#the grey streaks in his hair i think i actually almost threw my phone thanks

[inu-arts]

that new DDVAU chapter sure was something huh

(credit to @kitsuneisi and @xmaruu11 i am but a humble meme maker)

[miss-choco-chips]

YJ College au: Zatara

Zachary Zatara is both a myth and their housemate.

In which Bart has a cryptic-buddy, Tim is stressed because cute boy insists on being annoying, and everyone else just rolls with it.

Tagging @animemangasoul and @marudny-robot cause I know you guys like this au

--.--.--.--

As usual after pulling an all-week-er (he had left the ‘nighters well behind at this point), Tim was up late that saturday. The window had been left open last night, so a soft streak of sunlight wamed his bed, waking him up slowly and peacefully. Yeah, he would have liked a few more hours, but sunbathing in his sheets for a while wasn’t all that bad either. What would make this half-awake-half-dreaming experience would be some chill music.

Muddled mind made, he rolled in his bed, hand patting the mattress for his phone, squinting his eyes open when he hit something different instead.

He found himself to be almost nose to nose with a dark haired, grey eyed boy.

Tim started that fine morning screaming himself hoarse.

-.-.-.-.-

Sitting at the kitchen’s table, getting everything ready for a late sunday breakfast, Kon raised his head when he heard the strong sound of a scream, followed by… yeah, that was a body hitting the ground. It was unmistakable, in this house. 

“Oh, hey guys”, he called to the attention of the rest of his housemates, all in equals states of zombie-ness, with not as good hearing as his. “Zachary is here.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“The fuck, Zach? My bed? Did you HAVE to crash on my bed? Why are you even here?”

Tim, four coffee cups after his pseudo heart attack half an hour ago, was ready to face the day and their intruder.

“Dude I live here as well, you know. Also your bed is literally the softest thing I ever slept on, you rich bastard. Learn to share.”

“I’ll buy you your own fucking mattress if you swear to never crawl on my bed uninvited again.”

The boy’s eyebrows rose, suggestively. “What was that about an invitation?”

Distressed and not feeling awake enough (he was still two cups away from that) to deal with bi thoughts this early in the morning, he turned his most helpless look to Conner.

Because he was the best friend ever, he threw a pillow to Zachary. And because he was a suck up to anyone who brought him food, Bart intercepted the hit and gratefully accepted the candy bag he got in thanks.

“But actually, Zat, what are you doing here? I thought you were in Berlin?” interjected Cassie, her own tea (the heathen) cup warming her hands as she cuddled with Cissie and Greta on the couch, legs in each other’s laps and generally being the cutest shit ever.

Anita, not very keen on that kind of sweet love, had been wrestling with Slobo for control over the remote for the last fifteen minutes. Miguel was keeping count on their hits for them, though it was mostly assured he would rig the whole thing up to whoever had bribed him better before the fight.

Tim just wanted to go back to sleep in his sun-warmed bed.

“C’mon guys, keep up”, moaned Bart, candy bag half empty already, “he was there two weeks ago. He had an exam yesterday so he came back last monday.”

“...come again?”

“I’ve been room-hopping ever since, though none of you seemed to mind. Until I disturbed sleeping beauty over here, at least.”

Miguel’s eyes left the fight to squint suspiciously at them. “We weren’t aware you were doing that. Where did you sleep? How didn’t we notice?”

“I'ma mystery. I also move around a lot when sleeping so I probably ended up under someone’s bed after crashing from studying. Oh, Anita, if you were wondering, your purple bra is under Cissie’s bed.”

Anita slowly let go of the grip she had on Slobo’s neck. Her eyes shone something dangerous. Cissie, the one who was apparently hosting the boy all along, also stood up and frowned.

“How do you even know that bra is mine!!”

“What the fuck were you doing under my bed, you bastard!”

Tim sipped his coffee, bitterly. “At least he was under it, and not sharing it.”

Kon patted his back.

-.-.-.-.-..- 

“I swear, Jay, he thrives on making me lose my shit. He just… comes and goes whenever, leaving no proof he was ever there, or acting like he was always around. Drives me nuts. I’m not sure he even attends classes, and I only know he actually has a right to enter our house because his rent money always appears on the kitchen table a day before its due. He doesn’t even have a room, why does he even pay? To have an excuse to scare the shit out of the rest of us. Except Bart. The little shit lives for our suffering.”

Jason arches an eyebrow, sipping his beer as he carefully examines his brother. Tim looked less tired than the last time they saw each other, and the modifications done by his psychiatrist had done wonders to the shadows in his eyes. But he seemed somehow… frazzled.

“And he was just there when you woke up?”

“His nose was touching mine.”

“I bet your little bi heart couldn't take that, huh? Is he cute? Maybe you invited him to share your bed the night before and just don’t remember. You know how you get after a week of disregarding your general wellbeing.”

“Oh, shush you. I take care of myself. When was the last time you went to your check in with Patricia?”

Jason scratched the back of his neck, averting his eyes. “I missed one session, because I have exams too you know? But I’m up to date with Silvio, and we are working on slowly easing me off the medication.” He noticed the way Tim looked at his drink, expression screaming bullshit, and he scowled in response. “Fuck off, it’s alcohol-free. Kori and Artemis would have my head if they caught me mixing my dosage with anything stronger than tea, and I can’t deal with Biz and Roy’s disappointed eyes.” 

Tim thought of the last time he refused to see his therapist, and the look in everyone’s  (specially Kon’s) eyes, and had to agree. Having friends sucked when one wanted to wallow in self destructive conducts.

“Whatever, all I’m saying is, he’s not cute enough for me to forgive his weirdness. You know the people I roll with, so this is saying a lot. And I would remember inviting him to my bed, if anything for the mortification of it. I’m also…”

The ring of the doorbell distracted them both of whatever Tim was gonna say next. Waving his brother off, Jason got up to pay for their pizza.

When he returned to his living room, Tim was no longer alone.

“Who the fuck are you?” He exclaimed, eyes going back to the hallway at his back, then again at the black haired, grey eyed kid sitting next to Tim. “And how did you get in? We are on the sixth floor and I was just at the only door I have.”

Tim raised his eyes at him, and he seemed equal parts resigned and frazzled. ‘Told ya’, he seemed to say.

“Yo, the food’s finally here. I’m starving. The name’s Zachary Zatarra, by the way. Tim’s friend and housemate.”

“Allegedly” mumbled the other under his breath, earning himself a smile and pat on the back. “Don’t question it, Jay. He’ll be gone after a while when none of us are paying attention. Just let it be.”

“But while I’m here”, the other boy continued, grinning devilishly as he looked at Tim and then Jason, “instead of questioning how did I get in, what about I tell you all about your lil bro’s crush? It 's adorable.”

Tim raised an eyebrow “I don’t have a crush on anyone.”

“Like I said, adorable. He’s so oblivious, it’s precious.”

Decision made, Jason left the pizzas at the coffee table and went to fetch a soda for their guest. Gossip, especially about his siblings, was the best way to gain his immediate cooperation. And he could always force the answers about Zatara out of Bart; the brat was terrified of him.

-.-.-.-.-.-

“Hey, who has to cook tonight? Because I’m craving chicken nuggets.”

Cassie raised her eyes from her magazine, tapping a finger against her chin.

“Uhm… Zach, I think?”

Miguel nodded. “Okay, thanks, where can I find him to suggest my dinner idea?”

Cissie, legs on Cassie’s lap, dropped her head over the couch’s armrest. “Ask Tim? Wasn’t he crashing with him this week?”

That same moment, said boy entered the room, shaking his head. “No, he was sharing with Anita and Cassie.”

“No, he wasn’t… Slobo?”

“Not with us either”, denied Miguel, sharing a look with his roommate to confirm just in case.

“Conner?”

“Didn’t Bart say yesterday he was driving him to the airport?”

“Wait, he left the country again?”

“More importantly, can Bart drive?”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

When Tim came back home from class, Damian was in his living room. Using a laptop. Sitting side by side with Zatarra.

This couldn't be good.

“Hey, Timbo, welcome back.”

“Drake.”

Not uttering a single word, Tim turned around and walked out of there. Sleeping on a park bench seemed like a preferable choice, compared to finding out exactly why the two banes of his life were sitting together. It was healthier, good for his peace of mind.

Something something self care? His therapist would be so proud.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Hey dude.”

“Zatara. Your presence here disrupts my room’s feng shui. Please remove yourself from the premises.”

“This disaster zone is the farthest thing from armonious. If anything, I’m improving it.”

Tim raised his eyes from the computer screen. He could always kick the other man out, but that would require leaving the nest he made out of blankets and snacks on his bed. Perhaps a more civilized option would be better. Besides, as boundary-less as the dude was, he didn’t step into the room, just remaining on the doorstep, so whatever he was here for, he most likely needed Tim’s willful compliance.

“If I listen to what you have to say, will you leave?”

Zatara smiled angelically, like butter wouldn’t melt on his mouth, but the look behind his eyes was nothing short of devious. “That’s actually what I came to speak with you about. I have a show…”

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“A magic show. Dude, you do know I’m a magician, right?”

Tim didn’t, in fact, know that, besides baseless suppositions about his disappearing-and-appearing abilities. But he had an all knowing facade to maintain, so he grunted in acknowledgement.

“Right, so, I have a show scheduled for tomorrow, but I took Bart out to dinner yesterday so I’m all dried up, and I need to buy a plane ticket asap.”

“Are you asking me for a loan?” he inquired, incredulous. As a general rule, all their housemates refrained from that. Something about not wanting to take advantage of their billionaire friend…

“No, no. I’m offering you a…. service.”

“Look, Zach, no offense? But you ain’t cute enough for me to stoop that low and pay for the… pleasure of your company. I can just give you the money and you pay me back whenever, dude.”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that! You wish I was offering something  of the sort” he laughed, arms crossed and side leaning against the doorframe, chest and arm muscles perfectly visible. Tim kept his eyes carefully above neck-level. No need to give any weakness away.

“Then?”

“I know you love me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t make you miserable, right?”

“That is correct, yes.”

“Are you familiar with the ‘Buy my silence, $8.000 a month’ meme? Then get ready for a ‘pay for my absence’, my good bitch. I thought maybe you’d like...”

“Sold. I buy it. Take my credit card and go, be free, roam the world. Just get out of my room and fucking text once in a while so I know you’re alive.”

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Now or never

(Hayffie ff ❤️. I initially shied away from this prompt because I didn’t think I could write it in a way that felt interesting. But I ended up having a great time with it, so much fun that this became one of my longest one-shots. — I make no apologies for the length of my posts in the feed or in the tags. I don’t apologize for any aspect of my free expression. For personal reasons, I write on my phone using the tumblr app, and the limitations are what they are. Like the limitations of my disabled body are what they are. For prompts, I reblog the prompt along with the link to my fic in case anyone wishes to reblog something shorter. — I write for myself, for my love of the characters and the process. When people comment on, like, or reblog my posts, I view those interactions as unexpected gifts. I have such love for writing that I’d do it old-school like Anne Frank, without any audience beyond my journal itself. This blog has been that for me for over 5 years, my space for coming of age and processing intensities in a strained and oppressive midlife. — I’m inspired now by prompts much more than I have been in past fanfiction efforts. So, thank you to everyone who offers them. And when people are willing to slog through my long fics and other posts, that is fabulous devotion to the characters/issues that are important to me, and I feel good to know I’m not caring alone. — 💛 Kim)

***

His facial hair was rough against her lips. The sensation triggered fantasy which played out more readily if she didn’t have to look at him. So she kissed him with her eyes closed whenever they fucked around. He was the same height as Haymitch. When she wore 5-inch heels, those added to the feeling of intimacy. It wasn’t entirely real, but it felt better than loneliness.

Their relationship was discrete, of course. Mutual discretion was a condition she established before getting involved with anyone, especially someone as high-profile as Seneca Crane.

As far as Capitol society was concerned, their connection was primarily professional, with occasional dinners at expensive restaurants. It was an image they’d been comfortable projecting, and it wasn’t far from the truth.

In moments that weren’t overly physical, she enjoyed his eyes. Blueish-grey with a streak of emotion, they were familiar enough to help her pretend. That’s why she’d first invited Seneca up to her apartment in the fall — to have sex with Haymitch in fantasy.

The sex was good enough. He was gifted with his hands, though he smelled too much like her. She wondered if he wore the same cologne as she did. And his body frame was smaller than the one she actually wanted intimacy with. By November, they’d become a regular *good enough* thing.

A dozen years earlier, they’d been schoolmates at the Academy. He graduated two years before her. She was softer then but already a force to reckon with. He was shorter in those days, sharp, obsessed with tech design. Ambition was an attribute they shared, perhaps the only one.

By 30, he’d become one of the youngest Head Gamemakers in history. He enjoyed the rush of adrenaline he experienced when executing the Games, and he relished the opportunity for artistry. The thrill and beauty he saw in death made Effie uncomfortable, but she viewed it as part of the job. He carried out the president’s wishes, though he confided in her that he didn’t fully agree with the way Snow ruled Panem.

