artificialqueens · 4 years ago
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Me and You Together, 4/10 (Taywhora) - Ortega
fic summary: The cardinal rule of having flatmates is that you Do Not Catch Feelings For Your Flatmates, because everything inevitably goes to shit and gets made horrifically awkward. A’whora and Tayce both know this, but being in first year of uni and making good decisions have never really gone hand in hand.
a/n: fam this response is crazy it really is…thank u all so much for the love, kudos and comments, i’m so sorry if i’ve not managed to reply to urs yet but know that i’ve read them all and cherish every one and i will get round to replying and yelling some love and thanks at u soon!!! pls enjoy this chapter in which A'whora does not possess the flat’s shared brain cell at any point. that being said, i wish all the readers of this fic a very pleasant italicised ‘oh’ xo
last chapter: January-Tayce and A’whora still had unfinished business from a night out and a hungover morning in December.
this chapter: October- The gang make plans for their first year together, Tia gives everyone plans for the evening, and A'whora has a realisation that will change the dynamic of her friendship with Tayce forever.
***
“Bimini, what is it you’re actually doing?”
A’whora’s intrigued by the way her flatmate’s sitting on the sofa: legs crossed, notepad in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and looking deep in thought. They’ve not long since stretched over the smoke detector with a sock, having long since established nobody in the flat minds them smoking indoors as long as the windows are open. Lawrence is beside them on the other end of the sofa having been to all the lectures that’re required of her already today and has got a bright pink, blue and purple-flecked ball of yarn hanging from two knitting needles, with which she seems to be knitting some sort of cosy accessory. It’s a wholesome picture that’s playing out in front of A’whora, one that’s miles away from the raucous, drunk nights they’ve all shared in the first month of uni so far.
“Okay, here’s what it is,” Bimini starts, clicking their long nails together. “I am making us a freshers bucket list, and I want your input.”
“Ooh!” Lawrence perks up beside them, and A’whora, interest piqued, picks up the bowl of pasta, butter and cheese she’s spent all of five minutes making and crosses the room to sit beside her flatmates.
She knows it’s only been a month so far, but she really loves everyone she’s living with. For a start, there are four of them that take classes at the art college (the ‘art hoes’, as Tayce calls them), so they all get to walk to lectures together and hang about between classes and workshops with each other depending on how their days are going. Bimini is almost always in the flat, with not a lot of contact hours making up their journalism degree, so they’re a comforting presence for A’whora to come home to at whatever hour of the day, always asking how she is and always offering to make her coffee. Tia is sweet and funny (if ever-so-slightly grating to her at first) and they’ve bonded over being the only two flatmates seemingly able to keep the place clean and tidy. Lawrence is endearing and big-hearted, if A’whora spends half her life hoping that her next prank isn’t involving her in some way (Ellie is usually the butt of them). Ellie herself is one of A’whora’s closest flatmates; they’ll often stay up half the night finishing prototypes or assignments together, all while watching a film which they have spookily similar taste in- they’ve agreed on 101 and 102 Dalmatians, Hocus Pocus, and The Wizard of Oz so far.
And then there’s Tayce, who A’whora thinks is both the absolute carbon copy of herself and yet also so different, the yin to her yang. Tayce has been her closest friend in the flat since day one when she booted the door to her room down and dragged her out of her emotional stupor, and that’s really what’s set the tone for the rest of their friendship; Tayce, upbeat and motivating, constantly and infectiously helping A’whora feel the same way even when she doesn’t want to go out, or doesn’t feel like dragging herself out of her room for a chill flat night with the others, or even when she just feels like a heap of shit. She’s such a fun and positive person to be around, relentlessly optimistic and goofy, and she brings out that side of A’whora too. As opposed to during sixth form and high school, where she’d put up a front to make sure nobody fucked with her, A’whora finds that at uni she can be the person she truly is and let her guard down a little.
This includes being open about her sexuality for the first time ever. She’s out to her family (for the better or worse), but nobody else back home knows (not even her friends) and she wants to keep it that way for now. But at uni things are different- nobody knows her here, nobody has these preconceived ideas of who she is and who she has to be, so she’d taken the plunge and been open about everything. None of the others had cared of course, in fact they’d all been too excited about the fact there’s not a single straight person in their flat comprised of four lesbians (Tayce, Lawrence, Tia and A’whora), one bi (Ellie) and one pan (Bimini).
“What’ve you got so far?” A’whora asks Bimini, sitting down on the sofa opposite her two flatmates.
Bimini reads off their notepad. “Casino night, bottomless brunch…get the train down to Newcastle, have a big night out, stay out all night an’ get the first train home-”
“Christ, that’ll be a challenge for me, you know I get sleepy around midnight,” Lawrence chuckles.
Bimini shrugs. “We’ll just get you an IV drip of Ellie’s Monster, you’ll be alright.”
“What else’ve you got?”
“That’s it so far.”
A’whora spears a pasta spiral, tilts her head in thought as she eats it. “Get drunk in a lecture.”
“Aw, good one!” Lawrence cries enthusiastically. Bimini, for their part, frowns with disapproval.
“Wait, no! Not a good one. Not a good one at all. It’s alright for you art school bitches, you’ve got some lectures together and you can coordinate, where does that leave me n’ Tia?”
“I guess that leaves you…downing a bottle of five pound chardonnay on the back bench of a lecture hall like a tramp with a drinking problem,” Lawrence shrugs, A’whora yelping out a laugh as Bimini shoves Lawrence with their foot.
Just then, there’s movement in the hall and as A’whora turns around she’s greeted by the sight of a tired-looking Tayce and Ellie walking into the kitchen. They shrug off their coats and take off their shoes and dump their bags on the kitchen table with a huff before they walk over to the others. Tayce spreads herself out over the sofa that A’whora’s sitting on, thudding her feet onto her lap without asking permission, to which A’whora instantly pushes them off her and gets a glare and a smirk in return.
“Lawrie, are you knitting?” Ellie laughs, sitting on the arm of the sofa beside her.
“Yeah? And?”
Ellie snorts in amusement. “Just didn’t realise we were living with a wee granny.”
“Well actually, bawbag! I was in the middle of making you a scarf because I can’t stand to listen to you talking shite about how you’re cold every time we leave the flat, but I can leave it if you want,” Lawrence explains. A’whora thinks it’s funny how Ellie backtracks immediately; she can’t tell if she’s blushing or just out of breath from scaling their block’s stairs. Bimini gains control of the conversation, tilting their head in intrigue.
“How were your lectures, huns?”
“Shit, thanks for asking,” Tayce groans, thudding her head down dramatically against the sofa cushions. “I don’t know, I just can’t concentrate when I’m getting talked at for an hour at a time. I need to be doing stuff, you know?”
“Feel that,” Ellie joins in, deflated. A’whora can sympathise- she loves the practical elements of her course, but not so much the lectures. She’s glad she shares a lot of them with Ellie, and the two of them can dick about and text each other and doodle designs in their notebooks while keeping one ear on whoever’s speaking.
“Well if you want to be doing something, you can help us with this,” Bimini suggests, explaining the bucket list they’ve been making.
The girls get settled and the ideas start to flow, Lawrence putting her speakers on for background noise as they all come up with new and increasingly more chaotic exploits. Ellie suggests trying every cocktail in Levels which gets scribbled down into Bimini’s notepad, and Tayce suggests going to Levels sober, which doesn’t get afforded the same appreciation. A’whora comes up with crashing the catered halls for breakfast one day, which they all agree is a good idea but the chances of it actually happening are low considering the earliest riser in the flat is Tayce and even she doesn’t waken up til half nine on a weekend.
“What’re some clubs we’ve not been to yet?” Bimini asks, shrugging. “Could put those down, try an’ visit every one in the city?”
Lawrence snorts derisively. “You go to Underground if you want your phone stolen, Velvet if you want to be bullied by fifteen year olds in the toilets, and Crystal if you want to subject yourself to painful misogyny and probably some light sexual assault.”
“So none of those, then,” Bimini murmurs.
“Those are all really het as well, though,” Ellie wrinkles her nose up in distaste. Then her face lights up as she gets an idea. “Oh! Put down Pride in July.”
“Nice one,” Bimini nods as they scribble down Ellie’s suggestion, the others making little hums of approval.
The conversation goes on for quite some time. Halfway through it Tayce seems to decide she’s bored of lying down and instead moves to sit on the floor between A’whora’s legs, asking her to play with her hair. They’ll do this sometimes- it’s a routine they fall into, A’whora being able to style Tayce’s endlessly long, straight hair and Tayce finding the whole thing therapeutic. They have a lot of little routines like this: they’ll sit close together on the sofa during a flat movie night and take turns leaning on each others’ shoulders, spontaneously give each other hugs at random points throughout the day, trace patterns into each others’ palms when the other seems stressed.
It’s nice. A’whora’s never really had a friendship like this, soft and caring and kind. In school her group was the kind that made catty jokes about each other then buffered them with a “love you!” afterwards and took kissy-face group selfies only to bitch about each other on a private group chat mere hours later. If it was a wolfpack then it was rabid and cannibalistic, and it had seemed like a full-time job ensuring she was never the runt of it. What she’s got with all her flatmates now- especially Tayce- makes her feel like she can finally breathe.
“What about the Centurion Challenge?” Lawrence suggests with a small gasp, breaking A’whora’s reverie as she expertly twirls Tayce’s hair into a loose and chunky French plait.
“Jesus Christ, Lawrence,” Ellie mutters in amusement.
“What’s the Centurion Challenge?” Bimini asks, pulling a face.
Lawrence gives a blythe shrug as she elaborates. “A hundred shots in a hundred minutes.”
A’whora ruins Tayce’s braid in shock, her hair untwisting itself from the braid as if it’s outraged too. The cry she gives joins in harmony with that of Tayce’s and Bimini’s. “A hundred shots? You’d fucking die!”
“Not of vodka! Obviously not of vodka! I know we all have one communal brain cell between us but Christ, can one of yous not use it?!” Lawrence protests. “It’s a hundred shots of beer. Don’t shit yourselves.”
“Aw, well that’s alright then,” Bimini pipes up sarcastically. “What’s actually wrong with Scottish people? Is your breastmilk spiked with whiskey? What d’you get instead of Cow and Gate formula, just cocaine?"
“Actually, a hundred shots of beer sounds more doable to me,” Tayce shrugs, and A’whora can feel her relax against her lap.
“I’d need to change it, I can’t stand beer,” A’whora considers. Ellie cocks her head in consideration.
“Well what alcohol do you like?”
“Fucking none of it,” A’whora laughs. “Cocktails. Vodka cokes. Anything where there’s juice to cover it up.”
