#anyway gonna go to bed now bing bong fuck my life good night and good riddance

[maladaptive-daydreaming-aphant]

when did i become so hollow

the daydreams took root in my soul

safety guaranteed

indulgence abundant

reality forsaken

i work in customer service

our best barista

all smiles

no heart

i study at an online university

an exemplary overachiever

asynchronous

alone

i used to be unmistakeably human

vibrantly playful

imperfectly troublesome

daringly liberated

now there is only a glittering shell

so pretty

so faceted

so polished

so empty

i try to make conversation

but the only sounds i can make

are nervous laughter

and irrelevant anecdotes

and awkward acknowledgements

and then i regret every word

because i've filled the empty air

with even more nothingness

again and again and again

grief without tragedy

fear without danger

words without meaning

unable to confront discomfort

struggling to maintain tangibility

failing to express myself

because my mind no longer thinks about feelings

and my heart doesn't think at all

and my soul has withered to dust

overwhelmed by light and noise

agitated and restless

i shut everything out

and try to find myself in the silence

but i've already spent too long

wasting away

alone in my room

where dreams go to die

and vacant distractions reign supreme

[artificialqueens]

Something More (Taywhora) - pureCAMP

A/N - Hi Ortega, love you xx

Here’s a cheeky little girl band au in which A'Whora is sort of in love with her bandmate, Lawrence is sort of in love with her makeup artist, and Bimini has no idea what’s going on. Enjoy, bing bang bong <3

Death by a thousand cuts lingers on A’Whora’s mind. There seems to be a million ways to express how she’s feeling; the straw that broke the camel’s back, the final tipping point. The way that little things just build and build and build until their crushing weight is suddenly made noticeable to the poor fool trapped beneath them, already without any hope of survival.

Maybe she’s being dramatic, maybe poetic. Maybe that’s why she’s good at writing lyrics, why she scribbles them down in glittery notebooks that Lawrence makes fun of her for buying. They can hardly use what she writes in her free time, the need for fun, relatable and light-hearted lyrics far outweighing the demand for her emotional ramblings, but nevertheless she’s still alright at it.

More than anything, it’s the numbness that bothers her. This pain isn’t jarring, soul destroying, artistically tragic like she wishes it was. She mostly feels an ever-present nothing, with the occasional empty hole like a vacuum in her stomach that weighs on her late at night, alone in bed. The feeling is heavy and cold, but she can’t describe it any better than that. She’s tried, and the scrunched up paper and furiously crossed out words provide more than enough explanation as to how that endeavour went.

Is she ridiculous to be angry over wanting a little communication, knowing she herself hasn’t done it either? Is she hypocritical for internally begging Tayce to explain when she knows full well she’s not explained her side?

Whatever the answer, she’s an idiot for hooking up with her bandmate.

Sighing frustratedly, she throws her pencil across the room, likely to never be seen again, and shuts her notebook. The pencil flies through the air and hits the wall just as Lawrence enters, missing her head by mere centimetres. She reels backwards out of shock and then clings onto the doorframe, one hand on her heaving chest.

“Fuck me! You trying to kill me or something?” Lawrence demands, her expressions every bit as big and blown up as they are on stage.

A’Whora flops onto her bed as Lawrence sits on hers - they’re sharing the hotel room, Tayce and Bimini paired up across the hall.

“Not you, babes.” She rolls her eyes at herself, stretching her legs out as her head crashes into the pillow.

Lawrence snorts. “Trouble in paradise?”

“It’s far from fucking paradise and you know it, you nasty bitch.” A’Whora shoots back, relieved that neither of them are stupid enough to interpret any malice in the harsh way they speak to one another.

Truth be told, A’Whora and Tayce’s hooking up is probably the worst kept secret in all their band management. Tayce seems to think nobody knows, and she’s all the happier for it, but A’Whora knows for a fact that Lawrence, the entire style team and their management all know what’s going on - it’s really only Bimini, bless her, who’s in the dark about it. The second worst kept secret is Lawrence and their makeup artist, Ellie, but that’s the farthest from A’Whora’s mind currently.

“It used to be fun, you know what I mean, like? Like it’s just me and Tayce and we’re having a good time and everything, there’s no pressure for dating or nothing like that, ‘cause she weren’t ready for it.”

Lawrence blinks. “Am I supposed to be sensing a problem here, or?”

A’Whora groans. “Shut up, bitch, I’m trying to do a fucking monologue for you! Anyway, it’s just weird because I swear like I haven’t done anything and nothing’s changed at all but her texts are really friendly rather than like flirty now?”

“And you haven’t sent me off to Ellie’s room in a while so the two of you can fuck like rabbits.” Lawrence finishes, a sly grin on her face knowing that she’s just pissed A’Whora right off by interrupting the aforementioned monologue.

Crude as she is, she’s right - and A’Whora probably would’ve worded it in a way more disgusting manner herself. It’s a decent system that they’ve rigged up, honestly. Whenever Tayce texts, or A’Whora texts her, she sends Lawrence off to go find Ellie, makes up some lie about why their bandmate isn’t sleeping in their room tonight, and then they can spend some quality time together. It’s simple but efficient, hence its brilliance.

“Sorry babes. You know you can still go see her even if I’m not seeing Tayce?”