On an evening in late December, they walked along a garden path covered in trellises draped with strands of fairy lights. Effie kept her hands warm in her pockets. It had been a long day, and she was ready to be home in bed, asleep, alone.

“What do you think about marriage?” he asked. The question was slightly more inspiring than if he’d asked her what she thought about the weather.

“I haven’t given it much thought,” she answered honestly, leaving out her occasional ludicrous fantasies about having babies with tiny purple wigs and predispositions for alcoholism.

“A union could be advantageous for both our careers. The publicity could improve your chances of promotion to escort for an inlying district.”

“And what do you stand to gain from a *union*?”

“You’re iconic, Effie. You represent the Capitol with style and positivity, and you execute your work flawlessly. You’re in good favor with the president. You could be a wonderful ally for me,” You could be a buffer for me, he didn’t say.

“Is there anything more?”

“Like what?”

“Really, Seneca, is THIS how you’re proposing??”

“Well, our families would support us. And there’s the matter of sentiment.”

“Sentiment?”

“I like you. I care for you, of course.”

She thought of Haymitch’s words from last summer, the night they almost... but didn’t.

‘I like you too much,’ he’d said, ‘I can’t fuck around with you and pretend it’s nothing. And that’s how it would have to be. That’s the only way it could be.”

Venia and Octavia insisted Haymitch loved her, but she believed that was still a pipe dream. She could keep waiting in vain, or she could choose a more sensible path.

“And there’s this...” From his coat pocket, Seneca pulled a black velvet box and flipped it open. Effie’s jaw dropped. The diamond was huge. It was far and away the loveliest ring she’d seen. She looked in those blueish-grey eyes that reminded her a bit of everything she wanted that wasn’t accessible to her.

Seneca pressed, “Say yes, and the wedding can be one of the biggest events of the year, rivaling even the Games.”

She imagined what her dress would look like. He was saying the right words to tempt her. They didn’t love each other, but maybe she could look past that inconvenient reality. Sometimes people married for other reasons.

“The press would go crazy,” he continued, “There would be red carpet interviews. We could invite everyone who’s anyone: stylists, victors, even Snow.”

Victors... Would he show up to watch me get married? 6 months ago, Haymitch had asked her what she wanted. He’d unzipped her dress and touched her body. He’d taken off his shirt and shown her his scars. Then he effectively told her a relationship between them was never going to happen, and he held her hand as she fell asleep.

Damn him.

She took her left hand out of her pocket. “Let’s see how it fits.”

Seneca had investigated her ring size, so the fit was perfect.

“Let’s show him,” she said.

“Show who?”

“Them. Let’s show them all.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Yes. Let’s get married. ...This spring.” She could plan a wedding in 5 months, no problem. Isn’t this the time couples usually cry and leap into one another’s arms? Shouldn’t this occasion call for a show of passion?

“This spring it shall be then.” When Seneca kissed her, she closed her eyes and embraced the same fantasy as usual.

***

Haymitch rarely received mail beyond his compensatory income from the government. In March, when the post delivered an envelope addressed to him in gold ink, he almost tossed the thing straight into the trash, recognizing it as an invitation to a Capitol party. Then he saw the name “Trinket” and the return address of Effie’s family home.

What’s this? He opened it right there on the porch with uneasiness gnawing at his stomach.

“You are cordially invited to celebrate the marriage of

Euphemia Rosalind Trinket -and-

Seneca Lucius Crane

Saturday, the first of May

At 3 O’Clock in the afternoon

Palazzo Annaeus”

What the hell is THIS! His stomach churned, and he vomited up a pint of white liquor on the ground beside the porch.

Memories flooded in... tracing up the seams of her stockings, unhooking her garters, feeling her body without a corset, running his fingers through her hair as she curled up in bed, so soft. So damn soft. Fear had screamed warnings about getting attached to her. Fear was always screaming.

When those Games were done, he’d left the Capitol with a strained sadness between them, like a rubber band stretched too long. Today it snapped and smacked him in the face. He felt the sting of annoyance and regret.

Damn her.

He couldn’t fix this. The only thing left to do was decide whether or not he was willing to watch it happen. He would have burned the invitation in the fireplace if not for the P.S. in her obnoxiously perfect handwriting.

***

Seneca had been right about one thing. Effie’s parents were thrilled that she’d decided to marry one of *the Crane boys,* especially the Head Gamemaker. Historically the Cranes had been part of the old guard of the wealthy from the Capitol, and they’d successfully diversified their financial interests in the years following the Dark Days.

Her parents spared no expense for *the wedding of the decade.* Effie spent the winter so caught up in the comfort of validation and the thrill of event planning that most of the time she evaded the sense of dread that nagged her when she startled awake in the mornings.

When she’d addressed the invitations, she considered adding a postscript to Haymitch’s, either “Fuck you” or “I love you.” Both feelings were nonsensical and nonetheless true. In the end she’d written,

“H — Please come. — E”

She checked the mail each day for his response card among hundreds, but it never showed up. Figures. He probably threw it away.

She didn’t need anyone to *rescue* her from the fate she’d chosen. If she wanted to call off the wedding, she’d simply come up with a logical explanation to save face; she’d apologize to Seneca and her parents; she’d put a stop to all plans, and that would be that.

The phrase “Mayday mayday mayday” was a distress signal used by Capitol troops during the Dark Days. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d subconsciously scheduled her wedding on the first of May because, apart from the fine details, opulence, and attention, her heart wasn’t in this.

***

“We’re here at Pallazo Annaeus,” Claudius reported from the red carpet which had been rolled out along the walkway to the galleria of the Crane family mansion. “Just a short time from now, fashion icon and District 12 escort, Effie Trinket, will wed two-time Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane.”

“Isn’t this exciting!!” Caesar was in typical form. “The air is positively electric!”

“So much so that my hair is standing on end!”

“As is mine!! Thank goodness for hair products.”

“And wigs! We’re seeing all of the ABOVE as the guests arrive. What a crowd!”

Their interviews with attendees were concise, asking which stylists designed their gowns and suits, and if they had particular wishes to share with the couple.

“Now here comes... Is that?... It is! Haymitch Abernathy, victor of the second Quarter Quell.”

“How touching. One advisor for District 12 supporting the other on her special day.”

“I LOVE it!! Haymitch, do you have any words for the happy couple?”

Haymitch stomped past them without pause. He hadn’t entirely sobered up from the bottle of whiskey he drank on the train, and he didn’t even try to resist flipping Caesar off when asked the question.

“A man of few words,” Claudius covered for a shocked Caesar. “We never know what to expect from that one.”

“He certainly does keep us on our toes.”

“Well, it’s a good thing we have stylish shoes!”

“Indeed!” Each of them spun around on tiptoe, and the cameras zoomed in on their footwear as a distraction from Haymitch’s persistent middle finger.

Just beyond the entryway, the galleria was packed already. Guests were dressed in yards of fabric and large hats. Floral arrangements lined marble walls covered with paintings, some of which were probably older than Panem itself. Haymitch slipped into the first empty chair he spotted, ignoring the usher who asked him, “Are you here for the bride or the groom?”

The question pestered. The bride. Shit. I’m here for the bride.

***

With every detail attended to, Effie curled her fingers around her father’s arm in the vestibule. Flower girls and bridesmaids entered the galleria first, then it would be her turn.

“My princess is getting married in a palace.” Her father kissed her cheek.

“Daddy! Careful of my makeup. Photos aren’t being taken until afterward.”

“Of course. It’s YOUR perfect day.”

Effie had certainly made everything perfect, except for this unrelenting nausea and desire to run away. She forced herself to breathe slowly. The last thing she needed right now was to throw up, ruin her white gown, and have the press start a false rumor about pregnancy. She had no desire to have children with Seneca. She’d made that clear, and he agreed.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?”

Her father calling her “sweetheart” made every discomfort worse. Clearly she thought of Haymitch.

“I’m trying to be alright... but I don’t know,” she confessed.

Her father wasn’t sure what to say. “It’s almost time to walk down the aisle. Is that what you want to do?”

He asked it like she had a choice, but it was too late for choices.

“Let’s go pay the piper!” As Effie started down the aisle on her father’s arm, she didn’t notice the splendor and fullness of the room, nor the oohs and aahs from standing friends and family. She didn’t notice the rose petals on the floor, nor her fiancé sweating like a pig about to be roasted alive with an apple in its mouth.

All she saw was Haymitch.

He stood at the edge of the aisle, in the middle of the room. In the years that she’d known him, he’d been clear about his disdain for Capitol events, yet here he was, no RSVP and very much himself in his regular clothes from District 12. She’d probably be irritated if she hadn’t missed him so much. He was standing right here, and she was still missing him. It took every ounce of restraint to not tell him so.

“Great dress, sweetheart.” He offered a subdued smile as she passed.

She looked back at him once, and her eyes felt like old glass, holding tears too hardened to fall. Then there was nothing to do but look forward.

***

Fear was screaming different words now at Haymitch. Stop this. This wedding. Stop this!

As she walked away from him, he could see that her dress had an open back from her waist to the top of her shoulder blades. The gap was bordered in ornate jewels, stitching, and fancy shit. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her skin, and he couldn’t stop thinking about touching her.

She glanced at him again as she handed her bouquet to a bridesmaid. Her eyes were pleading. He knew the look because of all the times he’d tried to ignore her feelings for him ...and his feelings for her.

The officiant addressed the audience, “We are gathered here today to join Effie and Seneca in matrimony. Family, friends, and honored guests, do you support this union and affirm that these two should be married today?”

Haymitch looked around as the audience responded in unison, "We do."

I don’t.

The officiant continued, “Will you surround this couple in love, offering them the joys of your friendship? Will you support this couple in their relationship? At times of conflict will you offer them the strength of your wisest counsel and the comfort of your thoughtful concern? At times of joy, will you celebrate with them, nourishing their love for one another?”

The automatons responded together again, "We will.”

Like hell I will.

“If any of you has a reason why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Haymitch sighed and shook his head. Someday he’d be the death of her, or she’d be the death of him. Maybe today was that day.

This felt like now or never. The bit of whiskey still in his veins helped it be now. He stood up and moved quickly down the aisle to the sound of gasps and murmurs all around him.

***

“What are you doing?” Effie was stunned as he gripped her wrist.

“Excuse us,” Haymitch said directly to Seneca, then he pulled Effie out of the room down a long hallway.

She went willingly, chastising him in hushed tones along the way. “Haymitch! This is highly inappropriate!”

“More inappropriate than us having this conversation in front of the entire Capitol?”

“What conversation?”

He pulled her into a room down the hall.

“Not so tight!”

He loosened his grasp on her wrist but didn’t let go.

“What are you doing, Effie?”

“Do I need to state the obvious?”

“Marriage?? Why are you even WITH him?”

“I don’t owe you explanations — or anything else for that matter.”

She was right. She owed him nothing. His edge softened, and he stroked her wrist with his thumb. “Why are you marrying somebody you didn’t even look at as you walked down that aisle?”

“I LOOKED at him.”

“For about five seconds, and what did you see?”

She hesitated, “He’s wearing a tie, not an ascot. We had a dispute about it this week, and I insisted he wear the tie.”

“That’s what you’re thinking about on your wedding day when you see the man you’re about to marry — a goddamn tie?”

“Why are YOU giving ME the third degree! What are YOU thinking about on my wedding day?”

“I’m thinking about how much I hate Seneca Crane. I don’t want him marrying you. I don’t want you fucking him.”

“Well, that ship sailed! We’ve been having sex for months, not that it’s any of your business!”

“Not my business?”

“Absolutely not!”

He was burning with a mix of emotions: anger, jealousy, frustration, confusion, desire, fear. “If it’s not my business, then why did you ask me to ‘please come’ today? What am I doing here? ...If it’s not my business, then why did reading your wedding invitation make me puke. Why can’t I stop thinking about you? ...If it’s not my business, then why do I want to be the one to take this dress off you. I keep holding your wrist because if I let go, I’m gonna touch you, and what would your *fiancé* think about that? What would YOU think about that?”

He’d never confessed so much to her all at once, and she was in a mild state of shock about it. “Last summer you told me if we ‘fucked around’ then you’d have to pretend it means nothing. You told me you can’t pretend that, so where does that leave us?”

“I don’t know, honey.”

“I think you do. ...Let go of my wrist.”

“I told you what’s gonna happen if I let go.”

“Then let it happen.”

In a duality of reluctance and eagerness, he let go of her wrist and caressed her through the open back of her dress. She shivered and leaned into him. He wrapped his arms around her, touching every inch of skin he could reach.

The wig she wore resembled her actual hair color, light golden, like wheat before harvest. In this moment, she was an angel. He’d kiss her if she’d just shut up, but she had things to say too.

“If it’s not your business, then why am I still here with you instead of out there marrying Seneca?” Her tone softened. “Why do I close my eyes and picture you every time I kiss him and every time we have sex? ....If it’s not your business, then why do I miss you so much?”