Tayce twists her head to look up at her, a little twinkle of mischief in her eye. “I think the challenge ceases to be a challenge when it’s reduced to one hundred watered down shots of Woo Woo, Rory.”
As the others blurt out a laugh A’whora glares down at Tayce, but she can’t help but break out into a giggle too when Tayce grabs her knee and gives it a playful wobble, letting her know she was only joking without even having to say a thing.
A’whora’s not sure what time it is when she hears the front door swing shut and Tia emerges from the hallway, her long hair all messed up from the seemingly ever-present wind outside and almost obscuring the bright smile plastered on her face. “Hey, huns!”
“Oi oi,” Tayce greets her from her position on the floor. “What’s got you so smiley?”
“Nooothing,” Tia smirks, dragging the word out playfully. “Just got an invite to the night out of a very cute girl in my MT society…and she said you guys can all come too. Pres at her flat and then out to The Avenue. Evening plans sorted?”
“Oh, love that!” Bimini gives an enthusiastic clap. “Go on then, who’s the girl? Whose night are we crashing?”
“Her name’s Veronica,” Tia smiles bashfully. “She’s so lovely. Honestly, she wouldn’t mind you coming! She’s got one of the big flats over at Gourock Court so it’s not like it’ll be packed.”
“You don’t exactly want to go to a party that’s not going to be packed,” Ellie screws up her nose. She looks unimpressed and her tone is flat. “And even if it is, I don’t know if I’m in the mood for a flat party with a ton of new people, Tia.”
A’whora’s face drops and she locks eyes with Lawrence simultaneously, who’s got an equally incredulous look on her face. “Els, are you unwell? You never turn down a night out.”
Ellie shrugs quietly, not giving much away on her face. Tia, obviously keen to move to the girl she’s crushing on, carries on persuading her. “C’mon, Eleanor, don’t be such a fucking…square! It’s the musical theatre society, we’re just a walking Pride festival who all happen to be able to hold a tune. There’s loads of fit lesbians?”
“Well if I wasn’t convinced before, I sure am now,” Tayce purrs, a little smile appearing on her lips and a cheeky twinkle in her eyes. A’whora feels her laugh come out weakly. She doesn’t know why, but an odd, uncomfortable feeling lodges itself in her gut. She can’t quite put her finger on what exactly it is or why it’s put itself there.
“And there’s gonna be so many musicals on the playlist!” Tia continues to insist, despite being met with Ellie’s sour face. “I know you’ll love it! They’d probably even play stuff from Shrek if you got them drunk enough.”
A’whora can’t help but scrunch up her nose in distaste. “Hey, I’m only coming if they play fucking…normal people music as well. I’m not gonna be sat in a room with twenty white kids trying to rap to Hamilton or whatever the fuck it is.”
Tia rolls her eyes, plants her hands on her hips in exasperation. “Calm down, A’whora, you’ll still get all the top 40 dance-pop shit you love so much.”
“To be honest, it sounds class. And The Avenue’s always good,” Bimini cuts in calmly. A’whora does have to agree with that. They’ve not been there in a while- the bar across the road from the city’s most popular LGBT club- and its selection of early 00s pop princess tracks combined with its deal of two vodka mixers and a shot for a fiver makes it a guaranteed good night out.
“Well it seems like we’re all down, even if this stroppy cow isn’t,” Tia smiles happily, sticking her tongue out at Ellie for good measure. Ellie finally heaves a world-weary sigh, rolling her eyes dramatically as she relents.
“Ugh, fine! Fine, but this Verruca or whatever the hell she’s called better be the hottest bitch on the planet for you to drag us all out with your MT weirdos, Tia Maria,” she grumps. Tia ignores her bad mood and lets out a cheer which the others join in with, and A’whora resolves to interrogate Ellie about her Bitter Betty attitude later on. Preferably when they’re both drunk. That always makes things easier.
In the melee of excitement, Tayce twists round from her position on the carpet, folds her arms and rests them on top of A’whora’s thighs. “Right. You need to come help me choose an outfit if we’re going out. I need to look fit.”
A’whora smiles with pride. “Ooh, personal stylist duties? I’m honoured.”
“Well I’m hardly gonna ask Tia, am I?” Tayce giggles quietly, and A’whora joins in like it’s a little secret they’re sharing. “Or Ellie. She’d just send me out in one of her bodysuit/skirt combos. I swear to God that girl is like Marge bloody Simpson. Open up her wardrobe and she’ll have twenty sets of the same outfit. Serial killer behaviour, that.”
At this point A’whora is laughing so much that it draws the attention of the others, who eye them with suspicious stares. “What the hell’s so funny?”
A’whora gives Tayce a mischievous look. “Tayce just called Ellie a serial killer.”
Tayce yelps in outrage at having been called out, and as Ellie narrows her eyes Tayce leaps up from the floor and tugs A’whora off of the sofa with her. “That’s taking it out of context, you absolute hound! Come on, help me pick something.”
Tayce’s fingers stay curled around A’whora’s hand all the way down the corridor and into her bedroom. It’s a feeling that A’whora likes because it makes her feel close to her friend, and Tayce taking her hand is like an affirmation and a reassurance all in one; that she likes her, that their friendship has reached the level where hand-holding has become acceptable, that A’whora is worthy of being liked, of being someone’s friend- their real, proper friend. The validation sets her heart off like a flare. It’s nice to feel wanted.
A’whora perches on the edge of Tayce’s bed as she scrapes the coat hangers in her wardrobe and throws outfits onto the bed like a tornado, each more gorgeous than the last and all ones Tayce would look stunning in. That’s something that always strikes A’whora about Tayce; just how beautiful she is, how absolutely blessed with the God-given good genes. The way she looks serene and ethereal without makeup, walking to lectures in the morning with the sun hitting her face and giving her skin a glow. The way she paints for a night out and knows how to accentuate everything about her face that’s already perfect, a feat that would seem like an exaggeration if A’whora hadn’t seen it for herself to confirm it’s true. She frequently finds herself having to hold back from giving compliments to Tayce because if she started she’d never stop.
“Okay, first thoughts are…” Tayce announces unnecessarily loudly, and A’whora laughs at the way she’s talking as if she’s a stylist on a morning TV show. “…I’m thinking something black.”
“Of course you are,” A’whora interrupts with a laugh. “Tayce wearing black. How predictable.”
Tayce gives her a shove on the shoulder that’s too hard and makes her fall back against the mattress. “Shut up! I’ll wear something other than black when Lawrence wears something other than purple, how’s about that?”
The pair of them giggle at the joke as Tayce rifles through the clothes she’s shortlisted, holding up a black leather jacket and a black bralet with an intricate lace hem. The combination makes A’whora’s eyes fly wide open in appreciation.
“This?” Tayce raises an eyebrow at her inquisitively. The fact she’s obviously seen her reaction makes A’whora feel a little self-conscious and she doesn’t particularly know why. “Because I’m wanting to wear either my wet-look leggings or my black vinyl skirt with the zip up the front, and I don’t know if that’s too much leather effect stuff?”
“It’s too much,” A’whora nods, physically unable to help her honesty. “Also I think you should wear the skirt because you’ve got good legs and you should get them out any chance you get. But also the bralet won’t go with it because it’ll make your proportions all wrong.”
Tayce smiles appreciatively as she throws the bralet back into her wardrobe as if A’whora’s given her a command and not a suggestion. “See, this is another reason why you’re the queen of outfit advice. Bimini wouldn’t give me this level of honesty, they’re too nice.”
A’whora feels a warmth spread in her chest at the compliment, but she doesn’t show it. Instead she snorts, nods in agreement. “Yeah, because you could come out dressed in a pair of child’s pyjamas and they’d still say they love it. They’d say it’s very Y2K or something.”
Tayce lets out a cackle before holding up the skirt and leather jacket, humming in thought. “Okay, so you’re saying ditch the jacket but keep the skirt.”
“Yes.”
“And ditch the bralet.”
“Yes.”
“So you want me to go out in a skirt and a pair of heels and nothing else,” Tayce raises an eyebrow at her, and as A’whora bursts out laughing and protests she has to fight off a blush at the thought of her best friend topless in heels. Topless in heels and a vinyl skirt. Topless in heels and a vinyl skirt with a zip that could just be pulled down to leave her in-
The heat floods A’whora’s face like she’s been smacked and she shifts on the bed in an attempt at dissipating the feelings that’ve hit her like a tsunami. Inappropriate. Weird. Way too weird. Don’t do that again.
“What about the bright blue fur coat you’ve got? Because you could have an all black outfit with that as a bit of colour,” she suggests, shrugging lightly in an attempt to pretend that she hadn’t just been thinking about Tayce in the way she had.
Tayce’s face lights up and she points at A’whora with one hand and reaches into her wardrobe with the other. “Love that. Okay, top?”
“Are you addressing me? I’ve never topped for anyone,” A’whora attempts a joke. If Tayce can make jokes like that to her then she can do it right back.  
“That’s very clear, baby,” Tayce shoots in response without missing a beat. Before A’whora realises it, she’s flexing her toes. What the fuck is happening to her? She needs to steer this conversation back on track.
She thinks for a second. “You’re a size eight, right?”
“In theory. The amount of pot noodles I’ve been chucking down my neck since I moved in is very quickly rendering that a distant memory, I’ll tell ya,” Tayce says, as she leans against the door of her wardrobe and folds her arms.
“I’ve got a black lace bodysuit that would go with that. It’s a ten so it’ll fit. D’you want to try it?”
“Well despite the fact a skirt and a bodysuit was the very thing I just roasted Ellie for always wearing…that sounds lush. Thanks, Rory Roo,” Tayce agrees, the nickname-of-a-nickname setting off the click of a small pilot light in A’whora’s heart. She’s about to ask if she wants to come try it on just now when she hears both their names being yelled from the kitchen.
The pair of them head back through to find that Tia has changed the playlist on the speakers from the chilled-out, calm acoustic one that had been playing to her early 00’s tunes. Combined with Bimini half-singing, half-yelling along to Murder on the Dancefloor and the blast of the extractor fan as Ellie stirs something in a big metal pot at the hob, it’s a far cry from the calm, cosy scene that A’whora had witnessed in the kitchen some hours prior.
Ellie had been the one who had shouted on them, and she whips around from the cooker when she realises that Tayce and A’whora have come through. “I’m making dinner for me, Bims and Tia, you wanting some?”
“Depends what it is. Come on, talk it up, Ellie. Give us some options,” Tayce shrugs with feigned disinterest, and A’whora can’t help the bubble of laughter that bursts from her mouth as Ellie narrows her eyes at her.
“It’s spaghetti and meatballs, and your alternatives are fuck off or die,” she shoots back savagely, and the whoop of shock and laughter that goes up from the others soars above the music and the fan. Tayce laughs good-naturedly in spite of the barb.
