#i still dunno if it was meant to be mean to me or meant earnestly

[dufferpuffer]

Ok I got a weird message and I just wanna say:

You are allowed to disagree with me. I love it when people disagree with me. Please do - please write 6000 words disagreeing with me. I will pour over all of them, even if I don't always want to respond. (though I probably will because I like interesting discussion) You don't need to apologize for disagreeing with me. I'm not going to get mad at anyone who disagrees with me. I do not hold fictional characters and worlds at a higher importance than real peoples' thoughts and feelings. I like your ideas even if I think they are boring and inaccurate. Unconditionally. Because you are a person and you are engaging with fiction wholeheartedly, just like I do.

We are more alike then we are different. Maybe I come across as intense sometimes, but im just excitable and passionate.

[pumpkinupsidedowncake]

Earlier I tried to draw a venn diagram of Malevolent the podcast and Stanley the parable, but I just filled up the middle and couldn’t think of anything to put on either side. Except for writing “GAMER” on Stanley’s side, then attempting to come up with a similarly appropriate title for Malevolent and failing, and then questioning if Arthur Malevolent qualifies as a gamer. Then my perception of the laws of what is and is not a gamer began to deteriorate. If a gamer is one who games, what are the limits of what a “game” is? Do you need to have agency in your participation in order to be a gamer? When Katniss was in the Hunger Games, was she a Hunger Gamer or a Hunger Survivor? Were the Careers who actually wanted to be there gamers? Is that the difference between gaming and not gaming? Seeking bloodshed?

Dear lord, is kayne a gamer? Are all omnivores gamers? Are thorned raspberry plants gamers? Is the sun a gamer? Are the bacteria that cause tetanus gamers??? This is madness! I can’t accept this. Everyone can’t be a gamer. The word doesn’t mean anything anymore if we go around calling every violent houseplant we encounter a gamer.

I decided there was only one solution to this irreconcilable situation: deleting the concept of gamers entirely from this realm. My finger was poised right above the gamer delete button when suddenly, some random white guy I don’t know yelled “wait! don’t do it!” I don’t know how he got in my house. His face looked like one humans tend to have. “don’t press that button! gaming is all I have!” he said forlornly. He fell to his knees dramatically. I don’t know who this guy is, so I asked the only relevant question: are you a gamer? “yeah,” he said, like it meant something profound. So I asked him, what is a gamer? “I dunno.” Is this fern a gamer? He looked intensely at the fern for twenty-four minutes, then stated, “yeah. that’s a gamer.” Dumbfounded, I asked if this small potted cactus was a gamer. He said “nah”. At this point I was beyond done with this gamer nonsense. I asked him if one needs free will in order to be a gamer. “nah”. Nah?!?!

I pressed the gamer delete button. The man in front of me disappeared. The sun disappeared. Even I disappeared. Most everything disappeared that day, except for every bucket and a small potted cactus. It was awful.

Then I got better and pressed ctrl + z. The world was once again inhabited by gamers. My houseplants were traumatized. The random gamer was still in my house. He stared at me with sad eyes, and I realized my finger was once again hovering over the gamer delete button, just as it had an eternity ago. I asked him for his name this time. He gave me his gamer tag. It was unremarkably weird and I forgot it immediately. “you gotta trust me, the world needs gamers,” he pleaded earnestly. I said cool, now get out of my house. But he didn’t. (Is that the true mark of a gamer?) So I did the only thing I could do in that moment. I gave him the gamer delete button.

I was hoping he would destroy it or at the very least leave my house immediately. But instead his “twitch” “chat” dared him to press it. Reader, you cannot know the depth of the baffled rage I experienced when I felt all the gamers in the world being deleted for the second time. I stewed in the void for a long while, wondering where it had all gone wrong. And as I did, I remembered my favorite quick and easy recipe for baked chicken that I learned from my father, who learned it from a family friend. Of course, that method was much less versatile than the version I offer you today.

You will need an oven, chicken meat, and a bottled sauce of your choosing. Consider choosing a restaurant sauce you enjoy, if they sell it somewhere, or possibly a salad dressing if it seems like one that could go on a piece of chicken. Either marinate the chicken in the sauce or chuck it in with the chicken before you bake it. Wash your damn hands and anything else that touched the raw chicken, you maniac. Then bake the chicken in your oven at the correct time and temperature for the variety of chicken meat you are dealing with. Consider using a meat thermometer as well. When this is done, you will have delicious cooked chicken. Unless you chose a horrible sauce. Then you will just have vaguely edible cooked chicken.

Reflecting on my love of baked chicken, I realized that my oven was a gamer, as it had also disappeared when that awful gamer guy pressed that awful gamer delete button. I once again re-introduced the gamers into our world’s ecosystem. “what happened?” the gamer guy in question said. He then was encouraged to press the button yet again by the same force that convinced him to do so previously. The last thing I heard before being yeeted once more into the void was “it would be really funny”.

At that moment, I was at my lowest. Did the world deserve to be infested with gamers who would toss out everything they cared for merely to advance “the bit”? Was there any way out of this mess or would the gamer guy trap himself in a loop of self-destruction? (Is that the mark of a true gamer?) I needed a gamer-proof plan.

There in the void, I created the unthinkable: a gamer delete button delete button. As soon as I brought back the gamers via ctrl + z I pressed the new button, causing the gamer delete button to be sent to the shadow realm, which was like getting yeeted into the void except slightly more permanent. The gamer guy was looking at me again. Leave my house, I said again halfheartedly, just in case it worked. “you saved the world, bro. thank you so much for that.” With a sincere smile, this man who I still don’t know crawled away into my ventilation system.

I had lost so much of what I had previously taken for granted. My button, my worldview, my sanity. But I had gained one thing from all this, one pyrrhic pearl of wisdom: the true meaning of gamer. All you have to do to qualify as a gamer was vent sussy amogus imposter like and subscribe. And in that moment, it felt so meaningful. Profound, even. And now I know for a fact that both the Stanley Parable and Malevolent contain gamers. My venn diagram may be fucked but that’s okay. I’ll make a new kind of diagram to contain all the similarities between these two pieces of media. I’ll call it a list diagram. It’ll be exactly like a list, but with more syllables that add no meaning.

List diagram of the similarities between Stanley the Parable and Malevolent the Podcast:

GAMER

Choices

Wrestling with predetermination

Horror

Wife

Voice describes everything

Fanon divorce arc

Leads are petty

Music that haunts me

Yellow

I’m doney with the funny

[angeli-marco-writes]

Sam Holland - Don't Tell

A/N & WC - This is not meant to glorify or condone adultery in any way. I do not know Sam, nor do I claim to, this is a work of fiction. This was written before Sam posted about a new girlfriend: no disrespect is meant towards her. I do not believe Sam would do this: it is fictitious. 3.5k.

Warnings - Adultery, explicit smut, unprotected sex, swearing, reader is the other woman, swearing, brief allusions to SA. 18+.

Summary - When Sam booty calls you, you can't deny him, but will sexual satisfaction be enough? Or will you always want from him what you know you can't have?

THIS WASN’T HOW YOU’D PLANNED to spend your Saturday afternoon, but Sam called, and who were you to deny him?

‘Come over at 3.’ He texted you. ‘She’s leaving then.’

No kisses, no emojis, no frills, no sign off, nothing. You’re just a nameless number in his phone. You knew what it meant. You’ve done it plenty of times before, so you know the drill, it’s just not exactly pleasant.

With ample time, you left your house, your new place only a couple of streets over from the Holland household, and you walked as inconspicuously as possible. Your coat wrapped tightly around you, you refused to make eye contact with anyone on the whole walk there.

You know the drill so well by now that you know not to stick to the front of the house, but instead to head around the back—straight into his bedroom window—via the bins. Theoretically, with no one home and Sam in the living room, you could walk in the front door, but his room is safest since she has always refused to enter—’just in case.’

Your heart thuds against your chest while you hold your breath, praying not to be heard downstairs the second your feet land on his floor. You press yourself flat against the wall behind Sam’s door, lips pursed and eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in your body clenched to the maximum. You’ve trained yourself to stay so quiet that the only sounds are your pounding, racing heart and the blood rushing in your ears.

Thankfully, before cramp can override you, you hear the words that give you the all clear.

“Bye, love!” he calls down the driveway, followed by a half hearted air kiss, a deafening crunching on the gravel driveway, and the front door at last clicking shut.

Your body finally relaxes, limbs falling loosely around you while you release one of the longest held breaths you’ve ever had.

You creak open Sam’s bedroom door, ready for him to meet you, and shrug your coat off, throwing it on the floor alongside your converse when you hear him coming upstairs. He gets like this, heavy steps and heaved breaths like they’re a strain on his body, and it usually means he’s extra horny.

“What took so long, lover boy?” you tease, standing scantily clad in his door frame, leaning against the painted wood.

His eyes darken with lust as he approaches you, his shadow from the landing already overpowering.

This isn’t like any sex or ‘relationship’ you’ve ever been in before. It’s risky, and that risk makes it so much hotter. Always leaving the door open just a crack so that the two of you could be found only by those closest to Sam, the chance of being caught together in the street on the off chance you go for drinks; after all, your reputation precedes you. But it’s the adulterous element of your relationship that makes it so fun. The fact that it’s usually after his girlfriend leaves that you’re called over to relieve his not-so-little ‘problem’, the little marks you trail across the hidden parts of his body, occasionally being risky enough to plant one on the juncture of his neck and shoulder just to test the waters.

After being together for over two years, she still refuses to do anything with him. Of course you respect such a thing: if she wants to wait till marriage and is able to resist Sam for that long, props to her. It’s just not always ideal for all party members. Sure, they’ve kissed, a little groping, but by this point, with how little Sam's lass has done with him, he’s immensely riled up.

He really likes his girlfriend, of course he does, and he’s spoken to her about this time and time again, asking why they couldn’t just do something more than a PG-12 touching session. She simply shook her head and smiled every time, “I’m saving myself for marriage, Sammy.” This infuriated him hugely. He’s been with a girl or two (or ten) before her, so is very expectant, but being twenty-two has its burdens. He isn’t anywhere near ready for marriage, but is increasingly sexually frustrated. So after an insane year of getting by with absolutely no action apart from the rare lap dance and make out, he knew he had to do something besides use his own hand to relieve the tension that was making him a complete prick.

He respects his girlfriend enough not to pressure her. Sam isn’t a bad person and so he isn’t going to coerce his girlfriend into sex she doesn’t want, seeing it as utterly immoral, so he did the only thing he could think of, and turned to the girl next door, quite literally. Not that it’s any more moral, but here you are.

As soon as he reaches you, the smirk etched upon his face is perfect, just what you expect, and his hands grip your waist tightly.

“You think you’re so cheeky,” he smirks, and his lips crash onto yours the next moment, his hands spanning your sides. His affection halts as he smacks the side of your ass. “I’ll show you cheeky.”

You don’t let him get another word in before you’re kissing him again, furiously this time, hooking one leg around his waist as the other flies to his neck, your clasp anything but gentle.

You’ve known of the Holland family for a while, living a street away, going to school with the boys and your mother having ‘neighbourhood meetings’ with the family. You, however, had had nothing to do with them, never getting involved in their ordeals, not really.

Keeping a resolutely ‘good girl’ demeanour all through school was difficult, especially when you wanted to rebel so earnestly. The first step was house parties, beginning when you were in year ten, everyone getting shit-faced and ending up giving sloppy hand-jobs in someone’s downstairs loo. That much you weren’t a fan of, so you waited until the end of school, A-Levels secured to be who you wanted to be. Trench coats, docs and chucks at every turn, short shorts and fishnets. Lots of hair dye came next, followed by a ‘scandalous’ collection of piercings, and a significant body count for someone your age, or so conservative old women perceived. Fuck them, your body your choice.

Times changed in a year and a half, though not that much. Mid way through your rebellion, you got a good job, your own place, and became a call girl, essentially. Sam’s call girl only, considering your regrettable soft spot for him.

You couldn’t care less though, even though it’s adulterous, Sam is incredible in bed. He frequently tells you the same.

“I think you’re rubbing off on me,” he murmurs, “even when she was kissing me I could only think of you.” His lips are inches from yours with your breath mingling in the confined space of his doorway as you pant.

He hasn’t touched you yet, or even moved you to the bed. You feel yourself blush a little, scared fractionally by what he’s saying but mostly flattered. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. It makes you feel like your old self is creeping in again, the girl next door that no one fell for.

“I like it when you get all shy on me, really naïve, shows me you’re a human and not just a sex goddess. My sex goddess.”

You pull his lips to yours with a burning passion, desperate to feel him up against you. Your palms settle this time on Sam's cheeks, angling his face to get the most out of the kiss, and your hold remains resolute so that he can’t pull away easily. This isn’t your dominance though, simply a ploy to hide your flushed cheeks from his prying eyes, the blush that’s been caused by his kind words. You want to keep him here long enough that you can claim the blush is from the breathlessness and the actions of his tongue slipping inside your mouth with an urgency you haven’t felt with him for a while. Is this the day that changes everything?

He backs you to the bed, walking unsteadily, and pushes you down onto the springy mattress. It pitches beneath you as he joins you, sitting by your side, his hand gravitating towards your thigh.

“Hey, what is it?” you ask, a slight hesitant stammer to your words.

“Nothing,” he sulks. “Just dunno how long I can keep doing this.”

His baleful eyes hover over your decolletage, and before you can protest and try to get him to open up about the whole situation, discussing the fact that maybe you should just quit while you’re ahead and come clean (because to be fair, it’s beginning to weight on your conscience too, even though you’ve never met said girlfriend), he kisses you, pinching your nipple through your bra until it forms a pebbled bud.

“Gonna take it all out on you,” he hisses, moving his kisses to your jaw. “All this pent up need from missing your body. God, feel so good beneath me.”

He swings a leg over to straddle your legs, and begins a ferocious attack on your neck with his teeth. You’ll have fun at work tomorrow, trying to hide them from your co-workers, one of them (on a temp basis, at least) being Sam’s twin. Harry cottoned on pretty easy, and won’t say a word, because he doesn’t want to deal with Sam’s temper when he’s been denied sex for too long. He likes Sam’s girlfriend, sure, but she doesn’t compromise on anything and looks down her nose at the lot of them, so he considers it fair play. And besides, with his track record, he really doesn’t have a leg to stand on.

Unwittingly, your hips buck up to meet his, feeling his throbbing need pressing against your pelvis, only for him to draw his body away from you, a bruising kiss being pressed to your lips the next moment. All in a flurry, your top is pulled down, your chest revealed to him.

“Bloody love your tits,” he purrs, a feral grin contorting his freckled face.

He rolls your pert bud between the rough pads of his fingers, palming at the other breast so as not to neglect it, only swapping when you’re beginning to writhe under him. His grin only increases.

“Sam… please.”

He knows what you want when you whine that way, so he sits up on his shins, and lets you tear his shirt open. Button by button, you watch as every inch of his pale chest is bared to you, his happy trail coaxing you lower.

“Get on with it, then,” he warns, clamping a hand around your hair in order to control your movements. He does this a lot, it’s his main power move. “They’re too damn tight now you’re around.”

You can definitely see that, the denim of his jeans pulled taut around his torso, the waistband of his boxers peeking above. He begins to pluck at your nipples again while you fumble with his buckle and zip, eventually tugging both items of clothing down at once. He stands, his lanky frame just a blur of white and freckles as he removes every last item, prowling back to you on the bed.