“Jesus, Effie. What are you doing to me?”

“I don’t know, honey.”

“I think you do.”

***

From the doorway, Seneca cleared his throat. He’d been listening awhile. Effie tried to pull away from Haymitch, but first he had to untangle himself from the back of her dress.

“This isn’t quite what it looks like,” Effie laughed nervously.

“It looks like unfinished business,” Seneca said.

“Then it IS what it looks like,” Haymitch told him.

“Will you please excuse us?” Seneca asked, proper as fuck. “Effie and I have some things to discuss.”

“I’m not leaving.” Fear and desire for her wouldn’t budge.

“I’ll handle this,” she insisted. “Please wait in the hall.”

This was the Gamemaker’s house, his wedding, and his girl for god sake. What else could Haymitch do? Pull out his knife and slit the guy’s throat?? This was Effie’s world, not his. Without another word, he stepped out of the room, and he hated that she closed the door behind him.

Seneca confronted her, “I’ll say this quickly because our guests have already waited long enough. A marriage of convenience is prudent when the motivations for such a union are stronger than the desire for love. I’ve realized that’s not the case here. For me, and apparently not for you either.”

“Are you in love with someone else?”

“Someone my family regards as unsuitable. I’m sorry I didn’t speak about it sooner. I was afraid you wouldn’t understand.” He glanced at the door, “But I see that you do. Frankly, this interruption is an enormous relief.”

Effie was slightly miffed to realize that Seneca would not be pining for her, but the interruption did lift her feeling of dread. “I apologize as well. I haven’t been forthcoming with you, or with myself. What do we do now? The Capitol is expecting a wedding.”

“The Capitol is expecting a show, and they’re getting that. Let’s walk out there together and announce that we’ve decided to cancel the nuptials and move straight to the reception. It can still be the party of the year.”

“But my parents...”

“I’ll reimburse your father for his investment in this. It’s the right thing to do. I do care for you, Effie, but I should never have discussed marriage as a hypothetical, let alone proposed and let it get this far.”

He held out his hand. “Shall we? Before any more time passes.”

She threaded her fingers with his in solidarity.

When the door opened, Haymitch was still there in the hall, fuming now at the sight of them holding hands.

“Seneca, give me another minute,” she said.

He let go of her and took several steps away.

She touched Haymitch’s arm and spoke into his ear, “The wedding is off. But we need time to appease our families and everyone else. Meet me at 9 o’clock at The Popina on 6th St. Do you know the place?”

He’d never been there, but it was a good call. He doubted the press would look for him at a swanky wine bar. “I know the one.”

She whispered, “I said I don’t owe you anything, and you don’t owe me anything either. Regardless, this feeling between us isn’t going away.”

Seneca told him, “Keep following this hallway as it bends to the right. You’ll eventually reach a side door you can take out of here if you want...”

Haymitch didn’t trust him and didn’t want to leave.

“...Unless you’d prefer a walk back down the red carpet with the other guests.”

I don’t.

Effie urged him to go. “I need to set this right. Please don’t make this harder for me than it already is.”

“I don’t wanna run out in the middle of a pile of shit.”

“Language! This wedding is not a pile of anything. It’s an event we need to finish differently than expected. Will you trust me?”

“Fine.” He answered without conviction, turning away so he wouldn’t have to watch them link hands again. Holding the handle of the knife in his pocket, he followed the hallway to the side door and left all that nonsense behind him. Did he trust her?? If she walked into that bar tonight without a rock on her finger, then maybe he just might.

***

Afterward, the red carpet commentary indeed made for a more interesting show.

“The only thing more exciting than a wedding,” said Caesar, “Is a kiss at the altar between the bride and groom after they’ve CALLED OFF the ceremony!”

“You may now kiss the woman in white who is no longer your bride!”

“Oh, Claudius, you’re so cheeky!”

“I can honestly say I’ve never seen a couple more happy to be NOT married.”

“Did somebody bring the sun INSIDE the palace? Because they were positively glowing.”

“The reception is still on, and did you hear their words about it?”

“Caesar, I was on the edge of my seat, and I couldn’t miss them, but say them again.”

“Seneca began, ‘May 1st, May Day, is not just one of folktales. Mayday was a cry of distress during war, terrible war. The Capitol responded and transformed that distress into peace.’

“Then...”

“Then Effie continued, ‘Instead of celebrating a wedding, we’ve decided to transform the reception we’d planned into a festival honoring the glory of the Capitol. Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever.’”

“Don’t you just love that?”

“I DO! I absolutely do!”

“Well, that’s the only ‘I do’ that we’ll be hearing this afternoon!”

Hysterical laughter ensued between the two.

“Claudius, the question on everyone’s mind revolves around the influence of a certain mentor from District 12.”

“Yes. Haymitch Abernathy interrupted the ceremony.”

“He pulled Effie away, and Seneca followed. When the couple returned hand-in-hand, they called off the wedding. The mystery is, what happened in between?”

“As you said earlier, we never know what to expect from Haymitch. That one is a wildcard.”

“We’ve been waiting for him to emerge from the palace so we can ask him, but as we noted before, he is a man of few words.”

“Maybe we’ll catch him at the reception.”

“The festival!”

“The festival, of course!”

***

By 10 o’clock, Haymitch had read the sign on the wall a hundred times. “Hedone says, ‘You can drink here for one; if you give two, you will drink better; if you give four, you will drink Falernian.”

‘Hedone’ he recognized as the Roman goddess of pleasure. He thought pleasure would be a fine devotion if it wasn’t pursued at the cost of other people’s lives or pursued to chase away demons. He was already chasing one bottle of Falernian with another. “Damn Capitol wine doesn’t get you drunk unless you chug two bottles. And this is the best they’ve got?”

He’d been there a couple of hours. During that time, his attention was divided between that sign reflecting on hedonism and the screen showing footage of Effie’s non-wedding reception.

They were *saving face* alright. Haymitch had rarely seen Effie kiss anyone, and tonight he’d watched her kiss her *former* fiancé every time someone clinked a glass. The kisses were pecks mostly, a game they were probably playing to host a fun party and show the Capitol there were no hard feelings between them. But as the kisses added up, Haymitch’s dislike for Seneca Crane became more palpable.

“Slide a bit,” she said, showing up beside him. She was hiding in a simple dress and a light layer of makeup. Her hair was pulled back beneath a scarf instead of a wig.

He scooted over, making room for her at his booth in back. “You’re late, sweetheart. Did Crane kiss all that makeup off your face?”

“And you’re drunk.” She caressed the back of his neck, content to be with him right now, drunk or not.

“Wasn’t drunk an hour ago after the first bottle of this Falernian shit. But the more you drink, the better it tastes.”

She drank from his glass, and he didn’t object. From his perspective right now, she could drink straight from his mouth or off his body.

He encircled her waist, pulling her as close as the setting allowed. He was relieved to see that she wasn’t married. His inhibitions were reduced, so she could do just about anything to him right now, and he wouldn’t object. He tried not to think about her having that kind of power.

She stroked his arm wrapped around her. “There’s a rumor circulating about you.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?” He kissed her neck after each question. “Do they think I’m fucking you?”

She giggled because the hair on his face tickled her skin and because she was anticipating his response. “Not quite, honey.”

“What then?”

“They think you’re fucking Seneca.”

“What the hell?!!”

“Caesar and Claudius predicted ‘the mentor from District 12 is having a torrid affair with the Head Gamemaker,’ and you pulled me away from the wedding in the hopes of taking my place at the altar.”

“They’re lunatics.”

“It’s a risky move breaking up a wedding. Who knows what people will say.”

“What do YOU say?”

“I say you look at my breasts far too often for you to be interested in Seneca Crane,” she chuckled.

“And what do you say about me breaking up your wedding?”

As she looked into his eyes, there was no approximation, no almost. It was a relief to not have to *pretend* that he was the one she wanted, but to just KNOW it. “I say, thank you. ...Sweetheart.”

What fantasies and real desires would be accessible with him? She’d know more in time.

[marvel-lucy]

The Walking Disaster - Chapter 9, the end

Way too long, way too rubbish writing, but here it is, the end!

All chapters are on the Walking Disaster Masterlist

I don’t know how long I sit there. I’m drunk, and upset, and time isn’t really making sense right now. But by the time I hear a door slam, and footsteps, I’m so cold I’m shivering and I feel like I might throw up. I’m very sober, but right now I kind of wish I wasn’t.

After I left the club, I just walked. It was like I was sixteen again, right back to when I’d go on double dates with Bucky and I’d turn around and my ‘date’ would have gone off with someone else. It doesn’t hurt any less, no matter how old you get. It starts to rain, because of course it does, but I just keep walking until I’m completely lost.  I flag down a cab, give him my address, and slump into a corner. When I get home, the front door’s open again, so I slam it hard behind me, which at least expresses some of how I’m feeling. Then I head upstairs.  And outside Apartment 3, there’s a soaking wet, slumped shape. She lifts up her head, because of course it’s her, and she looks a mess. Mascara down to her chin, eyes red and swollen, hair plastered to her face. Her lips are blue and she’s shivering hard.

‘Steve…’ I try to speak clearly but my throat’s thick with crying, and I’m shivering, and I sort of hiccup out a noise.  ‘They threw me out, the club. My bag’s there. My feet.’

She pulls herself up to standing and she looks so small and pathetic, that even with my heart hurting, I feel for her. I look down at her feet, which are bare. They’re grey with dirt and there are streaks of blood on them. I have no idea why they’ve thrown her out, or what’s going on, but I’m not going to leave her out here to get hypothermia.

‘You’d better come in and get dry,’ he says, opening his door. I wince a bit walking into his apartment, I can feel my feet more now I’ve sobered up. I stand just inside his door, dripping slowly on the floor, while my brain runs around in circles like a hamster in a wheel, trying to think of what I’m supposed to say next. I’ve got nothing. Steve’s disappeared somewhere inside, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to follow him, so I just wait, dripping forlornly. He reappears after a minute.

‘Go have a shower, you’re freezing and your feet need cleaning. I’ve put some stuff in there you can wear after.’

He half-smiles as he says this, and I start to think maybe it’s OK and he didn’t see anything, but it’s just his way. He can’t do mean, he’s a good guy. He turns back to the kitchen, so I hobble through to the bathroom.

Even miserable as I am, you know I take a moment while the shower warms up, to just appreciate being in Steve’s bathroom. It’s clean and tidy, everything laid out with military precision. There’s plenty of thick towels and what looks like sweatpants and a sweatshirt on a stool by the door. I step into the shower and when the hot water hits me I realise just how cold I was. I let the water run over me for a while, then I reach for the shower gel, and it’s only when I pour some onto my hand that I realise it smells like Steve. I couldn’t even have told you he smelt of anything before, but now I smell it, it’s this. This shower gel, plus the smell of goodness, the aroma of wonderful… you get it. I close my eyes and it’s almost like I’m having a shower with Steve. Barring the fact he’s probably sitting in his kitchen hating me right now, of course.

When I’m clean, I get dry and try to drape my wet clothes over his radiator, before I put on the clothes he’s left out. I have to hold the trousers up with one hand to stop them sliding down, which would be fine, except I can barely find my hands inside the sleeves. I feel like a child dressing up.

Deep breath, unlock door. Deep breath, open door. Deep breath, walk down corridor. I’m practically hyperventilating by the time I reach the main room; I’ve been so busy trying to keep myself calm.  

He’s got himself dried off a bit – at least he’d been wearing a jacket and shoes – and changed into something else. His hair is still fluffy and sticking up and all I want is to ruffle it, but he just points me to the couch.

‘Let me see your feet.’

I perch, about as far away from him as possible, and lift my feet up. Haven’t said a word yet since I got inside. He takes hold of one foot, and pushes the floppy trouser leg up a little out of his way. Even miserable, the feeling of his hand wrapped around my ankle sends little tingles all up and down me.  He puts that foot down, and picks up the other, frowning slightly, then reaches for a tube on the table. He squeezes some ointment onto my foot, peering down, puts a Band-Aid on top, then puts my foot down.

‘I’ll get you some blankets; you’d better sleep here if you’ve lost your keys.’ And before I can shout I didn’t lose them or I’m sorry, he’s gone, coming back with a pile of blankets and a pillow, which he drops by me on the couch, then he says good night and I hear his bedroom door shut.  If I wasn’t all cried out, I know what I’d do right now.

I wrap myself like a human burrito in the blankets and burrow my head into the pillows on the couch. I’ve told myself that dramatically I’ll toss and turn all night because of the trauma and suffering that has happened, but I’m warm now after being so cold, and the couch is surprisingly comfortable, and there’s still a lot of alcohol in my system, and it’s about 3am, and… then it’s about 9am and I wake myself up with the sound of an unholy snore, and blink.

It all comes crashing back down on me, at about the same time the hangover does. I moan curse words to myself, and pull the blanket up over my head, but then I hear a clunk and a jingle and reappear.  Steve has just put a mug of coffee, and some keys, down on the table next to me.