“I’m joking, ‘course I’ll take some.”
A’whora wrinkles her nose. “You’re making meatballs for a meal that Bimini is gonna eat?”
“They’re not real ones, dipshit,” Bimini pipes up from over on the sofa. “It’s that Birdseye Green Cuisine shit, innit.”
“Birdseye Green Cuisine shit,” A’whora repeats disdainfully. “If you ever go on The Apprentice, Bim, Alan Sugar’s gonna shit himself at your selling abilities.”
Tayce snorts, tries and fails to cover it up. When her eyes rest on A’whora they share a little smile, and A’whora’s grows bigger when she thinks about the way they’re both so in sync all the time.
“They’re nice, I promise! Veronica’s talked them up loads, she told me she’s been trying to eat more veggie things,” Tia insists, with an entirely unnecessary namedrop of her crush. A’whora relents and says she’ll have a small bowl before jumping out of her skin as Ellie bangs the spoon against the pot somewhat aggressively with a face like thunder.
Before A’whora can ask Ellie about her bad mood, Tia speaks again as she scrolls her phone to change the song. “Honestly, Ellie, you’re a star for doing dinner. Thanks so much.”
“Aw, don’t be silly, doll! It’s nothing!” Ellie turns around from the hob and bats the compliment away, shooting Tia a dazzling smile in return. It’s funny the way her demeanour seems to instantly do a complete 180 at the praise, and it makes A’whora wonder what’s changed.
She’s distracted, though, by the way Lawrence enters in her dressing gown with her hair up in a towel, obviously having come straight from the shower. She pouts and whines in a very un-Lawrence way as she lingers at the doorframe between the hall and the kitchen.
“Guysss, does anyone have an ID they can give me for tonight?”
“What about your friend? Who was it…Rosé?” A’whora shrugs, and Lawrence fixes her with a wide-eyed stare of incredulity.
“Oh my God, A’whora! I never thought about asking the girl I’ve been borrowing ID from since the start of uni! Thanks for that!” she says sarcastically, Bimini giving a yelp of laughter and A’whora leaning off the countertops and swiping at Lawrence in retort. “She’s using it. She asked her girlfriend and her flatmates for me but they’ve all got plans. I felt like a fuckin’ daytime TV charity advert.”
“For just one pound a week, you could help an underaged child get blackout drunk on triple trebles,” A’whora puts on a dramatic, concerned voice, proud of the way it makes Tayce blurt out a laugh.
“It’s such fucking bullshit,” Lawrence huffs, leaning against the fridge and folding her arms. “I mean my eighteenth’s in five days and I’ve been drinking in parks since I was fourteen, how can I not just be let into a fuckin’ bar?”
“Grow up and order a fake one,” Ellie shakes her head with incredulity, smashing the wooden spoon against the pot again with a bang-bang-bang to get the excess pasta sauce off.
“Just you pipe down, hen, you shouldn’t even be at uni. In fact, have you even completed primary yet?”
The two girls stick their tongues out at each other, a mirror-image of petty bickering that makes A’whora laugh. Luckily Bimini steps in, shrugging as they open their purse.
“Here, babe. I’ve still got my course friend’s provisional from when she dropped it on Gordon Street when she was off her face. I ain’t given her it back yet an’ I’m sure she wouldn’t care if you borrowed it. She’s chill.”
Lawrence accepts enthusiastically, bouncing over to Bimini and thanking them gratefully. A’whora watches her face drop, though, when she takes a look at the photo.
“There’s no way this’ll work.”
Bimini tuts and shakes their head, the picture of casual composure. “It’s fine, babes, they never look properly anyway.”
Lawrence drops the hand that’s holding the license to her side and fixes her friend with an astounded glare. “Bimini. This girl is black.”
As the others screech with outrage and mirth, Bimini waves Lawrence’s concerns away blithely. “It’ll be dark! It’s fine! Asttina an’ you have both got similar…well…you’re both girls, an’ you’re about the same height. Give or take a few inches.”    
“Christ. I’m going to have to just forward roll past the bouncers, aren’t I? Then draw a fuckin’ club stamp on my arm in Sharpie.”
“Oh my God, stop moaning!” Ellie sighs from her position at the hob, bangs the spoon again for emphasis. “Look, I’ll ask Pippa from flat 2, alright? You both have brown hair, so…that’ll probably be enough.”
A’whora thinks it’s interesting the way Lawrence doesn’t shoot something back in her foghorn of a voice like she normally does. Instead she smiles warmly, dashes over to the kitchen where she hugs Ellie from behind, squeezing her tightly at the stomach and making her flinch in surprise.
“Thanks, Ellie-Bellie,” she sing-songs, swaying her aggressively from side to side until Ellie bats her away, flicking the spoon in a way that threatens to shower them both in marinara sauce.
“Right, that’s plenty. Don’t even do things I enjoy for that long.”
“When’s this gonna be ready, Els?” Bimini shouts through as Lawrence lets go. “ ‘Ave I got time to do my makeup before it?”
Ellie shrugs. “If you can do your makeup in ten minutes.”
A’whora kicks her leg out in Tayce’s direction and jerks her head towards the hall. “Do you want to try on that bodysuit before tea?”
Tayce nods enthusiastically in agreement, so they go back along the corridor with a shout to the others telling them they won’t be long. A’whora holds the door of her room open for Tayce and her heart sinks in embarrassment when she realises she forgot to make her bed this morning.
“Sorry about the mess,” she apologies, to which Tayce gives a cry of a laugh in response.
“A’whora, have you seen my room? You’re fine, kid, don’t worry.”
A’whora thinks that’s true- Tayce’s room is a state, but somehow it seems to suit her. Tayce’s room with the crowded bulletin board, desk covered in sweet wrappers and sketches, floor carpeted with clothes that need washed and outfits that didn’t make the cut. The cracked picture frame on her window-sill of the first selfie the six of them all got together on the first night of freshers and the huge cheese plant that sits next to her bedside table, Tayce’s pride and joy. They’re all little intricate shards that join up to form a perfect picture of her personality, and A’whora thinks it’s sort of perfect.
She looks out the bodysuit from its neatly Marie Kondo-d place in her wardrobe and hands it gently to Tayce. “Try it and see. It’s a small 10 anyway so it’ll probably be fine for you.”
Tayce accepts it gratefully and hooks a finger around both of the straps, letting the rest of the material fall out of its perfectly folded little parcel. She gives a little gasp of appreciation as she looks at it. “Oh yes, baby. I think this’ll do just fine.”
A’whora feels good- proud that she’s managed to find the perfect piece for Tayce’s outfit, to help her look as inevitably gorgeous as she knows she will. The smile on her face falters, though, when Tayce shoots her a wink and leans against the wall with her shoulder. “This is gonna get me someone I can pop off my acrylics for, I can tell. You’ve got the best taste, girl.”
“Are you actually going to try and get with someone tonight?” A’whora injects a laugh into her question that she’s banking on sounding genuine, otherwise it comes across as accusatory and that’s not what she means it to be. Or is it? She doesn’t know. “You know how messy nights at The Avenue always get. Last time we were there Lawrence got so drunk she told us she couldn’t see, remember?”
Tayce laughs her off with a shrug. “Well then I’ll just have to be careful with my drinks, won’t I?”
A’whora gives a false laugh, tries so hard to get it to meet her eyes. Why is she so pressed about this? She gets with girls on nights out too, she’s brought the occasional one night stand to the flat. Tayce is allowed to do the same.
So why does she feel ever so slightly gutted?
If her smile looks fake (which it is) then Tayce doesn’t notice, and she only shoots her a smile as she opens the bedroom door. “You’re an angel. I’ll pop this on then be back in five.”
A’whora takes the opportunity of Tayce having left to make her bed, and as she does so she feels lots of little thoughts dart around her mind like minnows, none of them staying in the same place for long enough to be able to be deciphered. She manages to catch a few before they flee away and she clings to them, turning them over in her head: why does she feel so bothered about the prospect of Tayce finding a girl at the party, talking to her and making a connection and laughing at her jokes? Why had it felt like a punch to the gut when Tayce was joking about doing so? Why does she have this part of her that feels like an idiot for setting Tayce up to look her best and knowing that it’s for the benefit of somebody else, somebody that doesn’t know her like she does?
And then her bedroom door opens and A’whora turns around and lays eyes on her best friend. Tayce in her high heels and bare legs and the skirt with the zip. Tayce with her baby blue fake fur coat and her straight, dark hair tumbling over its shoulders. Tayce in the bodysuit- A’whora’s bodysuit- with the lace and the mesh that clings to her chest like it was designed just for her. There’s something about the fact that she’s wearing something that belongs to A’whora that makes something inside her chest tingle, the fact it’s a little piece of her in Tayce’s jigsaw puzzle that seems to fit regardless of the difference.
“What d’you think?” Tayce smiles, all too aware of how drop-dead stunning she looks.
And then the realisation hits A’whora like a train.
Oh.
Fuck.
She’s screwed.
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cherrybombusa · 3 years ago
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GROUP ONE  - CCU THEATER. SUCCESS.
PLAYERS:
THE GOLDEN BOY - Harvey Hargrove. THE HEARTBREAK KID - Casey Russell. THE  BABY - Casey Russell. THE FALLEN ANGEL - Alice Alder. THE WANNABE - Virginia Ann Virginia.. THE CLASSIC - Libby Logan.
PERKS EARNED:
SELFLESS BITCH: A drunken Virginia Virginia sacrificed herself for her friends! Aw. Maybe she does have a heart underneath all those boobs. Due to her efforts, Virginia has earned the right to remove herself! If the gang ever gets caught in a sticky situation, any lasting effects will not apply to Virginia. This can save her from broken bones, getting in trouble, or even death - but beware! This perk can only be used once. 
MEMORABLE MOMENTS:
-LIBBY WAS TAKEN BY THE KILLERS.  -VIRGINIA SACRIFICED HERSELF TO THE KILLERS. -CASEY INJURED A KILLER.  -RORY WAS HIT OVER THE HEAD.
THE NARRATOR: It might not have been a quiet night, maybe not even uneventful, but the Gang found themselves grateful, at least, that the Candy Girl hadn’t shown her face. It was nearing midnight now, and with only Paulie Virginia checking on the kids before they fell asleep on the sand, and Lucas Bright left straggling on the beach with the Gang, they were sure to turn-in soon. 
They were gathered around the bonfire, talking and laughing - almost even letting their guards down - but the screech of three white vans pulling up to the shore interrupted every little conversation taking place around the bonfire. They didn’t want to think anything of it at first… College kids in this town were wild, and they were all piling back into town this week, after all. But when a group of masked, hooded figures with baseball bats, and kitchen knives galore began making their way out of the vehicles, and onto the beach - what were they supposed to do but worry?