You, however, have other ideas, tugging him down with a grip on his shoulders until he’s helpless beneath you. In the time he was distracted with shucking his jeans off at last, you peeled your own shirt off and put your bra right. Sam’s a boob man, always has been, and takes great pleasure in fastening and unfastening your bras as much as he can, nestling into your chest for the time you spend together.

Since your last rodeo, you’ve gained some weight, and filled out a tad more, something Sam seems to notice right about now, especially as your chest hovers just inches from his face.

“Well? Are you gonna stare at them all day or take it off?”

This man… this man has the fucking audacity to lick his lips as one hand works on the hooks at the back of your bra, the other skimming the edges of the cups before it falls into his hands and he flings it across the room, knocking something off his dresser.

As soon as it's out of his way, he seems to forget everything apart from you, his eyes mesmerised by your chest, his mouth gaping a little, his eyes lingering on your hardened nipples for perhaps just a moment too long. You sigh to yourself, letting your knees dig into his navy comforter before your fingers wrap around his hand and place it onto your right breast. You know that, if you let him stare long enough, you’ll get nothing done. You need this release as much as he does. He takes the message, though, and begins kneading the flesh with a need you haven’t seen from him before. You even catch a wolfish grin when your face contorts into a silent ‘o’, overcome with pleasure. He tweaks your one nipple, and leans up to capture the other in his kiss-swollen lips, lavishing kisses around the sensitive area. You can’t help your nails leaving faint scratch marks in their wake over his freckled shoulders, tracing the silhouettes beneath his skin of muscle and bone, finding constellations within the freckles until he’s quaking beneath your delicate touch…

“Why’re you being such a tease?” he whines.

He has a point, you’re grinding down on his clothed cock in tandem with his playing with your boobs, your core hovering over his hard member, but it’s only fair with the stimulation he’s offering you. Just to shut him up, in one swift move you pull his boxers down and reach down to grasp him, stroking a couple of times before inching down, swallowing his aching length into your welcoming, warm walls.

Your moans create a heavenly sympathy, even as you stop for a moment to adjust to his size a little more, placing your hands on his pecs before grinding down on him. His hips begin to move, thrusting upwards and into you, finding a satisfying pace in tandem for you both as you ride him like there’s no tomorrow.

“Baby…” he moans, reaching out with his lips puckered to wrap them around your exposed nipple, suckling viciously, hard enough to hurt just a little.

“Stand up,” you command authoritatively, with a softness to your tone despite.

He grows harder inside of you, barely suppressing a groan, but his plan fails from shock when you bend over, clenching the foot of his bed so tightly your knuckles begin to turn white.

Casting a sensual glance over your shoulder, you bat your lashes and coax him the only way you know how, a wiggle of your bum added to help convince him; “Fuck me, Sammy…”

Your gasp is shrill and loud when he enters your craving core from behind, your knees nearly buckling when a stream of expletives falls from his lips once he grabs your hips, settling there. You’re sure to have hand-shaped imprints there tomorrow, but you don’t care, and apparently neither does Sam as he continues to thrust into you at an inhuman pace.

Breathy moans escape your lips as your nails find purchase in the sheets, now crumpled in your clenched fists. The only thing that fills your ears other than skin slapping against skin is the myriad of colourful words spilling from Sam in a groan, right down your ear.

“y/n… please…” he hums nonsensically, his lips finding their way to your shoulder blade and neck, kissing you, suckling.

He’s such a hypocrite: one rule for him, one rule for you, just because he’s got a girlfriend and is too pussy to break up with her even though his needs aren’t being met. For a brief moment, your body being used for his pleasure—and bringing you simultaneous heavenly satisfaction—you’re able to forget the consequences of your fornications.

They slip your mind once again the second one of his rough hands slowly makes its way down your front, finding your clit as he begins to rub harsh circles on it.

“Fuck…” you cry out, only for the heel of that hand to press into your pelvis, the other snaking around to your neck, applying the faintest pressure. Your walls tighten around him at the double stimulation.

His hips begin to move faster, blissful moans filling the room in symphony as you both near your highs, his tip grazing your special spot on every single thrust.

“C’mon,” he purrs in your ear, “can feel how close you are…” the pressure on your engorged pearl becomes a constant, and your body begins to spasm with unbridled pleasure. “Come.”

You do, and fireworks spark behind your eyes, setting off a train reaction in your brain, your walls clenching and your body collapsing, chest first, onto the edge of the bed. You must’ve cried out at some point, but your scream became but a gasp with his hand snug around your throat.

His thrusts slow, and he aids you onto the bed by your waist, but you roll away from him, aware that he hasn’t climaxed yet. He follows you down as your fingers link around his neck, but he’s not satisfied with that—as the smirk playing on his lips, causing dimples in his freckles, tells you—so he hovers above you on his knees. The hairs on his shins grate against the duvet cover so he shifts, but your hands move from his neck to his cheeks, pulling him closer to tangle your tongues together. His erection teases your wet folds while you’re lost in the movements of your mouths, and before you know it, he’s entering you again, and your hands are getting lost in his dark, silky locks, his one hand roughly kneading your breast. His thrusts recommence at a slower pace than before, his heels digging into the mattress as his groans overpower yours in the otherwise silent room.

“Shit… oh my God—” he hisses.

He begins to move faster, so you tug at his hair, revelling in the praises he offers, eliciting various heavy moans from his preoccupied mouth in between kisses. His warm breath and the resverberation of the moan vibrate across your lips, causing your hips to rock further into his, your legs wrapping around his toned torso to give him better access to your eager core. His movements become deeper as your breathing becomes even more escalated with high pitched moans tearing from your throat each time he hits your g-spot so perfectly. The knock-on effect sends him into an even more euphoric state, and before you know it, he’s groaning your name down your ear, and painting your walls white.

“Yes, Sammy…”

Your nails leave scratch marks all over his back from the sheer height of pleasure you’re experiencing, and that seems to be what sent him over the edge, his cum seeping into you as you milk his cock. He throbs inside you, his pelvis hitting you perfectly as he thrusts lazily while emptying himself. With one final press of his long, skilled thumb and digits over your sensitive nipple and a harsh bite to your pulse point just below your ear, the bundle of lust in your stomach becomes undone as you finish once again.

Before you’re fully recovered, he’s pulling out and leaving you empty as you lie together for a moment on opposite sides of the bed, no contact other than your pinky fingers linked and overlapping in between you. Except… despite the pleasure, you’re not satisfied. Not at all. And you know, in your heart, that this can’t happen again.

“Don’t tell anyone, please.”

“As fucking if,” you mumble.

“You ok?” he asks after a moment.

“Yes, just fine,” you snap, and roll off the bed, beginning to ferret around for your clothes.

“y/n, no…” Sam moves to grapple for you, “why are you leaving?”

“Because I’m done being treated like shit by you. Used as your fuck-toy when you’re too much of a pussy to deal with your girlfriend… I’m done, Sam.”

He’s up and off the bed, shucking his jeans on with great force that causes him to trip back onto the bed as you adjust your top and zip your skirt back up.

“y/n!”

“What!” you bellow right back at him.

He shuffles his feet on the carpet, and moves to speak, but his jaw just hangs open like a fish, nothing coming out.

“Yeah, I’m done here, Sam. Don’t booty-call me again.”

A weary voice from behind you calls out, “Sam?”

Shit.

This is bad. This is very bad. But what can you do? You’re the other woman, he’s the one choosing to commit adultery: why is that your problem? He can deal with his (clearly very angry) girlfriend, so livid she’s shaking, once you’re gone.

“Yeah. Your ‘don’t tell’ plan worked real good, Sammy. Karma’s a bitch,” you spit, spinning on my heels and waltzing out the door.

You mean it: you’re done. At least until he breaks up with her and undoubtedly calls back. You want him, there's no question about that, but you want him all to yourself: and that's a secret you won't tell.

[ethvn-torchio]

Can't Stop Staring At Those Ocean Eyes | Anidala Oneshot

(hey here's some Anidala fluff nobody asked for!!)

Can't Stop Staring At Those Ocean Eyes | Anidala Oneshot

Warnings: discussion of pregnancy, otherwise it's just fluff with some angst sprinkled in idk

(it's honestly just pillow talk-y fluff let's be real)

She settles in his arms, a welcome respite from the cold night air drafting in through the window.

"Anakin...if we chose to have children, how many would you want?" She asks, tracing lazy patterns across his bare chest, absentmindedly tracing a fresh scar.

"I dunno,” He answers honestly. “I suppose I don't mind kids. Some of the younglings at the temple are nice enough...except that Grogu," he adds with a grumble. "I suppose I wouldn't mind one of my own. Why do you ask?"

"I still don't understand why you let yourself get harassed by toddlers," Padmé giggles.

"Don't laugh!" Anakin pouts. "Grogu and his...toddler clique stole my lightsaber earlier," he appends with a grimace.  

Padmé, meanwhile, attempts to stifle her laughter. The mental image of Anakin being bullied by a bunch of toddlers was thoroughly entertaining.

"Okay...but seriously, why are you asking? Is everything okay?" Anakin asks, genuinely concerned. 

She sighs, locking eyes with him. "Don't panic, but my cycle is late. Don't get excited though, it's probably nothing. It just...made me think, you know?" She says softly, letting her mind wander. She could almost see it now - a child that was a perfect mix of the both of them. 

"Oh," is all he can say. How was he supposed to react? Padmé could be pregnant. “But it’s probably nothing, right?”

“Yes, I’m sure it’s fine,” she responds smoothly. "Don't let this...hang over your head. It's fine, I'm sure. You watch, I'll get it tommorow or something," she chuckles lightly.

"So...it's not for certain? We're okay, then?" He asks, unable to hide a bit of anxiousness in his voice.

"Mmm-hmm," she pauses, trying to think of something to change the subject. "Hey, are you going back to the Temple tomorrow or tonight?"

She can feel him relax a bit at the distraction. "Probably early tomorrow morning. I'll be gone by the time you wake up. We ship out for Cato Neimoidia tomorrow afternoon, and then after that, we're going to Anaxes. But I bet you I'll be back soon, I don't see either of these campaigns taking long."

"I sure hope," Padmé yawns. "I hate how often you're gone. It seems more than usual lately," she snuggles closer, holding him one last time. "I wish I didn't have to go to sleep,"

I know," he responds with a sigh. "I'll be back, I promise."

"Promise?" She asks.

"Yeah, I promise." He kisses the top of her head gently, wishing he could be there when she wakes. 

Sadly, that was a luxury neither of them had.

"I could leave, you know," he blurts. "I would do anything you asked if it made you happy." he says, earnestly, grasping her hand.

"I...you don't mean that, Anakin. The Jedi need you. The clones need you. The Republic itself needs you! You can't leave,"

"But I would," he presses on. "I would. Say the word and I'll leave it all behind."

His deep blue eyes are boring into her soul; nearly asking her to say it. 

"I..." she trails off. She knew that all she had to do was ask him to leave, to leave all of his responsibilities behind - and if she asked, he would leave it all behind in a heartbeat.

Something flickered in Anakin's eyes: he could feel her wavering resolve, but he remained silent. 

It didn't matter, anyway; she couldn't bring herself to do it. It was selfish, and it wasn't how it was meant to be - at least for now, anyway.

..But was it really selfish to want a normal life?

Perhaps it wasn't. They had both known the repercussions; they knew what was going to happen if they pursued a relationship. 

Resolutely, she decides she can't say it. It wasn't fair of her to ask him to abandon what he had worked most of his life for, even if he would just for her. "...I love you, Ani." she finally says. 

He sighs contently, pulling her closer. "I love you too," he says without hesitation.

"Would you be..." He pauses, attempting to figure out how to word his question. "Would you be upset? If you weren't pregnant, I mean."

"I'd be more relieved if anything, but...it would be nice though, huh?" She murmurs quietly as she gently lets her fingertips trace a scar on his side. "A little version of you and me running around."

He laughs at that. "I don't think you'd want a mini-Anakin running around." 

"Maybe not," She snorts. "But you know what I mean, right? A little baby...the perfect combo of you and I." her hand unthinkingly moves to her lower abdomen. 

"Yeah, I know what you're saying," he says, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Sounds scary, if you ask me," he half-jokes.

"And so I've found the one thing the 'hero with no fear' is scared of," she teases. 

"Oh, yeah?" He tickles her side in retaliation, making her squirm as she tries not to laugh. 

"Anakin!" She manages to squeal, even as she finally gives in and attempts to wiggle away from him. He kisses the side of her head gently before letting her go. 

"Okay, okay, I'll give you your space," he says with a grin. "I win."

She tilts her head. "Is that so?" before Anakin can react, she darts her hands out to his sides, attacking him with relentless tickles. 

Anakin quickly realizes that she's fighting dirty, tickling him near his ribs and trying to keep him from retaliating, but to no avail. “Hey, no fair!”

"No fair?" She replies. "You started it!"

Anakin tries to bat Padmé’s hands away, but nearly falls off the bed while doing so.

She stops for a second, “Oh...whoops.” She mutters, before she realizes she's gotten the high ground in this situation. “Ha! Gotcha. I win."

"Okay, okay! You've made your point!" He says, laughing as he gets back on the bed.

They sit in comfortable silence for a minute, before finally, Padmé yawns once again, settling into his embrace as they wordlessly lie down. "I... I'll miss you, Ani." She breathes.

"You know I can't stay away for long, Padmé. And before you know it, this war will be over. I promise you." His hands trail through her hair, tracing soothing lines along her scalp. 

She sighs, her eyes growing heavy. "And once it's over...we can be free then. We could go to Naboo," she says dreamily. "Maybe then, we could start a family." 

"Yeah," Anakin agrees. "I like that," 

That night, Padmé goes to sleep dreaming of what could be. Maybe, she really was pregnant. Maybe, the war would be over soon and they could go back to Naboo.

She knew the perfect spot at the lake house for a baby's room.

In her mind's eye, she could see picnics, could see her and Anakin teaching their child to swim, could see a future that wasn't so full of war and chaos and stress. 

Their relationship wasn't normal; it wasn't the typical relationship you'd see with normal couples who could freely be in love. 

Perhaps someday, things would be different. Perhaps someday, they could get that happy ending on Naboo.

But for now, it was little moments like this that made it all the more worth it.