Lawrence snorts. “Nah, you’re fine. To be honest she’s fucked me right off recently so I’m not in the mood to see her.”

It’s horrible, but A’Whora’s secretly glad that she’s not the only one entangled in some kind of romantic or sexual turmoil. “Aw, what did she do?”

“None of your business, you nosy bitch!” Lawrence half-yells, but bizarrely, she’s still not mad. “You were ranting about your secret lover?”

“Fuck off,” She shoots back, “I was done, anyway. She’s just, like, reset. I don’t get it.”

She’s not strong enough to confide what she really thinks. It clouds her mind constantly, a small part of her brain daring her to just come out and say it in the malicious hope that she’ll find out how it feels to broadcast. Her stupid, selfish brain is worried that Tayce has met someone, someone she likes, someone she’d be willing to, or interested in, pursuing a romantic relationship with. Because romance has never been part of their deal, something they’d agreed on. Romance was off the table for Tayce because she wasn’t ready, and A’Whora was fine with that.

Maybe she was in the wrong for going along with the hook ups and flirting under false pretences. A’Whora had hoped, secretly, that over time, Tayce’s aversion to love and commitment might begin to soften, and surely the most natural, safe way to ease into it would be with someone who she already knew could have a fun flirty rapport with her, not to mention a metric fuckton of sexual chemistry?

Behind every flirty text held the secret hope that Tayce’s feelings would one day find the strength to break out. A’Whora hadn’t meant to get attached to her bandmate like she had, but there seemed to be fuck all she could do about it now.

“Well,” Lawrence announces, rolling onto her back and gesturing up in the air with her arms, “You’re fucked off, I’m fucked off, I say we go and get absolutely steamin’ and forget that we’ve ever felt a positive emotion towards someone who doesn’t give a fuck.”

A’Whora closes her eyes, heart sinking. “I’d actually love to, but we can’t just go the two of us, because then we’re leaving out the others. Bims’ll wanna come, and if Bims comes we have to invite Tayce and I literally don’t wanna see her because it’s so weird that I’ve been like, demoted to friend.”

“She removed the benefits,” Lawrence nods understandingly, “In many ways, we could compare her to the Tory government.”

“Could we fuck,” A’Whora laughs in spite of her own heavy misery. “You’re literally insane. Loz, what the fuck do I do about this?”

Lawrence shrugs. “I told you, my best solution is to go and get smashed! If we just drink here then we didn’t go out without anyone so we didn’t break any friend rules and they’re none the fucking wiser to our collective romance issues.”

The word romance makes A’Whora tense - it’s uncomfortable to think about it like that, almost embarrassing to dwell on her own feelings as having a romantic nature about them from a purely sexual relationship. Luckily for her, a sneaky or perhaps Freudian slip catches her attention and drags it away from her own issue, A’Whora bolting upright to stare at her friend.

“Lawrence Chaney. Did you just say collective romance issues? I thought you and Ellie were just fanny friends!”

Understandably, Lawrence is horrified at her turn of phrase, but A’Whora doesn’t miss the telltale reddening of her ears that suggests she’s said something she shouldn’t have. An eye-roll powerful enough to induce a tsunami follows Lawrence shifting herself up, glaring at A’Whora, and then scowling.

“First,” She replies, one finger wagging in front of her, “Never fucking say fanny friends ever again. Second…”

A’Whora gasps, already anticipating some gossip.

“You’re gonna get me a fucking gin if you’re gonna make me talk about this.”

-

More intelligent girls, or perhaps just less heartache-y ones, would know better than to get wasted in their hotel room the night before a show, but A’Whora and Lawrenced have never been the best at smart decisions. Ironically, it’s the deceptively smart bimbo Bimini who usually is able to reign them in, though she often chooses not to. Left to their own devices, there’s a lot of gin and a little bit of lemonade that seems to mysteriously disappear as tongues get looser and inhibitions get lowered. Before they even know what’s happening, both girls are sitting on the floor between their beds, legs stretched out before them, bemoaning their woeful, humiliating love lives.

It’s almost as if they think that if they don’t get it right now, they never will. To some extent, in A’Whora’s mind, that’s true, even when she knows, realistically, that she’s only in her mid-twenties and life goes on. But really, what is love if not an agony freezing you in time, a force that makes the past a mere blur and the future non-existent? Love is present and now, and if she misses her chance, who says there’ll be another?

(Almost everyone says there will. But A’Whora is drunk and her words are happy and her mind is sad.)

Luckily, Lawrence has been talking for long enough that A’Whora doesn’t have to spill all her thoughts into a drunken spiel that she knows wouldn’t make a lick of sense. She keeps swearing and avoiding the point, but somewhere in her long-winded ramble confessions start to unravel themselves, and a good scandal is enough to distract her for the time being.

“So I fuckin’ - aw fuck, hen, do me a favour and refill me?” Lawrence asks, A’Whora just passing her the bottle and gesturing for her to continue. “I fuckin’ asked her, y’know, are we just doing this or are we something more, like, fuckin’ stupid thing to ask honestly and I regretted it as soon as I did but then she answered and fuck me.”

She makes an effort to impersonate Ellie - a slightly higher pitched, slightly less intensely Scottish accent with something of a mockingly nervous whine to it as she repeats, “I’m keeping my options open. Fuckin’ options! I’ve no’ had anyone since her and I wouldny’ fuckin’ want to either and she’s fuckin’ got A, B, C or D all the fuckin’ above! It’s fucked.”