OFFICER PAULIE VIRGINIA:  “Hey! Stop right there!”
THE NARRATOR: It was almost instinctual for the rookie to go right into barking cop voice, even with no back up  - stupid, of course - but another ‘Candy Girl’ stunt was the last thing he was going to let happen on his watch. The man reaches for the taser in his belt, just like he was trained to do, but just as he gets it free, the blur of a body rushing forward - Lucas Bright - distracts him for a split enough second to fumble. 
Paulie almost yells for Lucas to stop, but before he can get the words off of his tongue, the Bright kid nearly runs headfirst into one of the masked figures' fists. It’s shocking how hard he falls - makes Paulie wonder if he’s okay - but before he can wonder too much, he realizes too late that one of the hooded figures has gotten the jump on him. He’s half expecting the figure to reach for his taser - the oh shit moment of the century - but when Paulie feels a baseball bat connect with his ribcage… He almost wishes he had been tased. Might have hurt less.
CANDY GIRL: “Hello, my little freaks and geeks! Did you miss me and my little friends? Because I think tonight is about to get a little more fun.”
THE NARRATOR: ...Uh oh. Maybe I spoke too soon about the Candy Girl not showing her face. 
It doesn’t take long to get the gang tied up - not with the threat of knives, and Paulie’s discarded taser at the hooded groups disposal - and the ringleader of this little group, the one bouncing around telling everyone what to do, seems absolutely giddy with her capture. What else are you supposed to expect from faceless psychos, though, right?
CANDY GIRL: ““Here’s the game tonight, losers! We’re gonna split you up and see if you can pass our little trials. Those who do? They get to go home tonight! Those who don’t…. Well, you might end up closer to Lux than you thought you were before.”
THE NARRATOR: Candy turns toward one of the other masked figures - one that seems like her Helper - flicking her chin toward the Gang. It’s a cue, and that much becomes clear when one-by-one, each of them has a hood slipped over their face, obstructing their view nearly completely.
CANDY GIRL: “But first, we’re going on a little trip!”
THE NARRATOR: It’s hard for the Gang to know just how they’ve been split up, but as they’re pushed forward toward the parking lot - the sound of Paulie’s and Lucas’s far-off groaning in their ears - they know one thing. They’re completely fucked, and there’s nothing they can do about it with their hands tied behind their backs… Especially not when they’re about to be shoved into the back of those fucking vans.
Nobody’s really sure how long they’ve been driving - they’re all too terrified to try and keep count - but by the time the van finally slows to a stop, they’re all dragged right back out onto solid ground, and into… some old building. Just where, is the question.
MAKE A CHOICE: YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS HAVE BEEN TAKEN BY THE CANDY GIRL TO CCU FOR A NIGHT OF FUN. DON’T DIE!
THE NARRATOR: Maybe it’s the way they had to file between cramped rows, bumping into seats that left bruises blooming over their thighs; maybe it’s the echo of their footsteps, bouncing off of the walls like music. Either way, those who had ever stepped foot into the CCU theater - nearly all of them, considering every field trip they had been to to watch some semi-professional production of Bye Bye Birdie - know right where they are at that moment.
 It’s a comforting place for some - one that induces only stress, or indifference to others - but it’s hard to imagine that it won’t be a place that brings anxiety after tonight; just as tainted as the boardwalk, or even walking along Lux’s and Harvey’s block might be. Now is no time to think about how they might feel in the future, though -- if they even make it that far. No, they’re going to have to make it through tonight first.
They’re led onto the stage like prized pigs, ready to be blue-ribboned - but once they’re situated, the hoods that cover the gang’s faces come off; they even cut the ropes off from around their wrists. It might be stupid, but the knives, and baseball bats manage to keep everyone in their place; hearts racing in anticipation of what might come next.
The theater is mostly dark, save for a couple of spotlights that shine down onto the stage, highlighting the Gang like the stars of Candy’s show. There are props scattered about - sets, hanging sheets, costumes! It almost looks more like a storage closet than the grandiose CCU theater, but as they try to get their bearings, the two figures heading the circle - Candy and her supposed assistant - jolt them back into reality with a clap of their hands.
CANDY GIRL: “Like I said, we’re gonna play a little game tonight, boys and girls! But, you’re all oh-so-familiar with games, aren’t you? Especially after our special little stunt at the boardwalk.”
THE NARRATOR: Her voice could almost be considered familiar, but nobody in the room really knows where to place the memory of it. Did she actually sound like that recording on the beach? Was she someone they knew? The gang just looks at each other from any angle that they can; making eye contact at whatever cost, as if it might help them all jog their memory to know they’re on the same page. They don’t get another chance to listen, though, as the other figure - leader two - begins speaking.
CANDY'S LITTLE HELPER:  “She’s written some riddles!”
THE NARRATOR: They pull a sheet of paper from their pocket.
CANDY GIRL: “And you’re going to solve them! Don’t worry about the doors -”
THE NARRATOR: The movement is clearly rehearsed as a number of their captors - five, if you’re counting - head toward the row of carved, flourishing doors at the back of the theater.  Three of them leave, but the other two begin looping chains through the antique handles, locking them into the auditorium with absolutely no escape.
VIRGINIA ANN: The last however many minutes Virginia had been captured were maybe the worst moments of her life. They were just supposed to have a fun bonfire but of course a fun bonfire turned into watching her brother get hit with a baseball bat, be captured by a bunch of weirdos, and end up at the theatre as another "fun" game. She wanted to get up and leave, but someone would stop her, wouldn't they? "Why the hell are you doing this?" Was what Virginia first asked. She doubt she'd get any sort of answer and hey, maybe they'd sew her mouth shut for even speaking. "We didn't do anything."
ALICE ALDER: On any other given day, if she were to be having a conversation — or even just be stuck in the same room with Virginia! — hilarity would be bound to ensue (in one of the worst ways, but nonetheless…). But this? What was this? Her almost bestie… betraying her again! “Dude, what the fuck?” A futile question that would get no answer — but asked on instinct! “The 'beach bash' wasn’t enough?”
RORY COLLINS: It was happening again. She had gone white as a sheet when she saw the masked figures on the beach, and hadn't managed to regain any color yet. "Guys, I really don't think they're going to answer," she swallowed hard and tracked the psychos' every movement. Rory hesitated. "They didn't last time."
CANDY'S LITTLE HELPER: “--God, can you people shut up for two minutes? We’re kind of, like - in the middle of something!”
THE NARRATOR: Candy’s little Helper interrupts the conversations with an annoyed tone, as if they’re the ones inconveniencing her night. It’s strange, how nonchalant it is, but Candy just huffs in annoyance as she looks at her ‘assistant.’ Shoulders dropping a little as she breaks character to reprimand her.
CANDY GIRL: “Jesus christ, can you just say your fucking lines? It’s not that hard,”
CANDY'S LITTLE HELPER: “They’re -”
CANDY GIRL: “Seriously?”
THE NARRATOR: The masked figure hesitates.
CANDY'S LITTLE HELPER:  “Fine! You need three keys, and three, exactly!
CANDY GIRL: “Or you’ll spend the night -”
THE NARRATOR: Maybe it’s the fear of the moment that kept all of their eyes focused on the two masked figures interacting with them - tunnel vision, of sorts - but it only makes the loud squish of blade entering flesh even louder than it should have been. The group of them flinching before Candy even has a chance to start shrieking through the pain of the knife in her side.
It was almost unbelievable that it had happened at first - did it even make sense that the Candy Girl’s henchmen were turning on her?  - but the blood splashing against the stage floor had to have been proof enough that it wasn’t just some fucked up group hallucination. This was an attack - one that hadn’t seemed expected by either the Candy Girl or her little helper.
CANDY'S LITTLE HELPER:  “What the fuck is wrong with you!”
THE NARRATOR: Fair question. And the attacker should have heard it, as loud as the second-not-so-in-charge-figure shrieked - but the knife-wielder didn’t even flinch as he dragged Candy toward back off of the stage and toward one of the many staircases that led to the balconies; blood pouring from the wound in her side all the while.
The other mask - Candy’s little helper - almost considers running for it, throws the note from her hands in anticipation of getting the fuck out of there…  but she hardly gets a chance when her own attacker - the other one of the maniacs who had chained the door - comes from behind her and squeezes their hulking arms around her fame. They have their own knife; one that plunges directly into her chest, but the Gang doesn’t have much time to watch as they drag her off in the same direction.
What.
The.
Fuck.
There’s only a moment of hesitation - it had all happened so quickly - but the gang wastes no more time before fleeing to opposite sides of the theater. The sound of both of the women’s dying screams echo across through the space, shaking all of them to their core… but they all know one thing: they need to get their hands on that riddle.
If they’re locked in, then it might be their only way of getting out.
MAKE A CHOICE: ALICE, VIRGINIA, AND LIBBY ARE HIDDEN IN THE WINGS OF THE THEATER. HARVEY, RORY, AND CASEY ARE DUCKING BEHIND A ROW OF SEATS.
CASEY RUSSELL: All bad things seem to come in threes. And if it wasn't solely going to be a black eye that would be the highlight of his evening, it was going to be this. He calls it survivor's instinct in the scramble when he ambles over behind the seats, even though he's pretty sure he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. For a moment his gaze lands solely on Harvey. It's been ages since they've played on the same team. But... somewhere between life and death, they surely had to put some degree of their differences aside right? "Do we have any ideas?" He whispers, "I don't really fancy ending up being like whoever the fuck that was."
HARVEY HARGROVE: Once upon a time, in the distant remains of the far-off evening that had been only a few hours before, Harvey had assumed this wasn't going to happen. But here they were and here was... Whatever the hell this is. Joy of joys. It wasn't easy pulling his focus from Libby and Rory, where his eyes seemed to stray automatically in an attempt to find reassurance that wasn't coming. He did though, and turned to Casey. "We can't go at once. There's too many of us, we'd be noticed far too quickly."
 MAKE A CHOICE: HARVEY IS RIGHT. SOMEBODY IN THE WINGS MUST RETRIEVE THE RIDDLE. IT IS THEIR ONLY HOPE OF GETTING OUT: WHO WILL IT BE?
LIBBY LOGAN: Libby can't hear either of her friends cramped into the rows of theater seats, but as her heart races in her chest - as the alcohol pulses through her veins - somehow, she knows it's up to her to retrieve the riddle on center stage. That had been the way out of the whole Carousel Cove situation, right? She doesn't even say anything to Virginia or Alice as she darts forwards, fingertips outstretched. Libby just hopes she can get back without alerting the killers upstairs.
MAKE A CHOICE: SUCCESS!