-----------

mini taglist this time!!! @thereblogcrusader @haydens-moles because frankly they were the only ones I can think of atm that noticed my other fluff fic so yEah, also @anidalalover99 would enjoy this methinks :v

comment or rb if you enjoyed idk y'all know the drill and I'm frankly exhausted bcs its 3:10 am so do what you wish

oh yeah I'm gifting this to @stillmourningtonystark bcs I read some of her fluff and it was just 🥺 it killed me and I was like "I need to write fluff now" so uh yeah check her out

[shoichee]

Oblivious!reader as Aomine’s Crush

May I request for an HC or Fic, you can choose, of like…Aomine’s crush is like the MOST OBLIVIOUS person and at least the same year as sakurai. Daiki teases them to be flirty but they think he hates them so they go to basketball practice crying looking for ryo because aomine “hates” them but daiki just butts in and tells them in frustraition? If only you’re okay with it though hahahaha

@thirsthourdemon hi!! sorry it took so long woooo thank you for stopping by this blog and sorry it took so long D:

Oblivious!reader x Aomine Daiki

[Headcanons]

Note: as much as my head is FILLED with the urge to write a fic, my uni classes said “hell no.”

so you can be a bit dense and while Aomine finds it really really cute at first…

endearing and cute… only for the first few weeks he’s tried to make a somewhat attempt to hit on you ever since he saw you smiling at your class president in the hallways

but after that,,,, well,,,,,,,,

you were very close friends with Sakurai, his mild, but responsible personality meshing perfectly well with your slightly airheaded personality

what does that mean? well, you would sit on the benches to watch Sakurai practice while you were either A.) doing your homework and being absolutely oblivious to the curious (or less than decent) stares or B.) eating Sakurai’s extra bentos he would sometimes pack that day because you would sometimes forget your own

this doesn’t bode well for Aomine, especially since he ditches practice 24/7 and every time he tries to look for you after school, he could never find you for some reason

until he showed up to practice that one time to steal an octo-dog from Sakurai’s bento when he saw you talking with the coach, trying to earnestly learn more about the sport

ohohohoho, his smirk grew and he’s having the wildest ideas in trying to get your attention

*proceeds to rip off the entire backboard and glances to your figure to see you wide-eyed*

*also waits outside the gym with a confused Momoi until everyone except you and Sakurai leave*

Aomine also tells Momoi to scram, also subtly glares at Sakurai

both leave but both give each other the look before they both hide behind the bushes to eavesdrop

there was no way in hell Sakurai would leave you alone to Aomine, even if he was someone who wasn’t confrontational

Momoi, on the other hand, even if she was pissed he name-called her, didn’t trust him to be on his own devices, especially with someone as sweet as you

“So you’re the one Wakamatsu has been ranting about,” you said tilting your head up as you took in Aomine’s appearances for the first time

“Huh? Yeah I guess,” he flippantly grumbled, scratching the back of his head as he averted his gaze away

you gasped, bringing Aomine’s (and the eavesdroppers’) attention back to you

“Wha…? Where’s Ryo?”

“…” - everyone right now

as you cluelessly look around your surroundings, Aomine steps forward to clasp your wrist and slightly tug you towards him to get your attention back on him

“Tch, forget about him for a second.” Aomine makes a harsh frown before remembering that he was supposed to make a good impression

your eyes curiously dropped to his hand on your wrist

“Aomine-san… Is there something wrong with my wrist?”

“Huh?? No, obviously not you idi—(y/n)—” he coughs out in an attempt to cover up his mishap but you don’t seem to notice

“Wahhhh, I have to look for Ryo!” you said, your brows furrowing. “He’s probably waiting for me right now! Ah, I’ll see you later, Aomine-san!”

and you dash from Aomine, breaking free from his loose clutch on you

Aomine just stands there dumbly, watching you until you leave his sight before he kicks the dirt in irritation

meanwhile, Sakurai leaves the bushes to chase after you and Momoi huffs as she stomps to him, pushing Aomine from behind

“Ow—what the hell?”

“Mou—I can’t believe it! You can’t just treat everyone like that!”

“Hah? You never nagged me about this before. Besides, don’t you people like that kinda stuff?”

“Ugh, Aho-mine! You lack delicacy! You have to be romantic and sweet if you like the person—!”

“Who says I like (y/n)?”

“It was as clear as day, stupid!”

meanwhile…

Sakurai is gently scolding you for getting yourself into a “possibly scary” situation although you don’t really get it

“What’s scary about Aomine?”

“E-e-eh?? Lots, (f/n)!! Did you not see him beat up Wakamatsu-san and rip off the hoop??”

“Well, I dunno, Ryo…” you started. “He seems out there, but I think he’s a nice guy.”

“That’s what you say to every person you meet.”

“Hmpf! Not everyone,” you pouted

“Just… just be careful, okay?… I worry for you…”

…

for the two weeks, it was a pattern of Aomine waiting for you outside the gym after every practice, while Momoi and Sakurai begrudgingly hiding to eavesdrop, ready to intervene if needed

that said, both are inwardly cringing at Aomine’s attempts at “flirting” while everything just seems to fly over your head as you blink and politely smile

“You’re not half-bad looking, y’know?”

“So who’s the other ‘half-bad’?”

“What?”

“What?”

You would tilt your head innocently at a flustered but frustrated Aomine

if you listen hard enough, you could hear a loud worried sigh and an “Ahomine!” from a distance

or another day:

“So there’s a movie at 5 tomorrow, and I got an extra ticket. Wanna go?”

“Don’t you have Momoi?”

“She has practice.”

“Don’t you have practice, too?”

“….”

or another day:

he decided to take Momoi’s advice in being more “forward” but showing enough romantic gestures to get the point across… but the only thing he could settle on without getting too sappy was the kabedon

“A-Aomine-san! What’s wrong? Can you stand properly? Do you need to go to the—”

“Shut up already, (y/n),” he drawled, before he tried to lean in closer to your face…

but then you slapped your hand to his forehead and leaned even closer to his face to try to feel his temperature

oh, but your lips—too close—too close—help—

“Oh no! You are burning up!”

Aomine was ready to faint right there and then

…

“You need to tell her and be honest, Dai-chan!”

“Shut up, Satsuki. Non’ya business.”

“It is, Aho-mine!” she huffed. “(y/n)-chan is my friend too!”

he groans as he sits up from his napping position at the rooftop before he stretches his limbs and walks to the gym

…

“Aomine-san! You’re coming to practice today?” you turned to the blue-haired ace at the doorway in surprise

“Nope, I’m sleeping.”

“Huh?”

he languidly walks to your side to steal your onigiri

“Wha—?”

“Thanks for the food, shortie.”

“Ah?”

and he gives your head a few firm taps before he leaves the gym before a Momoi unceremoniously bursts into the room, wheezing

“Is Dai-chan here?…”

you shake your head “no” in response, still in a stupor at processing what just happened, and Momoi just dashes back outside to track him down

…

“A-Aomine-san!” your fingers barely grazed the pencil as he held it up way above his own head. “Could you please… give that back?”

“You can get it back if you manage to get it,” he said, with a mischievous smirk on his face

“Wh-why meee?” you whined, as your breath shortens out of exertion

“You’re the only one who could cure my boredom.”

“Aho-mine! Give it back to (y/n)-chan!”

“Tch, fine…”

…

yeah, he’s just been calling you various names, stealing things and taunting you to get it back by running FULL SPEED IN THE HALLWAYS, knowing FULL WELL YOU COULD NEVER CATCH UP

“Dai-chan, can you stop messing with (y/n)-chan? You’re so childish, sheesh!”

“Didn’t you say to be honest? They’re short, right? And I’m just playing with (y/n). You know that.”

Momoi wants to kill him right there and then

“Ugh! I swear, you’re so dumb! We might know you don’t mean these things, but does (y/n)-chan know? Besides, you’re not being honest with your feelings to them at all! Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

…

“Ryo,” you sniffled to him one day. “Do you think Aomine hates me?”

“W-well, as much as I stay away from him… If he hated anyone he would make sure they know it…”

“I knew it! Was it something I said?” you gasped. “Maybe I’m the reason why he never went to practice. Maybe my presence annoys him—”

and you’re ready to break down in the middle of the hallways at the possibility of having someone hate you because of your obliviousness to your own insensitivity

“N-no! (f/n)-san, it’s not that!” Sakurai uncharacteristically firmly says. “Why don’t you talk to him to sort it out?… I’ll walk you to him but…”

despite your reluctance, you figured it was the best course of action, and you were determined to at least apologize to him

well, you were until you turned around and walked smack dab into the touou ace

as you rub your nose to ease the pain and look up to the person, ready to apologize, you freeze

uh oh, did he hear the entire thing?

you mad dashed to the opposite direction but he immediately chases after you, leaving a concerned Sakurai in the dust

of course, you were no match for his long legs his agility and you were soon tackled by him when you were both outside the classroom buildings

as he tackled you, he cradled you into his arms as he twisted his body to take the brunt of the fall

“Ah! I’m so sorry, I’ll get off right no—”

he fully locked his lips onto yours

“Shut up, already.” he frowns before continuing, “I never hated you, stupid.”

“You… don’t?”

“Tch,” he clicks his tongue in irritation but he still pulled your cheek affectionately

“O-ow! Why don’t you go… to practice then?”

in response, he sighs and says, “it’s a long story, but I’ll tell you at Maji Burger… how’s that sound?”

“O-oh! I didn’t bring money today!”

“I meant as a date. You, me. Between us. As a romantic thing.”

“R-r-romantic!?”

“Do I have to spell it out?” he sighs loudly. “I like you, shortie.”

“H-hey!”

[heavenaintaniceplace]

so i found my mother’s copy of the jw (new world translation) bible and i decided to yoink that shit for disposal but not before i realized there is a lot of lines highlighted in the book from when she was being manipulated by the jw lady that convinced her to do “bible study” for years. and what do you know if the lines the lady had my mother highlight weren’t the same lines that jws use to justify their cult beliefs! all the lines are cherry picked, no actual study, just the lady manipulating and priming her to accept their beliefs by presenting so called “biblical proof.” so here is some of the things that stand out before i finally rip this thing to shreds and through it away.

literally the whole book replaces every instance of the tetagrammaton with “jehovah” because they want people to believe its been “removed from the bible thousands of times because they don’t want you to know the true name of god”. the whole thing is translated with an agenda to make them look right and everyone else wrong and to make people believe they have some secret hidden knowledge (they don’t they’re liars). putting this under a read more because its very long.

heavy TW for everything related ro religious trauma, the jehovah’s witnesses, bible passages and christianity. incredibly long post. i plan on burning the jehovah’s witness copy of the bible, no joke.

the imago dei part of genesis to try and convince her that humans were super special to god

genesis chapter 3, the serpent convincing eve to eat the fruit of knowledge so that she would accept their version of the original sin doctrine and that women are cursed

chapter where cain kills abel to convince her that this was the first murder in human history (obviously incorrect)

highlighted the part where god kills everything on earth with a flood to groom her into expecting god to do it again later and seen as fair and just and part where god “gives” noah every living creature (because fuck other organisms apparently)

part of leviticus where (in their version) theyre like “no soul must eat blood” (what the fuck) to justify not allowing life saving blood transfusions

deuteronomy part about “jehovah being one” to justify being non trinitarian (they don’t believe jesus is god or that the holy spirit is god, this is meant to lure people who are already christians away from their denoms and into theirs)

“thou shall not kill” is highlighted for some reason and i don’t know why

highlighted job 1:12 to emphasize that they believe satan is in control of the world because god allows it and job 26:7 that has a note saying “the earth hangs there” when talking about sheol to convince her of where earth is relative to “heaven” and using a bunch of “face of the waters” creationist language to make it vague as possible. job 27:5 to make her believe that “no one is righteous” and that saying so is sinful

part in psalms that assures that “wicked people will be no more if you just wait a little while longer” (this is the apocalypse imminent narrative they use to groom people with fear of dying or leaving but also to get them warmed up to the idea of mass death). “the righteous will inherit the earth and live forever” narrative so they believe that jws will live on earth forever after being resurrected while everyone else (whos not a jw) is killed by god

psalms 91 to drive home the fact that these people think theyre invincible in every meaning of the word, to natural disasters and disease etc

proverbs 6 part about “false witnesses”. jws believe that three jehovah’s witnesses have to be present to verify that a crime (like domestic or sexual abuse) actually happened or the governing body and elders don’t care. literally. the “false witness” narrative is used against survivors and people they want to silence in their organization and emphasizes how much jehovah hates “false witnesses” aka people brave enough to talk and victims

proverbs 12:18 about “wise and unwise tongues”, basically anyone that speaks out against the jws are “unwise” and harmful

proverbs 22 about raising children (”train up a child”, if you don’t know it already this is a child abuser dog whistle) that implies that indoctrination will last until adulthood if done right. this is especially bad because this copy is from the early 2000s when i was in kindergarten. this woman had been lurking on us since i was an infant.

proverbs 27 about how neighbors near is better than brothers far away. the implication here is that fundamentally family who aren’t jws don’t matter

ecclesiates 5. i genuinely think its warning people to not ask too much of god or risk his anger, thats the vibe im getting here because the wording is confusing as fuck

isiah 40:22 trying to hammer in the notion that god is greater than anything especially “worldly” governments (except the governing body ofc /s). isiah 43:10 the “you are my witnesses” to justify the name “jehovah’s witnesses” and shoehorn the idea in

daniel 2:40, the idea of an indescribable kingdom, the whole kingdoms in the “last days” conspiracy they use to convince people the “last days” are coming

matthew 4:8 where jesus is persuaded by satan by offering every kingdom on earth. the point in text is “don’t worship anyone except god” but the point of the jws is that nothing on earth actually matters

matthew 6:9 (nice), the our father, meant to make the reader to ask god to hasten the kingdom of god or as we ex-jws know hasten the apocalypse and the death of people they dont like

matthew 16:24, meant to convince people to leave everything behind and join the jws, “disown yourself” aka “die to yourself” toxic bullshit repackaged

matthew 19:9, to convince people that divorce even in instances of domestic abuse is wrong because the governing body won’t allow it and loves to control women

matthew 24:4-14, “anyone who doesnt speak for the jws is a false prophet” and warms people up to the notion that war is necessary; also that evidence of war is a sign of the “last days” and that this is supposed to be good news. ongoing war and the hope for global genocide is “good news” to them.

matthew 24:21. this one is meant to make people feel the apocalypse could happen at any time and to be afraid of it, a great war is coming and only the “chosen ones” (jehovah’s witnesses) will survive when everyone else dies. there’s a paper bookmark on this page. makes me wonder.

mark 8:34. the “die to yourself” bullshit, the idea that the cross was a “torture stake” because jws believe that wearing crosses is idolatry and they want other people to believe their quirky beliefs so they accept heavier things

matthew 10:28, “anyone who follows jehovah and jesus will literally live forever!” but also that “no one is prepared to leave their family for jesus and thats shameful because you should want to sacrifice your entire family!”

mark 11:24 “anything you pray for earnestly you get”. this is spiritual bypassing btw. and :25 “ask for forgiveness and be automatically forgiven no matter what you did” is also fucked

matthew 15-23: jesus (almost) gets wasted while being crucified etc, not sure why this one is highlighted unless im missing some jw bullshit here

luke 20:27. don’t understand this one but they’re threatening “heavier judgement” on people

john 5:28, promising resurrection through jesus after people die but only for the Good tm people (the jws)

john 6:15. how jesus is about to be arrested but goes to a mountain. dunno why this on is underlined

john 11:24. bringing home the same “jesus will save you from dying if youre a jw” bullshit. john 14:6 “jesus is the ONLY way ever! there can’t be anything else except jesus” indoctrination tailored to make you co-dependent. john 17:3, hook line and sinker of promising resurrection and “eternal life” again

john 17:15. here is the “we aren’t of the World tm” shit meant to make you feel outcast from everyone else who isnt a jw, setting up “the world” (everyone else) as other

acts 15:25. “follow the jw rules because the holy spirit you to”

romans 10:10, spread jw beliefs and witness as much as possible. romans 12:9 “hate everything jehovah hates so you’re not a hypocrite” basically means hate other people the jws don’t approve of

corinthians 6:9 (nice but not so nice this time) “anyone we don’t like won’t inherit the earth” translation: anyone we don’t like won’t survive the apocalypse thats definitely happening soon so always be afraid. “homosexuals” are changed to “men kept for unnatural purposes for this one.” still homophobic.

corinthians 7:6, the idea that everyone has a gift that needs to be exploited and used by the jws

corinthians 15:33. “don’t participate in any activities with any outsiders because it will lead you away from jehovah!! fun is ‘drunkenness’, you’ll loose your resurrection if you do!! non jw people are bad influences!!”