‘Got them from the super, for your apartment.  You look like you need coffee.’  He’s very deliberately not looking at me, but as I emerge from the blankets, arms stretching upwards to free myself as I’m wrapped too tight, I hear an unintentional snort.  ‘Actually, you look like you need to be committed.’  I doubt he’s wrong. Last night I wrapped myself in blankets with wet hair, and I know my face always balloons like a puffer fish when I cry, so I probably look even more calamitous than normal. Not that any of it matters any more.

Once I’ve managed to wriggle a hand free, I reach for the coffee and take a mouthful. Caffeine hasn’t tasted so good before.

‘Thank you, for the coffee, and the keys, and letting me stay. Steve, I…’

‘I’ve got to go out. Take your time.’

And with that, he’s gone. I hadn’t got some great apology speech planned out, was very much going to wing it, but I didn’t even get a chance to say sorry, or to explain. Shit.

It’d be weird staying in Steve’s flat without him there, and although I secretly want to nose through all his stuff, even I have my limits. So I fold up the blankets, wash up the mug (I’m being so polite), grab my damp clothes, head to the door… head back and pick up my keys from the coffee table… head to the door, and go home.

Home, where I find Nat pacing up and down (she has keys. ‘In case’ I lose mine. Like I would…). She looks ready to shake me, but when she sees me wearing what are obviously Steve’s clothes, she pauses.

‘What the… where have you BEEN? We got back to the table, and you and Steve were both gone, but your bag was there, and all your stuff, and someone said you’d been kicked out, and I couldn’t get hold of you. Were you with Steve? Did you sleep with him? Is that why you’re dressed like that? JESUS I could kill you!’  With that, she launches into a giant hug, squeezing me uncomfortably tightly while quietly screaming in my ear.  And when she finally lets go, so do I, and I sob. Full-on snotty, ugly, swollen face, hiccupy blubbing, and I spill it all to her. It’s a lot less coherent the way I tell it, but I think she finally gets the idea, and sums it all up for me.

‘So let me get this straight. I already know you’re crazy about Steve, but then you got yourself all freaked out last night, ended up drunk and panicky. Thought Steve had left, self-pity danced with another guy, Steve saw and left, creepy guy mauled you, you assaulted creepy guy, you got chucked out, Steve took pity on you, you slept on his couch. That it?’

I blubbed a bit more. It all sounded so insignificant when she said it, but she forgot to sprinkle on a coating of low self-esteem so that everything was unsolvable, disastrous, and a sure sign that everything I touch turns to garbage. I may have said this out loud, because I suddenly felt a smack around the back of my head.

‘Go brush your hair. You look crazy. Put on some normal-person sized clothes. You’re not garbage. I’m going to call Bucky.’

I did as I was told. You would too if Nat was being forceful. In my bedroom I was forced to face my own reflection, and I couldn’t help but smile. My hair was stuck up on one side, plastered down on the other. My face was red and swollen, and had attractively broken out in spots due to all the crying and make up. I was a catch I tell you. I threw on some of my own clothes, tried to salvage my hair a little, rubbed some moisturiser on my sore face, cleaned my teeth and went back out.

Nat was still on the phone, so I headed for the kitchen, trying not very hard not to listen.  There was still no food – we’d eaten all the cheerios and M&Ms yesterday (‘we’. I wanted more ‘we’), so there was just dry pasta and a jar of something that had lost its label.  I didn’t-listen some more.

‘… definitely… I’ll do it from this end, you do that end… I know! The pair of them… yeah OK, you too, see you later.’  She looks up at me as I walk back into the room.  ‘So Steve’s moping. Bucky says he won’t answer the phone and he’s indulging in some major self-pity.  You should probably go talk to him…’

I throw myself onto the couch.  

‘He went out. I don’t know where, but he obviously hates me, and always will, so there’s no point in anything any more.’  I can feel myself starting to cry again when the back of my head gets slapped once more.

‘You have two options. Option one. You could text him, or call him, or wait for him to get home, and then talk to him, because ever since humanity invented speech it’s been quite useful for ironing out problems. Try it. Option two. You can lie here and feel miserable, and Steve can be wherever he is being miserable, and you can both wallow in it until you shrivel up like prunes from all the tears, and meanwhile Bucky and I will go have fun without you.  Your choice.’

I’m lying face down on the couch at this point, probably leaving snot trails on the cushions, but that feels only appropriate.

‘Option 2 sounds good.  OW!’ That’s another slap. Then Nat pulls me up by the back of my sweater, almost strangling me. She’s freakishly strong when she’s angry.

‘Get your shit together. Use your words. Text me when you’re an adult.’  She kicks my bag, which she’s obviously collected from the club, and brought back for me, then she leaves. I pick up my bag, dig out my phone to see a ton of missed calls and texts from a worried Nat.  I open up the messages and then sit there, trying to work out what to say to Steve, but I get nowhere, and I’m still staring at the screen when I hear footsteps walk past my door, and his front door open.

So I wipe my eyes, even though I know they’re going to be red and swollen, and I pick up my keys carefully, and I walk out my door, and turn right, and walk a few steps and then I’m outside apartment 4. And for all I know he’ll shut the door in my face, but I’m going to try. I’m going to do it. I’m going to do what maybe I should have done long ago, with myself, and my friends, and my exes. I’m going to be truthful, and honest, and put myself out there. If I hadn’t started off with the assumption that nobody could like me, that I was just the butt of a thousand jokes, and nothing compared to Nat, just maybe I wouldn’t be where I am now, but I never do.  Maybe sometimes I really should listen to Nat.

I’m really scared that it’s not going to be enough, because I’ve barely known Steve a few weeks and there’s no reason he should even care about what I have to say. I’m just his neighbour, right? But yesterday this building was the scene of the best Saturday ever, and now it seems to be the setting for the worst Sunday of my life. I’m the victim of my own disasters, and this time it feels more painful than the broken bones, more humiliating than the trips and slips.  This time I feel like I’ve taken something I really really liked, and I’ve dropped it and broken it into a thousand pieces, and I’m worried I’m never going to find them all and piece it back together.

I know, I know, I’m being melodramatic. I danced with another guy when I had my eye on Steve, that’s all. But my head’s hurting and my feet are sore, and I’m tired, and I’m also coming up with a million and one excuses why I don’t have to knock and talk. Ugh, talking. Like an adult. Bad concept.

I knock.  There’s a long pause, then I hear footsteps, and the eyehole darkens for a minute. Then the door opens. He looks at me, waits.

‘Hi,’ I start, and my voice is a bit choked up with embarrassment. I could really be setting myself up for a fall here, and I’ve had enough of those.  ‘So, you’ve seen me at my worst. I’ve fallen over, and dropped things, and thrown cups at you, but those were all kinda standard for me. But last night I really dropped the ball, and I’ve come to say sorry. And explain.’

I leave a long pause, hoping that he’ll take pity on me perhaps, and I’m just about to give up and accept that I no longer am friends with the Boy Next Door, when my stomach, which hasn’t eaten since last night, lets out the noisiest and longest rumble you’ve ever heard. I’m pretty sure that earthquakes alarms start ringing two states over.  It just doesn’t stop.  I’m standing there, he’s standing there, we’re not breaking eye contact and we’re both just listening.

He breaks first. My face is now scarlet, and as the sound dies away, the corner of his mouth twitches once, twice, then he lets it go, and clutches at his chest and just laughs and honestly, it’s such a relief. He opens the door wider, silently inviting me in while he pulls himself together.

‘Do you wanna talk over breakfast? I can’t offer cheerios and candy, but I have pastries. That’s where I went. I was kinda secretly hoping you’d still be here when I got back, but I know I was being arsey, and I don’t actually have any right to. Sorry.’

Wait. What? He’s apologising? He is apologising? This communication thing is really confusing. I’m just standing there, looking a bit dumb, and so he makes a sweeping gesture, still trying to invite me in like I’m a really reluctant vampire. I step in, and try not to think about biting his neck. He heads into the kitchen and I hear rustling, cupboards opening, before he reappears with two mugs of coffee and a box of pastries, which he puts down on the coffee table.

‘Sit?’ I perch myself on the couch where I’d slept the night before and procrastinate by picking up a coffee mug, and staring into it as if I’m seeing the future. Worryingly the future looks very dark, but that may be because I drink my coffee black. I pick up a pastry and take a bite instead.

‘OK. So. Well. Here’s the thing. You see… What it is, is…’ I look up, and he’s waiting expectantly, as if I’m going to say something intelligible. Ha, sucker! Not from these lips! I put the cup back down, straighten my back, take a deep breath in.

‘OK, so I’m a disaster. I’m always a disaster, and I’m convinced that because I screw up so much, that no one could ever like me, because well,’ I gesture towards myself, taking in the messy hair, scruffy clothes, red skin, pastry crumbs, ‘so last night, I thought you’d left, and I assumed it was because I was a hot sweaty mess who throws cups at your face. So then because I was kinda drunk and stupid, I tried to make myself feel better by pretending someone liked me, even if it couldn’t be the person I wanted. Only he was a creep. And I kneed him in the balls.’

I’m staring at the bruise on his nose the whole time I speak, because it’s safer than making eye contact, but it means I have no idea how my little speech has gone down, and it also means I’m now slightly cross-eyed from focussing on one point. Steve lets out a little cough, and I let my eyes flick to his, then decide to focus on his chin instead. He’s not shaved today and there’s this adorable stubble, that is making me just want to reach out and stroke his chin, but I suspect that might not be the most appropriate thing to do right now.

‘Ok. So. First off, can you please make eye contact with me? I know you’re avoiding my eyes but my chin is getting paranoid.’  Ugh, I can’t help smiling at that, so I meet his eyes, then quickly busy myself picking up my coffee again and looking into that.

‘I can’t. Because I feel too awkward and also now I can’t remember how much to look and how much to look away.’ I mumble this into my coffee, but I know he hears, and remembers our previous conversation.

‘Look deep into my eyes. Gaze into my eyes forever. Get lost in my eyes.’  What the…? I look back at his face, and he’s grinning.  ‘Made you look!’

How is he being so… OK? I came around here thinking I’d have to prostrate myself and beg for forgiveness, and he’s… OK. Is this how normal people behave? Weird.

‘So now you’re looking at me. You got thrown out for kneeing a creeper? I’m impressed. Good for you. I mean, sorry you got thrown out and all, but I’d have liked to see that.’ I can feel myself starting to smile, and it’s such a relief, but I’m sure I don’t deserve to get away with being such an arse, so I look down again, and eat more of my pastry. Then I notice the mess I’ve made, how many crumbs are all over my trouser leg, so I start trying to brush them all into a pile. I’ve got them pretty much sorted, when his hand reaches over, brushes them all onto the floor with a sweep, then holds onto mine. Oh lordy.

‘Can you listen, for a second, instead of avoiding me?’ I give a small nod, even while I will my hand not to get all sweaty. ‘Yeah, it hurt my feelings when I saw you dancing with that guy, although it sounds like you didn’t enjoy it much either. But you don’t owe my feelings anything. I thought we were getting on, and I let myself get hopeful, but maybe I misread it. And then I was drunk so I sulked and stormed off, because I’m an idiot. But no harm done. I’m hungover and need to watch Netflix with a good neighbour, if you know any?’

Wow. Nat said that talking worked, and it really does. Someone should copyright this approach. Talking helps reduce misunderstandings. Who knew. Except…

‘You didn’t misread it.’ I’m going to do it, I’m going to meet his eyes, talk like an adult, and make Nat proud. ‘We were getting on, and I do really like you, and I’m sorry I screwed it up. I tripped over my own issues and, yeah. Sorry. But I do like you. A lot.’  

He cocks his head on one side, then very slowly, giving me time to change my mind, leans over. He stops when his face is almost touching mine, and his eyes are crazily blue, almost matching the bruise on his nose. I think he’s going to kiss me. I know he’s going to kiss me. I can feel my eyes drifting shut in anticipation. His voice, when he speaks, is so soft that I feel it like a breeze on my cheek.

‘You have pastry crumbs in your eyebrow.’

My eyes fly open, and he’s smiling at me with the wickedest grin.  I let out a shriek, and give him a huge shove away from me, but he grabs onto my arms as he topples. His leg flies out as he tries to balance, banging into the table, and his coffee mug tips, then rolls onto its side, coffee pouring down onto the carpet just as we fall half off the couch, with me lying on top of him.  His arms wrap around me and it’s so unbelievably warm and comfortable.

‘I’ve decided the safest thing for everyone, when you’re around, is to just hold on tight and not let you go.’  He wriggles slightly, so we end up completely on the floor, but true to his word, he keeps a grip on me.  ‘Can’t fall over if I’m holding you, right?’