THE NARRATOR: Every step sounds too-loud, even masked by the sound of screams, but somehow they manage to make their way back onto the stage where the riddle was thrown by Candy’s little Helper. They get their hands on the blood soaked paper; the breath leaves their lungs as the sound of screaming begins to die - no pun intended - out. It’s not completely obvious what they should do next, but they make eye contact with their friends hidden in the wings; those hidden in the seats. 
They’re never going to make it out of this without each other, so they better think fast. 
They hear the sound of the killers beginning to stir from the steps near the balconies, and just like that a plan forms in their freaky little hive mind. Someone needs to distract the killers while everyone else gets upstairs. But who will it be?
MAKE A CHOICE: SOMEBODY MUST DISTRACT THE KILLERS WHILE THEIR FRIENDS GET UPSTAIRS. SHOULD THEY THROW SOMETHING ACROSS THE ROOM [PROBLEM SOLVING],  SNEAK ACROSS THE ROOM AND KNOCK SOMETHING OVER, [BRAVERY] OR SHOULD SOMEONE TRY MESSING WITH THE LIGHTBOARD? [PERCEPTION]
HARVEY HARGROVE: He turned his head, locking eyes with Libby at center stage. A slow nod of the head was the only sign he gave before he stood up and began to move as quietly as he could towards the other side of the theatre. There was always shit offstage in these places, right? Surely there would be something over there that could get the focus off of Libby (if it didn't, he'd rain hellfire down, that he promised himself). Each step brought him closer and closer to the vague shape of a light and when he was beside it, he turned back, grinned at his friends as best he could, picked up the light, and threw it.
MAKE A CHOICE: FAILURE!
THE NARRATOR: It was a long shot, but as soon as the stage light crashes against the floor, only one of the killers turns their head to investigate. The other? Well, their gaze lands directly on little Libby Lou. 
It’s hardly a split second before they cross the theater toward her, and as hard as Libby tries to fight, it’s no use - the threat of the knife, and the feeling of it’s handle knocking against the side of their face is enough to give the killer the upper hand… At least they have time to throw the riddle in the general direction of their friends before they’re dragged away toward the balconies staircase.
It’s enough of a distraction to get everyone else safe, if even for a moment.  They have to get the hell out of there, and save Libby... if there’s even time. They all book it as fast as they can, and somehow they manage to make it into the dressing rooms beneath the stage - one of them even manages to grab the riddle, silently hoping it wasn’t Libby's last gift to them all. 
At least it might actually save them. 
Their hearts are pounding loud enough in their chests that they might swear they could all count each other’s heartbeats. Now is no time to check up on each other, though - not as they lay the first riddle out in front of them.
If you want the key, you’ll have to find Me,
I’m a keeper of the law, you see.
I might be a pawn - I saw Pepper get diced, 
Are you feeling naughty? Then here’s some advice: 
I’ll name a story, no I’ll name three -
All from the Bard,
So be careful with thee.
A tragedy I’m not, 
In love? I could be. 
Pick only one…
Pray it’s the right movie.
MAKE A CHOICE: ALICE HAS BEEN GRABBED. DO YOU TRY TO SAVE THEM? 
CASEY WAS SUCCESSFUL IN SAVING ALICE. HE INJURES THE KILLER, AND THE GANG RUNS TO HIDE IN THE AISLES.
MAKE A CHOICE: RORY IS RETRIEVING THE FIRST KEY. 
RORY COLLINS:  "I'll go," Rory balls her trembling hands into fists at her side. They have to save Libby, so she's going to do whatever it takes. She creeps towards the band pit as quietly as she can, and lowers herself in to look for the key.
THE NARRATOR: Rory runs with all of her might, the gang all sneaking close behind to watch her back, but with the correct location, it’s not hard to find the key taped against the wall of the orchestra pit, along with the next part of the riddle. With the sheet of paper, they make it back to their friends, and lay out the clue to get to the next key.
 If you want to get out, don’t Twist and Shout, 
It’s not the Candy Man locking you out. 
If you feel Clueless, then here’s your clue -
You can find Me behind door number two. 
How to know you’re close? Just think of the times, 
The 90’s are ending, but oh, how it thrives!
Once you’re through, don’t look any further - 
Your key can be found in the one with no murder.
CASEY RUSSELL: "Okay... I think I've got this." Was that more for the group's sake or his own? It's with a deep breath after they work it out that he readies himself for the run to the prop closet before taking off. He may be drunk beyond belief, but he's determined to reach their key as he runs.
THE NARRATOR: Casey and the gang sprint hard toward the prop closet, somehow managing to duck past the killers to get a good look in the massive room. It takes a minute or two, but soon Casey has the key and another little sheet of paper. 
 It should be easy to get back to his friends now that are waiting in the wings, but before he can even turn around, he feels hands grasping around his limbs and yanking him back toward the staircase. He has to fight, but he can't do it alone.
MAKE A CHOICE: DOES SOMEBODY WANT TO SAVE THEIR FRIEND, OR LET THEM DROP THE KEY? 
RORY COLLINS: She doesn't even think when she sees the masked figure grabbing Casey. She just moves. Rory sprints forwards and hits the attacker as hard as she can.
MAKE A CHOICE: SUCCESS! 
THE NARRATOR: It’s a great effort, and though Rory doesn't manage to do much real damage - and gets hit over the head hard enough to draw blood - she's still successful in getting her  friend the hell away from that monster. The whole group is terrified, but they’re quick on their feet as they move somewhere else that could be deemed even semi safe within the madness to solve the next riddle.
Here’s your third key - you’re almost there! 
Unless you can’t take a bit of a scare. 
Your key can be found with the killers that hunt you
Hand someone over, and we’ll hand over ours too. 
There’s no getting out of it, there’s no bargaining here, 
You must sacrifice someone, someone so dear. 
Will they die, will they live? Only we know. 
But if you don’t choose, then all of you go.
MAKE A CHOICE: SOMEONE MUST SACRIFICE THEMSELVES  AND ALERT THE KILLERS TO GET THEM TO DROP THE THIRD KEY. CHOOSE WHO.
VIRGINIA ANN: If you had told that Virginia that five hours ago she'd be running onto the stage to present herself to a bunch of murderous assholes, she'd probably laugh in your face. Maybe if she lived this would be a funny story to tell her kids one day. Not even bothering to deal with telling the group of her decision due to the five vodka mixed drinks in her body, she ran up the stage and yelled, "Hey bitches, I'm here!"
THE NARRATOR: It’s hard not to feel the weight of the gang’s fear like a punch in the gut, radiating through the room. They can hear Virginia's drunken voice call out - the sound of her scream, and her struggle as they’re dragged her up the stairs, just like the others had been. 
When the sound of chains dropping from the door handles echoes through the room, though - followed by the scurry of sprinting out of the theater - they almost think to breathe a sigh of relief. Could that really be it? Could it be over? 
They don’t move for nearly an hour - or maybe it just feels like an hour - but when they finally decide the coast is clear, the group of them  - or what’s left of them - sprint out of the theater, and the hell out of CCU as quickly as they can. Maybe it’s a betrayal to not even look for their friends… or maybe their bodies. But how are they supposed to stomach the thought of it? How are they expected to stick around with those… killers still on the loose? 
Are their friends still alive? Who knows. They just know they need to get the police down here to help their friends as soon as they can, even if it means getting the hell out of there.
MAKE A CHOICE: YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED YOUR PLOT EVENT.
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redmodernredemption · 6 years ago
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Torn Part 2
Torn Part 1
Characters: J. Trelawny, Reader, T. Trelawny, C. Trelawny
Pairings: None
Word Count: I have no clue, stupid writing program
Warnings: EVEN MORE HURT AND ANGST
Rating: T
A/N: You requested a part 2, and a part 2 you shall have! Enjoy!
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He smiled as he walked through the park with his sons. Life had worked out okay for him, with a few changes. But he couldn't dwell on those changes. He had his sons to raise, and they were almost young men now. Tarquin was starting to grow sweet on a girl about his age, and Cornelius was well on his way to going to college.
He couldn't be more proud of his boys.
"Josiah Trelawny," a familiar voice called, and he turned to see you sitting on a bench. Christ, it had been years since he'd seen you. Seven years at best. And yet, it was as if time had had no affect on you.
You were still the stunning goddess he remembered. And that twinkle of amusement, the one that had been absent after you rode off back in Rhodes, had returned. Your (y/h/c) locks were longer now, and he could almost remember how it felt to run his hands through them. Life had been kind to you, and for that, he was grateful.
"(Y/N)," he answered, dismissing his sons with a wave as they wandered towards a group of girls. "It's been some time. How have you been?"
You smiled as he took a seat beside you, and his heart nearly broke. Christ, he was so certain he'd never see you again, or be graced with your smile. And yet, here you were. Smiling at him, as if he hadn't tried to hide the truth from you and hurt you in the process.
"I've been well. Traveling. I think of the gang often. How are they?" He sighed.
"Young Lenny died during a bank robbery here in Saint Denis. Hosea too. The gang just... fell apart after that. Everyone was choosing sides, and that Micah character was so deep in Dutch's ear. I left before it reached it's conclusion, but last I heard, three more died. Young Molly, Miss Grimshaw, and... Arthur."
You gasped, and he had to fight the urge to reach for your hand. His heart all but begged for you to be his again, but he knew the damage had been done. You had been so angry the last time he saw you.
"No," you breathed. "No, that can't be. How?"
"He'd been sick," he explained. "I noticed, but I was so... overwhelmed. I had my family here to protect, and then I was watching the family I'd been on so many robberies with fall apart. I almost stayed, though. I almost decided to drag Arthur away and get him some help. His cough... it had to have been tuberculosis."
"Thomas Downes. Fucking Strauss."
"Oh, he got kicked out by Arthur. And Arthur rather enjoyed it, it seemed. I don't know who's alive and who's dead, aside from you." She nodded.
"How's your wife?"
He looked away. He knew the question would come up, but he wished the answer was different. He wished he could say she was well, and he was simply giving her a bit of time to herself. He wished he could say that they had had more children, and he had been the faithful husband he should have been.
But that hadn't been the case in ages.
"She had been sick for some time. Long before I met Dutch and Hosea. I moved her here to Saint Denis to try and buy her a little more time..."
Your hand instantly took his, and he nearly broke down at the tender touch. He'd been home, thankfully, when his loyal wife had passed. He had been clinging to her hand, begging her for one more hour, one more minute. He had long given up asking for any more than that. He knew her time had come, but he couldn't stop himself from trying his best to bargain for more.
"She died loving the man she married. She didn't need to know about me or the gang. That's what matters. And I have no doubt that you were by her side, Josiah." He nodded.
"I was. And I still never told her. About any of it. It would have crushed her, and it would have made my sons hate me. I'll take that secret to the grave." You nodded.
