wall, opting to tune Tikki’s brief explanation on the history of Monet’s The Japanese Footbridge oil canvas. She had tacked various newspaper clippings of Ladybug and Chat Noir’s accomplishments on the wall next to the computer, each scrap artfully arranged to circle a single framed photo of them.

This is still my favorite picture of Chat and I.

The photo had been taken by Alya, who caught them immediately after an akuma battle that took place in the park near the bakery. It had been a sunny, spring day with only a few clouds to be seen. Ladybug had been in mid-fist bump with Chat Noir when Alya had rushed over and begged for a picture of them in front of the park fountain, in which they agreed.

She made them stand on the edge of the fountain, arms hooked together while their legs were spread apart, like a super hero pose. They were told to smile big for the camera, and Ladybug did until Chat decided to crack a pun at the last second, which sent the two of them into hysterics by the time Alya snapped a shot of them on her phone. With the spray of the water and perfect natural lighting coupled with their genuine grins and stares cast to each other, the picture was perfect.

We hadn’t even been partners for a year, but we were so hopeful and full of laughter.

Those were the simpler days alright.

Marinette’s heart suddenly ached with longing for the past, when she was young and excitable for every akuma thrown at her. She missed getting to know Chat for the first time, and feeling the thrill of a new crush, when it didn’t hurt so much. She missed being chased around by Alya for the Ladyblog, when her bestfriend didn’t have a joint-partnership with the news channel so others could do that job for her.

Everything had changed so much since then, when Marinette was still learning what being Ladybug truly meant.

Now she was almost an adult, with a future to think about and priorities to straighten out.

Life moves on, whether we like it or not.

The sound of a phone chiming interrupted Marinette’s train of thought, subsequently ending her internal freak out for the night.  Tikki, being the saint she was, retrieved it from her school bag and set it down in front of her with an irritated expression.

I bet she knew I stopped listening…

“Who is it?” The kwami asked as Marinette unlocked her phone.

She scanned her notifications, startled to find that she had seven missed calls from Alya from earlier in the evening.

Strange, but it’s too late to call back now.

“I have seven missed calls from Alya, Tikki. I wonder what was so important.” She said feeling little more than perturbed as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“That doesn’t sound good. Was the new message from her, then?”

“No, it’s from-” Marinette began to say, tapping on the conversation.

Adrien: hey u still up?

“-Adrien.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Tikki scowl slightly and cross her tiny arm-like appendages in disfavor.  

“Oh.” The kwami curtly replied, settling on the edge of her shoulder to peer at the tiny screen of the phone. She could feel her judgmental gaze on her hands as Marinette responded to him.

Marinette: Yeah. Currently dying over an art history report atm.

Adrien: o? sucks to be u then lmao I finished all my hw

Marinette: Lucky you. Whats your stream btw?

Adrien: humanities. 4 hrs of French. Lit, then philosophy, English, geo, history, physics

Marinette: Same here, but ik I have lit and philosophy with you. For me, I have English, geo and art history is 2 hours.

Adrien: the fuck??? art history sounds boring asf

Marinette: Look whos talking, you take physics. How will that help you on le bac?

Adrien: stfu kim is in there bc nino and ivan were bastards an didn’t want a maths

Adrien: tho he always talks shit w/ Max so i hve to force myself 2 be interested in physics

Marinette: Whatever you say, nerd.

Adrien: stfu im getting a call so ttyt

Marinette: K bye.

Marinette’s soft smile that had formed when they started texting dissipated into a frown at Adrien’s abrupt exit. She set aside her phone slowly, hoping he would come back again but that was not the case.

Who would be calling him so late at night? Weird…

“He left so quickly even though he was the one that contacted you first, Marinette. Don’t you think that’s rude of him?” Tikki observed, huffing.

Marinette stretched her arms above her head, yawning.

“No, not really. I just think it’s weird that someone would be calling him so late at night. I wonder who it could be.” She stood up as she replied, being especially careful not to make noise with her office chair. Tikki watched her movement, eyes alight with curiosity.

“I see…wait, where are you going? Downstairs?”

“Yeah, I’m just going to get water.” Marinette padded across the room, as quiet as a mouse. Just when she opened her floor hatch an inch, voices from downstairs drifted into her room. Frozen in place, she listened cautiously to see who would be up so late at night (besides her and Tikki, of course).

What the hell?

The quiet buzz of the living room TV and the hushed voices of her parents registered in her brain, and Marinette immediately felt her shoulders relax. They were just watching the news—

Hold on a minute.