A’Whora gasps. “Bitch, you proper like her! You like Ellie!”

“Say that any louder and I’ll box your fuckin’ ears,” Lawrence threatens, only half kidding judging by the glare in her eyes. “Am I wrong to feel fuckin’ betrayed that I didn’t know she was seeing others as well as me?”

She snorts. “Loz, babes, I’m losing my mind at the very idea that Tayce has found someone, look who you’re talking to.”

Lawrence shrugs in agreement. “Makes me feel sick.”

There’s a pause. “Actually, that might be the gin.”

Another pause. “Oh, it’s the gin.”

She all but launches herself up and towards the bathroom, A’Whora instantly going into a flap. If Lawrence is sick on the carpet she’ll literally never forgive her, but she needs to help her friend, but fuck if she’s gonna stand there in the bathroom gagging at her. She decides, vaguely last minute, to run out into the corridor and grab some cold water from the machine, panicking and shouting her plan in the general direction of the bathroom before dashing outside. Embarrassing, but at twenty five years old A’Whora still can’t handle someone being sick.

A brief but unwelcome thought flits into her head - I’d help Tayce. She shakes it away, tells herself she wouldn’t, but a sad stupid part of her knows she could sit there and painfully gag her way through helping Tayce if she needed to, because she’s a spineless idiot who fell for her bandmate. There’s a flash of guilt for the fact that she wouldn’t do the same for Bims or Lawrence, but reasons that she has to draw the line somewhere.

The hotel has this awful chintzy carpet, a weird swirly print on a red base that reminds A’Whora of weird-smelling care homes and outdated grandma’s houses. Just looking at it makes her head spin uncomfortably - maybe she’s a little drunker than she thought. Perhaps she’ll get two cups of ice water instead, sober herself up a bit and all.

Then Tayce is standing in front of her all of a sudden and A’Whora has no idea how she’s got there.

(Did she… summon Tayce? Manifest her presence?)

“Girl, you alright? You look a state,” She greets, her accent charming enough to rid the words of their potential offense.

A’Whora vaguely points ahead of her, aware of how dumb she probably looks. “Goin… getting water for Loz. She’s absolutely pissed.”

Tayce laughs, baffled. “Babes, what are you playing at getting drunk the night before a show? Gotta make sure you shake off the hangovers before or else you’re done for!”

“Water fixes all.” A’Whora has no idea what to say. Why would she? She’s been lamenting this girl’s very existence for the past…. God knows how many hours, and now she’s here and she has to slip the besties facade back on except she’s a bit too drunk to remember how to do it properly. Sober A’Whora is going to cringe for days over this, she already knows.

Unsurprisingly, Tayce starts to follow her to grab the water, declaring “Well I’m coming with you, sounds like you’re gonna need someone sober to put you both in bed, you absolute lunatics.”

They’re just walking next to each other and yet A’Whora has never analysed her own way of walking so much in her life before this moment. Are her steps too large? Her arms swinging too much, or too little? Which foot comes next? Is Tayce thinking about how weirdly she’s moving? Should she be trying to keep pace with her or will that be even weirder and she’ll realise what a creep she’s been hooking up with all this time and fully decide against any possibility of something more between them?

They’re just walking. Just one foot and then the next.

Ahead of them, the water cooler glistens like a mirage in a desert, a tantalising goal signalling the end of their journey. A’Whora almost feels like she’s been trekking for hours next to Tayce, unsure of what to say, unsure of what her own act to keep up with is.

Naturally, she fumbles in her attempt to get a flimsy plastic cup from the stack, and then all come crashing down before she can even realise what’s happening. She turns to look at Tayce, the both of them momentarily stunned.

“Oh my god, you absolute beast!” Tayce screeches, her voice hushed for the sake of the late night but laughing all the same, clutching the cooler for balance. “We gotta pick all these up now!”

They do; A’Whora thinks about accidentally brushing her fingers over Tayce’s as they scramble to get everything, and then doesn’t. She thinks about abandoning the water and fumbling keys into locks until they fall into one another and forget everything else. She thinks about just blurting out the truth.

By the time all of the potential scenarios have flown dizzyingly through A’Whora’s drunk mind, she finds herself with two cups of water in her hands, Tayce with the same, leading her back to the hotel room and giggling as she instructs her not to spill a drop. A’Whora laughs, pretending like she’s not struggling to figure out how tightly she should be holding them.

Pretend is easy and she’s always been good at it. Pretending she’s a real rockstar with her Sing Star microphone and Playstation 2 in the living room. Pretending she’s not nervous the day before the biggest audition of her life. Pretending she’s a real musician in a band and not one of four girls shitting themselves backstage at the biggest arenas in the city. Pretending like Tayce might fall for her one day.

Once they get inside - it takes four swipes of A’Whora’s key and brief panic that she’s somehow got the wrong one - it’s clear that Lawrence is done with throwing her guts up and has settled herself in a chair, furiously typing on her phone.

“This room smells like a minibar, you hounds!” Tayce half admonishes, her grin entirely downplaying her words and making A’Whora’s heartbeat jump into overdrive. “Lawrence, what are you doing?”

“Communicating-my-feelings,” She answers through gritted teeth, each word punctuated with a particularly aggressive stab at her screen.