2 corinthians 7:1. your body and flesh is defiled, you need to be cleansed in order to be good

galatians 5:20. “having human emotions is sinful! struggling is sinful! being angry is sinful! having a bad day is sinful!” basically that being human is inherently wrong or something

ephesians  3:14. tries to make people believe everything is owed to god only and that obedience is good so they fall for cult power structures later. 4:28 here is just the top of the page being labeled “new personality” and thats all we need to know about indoctrination and cult personality vs actual personality. also “let not the sun set with you in a provoked state” being used against people still angry about being wronged and hurt by others and its been used against me a lot of times

ephesians 6:4. make sure the jw fathers provide the most discipline to children, literally uses the phrase “mental regulating of jehovah”. it couldn’t be more cult like at this point.

timothy 5:8 makes people believe that men alone are expected to provide and if they don’t they’re worse than “those without faith”. no pressure though!

timothy 6:19. wants people to neglect everything actually happening in favor of the “real life” (”eternal life”) instead and to constantly prepare for that instead of actually living life. dedicate your whole life to jw activities

titus 2. women need to be subjects to their husbands but also homemakers, live to glorify their husband, chaste and definitely not mentally ill or showing any symptoms. what the fuck is titus i never heard of this shit until today.

hebrews 1:7-14, trying to convince people that angels live to serve god but also has some superseccsionist/replacement theology (antisemitism) vibes going on

james 2:23, wants people to believe that god “putting people to the test” is actually a way to become “jehovah’s friend” and that being put to the test (read: suffering) is actually a good thing because it primes them to accept suffering as their fault later on. james 4:7 “everything evil will vanish if you rebuke it long enough!!”

peter 3:9 the “god’s timing is always right” gospel bs and encourages people not to do things themselves but to wait and also that jehovah will be on time when its time to start another global genocide. how encouraging! peter 3:13, the same “end of world near” scare tactic, “new heavens new earth” promise to eradicate everyone the jws dont like as that is jehvoah’s “promise” to the witnesses

1 john 3:8, their version of the original sin doctrine, the devil is the source of all evil scare tactic etc

short detour: every instance of “servant” is replaced with “slave” in this version. it makes me feel ill.

revelations 7:16, wants people to believe that god will take away all their pain and that they won’t need food or water to survive anymore (bullshit). also the jehovah’s witness 144,000 chosen people bullshit is here too but not highlighted

revelations 12:7-13, a depiction fo michael drop kicking satan and the implication that satan has always been in charge and not god because they want people to believe that. also that the devil will fall to earth and try to eat jws

revalations 14-4: virgins get dibs on heaven and god i guess. i dont know what the fuck is going on. 14:6 an angel yelling fear god from above, probably where the jws get most of their apocalyptic imagery from that they use to scare children into believing they could die at any minute

so now that we finally got to the end of that mess, their version of revalations ends with jesus saying “yes, i am coming quickly” and “may the undeserved kindness of jesus christ be with the holy ones.”

joking aside, everything highlighted in this copy of this book has been used against me and my mother for years and is a huge part of the reason i have religious trauma now. everything she was told or encouraged to highlight aided jehovah’s witness indoctrination and propaganda, her own indoctrination and eventually mine which apparently started even earlier than i thought.

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Gold Digger (Lena Luthor x Reader)

Prompt: Hey! Can you do a story where reader feels insecure about her social standing when she’s out on a date with Lena and then TRIES to break up with her?

Words: 1112

Warnings: I dunno if there’s language but I’mma say language just for safety sake, insecurity

-X-

“(Y/N): Gold Digger?”

Staring at the news article, tears flooded your eyes as you scrolled through the article on your computer. It discussed your recent dates, how Lena was always paying for them, and your chest began to ache.

You weren’t a gold digger. Sure, you didn’t make nearly as much as Lena but you tried desperately to do your share. If you went out to a nice restaurant, then you’d at least leave the tip or pay for the drinks or something. You rarely accepted Lena’s gifts but you showered her with them whenever you could afford them – yet there were quite a few articles discussing your relationship and calling you all sorts of names.

It broke your spirit a little.

Your phone chimed and you glanced at the message, a smile replacing the frown on your lips.

Lena: Are we still on for tonight, darling? I’ve been looking forward to seeing you all day. These meetings have been hell :(

You: Of course.

A series of hearts appeared on your phone and you chuckled, setting it beside your computer. Your eyes drifted back over to the words plaguing your screen but you closed the tab, determined not to let it bother you.

What did they know?

-X-

Sitting across from the most gorgeous woman in National City, you awkwardly picked at your appetizer as she talked about her day. Lena was discussing her latest project and you were excited for her – really, you were – but glancing around, you could see the contempt in your fellow diners’ eyes as they discretely watched you. They’d all seen the latest article about your relationship and everyone was wondering the same thing: were you a gold digger?

After all, you were at the nicest French restaurant in the city and it was evident you weren’t going to pay.

Lena had ordered the most expensive bottle of wine on the menu and, yes it tasted amazing, but it cost more than your monthly rent. How the hell were you going to split some of the bill with her if you couldn’t even afford the wine?

Noticing your silence, Lena worriedly reached out and touched your hand. “Are you okay, darling? Have I been talking too much about this project too much? I’m sorry.”

You shook your head. “No, Lena, it’s not that, I promise…”

“Then what is it, (Y/N)?” Lena could see the emotions warring in your eyes and she was concerned. She didn’t understand what was bothering you but she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to fix it.

Poking at your food, you glanced away and sighed.

“I think we need to break up.”

Those words hung between you like an anvil waiting to fall. You honestly couldn’t believe those words had slipped out but you didn’t take it back – didn’t know how to. You really didn’t want to lose Lena but the social gap between you was a lot to deal with. You’d never make what she did – no normal person ever would – and it left a hole in your chest. How could you ever provide for this woman if you weren’t even close to her tax bracket?

Lena was stunned, her hand falling from yours. “W-what?”

You could see the devastation in her eyes and it made you swallow harshly.

“Is it me? Have I done something?” Lena wondered, tears in brimming in her waterline. “I know I spend a lot of time at the lab but I can make more time for you, darling. I’m sorry if I made you feel second best.”

Fear stole your words and you stayed quiet.

“We could go on vacation, just you and me,” she suggested, desperation clawing at her throat.

“That’s not –” you cut yourself off. “It’s not you, Lena, it’s me.”

A humorless, dark laugh escaped Lena’s painted lips and she sat back. Her eyes narrowed into a glare as she studied you. “Ah, the famous “it’s not you, it’s me” response. How original. What’s really going on, (Y/N)? Is it someone else?”

Shaking your head violently, you stared at her earnestly. “No! That’s not…I don’t…” you exhaled sharply. “I would never cheat on you, Lee. I love you.”

“If you love me, then why do you want to break up?” She paused for a moment before her gaze flickered away. “Is it because I’m a Luthor?”

Unable to stop yourself, you grabbed Lena’s hand and squeezed. “God no! I don’t care about your last name.”

“Then what is it?” she begged, cherishing the last time she’d ever get to freely touch you.

You smiled sadly.

“You deserve so much better than me,” you said, the warmth of her hand thrumming through you. “You’ve got money, status, a world-renowned company and I can barely afford my rent. I can’t take you on lavish vacations or buy you nice things. How can I compete with everyone who can? You’ve dated geniuses and your best friend is a Super. And I mean, you have to have seen the articles about me being a gold digger. Everyone thinks so…” you shrugged helplessly.

“I don’t care about money,” she replied softly, urging you to listen. “I’ve never cared about wealth or status. I don’t want those things. I love everything you’ve bought me because I know it came from your heart, not your wallet. Everything you’ve given me has meant something and I cherish them all. I don’t need expensive things or lavish vacations. I just need you.”

Your heart flipped in your chest and tears welled up in your eyes. “Y-yeah?”

She gave a watery smile. “Of course, darling.” She giggled. “Besides, I like spoiling you. What else am I supposed to do with my money?”

You chuckled, squeezing her hand again. “I really do love you, Lena Luthor.”

She rose up from the table and – without a single care – sat herself in your lap and wrapped her arms around your neck. “I love you too, (Y/N). Next time you’re feeling insecure, please talk to me. Please…”

You nodded and pecked her lips, mindful of her lipstick. Your arms were around her waist and you hugged her close. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she promised, combing her fingers through your hair.

Maybe those fears would never go away. Maybe you’d always wonder if you were really worthy of the Lena Luthor – but that didn’t matter. Every time doubt crept in, you’d remember this moment and realize that nothing else was important but the two of you.

“Remind me to buy the publications that called you a gold digger tomorrow,” Lena murmured as she kissed your cheek, earning a hearty laugh.

Yeah, you’d be just fine.

[ashfae]

Festival

It wasn't that Crowley was impatient. On the contrary, he could be extremely patient. Had to be, in his line of work. Former line of work. Sort of former line of work. Because he was still a demon, no getting around that, and he still wanted to do demon-y things even if he did lean more towards the obnoxious trickster style rather than the kill you all and laugh at the corpses style.

Hastur. What an asshole. Best thing about being retired was not having to deal with bloody Hastur anymore.

Well. One of the best things.

The point was, Crowley wasn't impatient, no. He'd be perfectly willing to hang around indefinitely doing his own thing while waiting for his goals to mature. 90% of temptation was timing. Even Eve might've taken more persuading if he hadn't chosen his moment just right. (Well, probably. There'd been a lot of good moments there. Adam might've had more imagination and near-infinite things to name, but Eve had found very quickly that waiting around while he was busy got boring as all Heaven. There were only so many trees you could climb before you got tired of only seeing the same view every time).

...the point was, Crowley was plenty patient when he knew what he was doing. The problem was he had no sodding idea what he was doing now. They'd had the dance perfected for years now, for centuries. Wile and thwart, tempt and resist, forward and back. Opposite and opposed and always moving together in tandem, like any dancers. And it'd worked for them. Sure there'd been the odd misstep, when he'd pushed too far or Aziraphale had been just that smidge too sanctimonious or they'd gotten a little too argumentative about the merits of Into the Woods vs Sweeney Todd. It was still a good dance. But now someone had changed the tune or gotten them a new venue or in some other way thoroughly over extended the metaphor and the point was, the point was that now they were going through the motions without actually dancing, much less learning new steps, and Crowley kept tripping over his own feet.

It was possible that he should have been more sober while trying to figure this out, but drinking with Aziraphale was still one of the things that usually went to plan and they did a lot of it. They did a lot of other things too, meals and shows and walks in the park and museums and whatever the Heaven they wanted, and it was great, it was bloody marvelous really, but then Crowley would get a little too in his head (or drunk) and wonder where all these steps were leading or if they were even leading anywhere and then there was nothing for it but to open another bottle and try to remember what point he'd been trying to make.

He frowned down into his glass. He almost had it. He was sure he almost had it.

"You've gone very quiet, my dear. Is something wrong?"

"Hmm?" Crowley didn't look up.

Aziraphale leaned forward. "I asked, is something wrong?"

"Festival!" Crowley shouted, slamming his glass down on the table. (It didn't break, because it was polite like that)

Aziraphale looked startled. "I beg your pardon."

Crowley pointed at him. "S'what I was trying to remember. 'I was not born under a rhyming planet, nor I cannot woo in festival terms.'" He blinked and frowned again, and so missed how Aziraphale's expression suddenly softened into something openly fond. "Izzat a double negative? Whatever. The point was, festival terms."

"You always did prefer the funny ones," Aziraphale murmured to himself. "What about festival terms was it you were trying to remember?"

Crowley snorted. "What they bloody well are. Like, are you supposed to woo with, with talking about tents and lights and, I dunno, bloody mulled cider or something? Can't mean that."

"No, it doesn't, and also I believe you're thinking not of festivals but of German Christmas Markets."

"Am I?" Crowley considered the end of his nose, which he could almost see if he crossed his eyes just the right way. "...yeah, might be. Damn."

He flopped back in his chair, musing. Aziraphale placed his glass on the table between them (rather more decorously, though it didn't break either, out of solidarity with its fellow). "Festivals are at their heart celebrations, often though not always religious. In Benedict's context, which I believe you're attempting to penetrate--" Crowley giggled a little at the word 'penetrate', and repeated it under his breath while reaching for his glass again. (It had refilled itself during the break. As previously mentioned, it was a very polite glass of wine). "--he means simply...well. Fancy language. Extravagant and meant to impress, for the art of courting and singing praise."

Crowley stayed quiet this time. 'Singing praise' could be a euphemism too, if not as funny, but it had other meanings that were distinctly less appealing. Aziraphale had stood up and moved over to the chair. "So for example," he continued, waving his hands a little nervously in the air. "I could say...well. I could quote you poetry, I daresay I'd make a hash of writing it if I tried, but I could quote it at you. Something by Will, as you've just done for me. But delivered more...earnestly."

Crowley blinked, looking up owlishly (assuming that was possibly with snake eyes, which it likely wasn't). Something had gotten confused somewhere. Why was Aziraphale standing over him and smiling like that? Wait, now he was kneeling down. That was much more weird. "Or instead," the angel continued. "I could simply take your hand--like so--and kiss it, and ask if I might...ah, change my choice of endearments for you."

Crowley stared. Aziraphale smiled and lifted the loose fingers in his grip to his mouth, kissing them gently. "Which is to say, we could attempt to woo each other by writing or reciting poetry in the most outrageous purple prose, and that would count as festival terms. But it's hardly obligatory. We could instead just...just continue as we are. But a bit differently. With me calling you 'dearest,' instead of merely 'my dear,' for example. Is that what you were wondering, my dearest?"

He was too busy staring at their fingers to answer. They were ever so slightly slicked from having touched Aziraphale's mouth, and that distracted Crowley for several seconds. "Yeah..." He swallowed. "Yeah, uh. That. That was the point."

"Well." Aziraphale looked pleased by whatever it was he was looking at, which would be...Crowley's face. Okay. "For the record, I would be entirely amenable to that and have no need of festival terms, as you've so delightfully remembered to call such gestures."

"Oh." Crowley was still having a remarkably difficult time remembering how words worked. Which, right, that had been the problem, along with the overextended dancing metaphors. But it seemed as though Aziraphale was giving him permission to skip the part about knowing how words worked. That was...helpful.

Aziraphale looked, in fact, more than a little expectant, and finally tugged on Crowley's hand to pull him closer. Fortunately while Crowley might have been uncertain when it came to rhyming planets and festival terms, he still knew a cue when he saw one.

Their first kiss was perfectly timed and didn't rhyme with anything, which suited them both just fine.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A03 link

@thetunewillcome No idea if you still want to be notified about these but here y’go. =)

[theatresweetheart]

Okay, this isn't exactly a dialogue prompt, but! In your parental royality au, what would happen when Virgil does find out that everyone knows about his tally journal?

When Things Aren’t Okay

Warnings: Shouting, swearing, heavy angst, accusations, running away, fighting, arguing, fear of parental rejection, crying.

Pairings: Brotherly Analogical, Romantic/Parental Royality, Familial LAMP

Characters: Logan, Virgil, Patton, Roman.

Word Count: 1789 words

Continuation/AU: Tally Marks, Untold Notebook Secrets

A/n: This is some heavy angst, so please be warned of that! However, this AU isn’t all heavy sadness, there is comfort coming! 

                                         ——————————

“Logan, do you think I’m a disappointment?”

Logan’s attention flickered up from his homework and turned to face the thirteen-year-old sitting on the window sill, his knees tucked up into his chest.