And then we do kiss. I don’t know if he kisses me, or I kiss him, but it happens. We don’t bang noses and our teeth don’t clash and the roof doesn’t cave in. His lips are as soft and warm as I’d imagined, and his arms stay wrapped around me, so I’m not going anywhere, and it all feels so completely right, that I don’t know how I could ever have imagined otherwise. I’m falling for him, hard, but for once, I’m happy to fall.

----

@melconnor2007 @avengerscompound @kittyslove @badassbaker@phoenix21love @lbouvet@bellenuit45 @prplprincez @gingerrootknits@pineapplebooboo @feelmyroarrrr@avengerofyourheart@eyeofdionysus @hellomissmabel @learisa @mitra-k-w @imhereforbvcky@shaddixlife @supernatural-girl97 @iwillbeinmynest @amrita31199 @algud @whatsbetterthanfantasy@pixierox101  @madcheshire89  @chipilerendi  @mckorni32843@amandarosemire @nyxveracity @sea040561 @mrsalh32611 @ruinerofcheese@callmebucky-doll @vintagepigeon  @sassycanoodler @natcad@thisismysecrethappyplace@geeksareunique @mywinterwolf  @moderapoppins @rinthehufflepuff@holyfuckloueh @onebatch--twobatch @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @patzammit@procrastinatingart1st  @marvelouspottering @princess76179 @fangirlanotherjust

[swanandapirate]

A Muted Hue of Grey (3/14) -- CSBB

Summary: Emma Swan liked being a PI in Boston. It was a fun job, she had an okay income and she was a good one at that, so there was no logical reason to try and leave. Except for the fact that she wanted to, so badly. And, when she received a job offer for what seemed to be the opportunity of a lifetime, she did exactly that. Leave. Run. All the way to London. The job was simple: trailing a man called Killian Jones. Easy enough.

Well, until things get complicated, that is.

Rating: M (later mentions of violence, alcohol abuse, and sex)

Wordcount: 2549

Links: ao3 // ff.net // chapter 1 // chapter 2

A/N: No Killian in this chapter, my apologies, but there are answers to your questions and there's an OC whom I love a lot and I hope you do too

The Big P ( @ofshipsandswans ) and Notorious Nonnie ( @acourtoftruelove ) are epic as always and weren't afraid to go "uhhh Manon??" whenever I did or wrote stupid stuff.

@shady-swan-jones is also epic and never complained when I stalked her about the art she was making, you can find said art here and here!

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A dense downpour covered the streets, distorting the view, a thin sheet of water blurring her sight. Emma walked, all of her senses heightened—her ears searching for any sound that didn’t belong. She did not trust the dark that enclosed her, nor was she pleased with the curtain of rain. She was at a disadvantage and she knew it, knew that this was exactly why he had waited before informing her where their meeting would take place. Why he chose for it to be this late. He wanted the upper hand and Emma couldn’t do anything but to hand it to him. She was but an employee, a hired informant that could be laid off at any moment.

The rain was just a welcome bonus, she supposed as she trudged on, avoiding puddles that had gathered; he was powerful but controlling the weather required some magic that he, a mere mortal, did not possess.

The cobblestones of the alley shone with a layer of rain, the water enhancing the sound of her high boots echoing against the stone. Emma was already regretting her choice of footwear. It was drawing attention to her, attention that might not be wanted.

She checked her phone for the umpteenth time since she had left to be certain and it gave her the confirmation she sought. This was it, it told her, the brightness of her screen causing her to squint against the artificial light. She had reached her destination.

And she was all alone.

That didn’t seem right.

Her eyes slid across her surroundings, searching for a sign of life, a clue that someone else was present, but found none.

“So, Ms. Swan.”

Emma was startled by the voice surfacing out of the shadows. And the man accompanying it.

“What have you found out?” Mr. Gold asked.

He appeared from whatever hole he was hiding, dressed to the nines in a suit that seemed badly tailored, tatty even, loose at some parts and way too tight at others. A golden cane in his hand, only emphasizing his stature and oddity. Who owned a cane? A golden one at that? His brown hair, streaked with grey, was long and stuck to his cheeks thanks to the rain.

“Okay, first of all, Gold,” Emma responded, not wanting to immediately hand him her information, her only assets. “Why are we meeting in some shady alley? It reeks here.”

And it did. Of pee and other questionable substances. A place Emma would much rather not spend time in.

“We need to be covert,” sounded his answer, but it failed to resonate with Emma.

She tilted her head and frowned as a movement in the background caught her eye.

“And we couldn’t be covert in an office or a place where there aren’t actual rats running around?” she questioned, pointing at the spot the rat had just run across.

Gold seemed less worried about the vermin running around; he could fit right in. Birds of a feather flock together and all that.

“Now is not the time to complain about hygienics, Ms. Swan. What have you found?” he repeated, uttering every word as if it was a sentence with a full stop.

Emma recognized that her efforts of convincing him to pick another meeting point would lead to absolutely nothing and so she simply accepted that she was going to look like she was offering Gold drugs in a dark alley. Though, if she was being entirely honest, it was most likely going to look like she was offering him something else.

Just the thought of that made bile rise in the back of her throat and made her want to end this briefing as soon as possible. She cleared her throat as she refocused on the matter at hand.

“After another week, observing Jones from afar has not proven to be very useful or helpful with me getting new information. I’ve therefore decided to switch tactics and, instead, I’m going to try and gain his trust.” Gold didn’t need to know the real reason why she’d had a sudden change of heart, it would only shrink his already microscopic amount of trust in her even more. “It’s now just a matter of him trusting me to get the information you need,” she told him, making sure he believed the ease with which she could handle the situation, even though she didn’t particularly believe in it herself.

His dark eyes slid over her face, assessing and attempting to read her features and even if what was going on in his brain mostly remained a mystery to her, Emma could see the wheels turning in his eyes, could almost hear his thoughts conferring with one another.

At last, he spoke.

“I hope you don’t get carried away, Ms. Swan. We do have a deal and I do not take my deals lightly.”

“Neither do I, Gold,” Emma guaranteed. “I’ll get the job done, don’t worry.”

“You better.”

She should’ve let the meeting end there, let the both of them part ways and not talk to each other until Gold required another briefing. But the hunch that something was off—the thought that she couldn’t in a million years fathom what intel Gold needed on Jones, especially since she spent some time talking to him and getting to know him—couldn’t stop thrumming in her head.

“What is it exactly that you want?” she then asked him outright. “I have already given all of the information I have found so far and there’s nothing out of the ordinary.”

“I’m not hiring you to ask questions, Ms. Swan. Leave that part to me. Keep your eyes and ears open, report back when you find more, that is all I require from you.” His accent had become thicker, more guttural, acting as yet another warning.

“Okay.” Emma threw her hands up in the air in concession.

She was not going to debate it or ask any more risky questions. The money Gold was paying made sure that she did not have to struggle to make ends meet; she was able to afford everything she needed with one, single job; she wasn’t about to jeopardize that.

“Until next time, I guess.” She shrugged, not knowing what else to say.

“I hope you have something more interesting to tell me then, or I’ll have to reconsider this whole arrangement.”

Gold left the way he had come and vanished into the darkness again. She didn’t wait until he was completely gone to properly roll her eyes in response to his irritating flare for the dramatics that was omnipresent.

Turning on the heel of her boot, Emma left as well, in the opposite direction Gold had gone. As she walked, she gathered her wet tresses, quickly combing them through with her fingers to avoid any knots. The heavy rainfall had luckily stopped, only a stray drop here and there falling out of the sky, and so when she was met with the choice of either taking the bus home or just walking to her apartment, the quiet atmosphere and the clean, crisp air outside made her choose the latter. They were a proven successful approach to clear her head.

One thought just wouldn’t allow itself to be deleted, however.

Or one person.

Jones.

She hadn’t thought a lot about the day they’d spent together, not yet. Maybe because she didn’t want her head clouded before the meeting with Gold but now that that was all over and done, it had free rein to infiltrate her mind again, to revisit the events anew.

As they had left the store the day before yesterday, she had been hit by an immense sense of fear. Not fear of being caught or a fear of sharing too much with him.

No, not that. It was the fear of having to spend a considerable amount of time with someone she just met. She wasn’t a good socializer, her lack of friends could attest to that. One could even say she was absolutely terrible at small talk. So why on earth had she agreed to spend the afternoon with him?

The funny thing, however, was that she’d spent those first moments so struck with anxiety, her thoughts so consumed by it, that she hadn’t even realized how fast time had gone by. How she’d been talking and laughing and listening without any awkwardness trailing the conversation, without any uncomfortable silences creeping in. And that was a new experience altogether.

Perhaps that was the reason she’d been so adamant to avoid the topic, because she wasn’t exactly sure what to think of it.

Or of the fact that she’d given him her cell phone number when he had asked.

She did tell Gold she was planning on gaining his trust, but whether that was the actual reason she’d so easily added her number to his contacts, Emma hadn’t quite figured out yet.

And again that same question from before resurfaced. Killian seemed like an ordinary guy. Nothing about him particularly stood out. No weird vibes, no strange behavior. Just a polite, somewhat reserved—but then again, flirty—dude. Someone who’d managed to make her feel at ease. What would Gold want with information about him, and, more importantly, what was he going to use it for?

Emma sighed as the question remained unanswered, her breath hot against the chilled air. Her feet continued to tap against the concrete, carrying her closer and closer to home. What had first been a pleasant brisk breeze, was now a freezing wind, chilling her to the core. The remaining raindrops falling from her hair certainly did not help.

She spotted her apartment from across the street and excitement ran through her body as she took those final steps. She needed a scalding shower to warm up again. And a lot of hot chocolate to warm up her insides again.

Just as her hand went to open her door, she suddenly realized she’d not bought new hot chocolate when she drank the last packet. She didn't have any chocolate to make it from scratch, either. Shit. Her hand fell from the handle, as she looked around at her surroundings and considered her options. It was already after ten, so the closest Tesco was already closed, and she didn’t particularly feel like taking the bus to the further one that was open until midnight, especially not in her drenched clothes.

Only one option remained. Well, two actually. The first one being going upstairs without and accepting there would be no hot chocolate, even though Emma didn’t feel like getting over her need for chocolate. It seemed like a pretty vital necessity. Option number two it was: the night shop two blocks away.

But she was still getting out of these freezing clothes first.

Emma reemerged from her building with a new set of warm and comfy clothes and made her way to the shop.

The door opened as she pushed against it, a little bell ringing as she did. The shop wasn’t that big and clearly targeted two types of people: the ones that wanted to get drunk and the ones that had gotten drunk and now craved some sort of greasy or sugary—unhealthy to sum it up—food. Emma was neither and so she knew that she’d have to go to the little corner of the shop meant for everyone, where she would find everything.

“Good evening,” she said and smiled to the shop owner behind the counter.

“Evening, miss.”

After her meeting with Gold, she’d had quite enough of people calling her miss. Plus, she frequented this place enough to switch to a first name basis.

“You can just call me Emma,” she told him over her shoulder as she made her way to the rack she knew contained what she desired. After some scanning, she came across the hot chocolate and removed it from the other items. It only took her a couple of steps to reach the counter again.

The young man—he had to be younger than she was or else she’d have to learn his secret—accepted the box she handed him.

“Evening, Emma,” he repeated. “I’m Samir.” He outstretched his hand and Emma grabbed it and gave it a quick shake. “Nice to meet you. This means I can finally stop calling you Rocky Road in my mind.”

“You gave me a nickname?” She cocked her head in surprise, the smile on her face widening into a grin.

Samir shrugged while scanning the box of hot chocolate.

“I do that with everyone who comes in here often. Especially with those who have a tendency to buy the same thing time and time again.” He lifted a dark eyebrow.

Well, if that didn’t say a lot about her late night snacking habits, Emma didn’t know what did.

The cash register ringed and Samir read the price off of it.

“That’s three quid, please.”

Emma’s hand disappeared into her pocket, in search of some change that hid inside. First, she fished out fifty pence and that was followed by a two-pound coin. One last effort of checking another pocket led to one last pound being recovered. “Keep it,” she said as Samir pushed the fifty pence back to her side of the counter.

“Thanks.” He threw the coin with the rest of them and closed the register.

“Can I ask you something?” Emma stored her box in the small shopping bag she’d brought along.

“Sure,” Samir replied, his brown eyes shining, reflecting the openness she felt radiating from him.

“You seem pretty young to own your own business. Or am I just really misjudging your age?”

It might be weird to just ask him that, but the longer she spent looking at his face, the younger he began to look.

“I’m twenty-three.”

That was more or less what Emma was estimating.

“This isn’t my store, it’s my dad’s,” he explained. “I’m filling in for a while. I just graduated uni, so I don’t have anything better to do for now.”

“Oh, congrats!” Emma said, her congratulations genuine as graduating from university deserved that. She’d never managed to do so. “What did you study?”

“Law.” Samir slightly ducked his head as if he was bashful about his choice or his accomplishments while there was absolutely no reason to be.

“You’re a lawyer? Impressive.”

“Well—” He tilted his head. “not so much a lawyer as waiting for someone to hire me to become one.”