Out of curiosity, A’Whora peeks at the screen, and upon seeing a horrifically large wall of text typed out in the chat box with no end in sight, snatches the phone immediately. “Tayce! Hide it! She’s writing a fucking essay!”

Whether A’Whora’s drunk coordination is better than when she’s sober - hopefully not - or Tayce is just talented, she deftly catches the device and locks it.

Lawrence all but springs up, incensed. “Fuck off with that! Ellie needs to know- I’m fucking pissed!”

“Ellie?” Tayce pauses, looking down as if she’ll still see the message. “As in, makeup artist Ellie?”

“Who fuckin’ else?!” Lawrence lunges and misses.

“Knew it.” She’s adorably smug, so much so that A’Whora decides against telling her that literally everyone knows. Her perceived victory makes her face light up and she’s already so beautiful that ruining childlike glee like that should be considered blasphemous. It would be a sin to wipe that smile from her face using anything other than her lips.

She holds the phone up in the air above her head, unreachable. “Right. Well, Lawrence, you can have this back after you’ve drank this water here, brushed your teeth and got into bed, okay? I think that’s a fair deal.”

“Get fucked,” Lawrence responds, totally deadpan as she snatches the plastic cup, spilling half of it down her front and not noticing. “I will drink your magic water and then you will fuck off and I will tell Ellie that she’s a slimey wee bitch.”

Tayce laughs, unfazed. “On second thoughts, darling…” She tucks the phone into her bra and gives a little flourish. “Sort yourself out and I’ll get it back to you in the morning. I’m not having you abusing our lovely Ellie ‘cause you’ve had a lover’s tiff.”

Lawrence squints. “Fuckin’… A’Whora will get it for me. I’m sure you won’t mind feeling her up, eh hen? Though I bet your girlfriend might have something to say about it. OOP!”

A’Whora feels her face flushing, and the panic slams into her like a wave hitting the beach full force, washing over everything. At first she was glad Lawrence was drunker than her, hoping to make less of a fool of herself in front of Tayce and direct the attention onto their favourite Scottish menace, but Lawrence being drunker means Lawrence with an even looser tongue, and for someone who loves to crack a joke and make a cheeky observation at the most inopportune moment, A’Whora finds herself wishing she’s passed out snoring instead. Tayce just laughs and manages to mother hen her into the bathroom, where A’Whora spots her in the mirror, grumpily brushing her teeth like a petulant toddler in the midst of a tantrum.

“Tell you what, I could never have kids, this is bloody exhausting!” Tayce explains, her big bright smile distracting A’Whora, thankfully, from the bulge of Lawrence’s phone. At least, it’s easier to pretend, even mentally, that that’s why she keeps looking at her chest.

“God, I know!” She laughs back, faking it harder than ever and sipping her cup of water. She feels sobered up already, though she’s sure she’s probably not, all too aware of her red cheeks and Lawrence’s loose tongue and terrified something else will be said.

“I mean, what on earth was that? I don’t have a girlfriend, I can tell you that.” She chuckles as if the idea’s ridiculous. A’Whora wonders if she genuinely thinks that, if she doesn’t realise just how many beautiful men and women would fall down at her feet if she so much as paid them a glance.

Lawrence stumbles out; in the two minutes she’s been gone, she seems to have forgotten entirely about her phone, and she looks at the pair with lidded eyes. “Fuckin’ shattered, girls.”

Tayce beams at her. “Get your arse in bed, then!”

A’Whora finishes her water, and Lawrence is asleep in seconds. For good measure, they poke her a couple of times, but since she’s very clearly breathing and seems fine, they decide to stop tormenting her and to just let the poor girl sleep. Tayce sets down Lawrence’s phone on the nightstand next to her, making sure to plug in her charger so it won’t be dead when she wakes up, and the tiny act of thoughtfulness makes A’Whora’s heart swell in a manner she’s wholly embarrassed of.

As if she’s swooning at a girl charging her friend’s phone? It’s ridiculous and she knows it.

“Shall I walk you to your door?” She offers, holding her arm out. Tayce laughs and takes hold of her elbow, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Ooh, promenade!”

“You’ve been watching far too much Bridgerton, you have,” A’Whora teases her, jabbing her side as they make their way back down the empty corridor. “Do I have to start calling you My Lady or something, babes?”

Tayce swats her away. “In bed, maybe. Oh, I’ll happily be a Duke or a Duchess, I mean have you seen the pair of them? Bloody gorgeous!”

A’Whora’s chest seizes up at the casual mention of being in bed together. Is the stalemate over? Is Tayce about to explain why she’s suddenly frozen on her and decided she no longer wants to hook up? What the hell even is the reason if there’s no girlfriend? She’s just gone off A’Whora now?

“Oh my God. Tayce, I can’t do this.”

It’s out there. She can’t go back now, can’t reel it back in. She’s fucked.

Tayce stops mid-hallway and frowns, worried. “You alright? If you don’t feel well you can go back, you don’t have to walk me to my room.”

“No, not that,” A’Whora massages her temples, trying to encourage some kind of eloquent thought to help her out, trying to stimulate the part of her brain that writes lyrics, to no avail. “This, us, the weirdness, I can’t do it. I have to know what’s going on, I’m literally going spare over it.”