Virgil wasn’t looking at him. Logan was positive he would continue to not look at him.

Though, before he had the chance to respond, Virgil was speaking.

“Mr. Wood told me I‌ was a disappointment today,”‌ he said, letting his chin rest against his knees, staring out into the fading light of the day. “I‌ mean, I‌ get why he said it, you know?‌ Not like I disagree really.” He puffed his cheeks up with air before letting it out with a soft sound. “Mrs. Wood even agreed, but in that way where she says it like she doesn’t mean it, but it’s telling that she really does believe it.”

Logan’s brows pulled forward, concern etching itself across his face. The fact that Virgil wasn’t even disagreeing with the people that spoke down to him was not sitting well with Logan.

“I‌ just–” Virgil’s voice stuttered and his breathing hitched, but he didn’t turn to face Logan. “I‌ just want to hear it from you. That I’m… that I’m not a disappointment.”

Because then, maybe he’d believe it.

                                        ——————————

A few nights had passed after Roman and Patton had found Virgil’s tally journal. And there was a feeling of constant worry that seemed to hover over their shoulders; an anxiety that Virgil would figure out that they knew and then all hell would break loose.

Patton had upped his usual kindness with Virgil, but it wasn’t that noticeable. Patton had always been loving and doting on the seventeen-year-old, so it was nothing new. He wanted to get him involved in family things, when they had movie nights or played a board game together. (Which usually lasted about an hour before Virgil got bored and Logan went to finish his homework.)

Roman’s change was a bit more obvious, but not to the point where it was like a flashing light. Whenever he looked at Virgil, his eyes were sadder, more subdued– as if thinking about everything the boys had faced before coming into their home. He was still as much an overbearing and overwhelmingly warm presence as before, but there was just something more diminished. Quieter.

If this had been the case with both parents beforehand, Logan would have been inclined to do some digging himself. However, since he knew the cause of this distress, he waited in silent agony for the moment Virgil found out the truth.

It was quiet one night, he and Virgil were finishing up with the dishes from supper.

“Do you think Dad and Pa are acting weird?” Virgil said, taking the final plate from Logan and drying it off with the dish towel.

Logan hummed, expertly hiding his surprise behind a quirked brow. He pulled the drain from the sink. “How so?”

Virgil shrugged his shoulders, opening the cupboard and putting the plate away. He slung the dish towel over his shoulder in an idle and thoughtless motion. “I‌ dunno,”‌ he admitted, his eyes flickering toward the stairs, leading to their bedrooms. In turn, where Roman and Patton had disappeared to only a few moments prior. “They’re just acting…different. Like, Pa is always asking if I want to join him and Dad for movie nights. And Dad is always wanting to know about my day and things I‌ like and stuff, but more then they do usually. Y’know?”

“I‌ have to say I haven’t noticed anything,”‌ Logan told him, turning to face the other boy, mirroring Virgil’s leaned position against the counter. “They seem normal to me.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “You can’t seriously tell me you don’t see them sharing these concerned looks over my head.”

Logan paused, looking briefly surprised. That little slip-up was what caused Virgil to narrow his eyes suspiciously. He stepped forward.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he accused. “Don’t you?”

“Of course I‌ don’t.”

“You’re a really shitty liar, Logan,” Virgil snorted. “Mr. I-See-Everything-and-then-snitch. You know that Dad and Pa have been acting weird, you just don’t want to acknowledge it.”

“Well, so what if they have been?” Logan said defensively. He snatched the dish dowel off of Virgil’s shoulder before using it to dry his hands. He tucked it back onto the oven’s handle before leading out of the kitchen, intending to leave this conversation behind. “It’s none of our business.”

“No, it very much is.” Virgil was quick to follow him out, brushing past him and stepping in front of him. “Because this only started a couple days ago. After Pa told us to put our books into a pile so he could donate them.”

It was almost as if after Virgil had said those words aloud, something in the air shifted. A‌ shadow overcame his baby brother’s face and his eyes darkened slightly, but only in the way that said he was thinking about something.

“…you don’t think–” Virgil’s voice was quiet, contemplative.

Logan tucked his hands into his pockets, a concerned look painting across his features at the soft words. It was obvious Virgil wasn’t talking to him, but to himself. Though, that didn’t stop Logan from pushing slightly further. “Don’t think… what?”

Virgil’s eyes flickered up to meet his own, this time startled. He didn’t say anything as he turned on his heels and zipped up the stairs.

Logan felt a rock sink into his stomach. It was uncomfortable and heavy and it made his chest seize up. He was quick to follow Virgil up the stairs, turning the corner and seeing his younger brother had left his door open and was tearing through his bedroom.

Looking for something that wasn’t there.

Guilt flushed forward when Logan heard the soft panicked noises.

He stepped forward, intending to say something, but Virgil’s eyes turned up to meet his own instead. The words died instantly in Logan’s throat when he registered the glassy look in Virgil’s eyes, how they were swimming with tears. But there was panic behind that gaze, wild and heady. He looked like a scared and cornered animal.

“Do you think they found it?”‌ Virgil asked, his voice growing hoarse.

Logan decided it was better to play as if he didn’t know better. “Found what?‌ Virgil, what are you talking about?”

“My notebook!”‌ Virgil’s voice was sharp, but on the cusp of shattering. “I know you know what I’m talking about!‌ You really think I didn’t know?”

Logan’s mouth went dry, feeling as though he had been caught with his hand in the metaphorical cookie jar. He blinked, feeling as though he was the one cornered when he in fact had the option to leave without another word. “I‌.. I‌ don’t–”

Virgil’s eyes hardened. They were dark and accusatory, but that didn’t take away from the fact that they were wet. “Tell me honestly,‌” he grit through his teeth, hands clenched at his sides. “Do they know?”

Logan didn’t have the chance to answer, the door down the hall opened. It took no time at all before Roman and Patton were standing behind Logan, both looking equally worried. Virgil’s attention flickered between both of his parents before falling back to Logan.

And Logan felt such an overwhelming amount of guilt at that broken look.

“Fuck you.”

The words were poison. Logan had to turn his gaze away.

For once, neither parent jumped to say anything to Virgil about his bad language. Instead, Roman stepped forward, past Logan and into Virgil’s bedroom. Virgil matched that step forward with a step backward, looking like he wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

Like he just wanted to run. And keep running.

“I didn’t mean to find it,” Patton told him earnestly, his voice soft as he stepped forward to stand beside Roman. “I didn’t even know what it was. It still doesn’t make a whole lot of sense now.”

“It was a private thing,” Virgil said, as if they didn’t understand that. “You were never meant to find it in the first place. You were never supposed to know what any of that meant and Logan, for some god forsaken reason, thought it’d be okay if he told you what it was!”

“The only reason he told us was because we asked him to.” Roman knew this backlash had been coming, but it was worse then he had expected truthfully.

“But he still told you!”‌ Virgil’s voice cracked—either from anger or un-shed tears, it was hard to see. “That was my thing! If I‌ wanted you to know, I‌ would have told you!”

“And we understand that you’re upset,” Patton told him quickly. “You have every right to be, but just because we know, it doesn’t change anything.”

“But it already has,”‌ Virgil spat back, “you and Roman share these pity looks over my head. You’ve upped your kindness and try to get me involved in more family things, Roman’s making more of an effort than ever before to try and get to know me. You think I don’t notice? You think all of that is just going over my head?”

He’d managed to shock them all into silence.

Virgil nodded his head, lower lip quivering dangerously. He sucked it in and bit down into it, wanting to still it. “That’s what I thought.”

He moved forward and ducked around his parents, dipping his shoulder out of the way when Patton tried to reach out to him. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, hiked up his hoodie further and escaped down the stairs. Their parents followed him down the stairs quickly, talking over each other as if that would stop the teenager from leaving.

Logan stayed glued to his spot on the carpet. Feeling numb and cold.

There was some shouting from downstairs before the front door opened and slammed shut. Logan heard the door open again. He could hear Patton and Roman calling for Virgil to come back, they’re voices were muffled through the floor and walls.

                                        ——————————

“You’re not a disappointment, Virgil,”‌ Logan told him firmly, shutting his textbook before setting it to the side. He was giving his brother all of his attention, even if Virgil wouldn’t look at him.

There was a soft hiccuping breath from in front of him. Virgil’s head tilted just enough to the side to allow Logan to see his face. “Really?”

Logan couldn’t have said it more firmly than that. He needed his baby brother to know that he was the furthest thing from a disappointment. “Really.”

Virgil sucked in another stuttering breath, using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe at his eyes.

Because if Logan said it, then it must be true.

[late-to-the-sexy-party]

Solid Ground

A scene in which Rae and Finn hang out and some stuff comes up.

Takes place a while after S2 and I’m not really concerned about S3.

Also posted on AO3.

Thanks, Lil, as always.

Rae and Finn were sitting on his bedroom floor, drinking beer and thumbing through music mags when Rae popped her head up, “Finn?” She tried to make her voice high, lilting, but was pretty sure she sounded harsh and halting. Had he just flinched a little? She was so fucking bad at nonchalant.

From the cadence of that one syllable, Finn could tell he was in for it. Rae often got these ideas of things to ask him which inevitably made him squirm, like whether he ever fancied a teacher or had ever secretly wanted to kiss Archie or how old he was when he’d had his first erection. It had always given him a small thrill, because even though the questions were awkward, he liked the way she made him talk and the way she listened. That’s how they’d built their together world, question by question, answer by answer, a head curled into the other’s lap or legs stretched parallel up onto the wall. More recently, however, her questions had become less fun and more about the other girls he’d dated. He braced himself.

“What did ya like best about going out with Stacey?”

The thought that Finn had been with every hot lass in Lincolnshire made Rae cringe. However, since knowing was better than imagining, she and her diary had launched Operation Desensitization, an attempt to gather as much information as possible, to rake her eyes over the truth and, in theory, neutralize it. But she was growing edgy with this business of sounding casual in the face of what he might say.

The question about Stacey made Finn uncomfortable, but he thought he could manage it. “Dunno…she had a nice house I guess. And I liked her dog.”

Rae rolled her eyes and looked at Finn like he had a screw loose, “Her house? Her dog? Right! Neither of those things are really about Stacey!”

“You asked what I liked about going out with Stacey not what I liked about her.” Finn squinted and shifted in front of her.

“What are we in English class?” Rae responded, exasperated. “Fine! What did you like about HER?” She was regretting her tone, but she couldn’t modulate. He didn’t deserve this attitude, but her head was tensing and something inside her was slipping off its hook.

She was getting worked up and quickly, but Finn still thought he could navigate this. “Not much…she’s not a nice person. I broke up with her when I saw how badly she treated people.” He watched Rae’s face for clues of a misstep.

“Did she treat you badly?” Rae asked with genuine interest.

“Nah, but girls, her mates and stuff. She’s just mean. And, like, so boring.”

“Hmmm,” Rae nodded, searching, “but you…you still had sex with her?”

Finn pulled his lips into a thin line and briefly closed his eyes; there was the familiar feeling of everything shifting and his control slipping away. Over the past few weeks, Rae seemed to be daring herself to ask more and more questions about his past experiences; how he’d met girls, what kind of dates they went on, what they talked about, but this was the most explicit she had been so far. Finn corkscrewed his mouth to one side and looked toward the window as he slowly nodded.

Rae mirrored the gesture. Her mind was regularly plagued by thoughts of Finn with all the girls he’d sexed before. The images came stacked and staticky: a tangle of toned limbs, his tongue grazing a flat stomach, his hands removing a normal sized bra, two people humping in closets that were too small for Rae alone. “You’ve had sex with a lot of girls.”

“Dunno…” was all Finn could muster as he started fidgeting with his ear. He hated the insecurity that led to these questions when it was the opposite of what he loved about her. But he also knew she was trying to work something out, and he recognized the bravery of that. He wanted to be holding her now, kissing her and reassuring her, but he knew better. In moments like this, his touch made her flinch.

Rae knew he’d been with other girls. Beyond his reputation, it was obvious from the way he behaved in bed, something confident and matter-of-fact. But this had been the first actual acknowledgement. The skin on her neck and face felt taut and twitchy. The realness of the moment was hard but satisfying and strangely liberating. When she glanced up at Finn, she realized he looked like someone trying to gentle a spider off a window ledge into a cup, anxious that it might get away or get a leg cut off by the rim. She was sympathetic but undeterred.

“I know you think I’m trying to trap you into saying something you don’t want to say… but please tell me what that was like with Stacey.”

Finn shook his head and furrowed his brow. “Nah…why d’ya want to know all that?” I don’t want to hear about you gettin’ off with some other bloke!” He really didn’t and shouldn’t she find that flattering?

Her mind tucked away the compliment to think about later while her mouth bulldozed ahead. “Alright, fine! But I do want to know. Tell me SOMETHING!”

She was speaking not just with her mouth but with her eyes and her hands too. If he could just kiss her right now, this would all be a lot easier. Finn was at a loss for words, but they were going to have to come soon if Rae’s penetrating look was any indication. He took a deep breath and moved his lips, “Yeah…ok…ah…ahh…I..ayay…arr…Rae! This is weird!”

Rae softened at Finn’s tongue-tied attempt and began to laugh. She hadn’t meant to make him so uncomfortable and it was sweet how earnestly he was trying. In an effort to lighten the mood, she threw a pillow at him, yelling, “Man UP, Finley! Tell me about Stacey Stringfellow’s snatch!”

Finn was laughing too now. But he knew that Rae relied on jokes when she felt vulnerable and he never liked that, so he tried to settle down.

And then Rae couldn’t wait any longer to ask the real question on her mind; she twisted a long strand of hair around her finger, not fully convinced she was ready to know this. “Is it different with me?”

Finn looked down and then up at her, almost guiltily “…yeah?”

“And I don’t mean cuz you luuuv me,” she goaded him, “I’m serious. I want to know how it’s different…like…logistically.”

Finn bit his lower lip, was this what it had all been about? Was she just comparing herself to those other girls? He was shit with words, but this he could answer. He knew what he wanted to say, but it took a long minute to pull his thoughts together. “Look,” he finally started, “I’m not gonna tell you I hated sleeping with Stacey, that would be stupid. But it’s different with you and not just ‘cuz I luuuv you’ and ‘awww we both love Oasis and Morissey’ and ‘Oh Rae really gets me,’ but… I mean…it feels different.”

Rae shook her head in disgust, “Right! Cuz I’m huge, and I smother you.”

“No, I’m not sayin’ that,” Finn was frustrated but caught her darting eyes with his and held them until she focused. “Yeah, your body’s different than anyone else I’ve ever been with. It’s bigger… and softer… and dead sexier.”

Finn raised his eyebrows to emphasize those last two words and they zinged down Rae’s spine. It was new to hear him tell her this so frankly. She knew she turned him on, but… then another thought broadcast across her mind. “Finn? It’s not BECAUSE I’m big that you like me is it?”

Finn let out a small laugh at the no-winningness of this conversation. “No, Rae, I can honestly say that I’d like you no matter what size you were. All I know is your body turns me on like nothin’ else and I dunno…it’s like some kinda bonus.” His eyes had wandered off but now returned her gaze. “Do you remember the first time we did it? That time in your new room?”

Rae looked at him like he’d asked if she knew her own name.

“Right, well after making me wait for months, when I was finally all up inside ya… it was so intense, like I could feel you everywhere at once…in my toes and my knees and my ears. I was kinda lost in ya.”

“Really.” She said as she started to feel the truth of his words.

“Really.” Finn confirmed as he offered one of his most heartbreaking smiles.