The female tensed again, more anxious then before. It was very unlike her parents to stay up so late on a weekday, especially since her father woke up at four every day to ready the bakery for early morning customers. In addition to this, her mother had always come up around ten o’clock to kiss her goodnight, but she had yet to do that. Something on the television was keeping them uncharacteristically occupied, or at least that is what she gathered from the grave mood downstairs.

But, what is it? Mama and Papa only whisper when they’re worried…

Marinette instinctively leaned forward, eager to find out what the newswoman was saying.

“…Gang violence…college student…unusual injury…” Nadja Chamack spoke professionally into what the girl assumed to be a microphone. Tikki landed on her shoulder, also listening closely.

Gang violence? What? It’s too hard to hear!

“Two students…badly hurt…Dupont…” She heard Tikki gasp when Nadja rattled off the names of the incident. Thoroughly perplexed, Marinette edged the door open even more, practically sticking her head down the stairs. Whatever Manon’s mother just said, it was enough to shock her kwami.

Instead of quietly keeping her perch, Tikki flew off her shoulder and pushed her tiny appendages against her cheek.

“Mari, no, don’t listen! It’s not something you want to hear!” She squeaked, and the heroine yelped.

“What do you-ack!”

Naturally, this action backfired and she lost balance of her feet and crashed to the carpet rather loudly while slamming the trapdoor shut.

“Oh, shit! Tikki, hide!” The female whispered frantically, scampering to her bed post and up the ladder. Tikki was close behind.

They both hid under the polka-dotted covers, with the kwami nestled into the crook of her elbow. Somehow, in her scramble and the excitement of that night, Marinette had lost on of her precious pig-tails, and now her frizzy hair was splayed all along the pillow like a raven halo of madness.

Goddammit, I hate when my hair is down! Where did my hair tie go…?

Just then, the door slammed open and Marinette heard the familiar patter of her father’s footsteps, her mother following in suit.

“Marinette, darling? Is something wrong?” Sabine spoke, an unusual edge to her voice.

Stay still, stay still!

Marinette dared not to respond, curling around Tikki to shield her from prying eyes. The bed rattled as the mother climbed up to check on her daughter, every tremor setting the female further on high alert. A thorn of anxiety wedged itself in her heart when she felt a small hand touch her ankle.

Don’t react!

“Sweetheart, is she awake?” Tom asked, walking closer to his wife.

“No, I don’t think so…but if she isn’t awake, then what was that noise?” Her mother worriedly curled her tiny fingers around Marinette’s ankle, and she had to fight from flinching.

“Sabine, I think you’re still on edge from the newscast. I doubt anyone could sneak into our daughter’s room without me hearing them.” Tom said confidently. Marinette smirked to herself, biting down a chuckle.

Oh, papa, if only you knew…

“But still, Tom…it happened those poor boys.” Sabine let go of her ankle and climbed down the ladder again, and Marinette peeked over her covers ever the slightest to look at her parents.

Tom had an arm slung around Sabine’s shoulders in a comforting manner, while Sabine looked deeply distressed.

Her mother pursed her lips.

“Imagine how devastated she’ll be when she finds out tomorrow, Tom. Should we even let her go to school?”

What the hell are they talking about?! I have a bad feeling about all of this.

“Nonsense, dear! Francois Dupont has a strict no strangers’ policy, plus the college is right next to the house. We can watch her go if it will make you feel better, but our little girl can handle her own as you know.” Both parents shared a knowing look and Marinette blushed in embarrassment.

Yeah…they would know after all these years, wouldn’t they?

Sabine nodded in agreement to her husband’s proposal, slipping an arm around his waist.

“I would like that. Now, let’s leave before we actually wake her up.” Marinette ducked hurriedly out of sight when her mother glanced at her bed, praying she didn’t notice her staring.

As soon the trap door shut, and the footsteps of her parents grew further away until the night was silent again, Marinette jerked from her fetal position on the mattress. She stared wide-eyed at Tikki, the both of them attempting to process the confusing information her parents had bestowed upon them by accident.

“Tikki, you don’t think…?” Marinette trailed off, the worst coming to mind.

What if an akuma attack happened without me knowing, and citizens were severely injured?

What if an akuma knocked over the Eiffel Tower and crushed a shopping strip?

What if Hawk Moth himself came out of hiding and is now wreaking havoc on Paris?

What if-

Tikki vigorously shook her head at Marinette’s implication, frowning deeply.