“I don’t- I don’t get what you mean.”

“Us!” A’Whora cries, then shushes herself, acutely aware of her volume and the people sleeping adjacent to their conversation. “You- you don’t text me the same, and we haven’t- in ages, and I just… Tayce, do you like me?”

Tayce frowns even deeper. “Of course I like you, Rory.”

“Do you proper like me? Do you like me like I like you?”

She feels like a child, enacting a schoolgirl crush with a scribbled note that asks them to tick a yes or no box drawn in pink felt tip, the kind fuzzy from little fingers pressing too hard. If anything, it’s worse than that; at least some prior planning went into those, and a clear question with a yes or no response indicating some kind of confidence. A’Whora has no idea what she’s doing, where she’s going, anything.

“Rory… do you-”

A’Whora cuts her off. “Lawrence thought you might have a girlfriend because I thought you might have one because I was ranting about us to her and how shit I feel that you’ve lost interest in me. We got drunk to ignore how shit we both feel and it didn’t work because she almost blabbed to Ells and now I’m here blabbing to you but I literally can’t help myself. I never can when I’m with you.”

It’s only when she’s finished that she realises Tayce’s expression is full of fear, and her heart sinks like a lead balloon.

“You told Lawrence about us?”

She swallows, guilt seeping in like cracks in a dam. “Tayce, I… We’re not the big secret you think we are. A lot of people know, or suspect. Is… Is that the issue?”

Tayce chews her lip, eyebrows furrowed. Every millisecond that she doesn’t speak is agony, each second another stab to A’Whora’s heart, tiny needles of time cutting into her as she waits and waits for the ugly truth. This is it, now, the swirling nausea in her stomach tells her, this is when it all ends. This is where you scare off the love of your life.

The… what? The fucking what? The who of her what?

Too late now.

“I haven’t lost interest in you. I don’t think that’s even possible. I’m like, obsessed with you.”

A’Whora freezes, expecting virtually anything but that. “You- what? But- huh?”

“Yeah!” Tayce laughs nervously, unsure of how to react - they have that in common, at least. “I mean, girl, look at you, you’re gorgeous. I was getting freaked out by how much I, like, feel, so I just shut everything down and denied it all. I mean, I figured if I was freaking myself out, you must think I’m a right old weirdo. Have I got this all wrong?”

The ice melts. A’Whora can feel the shards shrinking, the wounds closing up, the warmth returning to her in a blossoming not unlike the flowers of spring, freshening the air and sweeping away her anxieties.

“I’ve never been so happy to call you an idiot in my life,” A’Whora tells her.

Tayce cocks an eyebrow. “You dirty liar, you love calling me an idiot,” She bites back, not leaving room for A’Whora to reply before kissing her right then and there, in the middle of a hotel corridor, leaning up against the wall for support. A million chemical reactions spark off all at once, a frenzy of activity rendering her incapable of doing anything but wrapping her arms around her bandmate, her best friend, her everything, and kissing her until she can’t breathe.

When they have to come up for air they do, all gasping and pink cheeks and dazed eyes. Every cell, every nerve, every neuron in A’Whora’s body is awake and alive, drawn towards Tayce like a magnetic pull. She can’t ignore it, and can’t think why she’d ever want to.

-

“Will you fucking stay still?”

“I haven’t moved an inch, hen, your shaky hands are not my problem.”

Ellie huffs, big pink earrings dangling from her ears swinging as she moves her head. They’re shaped like hearts, the word ‘doll’ in cursive across the middle in sparkling letters, and it’s adorably Ellie Diamond in every way possible. Even irritated, she’s oddly cute.

“Lawrence! I’m not trying to make you look ugly, stay still for me!” She pleads.

A’Whora watches from her chair, face already expertly done. She woke up pleasantly early, nestled happily in Tayce’s arms after everything. They’d decided to go back to A’Whora’s room, just in case Lawrence woke up and tried to send reams of abuse to Ellie, and ended up laying together cuddling until they fell asleep. No matter how sober A’Whora swore she was, Tayce just giggled and told her there was no chance of anything more than a cwtch, at least until the morning.

Thankfully, they’d kept Lawrence’s phone away from her, but there was nothing she could do but watch helplessly as Ellie and Lawrence engaged in a battle of attrition while doing makeup.

Lawrence rolls her eyes so hard A’Whora can practically feel it from across the room. “Not to worry hen, there’s more than one girl in the band, I’m sure you’ve got options on who can look pretty and who can’t.”

A’Whora winces at the low blow, and judging by Ellie’s expression, all pouty lips and big sad eyes, she’s hurt. More than anything, she wants to rush in and fix things for them, help them do the big talk and work it all out, but she knows it’s not really her business. They have to do this for themselves, so she sits quiet and prays that they will.

“Oh my god.” Ellie sets down her brushes and stares Lawrence in the face, awfully bold and completely unexpected. “Are you gonna hang this over me forever? I just - didn’t want you to think I was too forward! I’ve been regretting it all night, I regretted it as soon as I even said it! I can’t stand you being upset with me.”

Lawrence’s expression softens. “What?”

“You’re, like, the best person ever. I look up to you so much, I don’t think I could admire anyone more than I admire you. I really didn’t mean to upset you, I didn’t want to come on too strong.”