"You're a good man, Josiah, and a loving father," you pointed out. "You were doing what you had to so that your sons wouldn't have to watch their mother die."
"I just wish I could have been an honest man sooner. Honest in work, honest in my marriage." His eyes finally met yours. "Honest to you."
And he meant it. He'd give anything to go back in time and be more than honest with you. To give you the option of being involved with him or keeping your distance. But then he wondered if you'd be sitting here if he had given you that option? Or would you have been another Van Der Linde casualty?
Maybe him being a liar had been the best for both of them.
"We've both changed so much," you murmured, and he finally noticed you fidgeting with something on your finger. A ring. You were wearing a ring. His heart sank a bit, knowing that you would now be forever out of his reach.
"You're married," he mused.
"Not yet. But working on it. He's a bounty hunter. So am I. So is... well, so is Sadie Adler."
He stared. Sadie Adler, the widow he had only spoken to a few times, was a bounty hunter? He had figured she'd died, seeing as though she was on such a dark path when he left the gang. He also had figured he'd still have his wife and been moved to New York or Chicago.
"Ms. Adler is still alive," he stated, a soft smile on his face. "She always was a tough one. Between you and her, there was enough hellfire to burn the world."
You smiled again, and his heart started fluttering. Time had not dulled his feelings towards you, but you were betrothed to someone else. He wouldn't ask you to be the person he had been, and that was the biggest change he had made.
"I... I often think of you," you began. "How you were always so respectful and affectionate. He's not you, but in many ways, he's as close as it gets. He's a good bounty hunter, and he's... he's looking for Dutch and Micah."
"He won't find them," he snorted. "Leave Dutch and Micah to Charles and John and Sadie, if John is even still alive." He quickly changed the subject. "Why are you here, anyway?"
"Tracking down a bounty. Last one before we leave. We want to settle down, start a family. Maybe set up a little homestead and start a family. He's thinking head west, like Hosea always wanted."
He tried to hide the hurt he felt. This could be the last time he'd ever see you, and he'd be alone again. No one to talk to about the gang's adventures. No one he could reminisce with. And maybe he deserved that, but it still hurt none the less.
"I hope you have a long, happy life with him. And I hope he gives you everything you deserve and more. And if he ever decides to be unfaithful, though I doubt he will, I know you'll castrate him yourself and leave him to die. I just... I wish the best for you."
You smiled and kiss his cheek, and he had to bite his tongue to hold back the words he should have said ages ago.
"Same for you. I hope you find someone again. No one deserves to be alone." You glanced up as the church bells rang out the time. "I've got to go. It was good to see you again, Josiah." He smiled and stood.
"Same to you, (Y/N). Maybe our paths will cross again one day."
He watched as you smiled and ran towards your horse, a different one than the one you had rode off on. This time, there was no hope of him ever seeing you again. He knew that. His part in your life was done, as was yours in his. But he also knew he'd never forget you, or how you had changed him and made him want to be a better man.
And he'd never forget the cloud of dust that tore his heart in two, and the fire in your eyes.
@peachestaxidermy @morlawny @weathur @ineedanoutlaw @postholdblackhole
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alanakusumas · 7 years ago
Text
The Bittersweet Epilogue (Sweet Treats Pt.3)
Fandom: Endless Summer Pairing: Michelle x Quinn, Jake x F!MC Word Count: 2119 Summary: Since the intense end of their La Huerta trip, the gang is still as close as they were two years ago. Their trauma is a weird thing to bond over, but the original Girl Talk™️ group cope with their losses through personal achievements, falling in love, and welcoming their fellow honorary traumatized member.
Author’s Note: Thanks for constantly pushing me to finish this series. It’s been a wild year, and I can’t believe Endless Summer is ending already! I’m so attached to this trilogy that started off as a prompt request, and I managed to birth a new part for each book. I can’t believe we have to bid our farewells to these characters already, but when I think about it, it’s been a solid year and a half. Let’s hope they make appearances in other books!
Previously on Sweet Treats, Now Gimme the Deets... Part 1 // Part 2
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The soft rumble of car wheels gliding across flat pavement flowed in one ear and out the other. Driving down empty freeways never failed to soothe her. There’s such an exhilarating feeling that exerts out of her soul when she flies down the road, watching the city and bridges around her zip past her vision faster than she can make sense of it. A sigh escaped her lips as she lost herself in a scenery of purple sunsets and deep green forestry. There could be so many things wrong with the world, but in this moment it seemed like it was perfect. The world was perfect, her life was perfect. Her life was finally perfect for once.
How could she have gotten so lucky, to win an all inclusive trip to La Huerta? Certainly she went through a hellstorm, but without that adventure she never would have met friends for a lifetime, rediscover what she finds important, and finally understand what it’s like to fall head over heels in love for someone.
Speaking of that someone, she snapped out of her trance and glanced down at her hands intertwined with theirs. She gave it a gentle squeeze. “I love you,” She mumbled under her breath just loud enough for them to hear.
“I love you too, Meech.” Quinn raised their hands and pressed hers into a soft kiss. “What made you think of that?”
“I’m going down a path of nostalgia again. So much has happened in the past two years, I’m just really thankful to have you.” Embarrassed, she rolled her eyes. “Not to be super cheesy or anything, but I wouldn’t wish for it to be any other way.”
There used to be a time where Michelle would kill to be in Sean’s arms again, but even though their love for one another would never disperse, the time they spent together seemed to have brought them nowhere. There was no growth - just routine, and although things didn’t end the way either of them wanted it to, upon reflection she was happy it happened.
Quinn’s eyes glistened with adoration. “Me too.” She peered ahead of the road, eyes shifting from the speed limit signs to the streets that were open for exit. “How much longer until we reach the airport?”
“We’re almost there, give or take fifteen minutes. I can see the terminal signs coming up right about now.” Quinn nods in response and let out a sigh.
This car ride has been awfully tense; Michelle thinks it’s because she and her girlfriend had a mutual understanding that this day was going to be rough, if anything. The drive to the airport was the only break they had today to drift off into their own worlds before they had to face the bittersweet reality that was their bi-annual reunion.
It was MC’s wish - that they’d always remember and cherish one another after she merged back with Vaanu – and there was no way they could break that promise. She sacrificed her life to let them fulfill theirs; Michelle has been ever so grateful for that. She recalled the time she told MC her aspirations of taking medical residency in New York.
After she returned to Hartfeld, she worked twice as hard as before to ensure that MC’s sacrifice was worth something to her. Since moving to New York after her acceptance into neurosurgery residency, Michelle has had the thrill of diagnosing patients, and in return she got their gratitude. That was more than enough for her. Finally confessing her crush on Quinn last year and moving in with her was just the cherry on top.
It wasn’t a reunion unless everyone was there – and that’s where Michelle and Quinn were heading to pick Jake up. It was their turn to host the reunion - and as MC’s maid of honor, Michelle only felt it was right to greet him there. “Not gonna lie, I’m excited but also nervous to see Jake again,” she confessed as they pulled up to the pick-up area, “Do you think it’ll be a l’il awkward like the last few times?”
“I doubt it; he’s making progress each time we see him. And,” Quinn added, “Judging by what Rebecca shares on her Snapchat, she seems to be spending a lot of time with him to keep him from going into a lonely, soul-sucking deep end. Remember that video of him tripping over a tree branch when they went hiking last weekend?” Michelle tried to fake a chuckle, yet she couldn’t help but let the nerves get to her. She had one hand gripped to the wheel, and the other still clutching onto Quinn’s tightly when tears began to well up in her eyes.
“I don’t know how he does it, I miss her so much.” She felt Quinn squeeze her hand.
“Me too,��� Quinn leaned in so Michelle could rest her head on her girlfriend’s shoulder; she felt her trace small circles on her back. It was comforting to finally let someone in her life besides Sean; she felt peace for the first time, in a long -
A sudden jerk of the back door handle jolted them out of their somber nuzzling, becoming fully aware of their pilot friend welcoming himself into Michelle’s car. He tossed his duffel bag on one end of the car before plopping himself on the other end.
“Alrighty gal pals, as much as I like seeing people being affectionate in public, let’s try to keep this car ride PG, shall we?”
Michelle let out a loud groan, contrary to her girlfriend’s lighthearted giggle. “Welcome to New York, I guess.” 
-- -- --
The ride back to the city wasn’t as awks as Michelle assumed it would be. Right away Quinn asked Jake what he’s been up to, and the conversation picked up from there.
“I don’t know, I’m still in between jobs, I guess.” He began, “A part of me wants to get into personal training; stay on the ground for a bit. But Reb insists that I try to do some community college – which is stupid, I hate the idea of going back to school. But, I kinda want to do it, for her sake.” He glanced down as he let out a hearty chuckle. “I’m also considering joining the police academy –“
“Oh my god, yes.” The words stumbled out of Michelle’s mouth before she could even catch herself. “Sorry,” She blushed, “I just think that would make great poetic justice. Plus, you have the right attitude and physique for it.”
The left corner of Jake’s mouth lifts up into a smirk. “Physique, eh?”
“Shut your trap.”
“Gotta say, Meech, awfully bold of you to be checking Jake out while I’m right here.”
“Oh, now you guys are teaming up on me? That’s a first!”
-- -- --
“Say, you girls think anyone’s pregnant this time around?”
“If anything, my money’s on Grace and Aleister!”
“Nuh uh. No way in hell am I letting Grace get pregnant this early into her career.”
-- -- --
“Meech, do you always have your hair in a ponytail nowadays?”
“Yeah, why not? I need to keep it up as a doctor. Plus, I look good regardless.”
Jake scoffed. “Cocky.”
“Cock.”
“Language, guys.”
“Babe, first of all, you’re twenty-three and –”
“Second of all, who cares? There are no kids in the car.”
“That’s what you think.”
Michelle’s eyes bulged out of their sockets before she screamed. “Whoa, what the fuck! Don’t make jokes like that!”
“I can’t even get pregnant. We both have vaginas, Michelle.”
“Fuck you, sperm donors exist.”
“Holy shit, Quinn, this ain’t even my relationship or kid, and that stressed me out for a sec.”
“Oh my god, fine. Cuss to your heart’s desire.”
-- -- --
Serene silence took over the vehicle as Michelle pulled into the parking garage of her apartment and turned her car off. Finally relieved to have completed the road trip, she inhaled, and then exhaled through her glossy lips while leaning back on her driver’s seat.
To her right, was her beautiful girlfriend who drifted off to sleep while leaning against her seat-belt; she could tell from the faint whistle coming from her nose.
And behind her – she glanced up at her driver’s mirror – was one of her best friends’ husband, fiddling with the one dog tag he had left on his chain, since he gifted the other to MC before she transcended away. Catching her looking, he stares back into her reflection with sincerity. “I miss her,” He muttered, bold and firm.