Rae felt a warmth in her core from her heart to her ovaries, but she also felt suddenly exposed. She covered by teasing him, “Yeah, I guess that was KINDA obvious, since you came within the first ten seconds!”

“Oi! Girl! We did it like three more times that night. You came like fifteen times!”

“Seven,” she corrected him.

“Ohh only seven? You poor lass,” Finn feigned sympathy. “Seriously though, not bad for our first go. You were…impressive.”

“Aww thanks,” Rae said only half joking, “I had a lot of practice. I’d really built up my stamina.”

Finn almost spit out his beer. She still amused the crap out of him. He zoned out as his thoughts went back to that night. He recalled how after hours of fumbling, she finally taught him how to touch her, how she had dazzled him then with her capacity for pleasure and her appetite for it. Girls had always been so timid with him about what they wanted, acted like they mostly wanted to take care of him. It was so much hotter to watch Rae take what she needed and use him for it. It had been a revelation.

Rae was preoccupied by her own memory, how she’d eschewed Finn’s many attempts to drag her on top of him and then surprised herself by suggesting she straddle his hand. She had probably surprised both of them when she stopped holding back, when she stretched out prone above his whole arm while riding his index and middle fingers, had moved greedily along his hand to slide those fingers out of her and up to her clit, had directed him to stiffen them and alternate pressure between them until she was spasming uncontrollably and he was left with a tiny heartbeat pulsing against his fingertips. And then she did it again…and again… until he was lunging at her lips to catch every moan before it escaped.

Rae was smiling to herself as she reminded him of the aftermath. “I was so sore the next day and you had so many love bites, you looked like you’d been in a fight with a blowfish.”

Finn was laughing now, “Yeah, and I had to hide from your mum in the bathtub.”

“It was some night,” Rae mused.

“Yeah it was,” he confirmed, looking down, eyes twinkling. “And I’m still lost in ya.”

Rae blushed at that, “Well let’s just say I’m not sending out any search parties.”

“Oh yeah?” Finn raised a cheeky eyebrow at her, “Not even a sexy one?”

Rae smiled wide and gave a coy tilt of her head as she nodded, “Ok… maybe a sexy one.”

When Finn saw her teeth as she smiled, he had another familiar feeling, a sweep of relief as the floor leveled and walls realigned. He was next to her in a flash, scooping up her hand and pressing his nose into her shoulder.

He spoke quietly into the crook of her neck, “Rae, that first time…it wasn’t just my feet and my ears, it was like something inside me, like in my head…it wasn’t just your body…it was like everything altogether, ya know?”

Rae wondered again how this kind, thoughtful and gentle soul had found her, but all she said was, “yeah, I think so.” And she meant it, which was a lot.

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Running Up That Hill || Morgan & Remmy

TIMING: This afternoon

PARTIES: @whatsin-yourhead & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Remmy try to catch up and unload their problems. But some problems are too difficult to share.

The world wasn’t so scary anymore, but without the buffer of something taking up space in Remmy’s mind, the sorrow that clung to their heart had crawled its way back in. Heavy on their shoulders, they had walked all the way to Morgan and Deirdre’s-- which wasn’t actually that far from Lydia’s home-- without stopping. Granted, endless energy made the trudge much easier. It also made it easier for their mind to wander. They couldn’t stop thinking about the night they’d spent with Luce-- how warm her skin always felt, how sweet her lips tasted. How gentle she’d been when they’d let her touch them. Their chest filled with a heat just thinking about it, finding themself craving her more now. They couldn’t shake her from their head, even with everything else left to worry about, all they could focus on was Luce. Rubbing their eyes, they came to a stop, realizing they’d made it to Morgan’s place already. Looking around, they straightened themself out before heading up to the door and giving a knock. They hadn’t prepared anything to say, and they weren’t sure they’d be able to say what Morgan asked without that pain swelling in their throat coming out. But when the door opened, and they saw Morgan’s face, it really didn’t matter. They folded her into a tight hug in what seemed like it would have been suddenly, had the conversation last night not gone the way it had. “Sorry,” they mumbled after a moment, but didn’t pull away, “I can’t hug Lydia this tight.”

Morgan leapt straight into Remmy’s arms and clung tight to her heart’s content. Remmy’s arms were small, but they had enough strength to buckle her rib bones, and the little dents they made in her organs were a bittersweet relief because they meant Remmy was here and she didn’t have to hold the world up anymore. Tears eeked out of the corners of her eyes. “Don’t you dare be sorry,” she said, sniffling into their shoulder. “You give the best hugs. The best, okay?” Even when Remmy loosened their hold, she stayed close to them. “You’re looking a little worn out. Don’t tell me this place is kicking your ass too right now. Or if it is, at least tell me it’s something we can scream or punch our way out of?” She pulled them by the hand and collapsed onto the couch with them, curling up into their side.

A smile tried to tug itself onto their face, but only made it halfway there before Remmy felt the weight of everything else pull it down. “Okay,” they agreed quietly, following Morgan inside. It was the same house it always was, but something hung in the air that Remmy couldn’t quite place. It was both lighter and heavier all at once. Maybe even from two different things. They sunk greedily into the soft couch and tucked Morgan’s small frame into them, finding comfort in the small action. The safety they felt in her arms was paralleled only by being with Lydia. “Oh, um....it’s...well...I dunno if it’s a punch out thing, but maybe it can be a talk out thing,” they stuttered through the words. They weren’t sure why they were nervous to tell Morgan-- were they worried she’d be mad at them? Angry? Upset? They didn’t know. “I uh-- I slept with Luce again,” they said quickly. “I-I know it was a bad idea, but I just-- I couldn’t help it.”

Morgan had braced herself for a whole number of possibilities. She wasn’t sure how many more worries she could squeeze onto her plate, but she’d make the space for Remmy--until they confessed what had happened. Morgan couldn’t help but snort. “Oh, honey--” She brushed back the scruffy hair that stuck out from their head. “Remmy--” She shook her head, but there was nothing angry or disappointed in her expression. “She’s that irresistible, huh? How do you feel? How are things going for you two after...that.”

Remmy let out a long puff of air. “I guess,” they muttered, but Morgan was right-- Remmy couldn’t stay away, even if they wanted to. The other night proved that. Huffing, they crossed their arms over their chest. “I don’t know, and I hate it. She says she’s good, but when has Luce ever said that and meant it?” they looked earnestly over at Morgan, before feeling their body droop. “It was my idea, too,” they grumbled, “I feel so-- stupid. I was supposed to have boundaries, be strong, and I just--” they waved their hands in front of them, “the minute I saw her I couldn’t not kiss her.”

“Remmy--” Morgan stretched up to kiss their temple. “You’ve really got it bad, huh? Listen, I don’t have any great advice here, except maybe, you know, try to lay down more of those boundaries. Try. But that’s easier said than done. You may recall the number of times I came here to have some very un-casual casual sex with Deirdre, and the a month or so where I was living here, sharing an un-sexy bed, and making out with her while insisting that we were just friends. And then there’s all the all girls back in Texas I insisted were just for the night and then made the mistake of holding repeat engagements, before I learned better. Point is: I am the reigning queen of terrible sex decisions. Welcome, my dear Remmy, to my queendom. Would you like me to whip you up some nachos or popcorn about it? Because there’s not much to do about this one besides letting it all out with your friends. What’d she say besides that she was ‘good’?”

“She asked me to stay,” Remmy said quietly, looking up at Morgan with big, bashful eyes. Even if it seemed impossible, they couldn’t help but cling to the small hope that Luce cared about them, too. That maybe she even liked them back. “Afterwards. And it was--” they gave a small pause, “--it was the first time I let her touch me, too.” They sat back a little. “I haven’t-- since I woke up dead. Let anyone…” Did it mean something? Or were they reading into it? They needed to know, and they were looking at Morgan as if she were the only one with the answer. They knew it wasn't’ fair, but they couldn’t help it. “Nachos sound nice,” they murmured after a small silence. “I could eat some nachos right now.”

“Oh, honey,” Morgan repeated, dragging out the word. She had been there, was still kind of there even, savoring all of the amazing little treasures of affection Deirdre gave her, from her practiced touches, to her swift, almost mindless kisses, and all the words and smiles she gave. There were less of them now, with everything happening with Regan, but Morgan treasured what she received even more now, knowing Deirdre was working against her despair to be present for her. “That’s a big base to cross. I’m proud of you, however this shakes out, okay? Just give me a sec, okay? I already have some half done for us.” She kissed the top of Remmy’s head and disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes, assembling everything and pouring hot, diced brains on top. When they were ready, Morgan came back with a big bowl and promptly placed it in their lap before crawling back into their place against them. “Is there more to the story that you wanna share? I’m guessing you did stay over? Was there breakfast, coffee? Goodbye kisses?”

Remmy waited idly while Morgan went to get their nachos. They rubbed their palms along the tops of their pants in a small, nervous manner, sitting up a little straighter when Morgan came back into the room and handed the plate over. They cozied in and let her reattach herself to her side, taking a small bite before answering her question. “Not really. Um-- I think she felt weird making stuff when she knows I don’t eat. It was-- well, not awkward, but also not, like...that,” they said, pushing around some of the nachos with a finger. They looked over at Morgan almost expectantly. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I feel like I should just...get over it. Get over her, but I--” they scratched at their jeans, “--I don’t think I want to.” It was hard to explain-- even after all the hurtful things Luce had said, all of the times she’d pushed them away, they’d seen enough of her softness to know there were feelings buried in her somewhere. They could almost feel it. “I know that really doesn’t help with...all the other shit I’m trying to work through, but I just-- I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about someone before.” They offered the plate to Morgan, before setting it on the table in front of them. “Why are girls so complicated?”

Morgan took a chip and scooped it deep into her brain mix before the bowl went to rest on the table. She chewed thoughtfully, savoring the spicy-tangy taste as she listened to her friend. “I wish I knew why girls and girl stuff was so complicated, Remmy. If we could make caring about one another un-complicated and stick in a bottle, we’d make billions. People-- some of the most incredible people are the most hurt, or the most locked away, or the most angry. I’m sure there’s gotta be some out there that aren’t, but maybe you and I...we just don’t click with them like we do the people we really like. And who even knows how or why we’re drawn to the people we are. I don’t think I’ve known many people who came together perfectly, with no bumps or hold ups, and stayed together. It’s all one big clusterfuck of a mystery. I gotta ask you something though--” She turned her head so she could lock eyes with Remmy. “Do you think you might love her, Remmy?”

Remmy listened intently to Morgan’s mini-speech-- she was really good at that, and they supposed that was why she was an English teacher. But it didn’t change the meaning of her words, or about how right she was. They could only wish for an easy answer. And then, of course, she had to ask the hardest question of them all-- and Remmy knew the answer, but they hadn’t said it outloud yet. They almost didn’t want to. They picked at a spot on their jeans, unable to look Morgan in the eyes, even as she attempted to lock them in. “I-- don’t know. I’m not sure I really...know what romantic love feels like, anymore. Cause I thought I-- I thought I loved him, my last-- I thought that was love, but it wasn’t, and I...well...how can I know?” they chanced a small look over at her, wondering if their face would be flushed had it been able to be. Wondering if this was really the talk they needed to be having when they still felt like their past held a vice grip on them, chaining them to a personhood they no longer had possession of.

“Ooh! This one, I do have an answer for!” Morgan helped herself to another loaded tortilla chip and stuffed it into her mouth. “I don’t know how much you’re going to like it, Remmy, and maybe it sounds cheesy but…” She sighed, holding Remmy’s gaze affectionately. It was so familiar, and so unfair. “When you know, Remmy, you know. I’ve never-- I’d been with people before and I’d had hope for people before, but I’d never been loved this way. And I’d never been in love, except for one sad high school obsession that wasn’t allowed to go anywhere. I knew about as much as you right now...when you know, you know. It’s just...something in us that most of us can understand when it comes. So if you think you do, Remmy, those heart flutters and heart aches, and the catalog of expressions you keep in your head, the thrill of one more minute or one more hour together-- I think it is what you think it is.”

Remmy stayed quiet while Morgan talked, trying to absorb what she was saying and see if that matched how they felt. The truth was, they didn’t really know how they felt-- they just knew that watching Luce suffer made them hurt, and watching her be happy made them happy, and touching her felt like the greatest thing in the world. So-- huh. Maybe Morgan was right. They looked over at her, swallowing. “What if she doesn’t...love me back?” they asked quietly, almost so quiet it could’ve been missed had they not been so close together, and had their mouth not moved to say the words.

Morgan draped an arm around Remmy and tucked them closer together. “If she doesn’t, then Luce is even more of an emotionally stunted idiot than I already think she is. And you may not stop loving her all at once or ever, knowing you, but you’ll have to at least try to get on without her. Find someone who will appreciate the love you have to offer.” Her head fell to rest on Remmy’s shoulder, tired and sad. “But maybe she does. Maybe she just doesn’t know how to say it yet…”

Remmy settled into Morgan and put their head on top of hers when she rest on their shoulder. “Was it hard for you? With Deirdre?” they asked into the silence after a long moment. They weren’t sure why asking that helped, but maybe they just wanted to know this struggle wasn’t theirs alone. “To say it? Did she-- she figured out how to say it. Was that hard?” The world felt heavy and quiet around them, and the nachos were going cold, but Remmy didn’t want to move. Not yet. They wanted something solid, something real. Anyone, or anything. Morgan couldn’t always be their rock, they knew that.

“Well, I met her in January, moved in sometime in March, and even when she asked me to be her girlfriend in April, she immediately had a panic attack and started crying when I said I loved her,” Morgan replied. It wasn’t the best weather forecast for Remmy and Luce if this was some kind of pattern with other women, but it didn’t occur to her to tell Remmy anything other than the truth. “We’ve talked about all that since, and she’s said...she loved me back then. As far back as that stupid week and a half break up, maybe before. She was really scared about it. Some of it was the way she was brought up, a lot of it honestly, but...yeah, it was really hard. But then, after I said it, and then said she didn’t have to right away, that it would just be nice to hear someday, after that it was easy. I mean, you know what a romantic dope she is. I think we say it at least ten times a day.” She shrugged. “Maybe Luce just needs to get over that hump. Or maybe she’s just not the kind of person to say that a lot.” Her mother certainly wasn’t, but Ruth Beck wasn’t a kind of person Morgan wanted Remmy to be getting close to. “I hope if it is hard now, it gets easy later. At least the feelings part. Feelings and talking and being kind should come easy, I think. There’s so much other hard stuff you can’t do anything about, no matter how hard you try, at least the basic things shouldn’t be hard too,” she sighed.

Remmy was quiet again. They weren’t sure what else to say. Everything Morgan said was true and right and the way she talked about Deirdre made even Remmy feel loved. The two of them had something Remmy wasn’t sure they’d ever get, but sometimes, when they thought about Luce, or lying in bed next to Luce, or just sitting in her cabin, it felt like maybe they could get close. Their thoughts turned momentarily to Nadia, and other Nadia, and how Luce had expressed such a similar concern for them as for Remmy, but that wasn’t something they could think about right now. Things were...too complicated there. They needed something to be easy. “Yeah,” they finally replied, letting out a long sigh. “I think she’s just scared.” A beat. “I kinda get that.” They looked down at Morgan. “I’m glad she finally said it to you. You two...deserve that happiness.”