“We would have definitely known if there was an akuma attack, Marinette.” Tikki said bluntly, crossing her arms in a thoughtful manner. “This has to be something else and something very bad.”

Marinette did not miss the note of worry tinging her kwami’s voice, or the nervous twitch of her antenna. Judging by her demeanor, there was another force Tikki seemed to be apprehensive of.

But what?

“Should I transform and sweep the city again? Maybe I’ll find what Mama and Papa were talking about.” The girl questioned, dread pooling in the bottom of her stomach. Butterflies were twisting her insides around, and they felt much worse than the presence of any of Hawk Moth’s creations.

In the distance, the blades of a helicopter could be heard, sending goosebumps to dance along the edges of her spine. Car honked, and music played, but something felt very off about the night now.

Marinette stood up on her bedspread and curled a hand around the trapdoor handle leading to the room’s balcony, hesitant to open it. It was almost eleven o’clock at night, and she had school tomorrow; but, if she didn’t do this now, the anxiety would eat at her until sunrise. Tikki seemed to have sensed her indecision, and came to rest on her shoulder.

“Marinette, you don’t have to do this right now. We have all tomorrow to investigate, and I’m sure whatever happened will be the talk of Paris for a day. Get some rest tonight, and you’ll feel refreshed for tomorrow!” She spoke softly, nuzzling into the female’s cheek in a comforting manner.

Marinette let her hand drop from the door handle, suddenly exhausted.

She’s right. I can’t do much right now if I don’t know anything, especially in the condition I’m in.

She let herself fall back onto the bed once more, turning on her side and dipping her knees onto her abdomen. Faint light from the window below her loft illuminated the dark space of the room, casting flickering shadows on the soft pink walls. The muffled murmur of her monitor and tablet could be heard, filling her ears with a strangely familiar buzz.

It was eerie.

Hopefully the situation won’t escalate to something worse by tomorrow morning…

Happy? Surprised? Intrigued?

Can you guess what happened at the end of the chapter?? (im curious hah)

Also, I'm so happy that a lot of you like the story thus far!! I never expected such an out-pour of support, tbh, but it just really motivates me to write more and get better at my writing style.

Le Bacc** okay so in french education it is basically this big test seniors in high school take at the end of their high school career, where they had previously, for two years, been taking classes that were specifically aimed towards their career path, but they don't call it 'career path' they call it a 'stream' (I.E. students in the literary stream prepare for careers in the humanities such as education, linguistics, and public service. They also have interests in the arts. The most important subjects in the literary stream are Philosophy and French language & literature and other languages, usually English, German and Spanish.)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baccalaur%C3%A9at link if you're interested in le bacc :)

[shrimpcache]

Journal entry 6/6/21

Feeling lots of things, thinking lots of thoughts, remembered my idea to do journals here. id rather you didnt reblog but i cant exactly stop you either, and its not like anyone important to not see this is really on tumblr. anyways.

I hate this stupid situation with this passport- i want to go to italy, id love to be anywhere that isnt the piedmont anymore. at least anywhere that isnt the same suburb with the same roads and street signs and city design and construction where i used to see forests and fields. I want to see where my best friend grew up, im excited to see this new side and learn something new about someone so familiar to me. im excited to meet people whos language i dont speak, to just look at store signs and roads and cars that are unfamiliar without being frightening because theres someone next to me who knows what to do already. imagine me traveling and not stressing about how i need to know where i am at all times lest i get lost, or keeping track for my group of friends who is equally unfamiliar with somewhere that looks just like every north carolina town. new mountains, new people, new norms, new sounds in the morning, new sounds at night. will i miss the cicadas this summer? will it even matter?

the sad part is i dont know if my passport will get to me in time. I might have to take a day trip to vermont where i cant even explore national forests or non-chain restaurants. Ill have to walk into a passport facility without all my necessary documents and hope theyll see in the system that the fucking government still has my birth certificate. I want to go to europe. I want to get out of here so bad, but i never got my passport because things like that didn;t just happen to me.