She sighed. “Me too.”
Groggily, Quinn stirred awake, “Yeah,” She whispered.
Besides maintaining the dedication of their friendship, the only other reason the entire gang meets up twice a year was a tribute to MC. The three of them hope that she’s somewhere out in the universe, knowing that they’re still thinking of her.
-- -- --
“Excuse me, waiter! One more round of shots please! One more round on me, guys.”
“For Christ’s sake, Raj. We aren’t college fools anymore. I can’t drink this much.”
“I’ll happily take your shot for you, Big Al.”
Roaring laughter and chitchat filled the leather booth that Quinn rented out at their favourite local bar. Michelle was elated to see them in New York with her. Just like how Quinn constantly made her feel, she realized that it wasn’t the city that made a place home.
…Okay, maybe the city had a bit to do with that. But at the end of the day, it’s the people who surround her that keep her at peace. And right now, that meant her family. Her La Huerta family.
“Helllooooooo, Meech? Meech!” She blinked once, twice, snapping out of her trance to see Craig snapping in front of her face, hair still as spikey as it was in the college years.
“What?”
“Anything new happen in the past six months?” His eyes glistened with anticipation every time he saw her. It was nice to know that he’s still got her back after all these years, despite the cheating allegations the sorority had against her.
“Nope,” She said disappointingly, “Just working and studying. The occasional date with Quinn.”
Her girlfriend shook her head in dismay, ready to counter that statement. “It’s not just any occasional date. She took me to the planetarium a few weekends ago! We watched the evolution of the Milky Way; it was gorgeous!”
“Damn,” Sean beamed at the two, and Michelle beamed back in appreciation. “Name a better date in your early twenties, I’ll wait.” Michelle shook her head and bit her lip to hold a laugh in, getting secondhand embarrassment from the outdated joke her ex just made.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed a server approach the booth with a platter of chocolate-coated strawberries. “Enjoy,” She said bleakly.
“Oh, we didn’t order these.”
“These are complementary from the chef.”
Michelle raised an eyebrow at the server. “Why?”
“I don’t know. Y’all are locals, right? Maybe he saw how happy you and your partner are with your friends right now, and wanted to make the night even better.”
“Well, if Michelle won’t eat them, I will,” Zahra began to lean over the table and pluck a strawberry off the platter, and everybody else began to dig in following her.
Michelle side-eyed Quinn - whose lips began to lift into a grin, and then glanced over at Jake – who is very clearly holding his breath in shock. Chocolate coated strawberries? There’s no way this was just a coincidence. Their eyes began to well up with tears again, reminiscing the first time MC, Quinn, and Michelle shared their first moment of sisterhood.
What a bittersweet feeling it is, to believe that MC’s still here with them.
Even though it was as little silly, and she might not even hear anything, Michelle thought it was worth the shot to talk to her. She hated to admit it, but she does that every so often. She liked to believe that MC can hear her, and understood her.
Hey, MC.
If you can hear our thoughts, we miss you so much. Thank you so much for letting us all pursue our dreams. I can never thank you enough. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to fall in love with Quinn; we hope you’re okay.
She turned to see Jake, still gripping onto his dog tag, deep in thought.
Jake really misses you. He’s constantly twiddling with his dog tag, which means that he’s thinking of the other half. His other half. He’s really happy with his sister right now, so you don’t have to worry; your husband’s in good hands. You’ve really changed him, I don’t think he ever wants to fly a plane again without a partner-in-crime.
The most important thing, is that he loves you. He knows you’re his forever soulmate, no matter where you are, or what you are.
She looked over at her gorgeous girlfriend, biting into a strawberry with the brightest grin on her face. And someday, I hope I’ll feel the way he does for you, with Quinn.
Oh, by the way, those strawberries the ‘chef’ sent were amaaaazing.
-- -- --
“Oh!” Grace grabbed onto her boyfriend’s arm. “Aleister and I have some news to share with you all!”
Jake and Michelle immediately exchange an alarmed look with one another. Please don’t be pregnant, please don’t be pregnant.
“Grace and I have been talking about it, and we finally decided that…we’re going to move in together.”
Oh, Jesus Christ, thank the fucking Lord.         
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banesbottombitch · 7 years ago
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omg you should do a fic where the reader is dating some goody two shoes guy but is going behind his back and banging patrick and he catches them one day and idk maybe patrick clocks him or something idk
My sweet bean, I bring you the goods- and boy did it take a while to bring the goods, so I’m sorry about that!
Prompt Summarized: Reader cheats on her Good Guy BF with Patrick, and he catches them. 
Word Count: +3,400
Warnings: Light sexual stuff, violence of the punchy and knifey kind. Studious!Reader.
Tagged: @dreamboathannah, @restoftheworldfallsaway @ghoulishtozier @itwasmathilda, @fangirlinganditswonders, @neoandersons, @basicwheeler, @leetime14, @passionfortrashin @nurserykryme @nonrelatableteen
(Anyone who wanted to be tagged for WYS automatically gets tagged for my other Patrick works as a bonus, my duderinos. Message me -through pm-  if you want to also be tagged! Love y’all.)
Ryan Burns was perfect. He was the co-captain of the debate team, the fastest runner in track and field, he was tall and handsome with nearly angelic features. He was broad shouldered, carried a winning smile, with a mess of curly chocolate hair and flawless olive skin.
Your dad loved him, your mother adored him and invited him to dinner weekly. He walked you to class, held your hand, and pressed poliet kisses to your forehead. Ryan bought you cute little gifts, asked you to homecoming and stayed up to study with you for classes he didnt even have.
For christ sake, he was thinking of following you to USM for college just to be with you.
So why on earth where you tangled up in Patrick Hockstetter’s arms, hiding out in an equipment room?
Why were you pressed up against a wall with Derry’s worst filth, the boy who drew whispers where he stalked and tormented the innocent? Patrick was a nobody, a good-for-nothing drunk on perversions and reeking of cigarette smoke. He warranted fear, he practically breathed predatory flare as he hovered above the masses, and in all honesty- once he terrified you.
So why? Why there you there?
Because he was everything Ryan wasn’t, and he wanted you in a way Ryan couldn't dreamed of having you- and you wanted him back just as badly.
Patrick caught your attention maybe sophomore year. That was when he first found you, sitting in the library and working on a book report. He sat with you, threw a threatening arm across your shoulders and struck up casual (albeit antagonistic) conversation with you. Your responses were quick and to the point, too focused on your work to pay him too much attention.
He gave up before long, but returned the next day. And the next, and the next, continuing the habit until you didnt have another project to work on, so he started cornering you in hallways by your locker, or sitting with you at lunch. At first it was intrusive and stressful, having him follow you everywhere, but after a few weeks of pestering you his taunts become more playful and half-serious if anything, all the animosity dwindling away.
It wasn’t long before he became a comfortable weight on your shoulders, always there, ever watching.
You talked about school, music, books you enjoyed and how excited you were for college. He learned about your nuclear family composed of a housewife, a stock broker father, and your siblings, a golden older brother who could do no wrong and attention seeking younger brother with pestered the hell out of you. You walked with him to class, letting him copy your notes, and sometimes even let him drive you around Derry after classes were out.
Though Patrick had a more nihilistic process of thinking, you welcomed the change of pace compared to your other friends, who at this point, were worried about you. He talked about his friends, the latest movies to come out, girls he had slept with, and the crazy nights he had spent high and drunk running around Derry. He wasn’t too open about his family, but you had caught a few remarks about his mother who he at least seemed to favor over his father. Patrick dragged you to parties he was invited too, introduced you to his friends and urged them to welcome you with open arms. You had lost count of how many times Belch and you had piled Henry, Vic and your newest lanky companion into Amy after a particularly wild bonfire by the canalside.
So slowly, by the end of sophomore year, you two had become good friends. He was a dangerous individual, but somehow you two had been drawn together despite being polar opposites. You spent the following summer running with the Bowers Gang, while also juggling SAT study classes, church and AP assigned reading. Henry was a little rough around the edges, but warmed up to you fast, while Belch seemed relieved to finally have someone else to hang out with who wasn’t intent on getting fucked up at every party they attended. Vic was a little distant at first, but he quickly found a friend in you as you spent the summer discussing music, AP studies and colleges you hoped to get into. Patrick of course was in his own world, but dragged you by the wrist into it. The boys took you to movies, wild barn parties and drove you all around town, Vic and Patrick squishing you in the back of the blue Trans-Am while they shared a joint.
When junior year finally began you stayed at your old table with the friends you had accumulated through the years, and chatted nonsense with them. Once in a while you found yourself outside in the quad, eating lunch between Belch and Patrick while the boys laughed and joked about the latest thing they saw on TV or the fight they got into the day before. It became normal for you to hear about the nitty gritty reality outside Derry’s picturesque small town image, and you caught yourself wistfully wishing to hear more when you returned back to your table of tamer and more sensible friends. All they wanted to do was discuss the latest tests and boys they thought were cute, and for some reason you had never exactly seen what they saw. After all, any boys who approached you were almost instantly deterred by Patrick’s presence.
“He’s kinda like your guard dog.” your friend Casey had said one day at the table, and you rolled your eyes, Patrick absent from lunch on account of skipping the rest of the day past third period. He had left you a note in your locker, assuring you he’d be picking you up after classes were out to be dragged to another one of the parties and and the rest of the Bowers Gang had been invited to, no doubt to be his designated driver instead of Belch for the eighteenth time. “Patrick, I mean.”
“Patrick’s fucking creepy.” Britney agreed over her textbook, studying at the lunch table. “No offence.”
“Offence taken. He’s kind of my friend.” You shot her a dirty look, but moved your food around your plate, a little out of place without the scratch of Patrick’s callused fingertips brushing against your arms as he joked with you, always one to ignore the rest of the table and choosing to entertain you only.
“Guard dog.” Casey quipped, and you switched that glare to her, but knew she was right. Her eyes were elsewhere however, and there was a knowing smirk on her glossy lips. “With him here, no guys ever visit, and for once in your life, you need to take that chance, [First Name] and go talk to… Oh, I dont know, Ryan Burns?”
“Ryan?” You frowned, but felt a light tap on your shoulder.
You turned, and found those soft brown eyes and tanned skin, and that's where it all began- with Patrick’s absence and a chance for Ryan to cut in.
It had been so casual between you and Patrick, but then you started dating Ryan in junior year. That was when everything took a quick and drastic turn to ‘Oh Fuckville’. Moody and near cruel, Patrick’s visits became less and less frequent at the lunch tables, much to your friends excitement, but your disappointment.