Morgan sniffled and nodded into Remmy’s shoulder. “Me too,” she said, tearing up in spite of herself. “We uh...fuck, we could really use that right now. Just some good fairy tale kiss the girl and everything is magically all better bulshit.” She cried into Remmy’s shoulder, squeezing them as tight as her hands could stand. “Everything’s kind of hard right now,” she said, breathing through her teeth. “And she’s my anchor, and I’m hers, and I know if we have anything at all, it’s each other, but I just wish we didn’t have to fight or hold on so tight in the first place.”

“Is it still….the mushroom stuff?” Remmy asked, hoping they weren’t reopening some recent, painful wound that was going to be difficult to talk about. But maybe Morgan needed to talk about it. They didn’t want to boggart her time by making it all about them, and maybe if they got her to talk about a different subject she’d forget about why Remmy was here in the first place. “Is everything okay with you guys?”

“It’s not the mushrooms,” Morgan mumbled tearfully. “It’s...fuck, it’s secret, awful fae bullshit. It’s destroying Deirdre to do it and I don’t think it’s a good idea to talk about it with anyone. I don’t know if they could accept how brutal it all is, what she has to do, what was done to her when she was, stars, she was just eight. And she tried so hard to look for something else, anything else. She’s tried so hard to accept kindness, to be kind to people, and this thing is--I’m so afraid it’ll take that away from her, and me. And if that wasn’t enough..” She laughed bitterly and wiped her eyes. “You remember Constance? From the day I died?”

Oh. That-- that was a lot to unpack. Remmy didn’t know what to say. Lydia was very secretive about her fae stuff, except for when she’d helped Remmy escape Jax. Other than that, she did not speak of it, and Remmy did not ask. It didn’t seem right to. So secret fae shit sounded heavy. And like something they weren’t willing to push on. “I--I’m sorry,” was all they found they could say. Blinked, though back to that day. To the specter that had sat on the bench next to them, surprised to find that Remmy could see her. “I-- yeah. I remember. W-why?”

“She came to our house. Here. She came here while we were in bed. It was normal and fine and then Deirdre felt something close by and she just--” Morgan shook her head. “She would’ve killed us both if we let her. She would’ve crushed Deirdre’s throat if I hadn’t stopped her. She was solid and awful, and she wants me to die, for good this time, because of whatever bullshit made her crazy enough to curse us all in the first place.” She grimaced through her tears and reached for the bowl of nachos, cradling it to her stomach to have something to hold. “I’m going to end her first. There’s exorcisms that make ghosts hurt, and as soon as I get my hands on the worst of them, she’s mine.”

“She-- what!?” Remmy said, exasperated. They sat up enough to look at Morgan fully, as if expecting to find some sort of damage on her, some tell that they must’ve missed. But zombies healed almost instantaneously, so of course there was nothing. Nothing except the droop in Morgan’s shoulders and the weariness on her face. The unfairness of the situation, of the world, falling on her back. “But-- you’re okay now? Why, why would she do that? I thought the curse ended when you died? When you--” they swallowed, shook their head. “Wait-- exorcism?” Hadn’t Nadia said something about those? “Don’t-- dont those hurt? You want to...make her hurt?”

Morgan wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You know, I was a little busy fighting for our lives to hold an interview. But she made it clear that my sticking around after the curse is why she’s so pissed. She said ‘I am your justice and your fate.’ And that I needed to be punished.” She stuffed a handful of nachos into her mouth, but she didn’t have the appetite for it, she was too angry. “Yes, an exorcism. Yes, I want to make her hurt. For what she did to me, to Deirdre, to my mother-- do you realize she’s the reason my mother was such a nightmare in the first place? And her mother? And probably hers before that, a whole fucked up family line, just hurting each other because we couldn’t figure out or get our hands on the one who was actually to blame! It’s such bullshit. If I could still make magic on my own I’d find a way to write something to take her energy and rip it into so many pieces, if I could take it out of the cycle of the universe altogether, even better. But I’ll settle for an exorcism to the pain. I just need to find it, and someone to do it.”

“I-- sorry,” Remmy said at her first words, clicking their jaw shut and listening to the rest of her words. What she was saying, it wasn’t fair. Constance coming after her wasn’t fair, of course it wasn’t, but-- hurting someone? Specifically looking for something to hurt someone else? It didn’t sit right with Remmy. They had to say something. “I-- I know it’s not fair of her to come after you, but-- maybe she’s just confused? O-or hurting, herself? Being a ghost has to be hard. People can’t see or hear you or...a-and I’m not saying it’s an excuse, but-- looking to hurt someone like that, you...I don’t think that’s really a good idea, Morgan,” they said quietly, trying to keep their words fair and even. It wasn’t working well, they could tell by the look on Morgan’s face. And almost seeing your lover killed by a physical ghost probably didn’t help, but wanting to hurt someone just to hurt them? That wasn’t who Morgan was, right? She didn’t lash out like that in anger just for vengeance, did she?

Morgan stared at Remmy and wondered if she had been magic hexed into having another hyper-realistic dream. Surely, this was the moment when the floor folded up and crushed them, or her own mangled body plummeted through the ceiling and landed between them. “Are you completely shitting me right now?” She murmured, edging out of Remmy’s grasp. “Blanche was one thing, but you--you saw her kill me, Remmy. You were there when everything--and all those bullshit ways I almost died!  And to come back just when I have my life together, you want to call trying to murder Deirdre in front of me just ‘not fair’? Geez, I hate to see what would happen if she actually finished the job! What does that get from you, a slap on the ectoplasm?” She looked at Remmy and she stood, eyes pleading with disbelief. “Tell me you are not gonna bail on me when the bitch who ruined my life is back to take what’s left of it. Tell me you haven’t forgotten everything she’s put me through.”

Remmy flinched. That had been the absolute wrong thing to say, but somehow, they didn’t feel bad for saying it. Their whole life they’d been asked to just shut up and take it and they were growing tired of it. Of not saying what was on their mind. And while they wanted to argue again, they felt a heavy weariness inside of them that told them now really wasn’t the time. “Right, no, that’s...I’m not. I’m not going to bail on you, of course not,” they said, holding a hand out to Morgan again. “Just...come back to the couch, okay? I just...let’s just watch something. Today has been...a lot, for both of us.” They looked up at Morgan with soft, pleading eyes. “Please?”

Morgan idled, holding herself against Remmy’s words. “I need this, Remmy,” she murmured. “And I need at least some of my friends to care enough to help me.” Maybe not enough, she thought, just more than some set of hopeless principles. More than whatever fear Constance wanted to put in them. More than whatever squick hang-ups a phrase like “to the pain” they held. She wanted to be more important than that. “I need to be able to trust you with this.” She held their gaze, clocking the unease but unable to decipher which impulse was winning. She still didn’t know for sure when she edged back to the couch. She passed Remmy the remote and mumbled that they could pick what to watch, still searching for a hard answer in their expression. “Everything feels like it wants to fall apart,” she whispered, shifting around, looking for that comfortable spot again. “I just need my best friend. Okay?”

The world had tried so hard to tear Remmy apart-- both emotionally and mentally. It had tried so many times to destroy them. And, perhaps, it had succeeded at times. It had torn apart their life when it had taken their mom from them. It had torn apart their life when they’d been nearly expelled from high school and practically forced into the military. It had torn apart their life when it took their squad mates and friends from them. And it had torn apart their life when they had woken up alone and afraid and forgotten. White Crest was supposed to have been a place where they could start over and build something new. And even it had tried to tear them down. Life was just trying to teach them the same lesson, over and over. And now that they’d finally learned it, they were faced with a friend who wanted them to go back on it. To bend under the overwhelming pressure of deciding if what was right and wrong, if what they believed in, meant more to them than someone’s friendship. Remmy’s shoulders drooped just a little and they clicked on Grey’s Anatomy before settling in next Morgan. All they said to her was, “Okay.”

[becasbelt]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Pitch Perfect (Movies) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell, Beca Mitchell/Jesse Swanson Characters: Chloe Beale, Beca Mitchell, Jesse Swanson Additional Tags: Angst, Pining, Canon Compliant Summary:

Five times Beca Mitchell was in love with Jesse Swanson, and then the one when she suddenly wasn’t.

Or

Beca and Jesse, as told through the perspective of Chloe Beale.

Title from The Paper Kites’ “Holes”

* * *

1.

Chloe really didn’t mean to get herself into this mess.

“This mess” meaning having a crush on one of her best friends.

Admittedly, she should have seen this coming. She should have known that her strange fascination with one Beca Mitchell went beyond an admiration for her incredible musical capabilities. She should have known that what she felt for Beca the moment she saw her at the activities fair wasn’t just intrigue, but attraction; attraction that would soon bloom into full-on feelings.

The thing is, Chloe didn’t know for sure if she was actually into girls until this point. She had suspected, yes, but she had felt nothing strong enough to confirm that suspicion.

Enter Beca Mitchell.

If Chloe hadn’t been attracted to girls before Beca waltzed her way into her life, she certainly was now. Though, maybe ‘waltzed’ isn’t exactly accurate for how the situation played out. Shuffled, maybe? Trudged?

Yes, trudged.

As soon as Beca Mitchell trudged into Chloe’s life, she knew for sure that she liked girls. Which was fine, she was totally okay with that. It’s just-

Beca was straight.

Supposedly straight, at least. Chloe had no reason or facts to believe otherwise. What she did know for sure, though, was that Beca liked one Jesse Swanson, and the evidence for that knowledge was sitting right in front of her.

“It’s just, I don’t know if he actually likes me. Like, we kissed at Nationals and he seemed pretty into that, but we haven’t really talked about it since then. I don’t really want to bring it up, though, just in case he regrets it and wants to forget it ever happened. Which, like, is whatever and it’s fine.”

Beca and Chloe are in Beca’s dorm room, thankfully evil roommate-free, sitting on Beca’s bed. They had originally been studying for their finals coming up- well, Chloe had been studying. Beca was playing around with a mix on her computer- when the topic of Jesse came up. It had been a few weeks since they absolutely crushed it at Nationals and emerged champions, and in those few weeks Beca and Chloe had gotten closer; a fact that thrilled Chloe for obvious reasons.

In all their time together, however, Beca never brought up Jesse, which Chloe was grateful for. When Chloe had turned around on stage and saw Jesse and Beca lip-locked, her heart had throbbed painfully in her chest and she’d had to fight to keep bile from rising in her throat. Jealousy was an ugly emotion, and one that Chloe didn’t want to feel.

She figured it would be alright. It was just a silly crush, after all. Chloe got crushes all the time. They mostly all come and go quickly, leaving behind very little heartache. Beca would be just another passing emotional fling.

Only, the feelings Chloe had for Beca were sticking around a lot longer than she anticipated, and the closer she got to Beca, the stronger the feelings for her got. Chloe was ready to wait them out, though. She couldn’t act on them, not now anyways. Beca had a Jesse (maybe), and Chloe was still figuring out her sexuality. Telling Beca how she felt would only end in disaster.

So they hadn’t really talked about Jesse much. But when Chloe saw Beca’s phone light up with a text notification from him, her curiosity had gotten the better of her. She just had to know if they were seeing each other or not. As soon as Chloe asked Beca how things were between her and Jesse, it was like a dam broke. Beca had never been much of a talker, but apparently she had things to say about her feelings for Jesse.

“I just don’t want to ruin anything before it even starts, you know?” Beca absentmindedly plays with a loose thread on her comforter as she talks, laptop pushed to the side for now. “I dunno. Should I say something to him? Ask him what us kissing meant to him?”

At this, Beca looks up at Chloe, wide-eyed and confused. It’s then that Chloe realizes that no matter how much Beca may downplay her emotions for, well, just about everything, she does feel them. And her feelings for Jesse were much stronger than she was letting on. Chloe makes a decision right then: she had to help Beca, even if it meant sacrificing her own feelings.

“You two have got to work on your communication skills if you’re going to make this thing work,” Chloe teases. Beca flushes a little, but doesn’t say anything. Chloe gives her an easy smile. “Jesse obviously has feelings for you. I’m sure he just has the exact same doubts as you do, so he’s nervous to talk about it, just like you.”

Hope creeps its way into Beca’s eyes. “So you think I should just go for it?” She asks earnestly.

Chloe hesitates for only a second before answering, “Yeah, I think you should.”

It only kills her a little on the inside.

But it’s fine because it’s only a little crush. It will pass. At least, that’s what Chloe tells herself.

The next day, Chloe gets an excited text from Beca informing her that she and Jesse talked about everything and that they had a date that evening. She also thanks Chloe for her advice, and says that she couldn’t have done it without her encouragement.

Chloe takes a deep breath and sends back a “No problem! Happy to help!” in response.

And pretends that it doesn’t break something inside of her, something that feels suspiciously like her heart.

* * *

2.

“Hey, has anyone seen Beca this morning?” Chloe asks as she enters the kitchen. It’s Saturday morning, which means it’s the unofficial-and-not-mandatory-but-kinda-totally-mandatory Bella’s breakfast morning. Chloe loves Saturday breakfast. She looks around the room, her gaze landing on Fat Amy. “Amy, is she still asleep?”

The Australian snickers a little, then says, “Oh yeah. I’m sure she’s definitely asleep, just not in her own bed.”

The room fills with snickering and various lewd comments from the rest of the girls. Chloe’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “If she’s not asleep in her bed, then where… ”She trails off as the realization hits her like a truck.

Jesse. Beca’s not asleep in her own bed because she’s asleep in Jesse’s bed. For the first time ever, Beca’s missing not-mandatory breakfast because she’s with her boyfriend. Probably asleep. Probably naked.

It’s not that Chloe didn’t think this day would come; it’s just that she didn’t think it would happen this soon. They had only all been living in the Bella house together for about two months, since the beginning of school. In that time, Beca had never spent the night anywhere other than her own bed.

Of course Beca and Jesse would have sex. They’re young, they’re in love. There was no reason they shouldn’t be having sex. Chloe just didn’t want to think of that possibility at all. Whenever the topic of Beca and Jesse’s sex life came up with the other girls, Chloe usually found some way to extract herself from the conversation. She had no idea if this was their first time together or their tenth, and she was perfectly fine with not knowing.

Chloe’s feelings for Beca had stubbornly stuck around through the summer and into the new school year, even though they hadn’t even been around each other all summer. Beca had gone home to Seattle to live with her mom while Chloe had stayed in the Bella house. Jesse had gone off to wherever he was from, also separated from Beca all summer.

(Chloe told herself that she didn’t hope they wouldn’t last during their time apart, but she definitely had hoped. The first time she saw Beca after their time apart, her excitement was immediately replaced with green sickness when Beca appeared before her, on Chloe’s doorstep, her hand loosely intertwined with Jesse’s. Chloe pretended like it didn’t make her want to throw up.)

Chloe’s feelings stuck around, but it was fine. She was fine.

At least, she was fine until Beca walked through the door that morning.

Beca wears the clothes she had on yesterday, a small smile, and a mismatched assortment of bruises along her neck. The rest of the Bellas start whooping and whistling as soon as she walks into the kitchen. Beca humors them with an awkward little bow and wave before making a beeline to the coffee pot. She glances at Chloe on the way and they make eye contact for all of half a second before Beca looks away again.

The Bellas continue to heckle Beca throughout breakfast, and Chloe does her best to ignore them. One thing she can’t help but notice, though, is that Beca is positively glowing. Chloe doesn’t know if the other girls notice, since Beca is answering their questions in her usual sarcastic, deadpan style, but Chloe can tell. Beca’s shoulders are relaxed, her eyes sparkle, and she spreads butter on her toast with a little more gusto than is typical for this time of morning. It’s subtle, but it’s definitely there.