There’s a pause - A’Whora holds her breath, and notices that just across from her, Bimini is suddenly paying attention, her phone long since abandoned in her hand as she gapes at the two of them, dumbfounded.

Lawrence throws her arms around Ellie, squeezing her in an embrace that seems too tender to be looking at, the next best thing to a kiss when in the middle of painting someone’s face. Ellie squeezes back, her lips mouthing words that the other girls can neither hear nor try to. This is for them and them alone.

Tayce enters just as they break apart, throwing herself into the seat next to A’Whora and grinning. “Hiya, gorge, what’d I miss?”

She leans over and kisses A’Whora’s cheek.

Bimini’s eyes pop open. “You and- and then her and- what the fuck? Babes, I think we skipped a few chapters!”

“You just haven’t read the book,” A’Whora winks at her.

“Right, right,” Bims nods understandingly, ever one to just go with the flow. “And is the big lesbian orgy before the concert or after?”

[arcadeguk]

of liquor and love

prompt: a drunk bts member comes to your apartment only sees your roommate opening the door and he drunkenly spews out how much he loves you to your roommate thinking that you weren’t there, when actually, you heard every word he said and you tease him about it the next morning (anon aa) - anon, i swear to god, you’re gonna break my heart

genre: the fluffiest of all fluffy good luck

pairing: taehyung x reader

a/n: this is most definitely turning into a 7 part series. drunk bangtan being all soft and squishy?? throw in a bunch of au’s?? im thriving!!!

you land with an unladylike plop on the couch. to say you were grateful today was over would be an understatement. in fact, no greater lie had ever been told. you’d knew it’d be a suck ass day before you’d even opened your eyes - the stench of burnt coffee grounds and the pleasant morning symphony of your roommate seoyun cursing like a sailor started off your less-than-stellar day. you’d wanted to die by lunch, and by the time you dragged your sorry ass off campus that evening, you were completely gone - a shell of your former self. a plethora of different things could fix this sour mood: a shower, a face mask, alcohol, or an ice cream binge. but the one thing that you knew would completely turn you around would be hearing the voice of your favorite person in the whole entire world. without a moment of hesitation, you tap taehyung’s contact name, call, and place the phone on speaker. you’re sure you melt into the driver’s seat when he answers:

“hey buttercup, whatcha doing?”

kim taehyung played many roles in your life: absolute number 1 best friend in the entire world, champion beer bong partner, flawless wingman, and the greatest, strongest emotional crutch you could ever ask for. he was so unbelievably important to you in so many ways, and you value the friendship above any others you had. he was sweet, caring, attentive, funny, outgoing - to sum it up; fucking perfect. which was why hearing his voice at the tail-end of such a disaster day like today was such a godsend.

“driving home from my last class. tae, im not kidding, i’m dropping out. i don’t even like college. who even cares? i don’t, i honestly do not ca-”

“alright miss y/n, queen of mental breakdowns at the worst times, let’s take a breath here, hm? how about you focus a little less on your day, and focus a little more on driving? or do i have to come get you, again? for the what, tenth time this week?”

you can practically see the smile on his face, one meant to be cute, annoying, and maybe a little sarcastic - but you see right through the playful little face - the smile is meant to calm you, relax you and bring you back down to earth, instead of stuck in your own head. taehyung is sunshine, freshly cut grass, and a warm breeze - whereas sometimes your mind (mixed with the perfect concoction of stress and exhaustion), sometimes results in rainy, stormy days. but taehyung always knows how to bring you back to the meadow-like paradise he creates just for you.

“you had to come pick me up once and you act like you rescued me from the pits of hell,” you grumble into your phone, “but i wanna hear about your day instead,” you say, waiting patiently for an answer from him.

“honestly, nothing special to report. other than seokjin passed his midterm - which, he’s a little too over excited about if you ask me. it was an art history class he took once a week, for fuck’s sake. but we’re going out tonight to celebrate - he’s buying, trust me - i wouldn’t go otherwise.”

“so, you and the boys are planning on having a drunken night out,” you sum up as you pull into your apartment complex.

“that’s it y/n, you’re all caught up in the dramatic and glamorous life of kim taehyung. by the way, you’re more than welcome to join us. drunk you is the funniest version of you anyway.” he says with a chuckle, and you physically wince as you recall the last time you’d been drinking together: it involved one too many shots of vodka and a ruined pair of taehyung’s jeans.

“i’m good,” you tell him, trying to hide all the little tells of disappointment in your voice, “i have more homework than i know what to do with. i’ll gladly take a raincheck, though?”

taehyung laughs through the phone, his deep giggle crackling over the phone speaker. “suit yourself. i just don’t know how many opportunities you’re gonna have to relive seokjin’s glorious victory of a B+ in a class about dead artists.”