Im not the one who gets the interesting summer trips. Always too broke, working, or i just cant justify to myself why i would just drop everything to go somewhere where i know nothing and know no one. Why that thought is so sad to me, “things that fun and cool just aren’t meant for me” 

Maybe its the insinuation that it is for other people. Does it just tie into this image i have of myself? this barely human person who just copies and mimics until people read me as one of them too? I think i really understand that artist now who makes adhd comics and draws herself with little alien antennae- i really do feel like an alien. even when I take adderol, it only really helps with the energy and executive dysfunction. Which is great!!! i love my adderoll and im so glad that i can feel a little bit more like a normal person, and im proud of myself pursuing it until i got it. But it doesn’t change that i wont ever be able to just relate to most people. Its like growing up with undiagnosed adhd created a Me and Them venn diagram, where everything that makes me who i am can never be in the center of the interlocking circles. The way i speak, how fast, how slow, how hesitant, how exuberant- i never realized how much i masked until i started talking with people whos brains worked at the same pace as mine. people who thought the strangest, unhelpful thoughts too. Im not trying to make myself special or some sort of ‘other’ in society -im a little white girl who grew up in a house with two floors and my own room, nothing was really working against me outside of myself. But having something inside of you that is unquestionably you and it just seems like youre the only one whos like this for no reason was just so hard. its kinda...harder now that i know none of it was because there was something inherently wrong with me.

sigh. this is all over the place. anyone who cares to read congrats on seeings how my brain connects thoughts in real time. i dont have aphantasia or anything but my imagination and thoughts have always been more word and language based than visual, so rather than having racing thoughts of intense images of memories my brain just produces sentences ed nauseum or whatever. Thoughts that i might not even agree with but they rile me up and pull me under anyway- if im stressed the stress just manifests as a tornado of sentences and phrases happening concurrently, like theres some sort of crowd in my head saying vaguely similar things out of time. or harsh things. or mean things. but i think thats kai’s fault. like when i was spiraling over a failing grade in chemistry in my dorm at 2am where i couldnt stop thinking that the only reason i hadnt killed myself already was because i was such a financial drain on everyone around me and i couldnt waste their money by dying. maybe theres a hint of truth in there but its so exaggerated. i havent killed myself because i want to live and experience my life as much as i experience the lives of others, but i also always feel this heavy burden of wasted money, wasted time, wasted potential, constantly stirring up my brain. 

this started with my passport, right? thats my stressor right now, and its pretty big so it bleeds into other parts of my life so easily. my therapist says i have this habit of replacing one stressor with another, and sometimes i can recognize it, but i dont think its getting replaced as much as its being amplified. Im waiting on my passport, which probably wont get here before my travel date, so ill have to fly to vermont and get one the day before i travel even though i already have one in processing. I spent $1400 on my ticket and i cant even transfer it to anyone without getting a refund or something, and i spent that much money without even knowing if i could travel. can i even get a refund? i worry about it as soon as i wake up, whenever i have a free moment to think, when im going to bed, when im playing games. when im doing anything that isnt working on getting my passport, even though i cant really do anything but call the same phone number and wait on hold for hours. but because im ‘not trying hard enough’ to get my passport, im too overwhlmed to do my laundry. to clean my room. to exercise my dog properly. im irritable. i just want to see my friends but i dont even talk about whats bothering me because im afraid to cry in front of them. im crying right now because this is the only outlet ive given myself to feel in literal months. writing always does this to me, drags me into emotions i dont realize im pushing down until the words just come out against my own will. i missed typing on my keyboard though. i missed thinking and seeing it in front of me, so i guess this is a sort of catharsis. i put some clothes in the laundry, at least. good job me. 

maybe this will all work out in the end and itll feel great. maybe ill get on a plane with my original ticket and have a fun few weeks away from everything ive always known. maybe ill set foot on a sidewalk ive never touched before! maybe ill get that tattoo. maybe things will be okay. i can focus on stuff working out too, if i try hard enough. i think im done writing now. half way through this i worked some stuff out with my friends and there are a few things that are less scary now than when i first started writing. see you next time

[suchstarryseas-blog]

I remembered where I'd actually been going with that last post. Nice!