Ryan never mentioned your old friend’s absence, or even his existence. He carried on, a muscular arm replacing Patrick’s over your shoulders as he dazzled all your friends and family with his brilliant smile and sweet ways. He pampered you, he loved you, and yet all you could do during your junior year was wistfully watch from afar as Patrick Hockstetter started dating Gretta Bowie.
You lost contact with Patrick, he barely registered you in the halls and he turned his back on you time and again when you made an effort to approach him. He was silent as the grave, and after a while, it became normal for you to to forget about him days at a time. Ryan replaced Patrick, slipping in your life like a well loved glove- all smiles and sweet nothings.
The Bowers Gang took a cold shoulder to you as well, though Belch and Vic seemed the most reluctant and you had caught them eyeing you once or twice, and received a tiny little wave in recognition.
Then it was senior year. You, the future valedictorian with a track star boyfriend and intent to get into college on a grant and perfect scholarship. Patrick, the resident bad boy with a handful of new piercings adorning his ears and a collection of tattoos on his pale skin, his cheerleader girlfriend worn on his arm but his eyes glazed with indifference.
December came, and so did the winter dance. Patrick wore a suit, you wore a dress, both of you took your dates and danced. Ryan was exhausting but adorable, Gretta must have been equally exhausting, but demanding and arrogant.
You crossed paths at the punch bar, never speaking, only looking. His eyes followed you when you brushed past, and for the first time in nearly a year you caught that familiar scent of cloves, cigarettes and patchouli.
January followed shortly, as well as deadlines for college applications. You found yourself in a familiar setting, Derry High’s library, when Patrick dropped down in a seat beside you.
“Heya, Princess.” He said, and you barely recognized the voice. It had deepened, what was once more nasally and condescending was richer and smooth now, and it made you grip your pen a little tighter.
“Hockstetter.” You said with little warmth, but hearing his voice, having his eyes on you, it made relief flow through you.
He watched you in silence while your pen traced your delicate handwriting, a hand resting on the wood table. The fingers had a few burns, a couple blisters as evidence of his after school activities, but they were still nimble and thin- new rings you had never seen before lining them.
You were alone in the library, free period for seniors usually spent in the quad by the cafeteria, or on the fields where your classmates could blow off some steam. Patrick would have normally been found in the parking lot, schmoozing Bowie in the back of his car or sneaking a drink from Vic’s flask while he and the other boys in the Bowers Gang stood around Belch’s blue Trans-Am.
But he was there, beside you, instead. A fact you couldn't ignore.
You sighed finally, dropping your pen and turning to face him, frown tight. “What do you want, Patrick?”
His lips tilted in an arrogant smirk, and he leaned back in his chair, lifting the front two feet in the air.
“Why? Bothered by me, Princess?”
You smacked a hand on his knee, bringing his fun to an abrupt halt and slamming the chair back down. You weren’t going to play his games, and you were in no mood to amuse him. He had dropped off the face of the planet, and ignored you for months. He had no right to walk back into your life as if he did nothing wrong.
“Don’t make me repeat myself, Patrick.” You met his gaze, and caught how his jaw tightened and his eyes flashed. Your power move had grabbed his attention, and possibly not in a good way.
“Why so serious, [First Name]?” He had the audacity to keep the smirk, and you tore your hand from him.
“Fuck off.” You snapped, and to his surprise, you began to pack your supplies up. You threw your essays in a folder and shoved them in your backpack, standing. Patrick hurried to do the same, and snagged your wrist.
“Dont walk away from me, [Last Name].” He hissed, and when you attempted to wretch your wrist away, he applied a bruising grip.
“Let me go, or I swear to go I’ll scream.” You threatened, curling your trapped hand into a fist. You barely felt them, but the tears began to form. Your shoulders tensed, and Patrick caught every little attempt you made to hold back from showing the emotions that stirred inside.
“You swear? Do you really?” He brought a hand to your shoulder, and you shivered as it slid up your neck, caressing the line of your jaw before he captured your chin in a tight hold and tugged you forward.
He was inches from you, breathing warm breath that smelt of cigarettes and mint gum, with an almost adoring look in his eyes. They searched yours, and you made a move to speak, but he shushed you.
“Because I’ve wanted you to scream for me for years now, Princess.”
Patrick brought you into a rough kiss, tugging you from sight and leading you behind bookshelves, dropping his hold from your wrist to hook his arm around your waist and keep you close. The kiss burned through you, and there was no hesitation when you kissed back. Ryan forgotten, your friends tossed behind. All you cared about was keeping Patrick’s attention on you, his hands on your body and mouth on your lips.
He parted your lips, drawing a barely there moan from you. You tilted your head, gaining a new angle to kiss him, bringing hands to wind into his long strands and pull him closer. The kiss was wet, sloppy, desperate- but it was everything in that moment. He bit at your bottom lip, and you dragged nails across his scalp, grinding against his hips and forcing him to give a rough groan when you felt a hardness between his legs grow.
You broke from him then, dizzy from lack of air and a rush of excitement tainting your ability to think straight. Patrick pressed practiced kisses down your neck, scraping teeth against the skin but knowing better than to leave marks.
“Patrick…” You murmured his name, earning a rake of his fingers across the side of your waist, which only served you to press harder against him. “Patrick, stop. Someone will see.”
He snaked his arm tighter against you, and quietly rapsed against your skin. “Equipment room, tomorrow. During free period.”
Patrick nipped your neck affectionately, parting from you and slinking away as if he hadn’t just shared a breath taking kiss with you and left you yearning for more.
That first day in the equipment room was absolute bliss. You remembered bare arching backs, sweaty limbs and desperate kisses that made your lungs burn as he held you against the cool painted cement walls and drew moan after moan out of you. They continued at a weekly occurrence, your extracurricular activities unknown to Gretta Bowie or Ryan.
This time was no different, and you hooked fingers into his belt loops during a heavy and needy kiss, wordlessly begging for the article of clothing to come off. Tangled in your arms, he bit at your lip, letting out a breathy little chuckle before reaching down and tugging at the hem of your sweater.
“Take this off first, Princess. Then we have a deal. Let me see what you’ve got on today.” He slipped a hand under the soft stitching, humming as he did so.
“Why do I always have to strip first?” You asked with a quiet laugh, obeying him and crossing your arms over your torso and dragging the sweater off in a fluid motion. His tongue wetted his lips, eyes lazily raking down what you offered as he let out a slow breath.
“Wish you would let me mark you. All this skin,” Patrick drifted fingertips across your stomach, appreciating the blissfully clear skin under his touch. He wouldn't say it out loud, but you knew he worried that every time the two of you found each other in the equipment room that you would finally arrive one day showcasing red and purple love bites from someone else. “All bare for me, its a fucking tease, Princess.”
You opened your mouth to speak, but stopped short when the equipment room’s door handle jiggled and twisted, unlocking. It was thrown open ion one fluid motion, and through the single bulb that lit the room, you saw the face of your boyfriend standing in the doorway. Angelic features froze, and Ryan’s expression leaned from anguished to mortified. You saw the heartbreak in his eyes, and you dug sharp nails into Patrick’s upper arms, your shock evident.
“Awkward.” Patrick said with little emotion, but you were quick to catch the careful calculation working behind his eyes.
Nobody moved. Everyone was statue still.
And then all hell broke loose.
Ryan hurled himself at Patrick, a first raised and his speed almost inhuman. Patrick pushed off from you, easily avoiding the hit that was thrown at him, just barely hitting a shelf of equipment and forcing him to sidestep the shelving and round the track star.
“You fucking asshole.” Ryan seethed, his breathing just angry pants and shoulders quivering. “You had Bowie. You could have any fucking girl here, why the fuck did you after my girl?”
Ryan grabbed air, missing Patrick again, who snorted an incredulous laugh. You snatched your sweater off the floor, pulling it over your head and keeping close to the brick wall, unsure of what to do in the tiny room with two wound up boys both itching to fight.
“She was mine well before she was yours, Burns.” Patrick taunted with a sneer, and he dug into the back of his pocket, procuring a folded blade, which he unfurled with ease. There was a glitter of malevolence behind those grey-green eyes of his, and something told you that if the fight was to continue, that Ryan would end up with a permanent jokers smile.
Ryan launched forward, and Patrick ripped his shoulder to the side, throwing him up against the wall opposite to you, the blade at his pulse. Ryan struggled for a moment, the knife breaking skin as beads of red appeared, and Patrick pressed his other arm across the tan skinned boys chest, holding him there. Ryan rolled his tongue, inhaling sharply and then spitting in the dark haired boys face.
“Fuck you, Hockstetter.”
Patrick rubbed the spit from his cheek, snarling and pressing Ryan hard against the wall. “You’re gonna regret that, Burns.”
You watched, heart nearly stopping as Patrick ripped the hand with the knife back, using the blunt of his knuckles to wail a precise punch against Ryan’s jaw. He cried out, and the air whistled as Patrick applied blow after blow, the hits landing against Ryan’s chin, cheekbones, nose and mouth. The knife threatened to cut skin as Patrick succumbed to his anger, and you tore yourself from your stupor to shout.
“Patrick!” You screamed, and you saw how the aforementioned boys shoulders tensed, actions frozen in time. “Dont.”
Ryan tried to push off from Patrick’s grip, but he was held there with ease, and the lankier boy glanced over his shoulder. His knife glinted in the light, the edge just barely tinged red as it hovered ever so close to Ryan’s face.
“So what then Princess?” He asked, and you noticed the way his jaw tightened. “Your move.”
“Why?” Ryan suddenly said, in an almost pleading sort of way. The betrayal was clear, and the guilt pulled at your heartstrings as you advanced quickly, refusing to meet his eyes.
“I loved you.” Your boyfriend said as you rested a hand on the arm that Patrick held a knife in. “I was gonna go to state with you, babe.”
“Patrick.” Softly, you urged him to drop his hold. He hesitated, and you saw the deliberation in his eyes.
Finally, with Ryan allowing a few tears fall, Patrick skillfully whipped his knife into dormancy, stuffing it into his back pocket and stepping back to let his grip slacken. Ryan fell to the concrete floor, and he raised a hand to gingerly touch his bruised and split lip, his eyes stuck on you.
“Why?” He repeated.
You refused to answer, taking a grip to Patrick’s arm and tugging at it. “Come on.”
He turned to follow you, taking quick steps to the door before he whipped his head back, and you saw the smugness in the highlights of his face, lips quirking into an arrogant smirk. “If you see Bowie ‘round, be a pal and tell her we’re over, Burns.”
Patrick let you lead him out out of the equipment room, a euphoric glow to his expression as he followed you down the halls. There was silence between you, and before you made it to the end of the hall and out the doors that led to the fields, he threw an arm over your shoulders and dragged you close- the familiarity of his touch the only thing that grounded you in that moment.
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