“tell you what,” you offer in return, “take an extra shot for me,” you can’t hide the smile on your face, and take a moment to imagine what his might look like on the other side of the phone. butterflies flit around in your stomach, and you push them back down before you get the chance to even wonder why they would be there. that was way too much to even think about right now. taehyung? god? the perfect human? the only person you trusted and loved completely? um, yes, obviously. whoa wait, love?

your distracted mind is suddenly yanked back to the present when you hear taehyung’s low voice growl back at you, “do you one better”, he mumbles, “i’ll take three.”

the day’s earlier conversation had all but faded from your mind, and you were balls deep in a massive midterm paper that you’d waited until the last possible moment to complete. you’re perched on the couch, coffee table covered in articles and sources and books, looking more like a warzone that a living room. you barely hear the knock at the door, or the three knocks that follow. you don’t register seoyun’s annoyed and over-dramatic huff as she rises from her bed, or the pounding of her feet as she stomps to answer the door. you don’t hear the door open either, but your ears do finally perk to attention when you hear taehyung’s voice.

it’s low, the sound rising from somewhere deep in his throat and bubbling out of his mouth, just like the foam that rose off the top of the beer that put him in this state. taehyung’s voice is low, his words are slurred, and you wish, selfishly for just a moment, that he could bury that slow and heavy tongue of his somewhere deep in your mouth. you can’t hear what he says, but seoyun gives a “wait here”, and walks into the living room, hand on her hip.

“taehyung’s here. he says he needs to talk to you. that it’s super important - which, i don’t know what could be so important at 2 am on a thursday but -”

“nO” you squeak, fighting to keep your voice above a detectable level, “seoyun, whatever you do, don’t let him come in. he can’t see me like this. i’d rather die. i’d rather drop dead right now. i’m covered in pimple cream, my hair is a disaster, i don’t have -” you’re panicking, the sheer thought of taehyung seeing you, seeing this,

“since when did you care?” seoyun cuts in, giving you a raised eyebrow. it takes all of 4 seconds of eye contact for it to completely click for her, and your deepest secret becomes seoyun’s little secret too.

“you like the cute little drunk boy stumbling around in our hallway right now, don’t you?” she asks with a sly smile, and you can only stutter. “i have a genius plan, follow me.”

before you can say “god seoyun please no”, she has you tucked you behind the front door, opening it just so that you’re perfectly concealed. she throws you a wink, and then gives a whistle to taehyung, who’s successfully bumbled his way to the neighbors.

“tae! hey, hello, you alive there buddy? i’m really sorry, but y/n went to bed, she’s asleep right now. can i take a message?”

taehyung whines from the hallway, and you can hear his arms and shoulders hitting the doorframe as he throws himself around like a child.

“but i reaaaaally need to talk to her, seoyun, it’s so important, the most important,” he says with a bubbly hiccup, and seoyun laughs, turning to the side and wiggling her eyebrows at you. you squint, imploring her to please not give you away, but you know taehyung is too drunk to probably know his own damn name right now. “well, how about you tell me, and i’ll tell her in the morning?” she offers, and taehyung scowls, concentrating hard on seoyun’s face as he tries to decode what she said. he takes a deep breath, and says:

“okay, but you have to promise to tell her. but first, you should know that i’m *hiccup* drunk. i’m pretty drunk. i don’t think i remember getting drunk, but i know that i am very drunk right now. which is why *hiccup* i’m saying this. because i’m drunk. because the boys made me. well, that’s not true. not really. ‘cause the boys went *hiccup* to another bar, and i didn’t want to go. i wanted to come *hiccup* here. i wanted to see y/n. i wanted to see her pretty face when opened the door, how her whole stupid pretty little *hiccup* face lights up. she gets so excited when she sees me, seoyun. did you know that? she gets so fucking excited. like seeing me makes her whole day. and my heart just turns to a mushy pile of mush. i’m not kidding it turns to *hiccup hiccup* complete mush. everytime i see her, i wanna pick her up. i wanna give her the biggest hug, and just wrap her up in my arms. i wanna bury her inside my coat when we walk around campus and she gets cold. i wanna kiss her forehead and watch her nose scrunch up. i wanna *hiccup* cuddle with her, i wanna fall asleep with her head on my chest. i wanna fall asleep knowing that she’s right next to me, that she’s safe and that nothing bad can happen to her while she’s there. i *hiccup* wanna love her forever and ever, seoyun. i love her so much, but we’re friends. and i’m, i’m okay with that. i think. i know she *hiccup* just wants to be friends right now, and i don’t wanna push her to be something else. but, i love her. so much. you *hiccup* don’t understand. i love her alot.” taehyung finishes, and lowers his head to look at his shoes, shyly playing with his hands.

“oh. my. god.” seoyun takes a step backwards to see you behind the door, eyes wide and a panicked gape on her face. “do something” you hiss, and she just shakes her head in shock. seoyun doesn’t have the time to do anything, before taehyung speaks again, “seoyun, remember how i said i was really drunk? c-can i sleep here? i’m too tired to walk home,” he slurs, and seoyun rolls her eyes, before grabbing him by the jacket and yanking him into the apartment, slamming the door and shoving him towards the kitchen. she catches your incredulous look, and she simply shrugs with a grin, “i am not gonna let your secret lover get arrested for public intoxication, or let him sleep on a park bench. what kind of friend would i be, hm? to ruin the romance before it’s even started, i would be -”

but neither you nor taehyung are listening to her. his searching eyes finally find you, pressed up against the wall, the same spot you’d been glued to ever since taehyung started his speech. “y/n” he breathes out, a grin breaking onto his face. his eyes are hooded, bloodshot, and he looks so, so sleepy. the alcohol buzzing in his blood seems to make him glow, the golden radiance that always surrounded him burning brighter than it usually does. you can practically feel the warmth radiating off him, and the only thing you can think about is how nice it would be to feel that warmth pressed up against you right now. taehyung’s own mind might be fuzzy, and he feels like he’s floating in his own head, but one clear, undeniable thought comes through, one that rings in his eardrums and makes his blood buzz even harder than the vodka does: cute. wanna kiss.

he drunkenly pushes seoyun out of the way, and stumbles his way down the hallway, pushing open a door he just knows is yours. taehyung collapses facedown on the bed, humming softly as he gathers the pillows and blankets around him, bundling himself up into a nice little cocoon in your bedsheets, and within seconds, he’s out.