There's always gonna be things I'm not good at that are entirely possible, too. Goddess knows I've tried to learn instruments. Can't ever place my fingers correctly. I've tried learning to cook, Filled a house up with gas, made something out of cheese that looked like it might've been human, once. Im no good at math, or remembering history, Teachers weren't ever really my biggest fans. There are things I'm not good at, though, and there are things I've been trying so hard to be better at. Not even good. Just better. I've been trying to eat a bit better, been walking more, been doing more magic. I've been focusing on healthy weight loss, and trying so damn hard not to fall into so many old habits. I've been trying to go out more, even just relatively alone, tried not to shut down and fence everyone off. Those things are all things I can work on myself, though. Things I can do alone. Some things, though, I don't know how to get better at. I've never been good at talking, for instance. As a kid, I'd get in trouble for things I said, things I didn't say. I remember getting hit a lot. I didn't answer a question? Hit. I didn't answer fast enough? Hit. I didn't answer how they wanted me to? Hit. I didn't answer how they wanted to without seeming like I was lying? Hit. I'd get hit so often for speaking that eventually I just didn't speak. I'd talk to Logan, my brother. I'd talk to my friends. But at home, I would creep around the house in silence, down to the kitchen for water, out to the yard to read, up to my room to stay out of sight. I developed this fear of talking, but it was... And is... More complicated than that. The hitting was one thing. The silence spun into worse and worse situations. No matter what I did, it was always wrong, no matter what I said it was the worst thing to say. But the thing that made it all into how I am today was the things they'd say. "We just want what's best for you." "We wouldn't do this if we didn't care." "We love you. We want you to do better." "We want you to be safe." Over time, it would evolve, and so would I. In the middle, I was conflicted and confused. I'd choke on my words and cry, the room would get darker as panic set in, Spinning, making me feel dizzy and sick and like I was on fire. They'd demand words but my mind would race, and unable to decide what they wanted to hear, I'd drift into this cycle of worry and knowing I had to say something, but never being able to, knowing they were getting angrier. "Why won't you just talk to us?" Silence, crying. Hit. "It's just a simple question." Silence, choking. "I..." "I what?" Silence. Hit. Eventually I found I would be less panicked, that it would all end more quickly, if I didn't even try to think of anything to say. If they didn't ask something I could nod or shake my head in response to, then I wouldn't bother putting in the effort to respond. I was hit often, but the talks became shorter. "Why didn't you do well on this test?" Shrug. "That's not a real fucking answer." I'd stare until they were uncomfortable. They'd talk to fill the silence, and I'd know they did so because they didn't know what else to do. Around then was when I started to be proud, when I turned it into a game. Hit. "Why are you failing this class?" I'd shrug. "Have you been skipping your homework?" Nod. "Why?" Shrug. They started giving me choices, occasionally, as I got older. "Clean the whole house, or grounded for a week?" I'd stay inside for a week, as far as they knew. If I chose cleaning, it'd never be good enough- I'd have to do it over and over until a week had gone, anyway. "Do you want to be grounded, or hit?" They learned to interpret long stares. "Grounded for a month, or hit?" "Hit." Eventually they decided nodding was disrespectful and forbidden. So I didn't speak. Didn't panic. Didn't cry. Snuck out when I could. They started grounding me, reguardless of what I had or hadn't done. Hitting me when they felt I'd done anything at all- left a cup of water in my room, forgotten to take the trash out, flicked my brother and made him angry. Talks became longer again as they struggled to fill the silence. I was studying at the table once when my dad came into the living room. I'd been hit two days before and nobody had talked to me since. "---, we love you. We know something must be going on. Something must have happened. Was it the last time you went to your mom's?" He'd asked. Silence. I'd glanced up at Felix, who was glaring holes into my father's forehead. " You know you can talk to us, right? You know that. If something happened, something you remember, or even something that just didn't feel right..." I turn in my chair, away from my work, and stare at him, silent. "We worry about you. Just know you can talk to us." He'd left, after that. It was one of the few times I'd ever seen him with tears in his eyes, and I wondered a long time how long hed suspected I'd been molested. Felix had laughed, in his bitter sort of way, about how my dad thought it was just something from a long time ago. His family was always so much better than my birth mom's. He had no reason to think otherwise. I considered telling him everything. About Felix, how depression wasnt all that was going on, about the two cousins who molested me when I was young, about the one who still was, every weekend. I thought about it for a couple weeks. I thought about telling him I wanted to go back to therapy again. That I was ready to really talk about things. To try and get better. I was silent for two weeks. Debating. Worrying. Felix was worried, too. That I'd be put on the wrong shit if I talked about him, locked up somewhere, electricity pumped through my brain. "They'll drug you out of your goddamn mind, if you aren't careful." One morning before school, I went into my dad's room in my PJs. Red, soft material pants, tied with torn red ribbon, torn at the bottom from walking on the ends of them all the time. A green day t shirt, faded and worn, a gift from my mom when she'd been ready to get rid of it. It was