She could then see how he’d rather be doing that than selling things to people in the middle of the night and Emma couldn’t blame him. If he’d studied to become a lawyer, was ready to be one, it must be frustrating to not have anyone give you a shot to do what your heart desired.

“I’m certain it will happen, Samir.” She nodded encouragingly. “If I ever need a lawyer, you’ll be the first I call, alright?” Emma winked.

“Fine by me. If you ever feel like visiting me again and having a chat, don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t. I hope you have a good night, Samir.”

“You too, Emma.”

And it seemed like Emma Swan had yet again participated in small talk and had actually gotten a friend out of it.

A friend and hot chocolate.

Monumental.

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Now I'm in the mood for hot chocolate too... Anyways, I hope you liked it and do not despair, our favorite Brit is making his comeback next Thursday and it’s a good one 😏, see you then!

[erinchu]

“You’re overthinking– I’m yours. That’s all I want to be.”

*kicks door open* I CHIME IN WITH A HASNT ERIN EVER HEARD OF, WRITING A PROMPT ON TIME, NO!

I’m so sorry this took so long and I don’t even know??? I had this idea in my head and just sort of went with it *shrugs* I hope you enjoy lovely and thank you so much for the prompt!

Love Me Now or Never

It all started with a text message.

“Look, I don’t want to ruin our relationship, professional or…whatever this is, but I would 100% let you wreck me if given the chance.”

Rhys hit send and immediately threw his phone across the room onto his bed. Had he really just done that? What the fuck was he thinking sending a text like that to Handsome Jack!?  He could feel his heart pounding in his chest like a kick drum.

The two had struck up a rather flirtatious relationship over the past few months, which hadn’t been helping the raging crush the young PA had on his CEO. Jack seemed just as interested in Rhys as he was in him and it finally reached a point where Rhys couldn’t even hear his voice anymore without getting hard. For Rhys, it was more than just lust, which, okay, there was a whole lot of lust going on. But Rhys was starting to feel something more for the older man. All these feelings combined created a moment of temporary insanity that had caused Rhys to send that text. Yeah, that was totally why.

The cybernetic man felt his breathing hitch as he heard his phone buzz against his bed sheets. The light from the screen lit up the dark area, shining like a little beacon, begging him to read it. Rhys swallowed dryly as his feet willed him across the room towards the device. Timidly, a flesh hand reached out and took hold of the phone tightly. He slid his thumb across the bottom, unlocking it, prepared to read his fate. He wondered if this was what it felt like to be fired via text.

Rhys let out an audible gasp as he read the two word response from his boss. Simple, to the point and exactly what Rhys had hoped for but not at all what he had expected.

“Ruin it.”

And that was how their ‘relationship’ started. The next day when the two got into work, Handsome Jack pulled his PA into his office, tossed him into his large yellow chair and simply said.

“Well, ready to get wrecked, kiddo?”

They carried on this like for the months to come, seeing each other in and outside of work nearly every day. Rhys was completely smitten with Jack and each day he could feel himself falling more and more for the older man. Jack seemed to be quite taken with Rhys as well, but it was always hard to tell with him. They hadn’t exactly gone public with their affair but they certainly weren’t keeping it on the down low either. Everyone who worked in Jack’s private office, including Rhys’ cubicle mate, Meg, knew what was going on between the two. No one really cared though. It was a common thing for Handsome Jack to do. There was a reason after all he had the habit of hiring beautiful looking PA’s, most of which all were happy to sleep with him whenever he wanted. In Rhys’ mind though, they were dating, exclusively. At least, Rhys was anyway.

It was Friday evening, Jack and Rhys’ usual date night and Rhys was waiting around his apartment for Jack to call him to let him know he was downstairs waiting for him. When an hour had passed and he still hadn’t heard anything, Rhys got worried and decided to call him. It took a few tries but Jack finally answered.

“N’hello?” Jack’s voice was a bit louder than usual, like he was shouting into the phone and Rhys could hear a lot of background noise behind him. Was that music?

“Uh, hey. What’s going on, where are you? Are you okay?” Rhys worried over his bottom lip after he asked that, feeling a bit silly for how worried he had sounded. There was a pause on the line before Jack finally spoke again.

“Um, yeah, I’m fine, cupcake. I can’t really talk right now though, it’s really loud in this club and I’m getting shit reception. I’ll call you after this date is over, it’s going horribly anyway, this girl is about as interesting as a road killed skag. Some broad from the R&D department. Talk about instant regret, ha.”

Rhys felt his whole body stiffen at that word. Had he said…he was on a date?

“Wait, what are you talking about? Jack?”

“I’m sorry babe, I can’t hear you. I’ll call you later! Byeeee~”

Click.

The phone dropped from Rhys’ hand and fell down to the couch, Rhys following shortly after it as he collapsed onto it. Jack was on a date with some random woman from work, like it was no big deal and Rhys was just supposed to sit and wait for Jack to call him after he was done.

By the time Jack had tried to ring Rhys, the younger man was fuming. He was angry with Jack, but mostly he was angry with himself for being so stupid. How could he have allowed himself to get so close, to foolishly think he was the only one Handsome Jack was fucking. It made his stomach turn…Jack was his, or so he assumed.

Jack was tapping his fingers across his knee as the phone rang and rang until finally, Rhys had rejected the call. He furrowed his brows as he stared down at the screen but then smiled a bit as his phone buzzed. Rhys was trying to video call him. Excellent, he had wanted to see Rhys all night anyway, so this was the next best thing. When the call finally connected and he saw the younger man appear on his screen, he smiled wide and waved with his free hand.

“Well hello there, good looking. You have no idea how happy I am to see that face of yours.” Jack had opened his mouth to continue on but was quickly shut down.

“Jack, what the actual fuck?” Rhys snapped, his lip quivering a bit as he tried to keep his cool. This had thrown Handsome Jack for a loop and he looked around a few times before shrugging and shaking his head.

“What? Did I call too late or something?” Jack blinked and looked down at his wrist watch. It was nearly three am but he had called much later in the past before, so surely this couldn’t have upset Rhys that much to merit such a response.

“Are you joking? I don’t care about the damn time, I’ve waited up all night just to hear from you. What did that mean earlier when you said you were on a date with someone?!”

“Oh, well, when two people think they may hit it off, they go out to a place and hang out for a while to see if it ends in sex. At least that’s how it works when I date.” Jack chuckled and clicked air against his teeth a few times as he shot a finger gun towards Rhys. Rhys very visibly deflated and Jack watched as he tilted his head back for a few moments, his eyes just boring into the ceiling. It looked like he was trying not to cry.

“You’re seeing other people, Jack?” Rhys finally asked for a few moments, his voice soft and almost fragile. Jack could clearly hear the hurt in the younger mans tone and it made him feel…guilty almost.

“…Are you not seeing other people, Rhys?” Jack forced out a weak chuckle, his whole playful facade slipping away as he realized the gravity of the situation. He rubbed at the back of his neck as he watched Rhys just sit there silently for a moment and shake his head. Finally, he broke the silence, sniffling a little and clearing his throat before speaking.

“No, I haven’t been dating anyone else, Jack, because apparently I’m a fucking idiot,” Rhys laughed out, trying to mask the pain in his voice. “I figured since we were spending all our time together and you were fucking me, that we were in an exclusive relationship but I’m seeing now that I was wrong.” Rhys quickly swiped his flesh fingers under his eyes to catch any tears that might have dared to break free. Jack swallowed dryly as he watched him, his stomach dropping a little. He wasn’t sure what to say or if he should even speak, so he waited.

“Have you been seeing people the whole time you’ve been with me?” Rhys asked quietly, his nose and cheeks flushing a soft shade of red as he continued to try and hold back his tears. Jack let out a deep sigh and pushed his digits through the grey streak at the front of his hair.

“Look, Rhysie, I’m sorry for whatever I did to make you think just you and I were dating…” Jack began, that sentence alone causing Rhys to screw his eyes shut and whimper softly. Jack kept going though, powering through the heartbreaking sounds Rhys was making. “But yes, I have been seeing other people. I’m not really a ‘one person’ type of guy. Come on, kiddo. You had to know that when we first started all this up…Fooling around with me is basically in the job description at Hyperion. I don’t do the whole exclusive thing.”

Jack had had this conversation in the past many times with several men and women who had made the same mistake of thinking they were the only person in Jack’s life in that way. But somehow now, having that same conversation with Rhys made him feel sick. Those words felt wrong aimed at Rhys. He wanted to take them back as soon as he had said it, but it was too late now. It was out there and there was no changing that.

It was uncomfortably silent for a long while and Jack watched as Rhys processed everything and worked it out in his head. When Rhys finally lifted his eyes to meet Jack’s, it caused the older man to flinch and nearly drop his phone. Those usually beautiful and bright heterochromatic eyes of Rhys’ were flooded with tears, the corners on both ends already so puffy and red. It was a look Jack had never intended to put on Rhys’ face, but there it was. He had opened his mouth to speak again, taking in a small breath but no words followed. He wasn’t really sure what to say anymore.

“You’re right,” Rhys sniffled softly and nodded, his lips pressing into a hard line as he tried to calm himself down. “It was my mistake, Jack. It won’t happen again.”

The way Rhys had said it made Jack wince and he drew his brows together as he stared at his phone screen. The kid had stopped crying, his eyes a little glazed over now; hazy. Most of all though, the hurt was as clear as day and it was tearing Jack up inside. What the fuck was up with that? He was Handsome Jack after all, what did this PA expect? If Jack was being honest with himself though, he really did like Rhys and he was enjoying their time together. He had kept seeing randos out of what felt like habit, not want. It felt different with Rhys though. Jack looked forward to seeing him, to being intimate together, to just lay around on Rhys’ couch watching old black and white films and eating pizza.

It was dawning on Jack as they sat there, connected only by screens that he had maybe made a mistake. The more Rhys stared at him, the more Jack felt further and further away from him, like the distance between them was ever growing.

“Rhys, I-”

“It’s over, Jack. I don’t think we should see one another anymore. Sorry for getting confused on where we stood, but I won’t do this- I can’t do this.” Rhys dropped his head as his words just sort of fell off. It was obvious there was more he wanted to say but he couldn’t seem to get it all out. Instead he just smiled weakly at a stunned looking Jack and shrugged.

“Bye, Jack.”

There wasn’t even a chance for Jack to get a word in before the call ended and Jack’s screen went dark. The older man let the phone fall onto his lap and he sat back in his chair, his mouth hanging open slightly. Had he just been broken up with by his goddamn PA? He sat there for several minutes, fuming as Rhys’ words kept playing over and over in his head.

“It’s over…”

Handsome Jack wasn’t the break up-ee, he was the break up-er. This was ludacris, who did this kid think he was talking to and why did it bother Jack so much? He snatched up his phone and tried ringing Rhys’ phone, but there was no answer. He tried a few more times, determined to finish their conversation on his terms, but after the third time of calling, Rhys’ phone went straight to voicemail.

“Son of a bitch…” Jack sighed deeply and chucked his phone across the living room onto a nearby couch. Fine, Rhys could dodge him for now, but come Monday morning, he was going to finish their talk. Rhys couldn’t avoid him forever.

“What?! What the hell do you mean a transfer?”

It was bright and early on Monday morning at Hyperion and Handsome Jack was early for once. He had come in only to be handed paperwork for approval from his other PA, Meg. The young woman winced a little as he barked at her and she calmly tried explaining again.

“Mr. Rhys came in very early this morning and filled out these two forms, sir. One was a request for leave and the other for a transfer to a different department in the facility. Since you are the department head for this floor obviously, you have to approve it…”

Jack was listening as his eyes scanned over the form again and again. There it was, in Rhys’ hand writing, his request to be moved as far away from Jack’s office as possible. He had asked to be moved down to the coding department, which never really saw the light of day as far as the rest of the company was concerned. Basement nerds with bad social skills and in desperate need of a tan.

“How long did he request time off for?” Jack asked without looking up, his hand reaching out for the other piece of paper she had for him.

“One full week, sir. He would return to work at his new position next Monday, if approved.” Meg smiled a little as she placed the paper in his hand. This all seemed very sudden to her and she had her suspicions, but it wasn’t her place to ask and it certainly didn’t seem like Jack wanted to chat about it.

“How long would it take to process his transfer if I signed these today?” Jack was starting to piece together what Rhys had done but he wanted to hear it anyway.

“…It takes about a week, sir. Between paperwork and getting him setup with security clearance for that department.” Her face fell a little as Jack finally figured it out. So he was trying to avoid Jack. He wasn’t even going to give Jack the opportunity to corner him to talk. Jack felt that anger building up inside him again and he began to crumple the papers he had been holding. His hand twitched slightly as he felt the paper slice a thin, long cut along his index finger and he snapped out of his own head after a moment. Fine, if that was how Rhys wanted it, then so be it. Jack would give him what he wanted.