“make yourself at home,” seoyun snorts, leaning on the doorframe to your bedroom. she turns to you with a clever smile, “so what do we do now?” you shrug, and sigh, “let him sleep it off, i guess.” seoyun returns the shrug, and brushes past you. you grasp her arm as she passes, and whispers, “do you think he really meant that? like, all that stuff he said, that was real?” seoyun sighs, glancing back towards his sleeping figure on the bed. “honestly, i don’t know. i hope so,” she says with a wink, and saunters her way down the hall, waving behind her, “after all, they do say that alcohol is the best truth serum.” and tonight, you really hope she’s right.

morning light breaks through the living room windows, dappling across your face, and instantly waking you up, a whole half hour earlier than normal. you groan, before rolling over and realizing your bed must have most definitely shrunk during the night. flailing your arms around, you realize that you’re not in your bed at all, but yet on the sofa. your blurry and sleep deprived mind puts two and two together much faster than you’re ready for, and the memories of last night come rushing towards you at full blast. taehyung. his drunken ramblings about being in love with you. him. asleep. in your bed. you secretly hope that someone will come knock you out.

a door opens, and seoyun emerges from her bedroom, puffy-faced and pouting at the light of morning. her expression changes to confusion at the sight of you on the couch, but it soon fades into a knowing smile as she shakes her head and shuffles to the kitchen.

you follow close on her heels, and lean against the counter. “so what’s the plan here, just wait for the drunk boy to wake up?” you question anxiously, and seoyun takes a nonchalant sip of her coffee. “that’s the plan. unless you’ve got something better,” she smiles with a wink.

the smell of coffee and toast wakes the sleeping boy, and he manages (with great effort) to wrangle himself out of the cocoon he created. the morning of sheer confusion and then muddled understanding continues, as it dawns on taehyung - the memories of last night come raining down on him. all that he did, all that he said - fuck.

taehyung lets his nose guide him to the kitchen, where he finds you and seoyun, talking closely together with only a coffee mugs’ length between you both. you glance up and see him standing there - wrinkled t-shirt, crumpled jeans, and hair mussed to high hell. seoyun chokes on her coffee, and manages to splutter out “i’mgonnagoshower” before racing off to the bathroom.

taehyung shuffles towards the counter, and settles as close to you as he dares - close enough to feel remnants of warmth radiating off you - the exact warmth that both of you had dreamed about last night.

“listen, about last night -” he starts, but you cut him off, strongly and abruptly.

“did you mean it? if you remember it, i mean. and if you do remember, then you know exactly what i’m talking about. but i - did you mean it?”

he frowns ever so slightly, and bends further into your space. you wish you could move, towards him or away, it didn’t matter - but right now, the proximity has you paralyzed. the warmth you yearned for last night now swirls around you in columns - encompassing the pair of you, making you feel more loved, more cared for, than anything ever before.

he leans in so close that you can feel the light tickle of his breath on your earlobe, as he gently lifts a finger to brush your hair away. he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, gnaws it for a second, before letting his full pout gently rest on your ear. when he speaks, it’s like the earth underneath your feet shakes. your entire chest shutters, your bones rattle, the deep timbre of his voice threatening to make you crumble into a heap of rubble on the ground. that hand that isn’t toying with your hair finds your waist, and you hope that the heat radiating from his hand leaves a golden tattoo on your hip. he speaks, slowly, sure, his tongue full of confidence and his voice full of love;

“every word, baby. i meant every word.”

your stomach drops, your heart rises, and your pupils blow. you pull back ever so slightly, and your eyes meet. a gentle smile spreads on his face, and his face lights up with anticipation. the butterflies you’d been feeling for weeks now suddenly explode - creating a scene of gnashing teeth, sore lips, fingers tangled in hair, breathless panting, and an explosion of gold.

hours later, taehyung is waking up from his second hangover nap of the day. he whines as he rolls over, reaching his arms out and wishing you could be there to fill the empty space, instead of your pillows. he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand, planning to send you a plethora of sad faces, hopefully enough to convince to skip your last two classes and come home to him. instead, he sees his groupchat exploding with messages:

2:45pm

jimin: everyone alive?

jungkook: barely

hoseok: define “alive”

2:46pm

namjoon: you guys won’t believe the night i had

yoongi: no yOU guys won’t believe the night I had i’m not kidding when i say being abducted by aliens would have been a more likely way for my night to go

jungkook: it’ll be a weak ass story compared to mine this i promise

seokjin: NOT ONLY was the night meant to celebrate MY accomplishment, but i have one-up-ed you guys YET AGAIN my night was superior no one can tell me any different

2:47pm

taehyung: well, come on guys. i wanna hear all about it.

2:49pm

hoseok: hold onto your panties, ladies.

anon i really hope you liked this i’m so nervous i’m sweating