spring. "Dad?" "No, you can't stay home from school. I already told your brother. Just because mom's at work doesn't mean everyone gets a day off." He'd let us stay home once and a while, then, sometimes we'd work on things around the house together. The room he was in was one of those projects. When Jenna's grandma died, I hadn't been invited to the funeral. He'd let me stay home the whole week she and Logan were gone, and we'd painted every room in the house. My room had been purple berry, full of tiny silver flecks. Logan's was a sky blue. My dad's room was this dark, golden yellow, with one dark red wall. "Can I talk to you about something?" "Sure. Is everything okay?" I'd sat next to him on the bed. I'd always been bad at talking, and when I'd finally decided to talk, to really talk about everything, important things, things I didn't know how to talk about, didn't have a right answer for, couldn't nod or shake my head or shrug or be silent... I didn't tell a single person in the world, aside from Felix, and eventually Kayden, what my dad did. Not until I was eighteen and out of his home, away from him and Jenna. I was in the eighth grade, when he did what he did. Afterwards, I'd gone to my room, grabbed my backpack, and started stuffing clothes in it. I was set on going to Kristen's house. He'd popped his head in, told me I wasn't going anywhere, and left the room again. Id put the bag down. Logan and I stayed home from school that day. And I stayed home the day after. I spent hours in the shower, but couldn't get clean. I wanted to go. I was ready to go anywhere, but I couldn't leave Logan. He was too young. He NEEDED me. Who else would make him snacks every Sunday morning? Would help him turn his toybox into a slide? Jenna started mentioning that I looked dead inside, all the time. Sometimes I'd get so tired, so low, that I'd lose my place in things. I stayed up at night afraid, Felix pacing around my room. Sometimes I'd get too worried and sleep in my closet or under my bed. He came into my room three nights. I started sleeping in classes, sitting out in gym. Sometimes I'd forget where I was, who I was, what was real. Sometimes it was like I was standing next to myself, which makes a lot more sense, now. Felix, when he was there, that year, did everything he could. He was the one who reminded me to eat, to drink. When the disconnect got so bad I started hurting myself to feel like I existed, he was the one who knew how to take care of it all, keep it all clean. He felt like he was leaving soon. If I remember right, it was after July Fourth, that year. He pushed it off as long as he could. He tried so hard to stay. But then he was gone again, and I was there alone, unable to remember him, not sure how I'd learned to take care of myself and alone enough that sometimes I didn't bother. I told nobody else until I'd left the house. I was eighteen. In eighth grade, I'd have been fourteen, or so. Four years of not sleeping at night, of keeping a bell tied to my door, of not being able to have both my ears covered, of waking up to any sort of noise and wondering if I was about to be killed and kept quiet or raped. I moved out, and when my dad had to move in with my uncle, I gave him grocery and gas money so that Logan would have food when he went to visit. I've never been good at talking, not out loud. For a lot of my life, the only person I ever talked to didn't have to hear my physically speak to know what I needed said. The person I went through trauma besides, the person who took care of me and kept me here, never needed real words. For a while, I couldn't do it, even after leaving that house. I would write out messages to friends when important subjects came up, holding the phone up for them to read. In an argument, I'd text the person sitting next to me as they talked. My friends grew used to it, usually. To silence interrupted by bright screens. It's always been easier for me to talk this way, it probably always will be. Typing things out gives me time to reread, rephrase, to make sure I'm not leaving anything out. This whole thing might seem like an excuse, or a tangent, which is ridiculous since I really am writing just for me, tonight, but it's not that. There are things I'm not good at. There are pictures of characters that make me walk faster down crowded sidewalks in midday. There are sentences that can set me off, launching me into gross, unexplained stretches of panicked silence I have no control over. There are tunes that make my eyes go wide, make me pick at my nails until they bleed, make me dizzy and sick and empty all at once. If you tickle me, I'll burst into tears. If you tickle me because something serious happened, or I sound serious and you're trying to cheer me up, I'll want to kill myself. There are things I'm not good at that don't make sense. Things I'm not good at that I could be good at. Things I have every chance to be good at and won't be. But talking has always been the hardest. I'm sorry. I am. I'm sorry for everyone who ever tries to talk to me. I'm sorry for everyone who gets frustrated when I fall into the habit of being quiet and talking through a screen; I was raised to believe that a wrong word or bad response can literally hurt me, and being able to see my words makes me feel more calm. I'm sorry to everyone who I ever nod or shake my head at; I know it's not much of anything at all, but sometimes I don't know what to say and get too afraid to say anything. I'm sorry for the people who deal with my silence; the long stretches of putting off meetings, or conversations, the inability to make words happen, the inability to explain myself. For most of my life, I wasn't given the chance. I still fall into the obsession over choosing my words carefully. Talking isn't something I've ever been good at. It might never be. But it's one of the things I've been trying really, really hard to get better at, at least. And whether there's more than one person who can really see the progress I've made, I'm damn proud of it. Go me.