“Hand me a pen, would you, princess?” Jack smiled, reaching his hand out towards his PA and snapped twice. Meg did as she was asked and eagerly gave him her pen, her brows furrowing as she watched him. With just a few strokes of ink, it was done. Jack let out a small sigh before putting on his usual grin and winked up at his PA as he handed her back her pen.

“Thanks babe,” Jack winked, grinning a little as he put his finger against his lips, licking away the small amount of blood that had formed from his cut. “Could you get those sent off right away for me, please?” Jack gently tapped on the top of her desk a few times and smiled wide, earning him an equally wide smile from his lovely PA.

“Right away, sir. Consider it done.”

Jack nodded and turned to walk away, his smiling instantly dropping as he headed back towards his office. He didn’t want anyone to see the hurt on his face.

It was torturous for Jack, waiting to hear something, anything from Rhys. He had tried calling him throughout the week and got the same result each time. Nothing. He didn’t want to just show up at his house, either. Why would he anyway? Rhys had ended it with him and made that very clear. Still, even though he didn’t want to admit it to himself, it was driving Jack insane.

When Friday finally hit and still nothing from his former lover, Jack was angry. Who the fuck did Rhys think he was? No one walks away from Handsome Jack or says they’re done. That was Jack’s job and Rhys was lucky Jack had feeling for him or he’d be out an air lock by now.

Feelings…

“Oh for fucks sake, what is happening right now?” Jack exclaimed loudly as he sat at his desk, thinking over the whole situation, his digits plunging into his hair as he leaned forward onto his elbows. Jack had never caught feelings for any of his conquests in the past, but for some reason he couldn’t shake Rhys from his thoughts. Was it possible he actually cared about Rhys? Like proper, hold hands, go on dates, make love and not just mindlessly fuck, only be with him, care about him? And could that be why he was so bothered by Rhys ending things between them?

“Noooope, nope, nope. Fuck that.” Jack growled out through gritted teeth. He looked around his office, his chest heaving a little as he took short, shallow breaths. He needed something to distract himself, to take his mind off of Rhys, off of how guilty and hurt he felt about this whole stupid fucking situation. If Rhys wanted out of his life and was so willingly to just walk away, okay then. Jack wasn’t going to sit around all mopey and wait for him. His eyes trailed to his office’s front doors and he smirked as he remembered just who was sitting on the other side of them. The perfect distraction. He reached over to the little comms box that sat on his desk and pressed a button on it.

“Meg, pumpkin, could you come in here please? I need you.”

It did not take long for Jack’s intentions with Meg to become clear. The younger woman had grown used to the look Jack would give her during work hours when it meant he wanted her. In the past, she would happily oblige, but now she felt uneasy about it. Jack didn’t seem to notice this however as he threw her against his desk and quickly closed the space between them, his hands roaming all over her body. He was being hasty and rash, not flirting and being coy like he usually would. He truthfully just wanted to bury himself in someone right now and try to forget about Rhys, even if it was only a temporary fix. He was upset and angry and confused all at once and he didn’t like any of it.

“Aaah, s-sir?” Meg stammered out as Jack ran his hands up her thighs, pushing her skirt up and out of his way. She was bracing herself against the desk, really unable to be any other way as Jack’s weight laid against her body.

“What?” Jack asked drly, his hands now making quick work of the buttons on Meg’s blouse, his eyes just sorta staring past her, down at his desk.

“I’m not really sure this is such a good idea, sir…” Her voice was timid and a little nervous sounding, like she was trying to not offend him. Jack didn’t seem to mind though as he gave up on the remaining buttons and just yanked the fabric the rest of the way open. This pulled a cry from Meg and she shuddered as Jack lifted her legs so they were wrapped around his waist. He pulled her in closer, grinding his hips against hers and smiled.

“What’s a matter, princess? Don’t want me anymore?” A reoccurring theme this week, Jack thought to himself.

Meg swallowed dryly and worried over her lower lip as she felt her entire face flush. Her legs were trembling now as she stared up her boss, trying to hold onto what little strength she had to resist him.

“It’s not that, Jack, sir, it’s just I-” She was cut off as Jack lunged forward for her neck, his teeth sinking ever so slightly into the skin and nipping gently at it. Meg tilted her head back as a startled moan escaped her and she relaxed a bit into Jack’s hold. Jack chuckled against her skin before kissing at the little wound he had created.

“Atta girl, that sounds more like the tune I wanted to hear.”

Meg felt herself slipping farther and farther, her lust for him consuming her as he continued his welcomed assaulted on her. She had missed them being like, Jack using her whenever he needed to blow off some steam. He had stopped calling for her once he and Rhys had gotten more involved and-

Rhys!

Meg’s eyes shot up and she sat up quickly, shoving Jack away from her and scrambled to get up from the desk. Jack let out a confused cry as he was pushed and stood there with this hands held open, a frustrated look on his face.

“What the hell, sweetheart? We were just getting to the good part, what are you doing?” Jack tried reaching for her again, but she swiftly moved away, her fingers quickly trying to do her buttons back up. Once that was done, she pulled her skirt back down and attempted to smooth her hair back down.

“What are you doing, Jack?” Meg shook her head slowly, her brows pulling together as she gave Jack an accusing look.

“Well, I thought it was pretty obvious what I was doing, but I’d be happy to make it clearer for you,” Jack laughed awkwardly as he took a few steps closer to her. Meg moved back, a hand clutching her shirt as she began to shake her head more rapidly.

“No Jack, I mean what are you doing? Why are you trying to sleep with me? What about Rhys? Think of how upset he’d be if he found out.” The question made Handsome Jack flinch and he turned away from her briefly and shrugged.

“What about him? He’s ancient history, what do I care?”

Even though she couldn’t see his face, she knew the look on it, just by hearing his voice. Carefully, Meg approached her boss, her hand gently resting on his arm as she pulled him back towards her. Jack resisted at first but eventually turned to face her once again.

“Sir, I don’t know what happened and you don’t have to tell me, but I do know that you do care.” She knew she was touching on a sensitive nerve by the way Jack was clenching his jaw over and over again and glaring down at her, but she kept going anyway. “Look, you know in the past, I’ve always been down with this,” she looked between the two of them and smiled softly. “But sir, ever since Rhys started working for you, things have been different. I see the way you look at him. I know because when you saw him for the first time, you stopped looking at me.” A soft hand reached up and gently cupped at Jack’s face, causing the older man to lean into the touch.

“I don’t even think you realize how much you’ve changed since you started seeing him. I think…” She hesitated and swallowed softly, her thumb rubbing against Jack’s face, “I think you have actual, real feelings for Rhys. And I know he has real feelings for you.”

Jack perked up a bit, a single brow raising up as she said this.

“What makes you say that?”

“Are you kidding?” Meg laughed softly and let her hand fall back to her side, “He doesn’t shut up about you all day. It’s not just a fling with the CEO of Hyperion for him. His feelings are genuine.” She nodded and stepped back from Jack, sighing softly.

“Which is why I will no longer be offering my side services to you, sir. Now, what I need from you is to stop being a dumbass, realize that you actually like this guy and go fix whatever it is you did to make him leave, before it’s too late.”

Jack narrowed his eyes and shot her a look, his arms folding over his chest.

“What makes you think it was my fault?”

“Jack…” Meg said knowingly and rolled her eyes, her head nodding over towards the front office doors. “Just go. And please be honest with him, and yourself for once. You both at least deserve that much.”

He chewed over his PA’s words for a few moments before letting out a deep sigh and nodding. He walked up to her and hugged her quickly.

“I’m sorry about your shirt, go get a new one downstairs and just have them bill it to me.” Jack smiled down at her before planting a soft kiss on the top of her head. “Thank you, Meg,” and with that, he let his PA go and headed for the door.

“Oh and remind me to give you a raise, please.” Jack smirked and winked before slipping out of the door.

“Don’t worry, I will!” Meg called after him. She slumped down into his chair once he was gone and let out a heavy sigh, fanning her face with a paper folder as she tried to get herself calmed down. “Phew, I definitely do not get paid enough for this.”

“What the fuck am I doing?” Jack asked allowed to himself as he stood outside of Rhys’ apartment building. He hadn’t called ahead to let Rhys know he was coming by, not that the kid would have answered anyway. He had made it very clear he was done with Jack and didn’t want to see him. Jack was starting to feel…nervous? A feeling he wasn’t used to having. He paced back and forth for a few minutes, talking himself out of this embarrassing situation at least a dozen times. What if Rhys slammed the door in his face or laughed at him until he was blue in the face? Worst of all, what if Jack spilled his purse all over Rhys and Rhys still ended up rejecting him? He did deserve it, sure, but that didn’t mean Jack wanted it to happen. He took a deep breath and set his sights on Rhys’ apartment, his feet willing him forward even though his head was screaming to run. Handsome Jack did not do well with the whole emotions thing, but for Rhys, he was going to god damn try.

A slightly trembling hand reached up and tapped against Rhys’ front door. Jack waited anxiously, switching his weight from foot to foot and hands fidgeting at his sides until finally the door swung open. Jack let out a soft sigh of relief as he saw Rhys’ shocked face.

“Jack? What…what are you doing here?” Rhys demanded, closing the door just enough so only half of Rhys could be seen. Jack attempted to smile, but it came out so forced, he looked a bit crazy.

“Rhysie…kiddo, I-” Jack was struggling to get out what he wanted to say. Thank god for that fucking mask because Jack was totally flustered beneath it, his cheeks burning red and skin damp with sweat. Rhys rolled his eyes and sighed, moving out of the way of the door so he could fully shut it on Jack.

Oh no, Jack thought to himself and stepped forward, planting a large hand on the door and pushed it back open.

“Rhys, please, wait. Just talk to me, five minutes of your time. That’s all I’m asking and then you can tell me to fuck off if you want. Please, can I just come in?” Jack’s voice was frantic and Rhys could clearly see the desperation on the older man’s eyes. With a begrudging sigh, Rhys nodded and stepped aside so Jack could enter.

“You’ve got five minutes.”

Jack smiled and nodded, rushing inside before he could change his mind. Rhys led them over to his living room couch, a place they had been so many times before, but under happier circumstances. A lot more kissing and less clothing were usually involved. They were both silent for a little while until Jack finally sat up and carefully collected Rhys’ flesh hand into his own.

“Rhys, I’m here to say I’m sorry, which is like, not an easy thing for me, kiddo. This is practically a break through for me.” Jack laughed nervously, his brows lifting as he hesitantly smiled over at Rhys, hoping a little humor would break the tension. Rhys did not look amused one bit.

“Gee, how brave of you to power through this troubling time in your life, Jack.” Rhys’ voice was completely monotone and he had this utterly bored look on his face. He wasn’t really interested in hearing anything Jack had to say. He sighed and shifted in his seat, trying to pull his hand out of Jack’s. “Now, if you’re all finished up-”

“Rhys!” Jack finally snapped, his lips pressing into a hard line as he exhaled through his nostrils. “Listen to me, okay? I get that you’re fucking pissed at me and you have every right to be. I was an asshole who wasn’t thinking about anyone else but himself. I get it.” Jack sighed in frustration, his free hand smoothing back his hair briefly. Rhys watched him with curiosity, his hand relaxing back into Jack’s hand as he spoke. Okay, so may he could hear him out a little more. He liked what he say hearing so far.

“I…I don’t want this to be done,” Jack gestured to the space between the two of them with their joined hands and sighed softly. “I want to be with you, like really be with you. I actually like you, Rhysie.” It was clear, even with his mask on, that Jack was feeling uncomfortable, vulnerable, in that moment. He was never one to speak so openly about these types of things. It was new territory for him. Rhys stared at him for a while, his brows drawing together so the center of his forehead was a little crinkled.

“I know I hurt you, Rhys and I can never take that back, but I don’t want to do that anymore. I just want you,” Jack sounded more confident that time, his lips curling into a soft smile. He gently squeezed at Rhys’ hand and instinctively leaned in a bit closer to him, his body just happy to be near the other man. Rhys swallowed slowly, his eyes welling up the tiniest bit. Could this be for real? Could Handsome Jack really become a one person type of guy? Rhys thought about it for a little while, his face registering all types of different emotions as he did. Jack watched him nervously, biting at his lips as he tried to stay quiet and let Rhys think. Then, Rhys finally looked up at him and spoke.

“There’s gotta be some ground rules, Jack. I like you too, like a whole lot but I can’t share you with anyone else…If you’re mine, then you’re mine. If you start seeing anyone else, I swear to god-” Rhys was getting worked up, like he was releasing all the pain he had been holding on to the past week in one go. Jack closed the distance between him, pulling Rhys into his arms and held him tightly.

“Rhys, listen to what I’m saying,” Jack pulled back from the younger man and gently cupped his hands around Rhys’ face. “You’re overthinking– I’m yours. That’s all I want to be.” Jack flashed the most affectionate smile Rhys had ever seen. The way he was looking at Rhys, it made his whole face flush and he nodded slowly, his eyes fixated on Jack. Jack let out a soft chuckle and leaned back in, tenderly pressing his lips to Rhys’. Rhys’ eyes fluttered closed and he felt himself letting go. He believed Jack and he could tell he truly meant it when he said he was sorry. Plus, Rhys was just a fool for the man. Overcome with emotions, Rhys started to laugh and sob gently against their kiss. The sudden shift alarmed Jack and he pulled back to look at Rhys.

“Hey, hey, are you alright, pumpkin?” Jack asked softly, a hand reaching up to wipe away the tears that were streaming down Rhys’ cheeks. Rhys sniffled a little and smiled wide, letting out a joyous laugh as he practically pounced on to Jack. The younger man hugged Jack tightly and nodded, planting a few soft kisses all over Jack’s face.

“I’m great, now,” Rhys laughed and stared up at Jack for a few moments, his chin gently resting on Jack’s chest. “So are we really doing this then? Just you and me?”

Handsome Jack’s face turned soft and serious all at the same time, his eyes scanning over Rhys’ face as he slowly began to nod. He sat up, pulling Rhys along with him so he was still close to him and very gently ran his digits through Rhys’ thick, chestnut hair.

“Yeah baby, we’re doing this,” Jack whispered before pulling Rhys into another deep kiss. They both started laughing after a few moments, Rhys still crying happy tears off and on and Jack kissing away each one that broke free from his eyes.

“Just you and me.”

[theendlesssummerstory]

Endless Summer, Chapter 1/44 - One magical week in paradise

I lay there, asleep, haunted by a dream.

“Stay down! It’s coming this way!” warned a man in a green jacket.

“Taylor! Give me your hand!” said a man in a white T-shirt.

“You don’t understand yet... do you?” taunted a man in a grey suit. “Of course not. But you will... in time.”

The plane I was on shuddered, waking me up. My best friend Diego gave me a goofy smirk.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” he mocked me.

“I’m not still dreaming, am I?” I asked him.

“Doesn’t feel right, does it? But we’re finally on our way!” he replied.

Ten students from Hartfeld University had won a contest - a one week holiday in the tropical island of La Huerta. I didn’t know any of the others except for Diego, but I could overhear some of them.

“One magical week in paradise, here we come!” said a ginger-haired female student, smiling.

“All expenses paid, what whaaaat!” cheered a male student in a orange jacket.

“Good thing too!” said a male student in a cranberry T-shirt. “I’m so deep in student debt, I can’t even afford instant ramen.”

I barely took notice though. I was thinking about my dream, because I couldn’t quite fathom what it meant. Diego noticed my weird expression.

“Hey... Taylor? You ok? Bad dream?” he asked me.

“Just a weird one.” I replied. “I dreamt about... him!”

The man in the white T-shirt, the one who told me to give them my hand in my dream, was walking down the aisle of the plane. Noticing this, Diego smiled mischievously at me.

“You dreamt about Sean Gayle? Then what are you waiting for?” Diego asked me. “Talk to him!”

As Sean passed us, Diego pushed me into the aisle, and I bumped into Sean.

“Oh!” he gasped, then smiled. “Hello!”

“My friend Taylor wants to say something.” Diego told him.

“I...” I tried to speak, but I was still a bit flustered. "I... just dreamt about you!”

In hindsight, I’m extremely embarrassed, but at the time, that was all I could manage. Sean, however, didn’t seem to notice how flustered I was.

“Is that so?” he replied. “A good one, I hope.”

“It was actually pretty terrifying.” I admitted, truthfully. I instantly realised how this must sound. “Not because of you though!”

It was then that Sean noticed how embarrassed I was, and smiled gently at me.

“Don’t worry about it.” comforted Sean. “I take people dreaming about me as a compliment.”

Sean excused himself as he passed me. Diego was crying from laughter, barely managing to hold onto his phone.

“Oh man, I’ve got that whole thing on camera!” Diego laughed. “You’ve gotta see your face.”

He handed me his phone so I could watch the video, when I noticed something off about the time.

“Is it really quarter past five?” I asked him. “We should’ve landed an hour ago.”

Diego took the phone back and frowned.

“How strange...” he agreed. “It didn’t seem like you were snoring that long.”

“Hilarious.” I replied. “I’ll go ask the pilot if something’s up.”

“Ok. His name’s Jake.” Diego informed me.

I started to make my way towards the cockpit, when I heard some of the other university students talking. I stopped to listen.

“Can you please cease your babbling?!” snapped a male student with white hair. He was clearly annoyed. “The tour guide is trying to speak!”

“Thank you, Aleister!” replied the tour guide, whose name I knew was Lila - it was on a badge on her yellow T-shirt.

“As your tour guide for the week, I just wanted to say that we should... you know, be friends!” she proposed, cheerily, which made some of the students snort derisively. “It is an island after all, so... you’re stuck with each other! Hee hee!”

Her giggle made me shudder. It bordered on psychopathic.

A female student with maroon streaks in her hair only had one question for Lila - “Is it too late to jump out of the plane?”

Figuring that there would be no more use in listening to the conversation, I entered the cockpit to talk to the pilot, who had his combat boots up on the dashboard.

“Excuse me... Jake, is it? Shouldn’t we have already landed-”

I stopped when I heard him, snoring.

“Hey - are you asleep?!” I asked him, shocked.

He opened his eyes and turned to face me. I recognised him from my dream - he was the man in the green jacket who warned me that someone, or maybe something, was coming this way.

“Boy scout, don’t you know it’s rude to wake someone up while they’re napping?” he asked me.

“Boy scout?” I asked him, stunned. I had a name, Taylor... why did he give me a nickname? And boy scout of all nicknames?

“I give nicknames to people who annoy me.” he explained, seeing my stunned expression.

“What if I gave you a nickname?” I asked him. He looked at me, frustrated, but was clearly trying to hide it.

“You can’t be givin’ people nicknames. That’s my thing. And it takes work to be as good as me.” he said, then looked away from me. “... but give it your best shot.”

"Well... given how you’re a pilot, and you seem to have a slightly rebellious and impulsive attitude, I’m gonna call you Maverick.” I decided.

“...alright. Maverick it is.” Jake relented. “And anyway, about the time, relax. We ain’t landing until-” he stopped abruptly when he looked down at the time and saw how late we were.

“The hell?!” he exclaimed. “That time ain’t right...”

Jake whacked the instrument panel a few times, as if that would make the time go back to normal, but it didn’t.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” I asked him.

“Don’t worry boy scout.” he replied calmly. “If you knew half the things I’ve been through-”

It was then that turbulence struck the plane... and I was thrown into the wall of the cockpit! The sky darkened - we had flown into a storm.

“Aw, great!” said Jake, sarcastically. “This storm, appearing out of nowhere, wrecking my beautiful plane... great, just great.”

He turned to face me.

“Get your ass in a seat.” he ordered. “And tell everyone to buckle up.”

I didn’t need to be told twice! I went back to my seat, and tried to get everyone to listen to me, but they were shouting, totally panicked.

“Oh, I am really regretting that airport Chipotle!” shouted the male student with the cranberry T-shirt.

“Don’t puke bro!” the male student in the orange jacket told him. “If you puke, I’m gonna puke!”

“Where the hell did this storm come from?!” exclaimed a female student with a pink shirt and lots of make-up. “The sky was clear minutes ago!”

Jake activated the plane’s intercom.

“Don’t worry, people! This is normal! This happens sometimes!” he said, but I could hear in his voice that this was the worst storm he’d ever faced.

The female student with maroon streaks looked out of the window, where balls of orange lightning were targeting the plane.

“Yeah, sure.” she managed, her eyes wide. She spoke in a sarcastic manner equal to Jake’s. “That is completely normal.”

“It looks like ball lightning...” observed a girl with black, curly hair. She was shaking. “But I’ve never seen anything like this!”

“This is wrong, all wrong...” Aleister complained. “I should not die here, surrounded by these morons!”

Sean, hearing the panicked group, tried to comfort them, as he had comforted me.

“Just breath, everyone! We’ll get through this!”

“Oh no, oh no...” said the ginger-haired girl. She was shaking, unable to stay calm.

Jake activated the intercom again, after a particularly rough spot of turbulence.

“The engine’s just lost power!” he announced. “I’m bringing her down manually! Hang on, everyone!”

All the students were panicked... except one. A female student in a blue hoodie, with her hair in a ponytail and a scar across her right eye, sat a few seats in front of me, silent and unfazed.

Too late, I realised I’d forgotten to fasten my seat belt. The next spot of turbulence threw me off my seat, and I found myself near an empty seat next to the ginger-haired female student. I got in the seat and buckled up, bracing myself for landing. Panicked, she squeezed my hand. I hesitated... then squeezed back. She let out a deep sigh.

“Thank you.” she sighed, then turned to me and smiled. “I’m Quinn.”

“And I’m Taylor.”

The turbulence then disappeared as suddenly and unexpectedly as it had appeared. The intercom came to life once more.

“We’re almost out!” Jake announced.

As he said it, we moved out of the storm, and into clear weather.

“Wooooooohoooo!” cheered the male student in the cranberry T-shirt. “We’re alive!”

A few minutes later, Jake landed the plane on an airstrip at the edge of the island, having to execute an emergency landing.

We climbed out, and I approached Jake.

“Rough landing, Maverick.” I teased him. “Hope you don’t live on tips.”

“Please. I’m a damn hero for getting any of you onto the ground alive.”

Jake wondered off, looking for a guy called Carlos, who could pay Jake and re-fuel his plane. The other students chatted amongst themselves, and I overheard Quinn talk to the female student with black, curly hair.

“Isn’t this exciting Grace!”  she squealed. “This island’s supposed to be one of the most beautiful places on Earth, with all its beaches and waterfalls!”

“And it’s also home to a plethora of rare flora and fauna!” Grace added.

The male student in the orange jacket shook his head, clearly annoyed.

“Only ten spots on the trip, and they had to go ahead and give one to this dork.”

Sean heard him and scowled.

“Knock it off, Craig.” Sean intervened. “No need to be mad just because no other guys from the American football team made it.”

Craig wouldn’t meet Sean’s gaze, but didn’t argue either. It was clear that he respected Sean.

Diego came to join me... and that’s when I realised that we were being watched. By that female student, the one in the blue hoodie. She was watching us... watching me.

“Got eyes for the mysterious hottie, Taylor?” Diego teased me.

“I can’t put my finger on it Diego, but there’s something off about her.” I said.

“And what would that be?”

I thought about everything I’d seen and heard... and that’s when I realised it.

“There are too many of us, Diego.” I concluded. “Ten university students won the contest, and including the tour guide and pilot, that should make twelve of us. But count us off, Diego. She makes thirteen.”

Diego counted to make sure... and then nodded.

“You’re right. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen her at Hartfeld. So... who is she?”

I looked back at her... and she met my gaze. She quickly looked away, blushing subtly.

“If everyone can please come with me, we’ll make our way to The Celestial!” Lila proposed. The Celestial was the hotel we would be staying at.

We walked on, and I found myself walking next to the female student in the pink shirt with the make-up.

“Hello, I’m-” I started, but she cut me off.

“Listen to me.” she snapped. “I saw you talking to Sean earlier. And I’m telling you, back off.”

She wrapped an arm around Sean.

“Michelle, don’t-” he started, but was also cut off.

“Sean doesn’t need pathetic, desperate famehounds and losers stealing his valuable time.” Michelle told me. “So leave him alone.”

I was angry. Michelle had no right to tell me who I could and couldn’t hang out with. And I knew she was just jealous, probably because she couldn’t have Sean for herself. So I decided to insult her back.

“Exactly. Sean doesn’t need losers. So what are you doing around him?” I asked her.

“Excuse me?!”  Michelle glared at me. It was clear she wasn’t used to people challenging her, and I could tell that she now disliked me, but that wasn’t going to put me off.

“You heard me.” I told her. “And now, you’re probably trying to think of a comeback. One that’ll probably be bad. Don’t worry... I’ll wait.”

Michelle couldn’t reply. She was shaking with anger.

“Michelle, you need to chill.” Sean told her. “And I don’t mean Netflix and chill, I mean actually chill. Please.”

After what felt like years, probably due to the awkward silence, we reached The Celestial. Lila fell into a pre-rehearsed speech.

“The Celestial boasts 25 stories containing 1,200 suites of the finest accommodation you can imagine! Travel and Leisure magazine nicknamed The Celestial the “Jewel of the Caribbean” and included it on their Top 5 Caribbean Hotels list!”

We walked through the automatic doors, and found ourselves in the hotel lobby... greeted by a deafening silence. The front desk had no receptionist, and suitcases and luggage carts lay unattended.

“I... I don’t understand.” managed a confused Lila.

“If this place is so great, Lila... where the hell is everyone?!” asked the female student with maroon streaks.

[kitab00m101]

I NEEDED THIS- from the moment I saw his sleep deprived ass I knew I needed this

that new DDVAU chapter sure was something huh

(credit to @kitsuneisi and @xmaruu11 i am but a humble meme maker)