Beca Mitchell is happy, and Jesse was the one to make her that way.

Chloe gets up and scrapes the rest of her breakfast into the trash before heading upstairs to her room. Saturday morning breakfast suddenly didn’t seem as appealing as it used to.

* * *

3.

Sometimes Chloe lets herself get lost in a fantasy where Beca and Jesse are only friends, and she and Beca are the ones in love. A world where Beca kissed her at the end of their performance at Nationals two years ago.

The thing is, it’s a really easy fantasy to get lost in, because it doesn’t all have to happen in her head. She’s basically living it.

It’s easy to get lost in that false reality when Jesse and Beca don’t show much physical affection for each other when they’re around other people. It’s easy to pretend that they’re only friends when Beca punches his arm when he makes a dumb joke, or ruffles his hair when she’s teasing him about something. Easy to believe that her feelings are recuperated when Beca chooses to sit next to her instead of Jesse at social events.

But that’s not even the easiest part.

The times she gets the most lost in the fantasy is when they’re not even around Jesse. When they’re home at the Bellas house, cuddling on the couch during movie night because Beca is so adorably grouchy and Chloe just can’t help herself and Beca doesn’t even try to stop her from pulling her in close; just grumbles for a minute before leaning into her. Or at the grocery store buying pizza rolls because Beca’s been craving them so damn much lately and Chloe has a car and she’s really never been able to say no to Beca, even though she has a test to study for, but that doesn’t matter when Beca’s looking up at her with her big blue eyes and saying, “Please Chloe? For me?”

Sometimes Chloe wonders if Beca knows how she feels. Beca will give her this look sometimes- Chloe’s not even sure how to describe it, can’t decide what emotions are going on in her eyes when she gives her the look. It’s there when Chloe grabs Beca’s hand under the pretense of not getting separated in a crowd. It’s there when Chloe skips all of her classes to take care of Beca when she’s sick in bed.

And it’s there now as they dance together at some nondescript frat party, pressed together so close that Chloe doesn’t even know how she’s getting oxygen into her lungs because all of her senses are overwhelmed with Beca Beca Beca.

She might just be imagining it, or trying to will something into reality, but Chloe doesn’t think she is. She knows she can’t be imagining it whenever Beca looks at her with that look in her eyes that’s full of contentment, confusion, and something else she can’t quite put her finger on. Fear? Clarity?

Love?

No, she can’t think that way. That line of thinking has led Chloe to more sleepless nights than she can count. There is no way that Beca Mitchell loves Chloe Beale in the same way that Chloe Beale loves Beca Mitchell.

So for now Chloe will just shove down her feelings, which she is something she has gained a real talent for, and distract herself with alcohol and the feeling of Beca’s body moving against her own. And maybe let herself indulge in the illusion that Beca is hers, and only hers.

Chloe drapes her arms over Beca’s shoulders as Beca’s hands move to grip her hips, their bodies moving in sync with each other. The crowd around them pushes them impossibly closer by the second, forcing Chloe to move her head so that she’s cheek to cheek with Beca. Chloe can feel Beca’s breathe on her ear, on her neck, and it shoots heat all throughout her body. Her entire body is buzzing, and she’s not sure how much of that is due to the alcohol in her system.

Beca’s hands move to rest on her lower back as she leans back a bit so that they’re face to face once again. Chloe’s hands unconsciously move to play with the hairs at the nape of Beca’s neck. She watches as Beca’s eyes flutter shut for half second before locking onto her own, and there’s that look again, more intense than ever before. So intense that it takes Chloe’s breathe away.

Beca’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, and Chloe has to force herself not to stare. She tries not to dwell on the fact that Beca’s eyes seem to keep glancing down at her own lips, because she knows that it doesn’t mean anything.

Beca opens her mouth to say something, and Chloe swears that she’s leaning in closer to her, and her thoughts are consumed with Beca Beca Bec-

“BECAW!”

The moment is broken in an instant. Chloe all but jerks away from Beca as her eyes clear and she turns in the direction of her boyfriend making his way through the crowd towards them.

Her boyfriend. Beca’s very real boyfriend who is breaking their very fake moment. Chloe feels foolish suddenly; she let herself get so caught up in fantasy for a moment it almost felt real. She watches as Beca beams up at Jesse as he finally reaches her, yelling something at him that Chloe can’t hear over the sound of the music and over the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears. Beca laughs and throws her arms around Jesse’s neck, and just like that, Jesse has replaced Chloe as Beca’s dance partner.

All of the sudden, Chloe needs to leave this party. There’s too many people, too much heat and she feels like she’s suffocating. Chloe fights her way through the moving bodies and tries to locate the exit. On her way, she passes the fold-out table serving as a bar and is offered a shot of something. Chloe doesn’t check what it is, doesn’t care what it is; just throws it back and continues on her way.

The cool night air is a relief against her burning skin when Chloe finally bursts through the door of the frat house and onto the front lawn. She takes in large gulps of fresh air and tries to hold back the tears. Chloe glances behind her at the door, half hoping to see Beca appear in it, making sure that she was okay.

Only, there is no Beca. Beca is dancing with her boyfriend inside, utterly smitten and content. Chloe walks home alone, vision blurry and heart heavy.

* * *

4.

They never talk about Jesse.

Well, they do sometimes, in passing. Like when Chloe asks Beca what she’s doing later and Beca says she’s hanging out with Jesse, and Chloe will just say “oh” followed by a tense moment of silence that ends when one of them clears their throat and changes the topic, both avoiding the others’ eyes.

So they don’t really talk about Jesse.

It’s weird. Beca and Jesse have been dating for three years now, yet the topic only seems to get more and more like a taboo over time. It’s gotten to the point where it’s almost a forbidden subject now.

The weirdest part about it, though, is that it is only forbidden between Beca and Chloe. Chloe’s heard Beca talking about Jesse with the other Bellas, seen her be excited with Stacie over something that Jesse did for their anniversary, and watched her show a picture of him on her phone to Amy. Beca talks about Jesse all the time.

Just never with Chloe.

When Beca gets home from a date with Jesse, she’ll tell the Bellas she had a good night and maybe indulge in sharing a few details from her evening before heading up to bed. She’ll stop at Chloe’s room first, though, and check in with her. She never shares any details with her, never says how her night went, and Chloe never asks.

It’s almost like Beca knows how Chloe feels, and is just being considerate by not talking about her boyfriend with her best friend that is stupidly in love with her. It wouldn’t be a surprise if she knew; Chloe’s never been very good at hiding her emotions.

Maybe Chloe wants her to know. Maybe if Beca knew how she felt, it would lessen the near-constant ache in her heart.

So they don’t talk about Jesse and that’s weird, and Beca may or may not know how Chloe feels about her and that’s fine. They have Worlds to focus on anyways.

Focusing on the world competition has let Chloe turn all of her attention and thoughts away from Beca and towards becoming champions. It actually proved effective all year long, until they’re all standing on stage together being announced winners.

The moment they win, happiness fills every corner of Chloe’s body. She can tell the rest of the Bellas feel the same way, because they’re all jumping for joy and screaming and hugging each other. Chloe makes her way through hugging each and every one of her girls, her family, as Fat Amy snatches the trophy away from Beca and hoists it into the air with a war cry.

Then Beca’s in front of her, looking as excited as Chloe feels, and suddenly Chloe has to fight the onslaught of emotions that well up inside of her: joy, relief, love- maybe most prominently love. Chloe doesn’t realize there are tears streaming down her cheeks until Beca reaches out and wipes them away with an understanding smile, tears threatening to fall from her own eyes. Then Beca pulls her in for a hug and Chloe is home.

When they all finally make it off the stage, still bouncy and excited, Chloe considers finally telling Beca how she feels. They’ve graduated, they’ll be going their separate ways soon, and Chloe has just enough adrenaline to give her the courage to do what she’s been afraid of doing for so long.

Screw it.

She puts a hand on Beca’s arm, stopping them as the rest of the Bellas continue on. Beca raises an eyebrow at her, curiosity evident in her eyes. “Dude, what’s up? Gonna start crying again?” she teases, crossing her arms. “I told you that you should wear waterproof mascara.” Beca smirks to let her know she’s only joking.

Chloe chuckles a little and shakes her head. “No, that’s not it. It’s just- there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while now.” Beca’s eyebrows scrunch together and she nods her head to get Chloe to keep going. Chloe takes a deep breath, eyes locking onto Beca’s, and goes for it. “Bec, I’m kind of in lo-“

“Jesse?” Beca’s eyes are looking behind Chloe over her shoulder. Chloe whips around to see none other than Jesse Swanson approaching them, an American flag draped over his shoulders and a goofy grin on his face. Chloe’s heart plummets.

“Sorry, Chlo, I just gotta,” Beca doesn’t finish her thought before she’s running towards Jesse, yelling things like, “You’re here!” and “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming, you asshole!”

Jesse laughs and scoops Beca up as she all but launches herself at him, her arms around his neck and her feet dangling off the floor as Jesse holds her against him. They’re laughing, and Beca buries her face in his neck while Jesse’s eyes close in content. Chloe stands in shock because this was not how that was supposed to go, watching them hold each other close.

It’s then that Chloe realizes that although home for her is in Beca’s arms, Beca’s home and heart have always been with Jesse.

* * *

5.

There are a few methods of coping with her feelings that Chloe has tried, most of them proving to be astoundingly ineffective. She’s tried telling herself they weren’t real, let herself believe that they would be returned one day, and ignoring them completely. She’s tried distracting herself with studying, excessive work-outs, and TV shows. None of them worked.

Her current method may finally be working, at least more than the others.

Dating.

Funnily enough, Chloe hasn’t really had any desire to date since her feelings for Beca grew from simple attraction to full-on love. It’s not that she doesn’t find anyone else attractive, because Chloe always appreciates a good-looking human being. Not having options isn’t an issue either, because she has been asked out plenty of time over the past few years. She’s turned them all down, even though there was nothing wrong with them. It’s just-

They’re not Beca.

Lately, though, Chloe has been basically forcing herself to go out with people. Deep down she knows that none of them will last, and she’s not actually interested in pursuing anything long-term with them, but at least she’s trying. She’s forcing herself because she’s tired of loving someone and not getting love in return. She’s trying because she’s desperate to feel something again other than pain, and if she starts something with someone and she gets her heart broken by them, at least it will be someone else that causes her pain.

Since moving to New York with Beca and Amy half a year ago, Chloe has gone out with a good handful of people, both men and women, much to Beca’s surprise. The first time Beca heard that she was going out with a woman, her eyebrows shot nearly into her hairline. Chloe had just winked at her and walked out the door.

The one good thing about all the dating is that she’s been sufficiently distracted because it’s new and exciting and something different from what she’s been doing for the last four years. The sex helps, too. She doesn’t feel quite as… frustrated as she did for a long time. It’s fun and good and it’s working.

But none of them last. Chloe always finds something wrong with them. One guy is too tall; another one’s hair is just a shade too dark. Something about one woman’s blue eyes just feels off, and another’s nose is too pointy. There’s always something wrong.

Too tan.

Doesn’t like music.

No piercings.

Not Beca not Beca not Beca.

Chloe’s walking home from a pretty good date. He was nice and attractive and funny. Did all the things someone should do on a first date. Chloe had fun, she really did. She even told him that she would love to do it again sometime.

So she has bit of a bounce in her step as she climbs the rickety stairs up to her, Beca, and Amy’s tiny studio apartment because she had a good night which doesn’t happen very often for her lately. Chloe’s humming some song she heard on the radio earlier that she can’t get out of her head while she fishes around in her purse for her keys to unlock. Once she hears the familiar click of the lock, she pushes open the sticky door with some effort, and reveals a sight that makes her gasp.

Beca is sitting on their shared pullout bed, bulky headphones around her neck and tears streaming down her cheeks. She’s wearing one of Chloe’s Barden hoodies, and based on the dark spots on the sleeves she’s been using it to wipe her tears to no avail. Chloe quickly shuts the door and drops her bag on table before rushing to Beca’s side, pulling her into her arms. Beca immediately sinks into Chloe’s side and starts crying into her shoulder. Chloe runs her fingers through Beca’s hair and rubs hands up and down her back, murmuring comforting words to help Beca calm down.

“Beca,” Chloe tries after a few minutes when Beca’s sobs have quieted down to sniffles. Beca doesn’t lift her head from Chloe’s shoulder, only burrows deeper into her side. Chloe tries again, “Bec, did something happen? What’s wrong?”

It’s then that Chloe notices that Beca’s laptop is set off to the side of the bed, opened to Skype. Chloe’s stomach drops. The last couple months have been rough on Beca and Jesse’s long-term relationship. Chloe has spent many nights lately comforting a crying Beca as she misses Jesse, telling her over and over again that it would get better, and it was only temporary and that they could get through it.

(Chloe pretended that every word she said didn’t feel like her stabbing a knife into her own gut. She also tried not to take pleasure in the way that Beca would cuddle up to her at night when she missed Jesse, because finding joy in her best friend’s pain was selfish and so wrong in so many ways.)

But Chloe had never seen Beca cry this hard before. Chloe doesn’t want to fear (hope?) the worst, but her she has a feeling deep in her gut that she knows what’s happened.

Chloe gently pushes Beca away from her, lifting her head and wiping tears from her cheeks. Beca’s honestly a mess- eyes puffy, mascara ruined, cheeks flushed, nose runny. Chloe’s heart breaks at how vulnerable she looks.

“What happened?” Chloe asks again softy, needing to confirm her suspicions so she knows how to help Beca.

Beca’s eyes are on her face, but Chloe can tell they’re not focusing on anything in particular. She’s just staring aimlessly. “Jesse ended it.” She whispers, voice cracking on the last word. “He ended us.”

More tears roll down Beca’s cheeks and Chloe reaches up to wipe them away again, keeping her hand on Beca’s cheek. She chooses not saying anything in case Beca wants to continue, which she does after another minute of sniffling. “He said the distance wasn’t-wasn’t working. That it was too hard.” Beca’s eyes suddenly flicker up and focus on Chloe’s own. “He said that I wasn’t trying hard enough to make things work.” A whimper falls from Beca’s mouth and Chloe rubs a thumb over her cheek soothingly. “He said that-that he didn’t know if he loved me anymore because he didn’t think that I loved him.”

At this, Beca crumples again, pain filling her expression as she collapses back into Chloe. Chloe doesn’t even know what to say, so she just kisses the top of Beca’s head and holds her close. Chloe knows that nothing she says right now can make Beca feel better, because she knows a thing or two about heartbreak.

She knows how impossible it is to put a broken heart back together.

* * *

1.

Getting back into a routine after a vacation is always a struggle, especially when that vacation involves touring around Europe with her favorite people in the world; doing the thing she loves most in the world.

Work had been long and tiring today, and Chloe honestly just wanted to go home and flop in bed and watch some Netflix cuddled up with Beca. Only, that wasn’t possible. Chloe had said goodbye to her that morning.

Chloe had said goodbye as in, Beca left for LA today and Chloe had said goodbye to her until who knows when. Beca had gone to live in LA while Chloe was staying in New York.

To say that saying goodbye had been hard would be putting it mildly.

It was all so unexpected, Beca leaving. 24 hours after they arrived home from the USO tour, Beca had gotten a call from Theo telling her that he was working out details and logistics for Beca to move to LA so that she could start her career as a big-shot music industry person. Three days after that most of Beca’s stuff was loaded onto a moving truck and being shipped across the country.

Two days after that she’d said goodbye to Chloe and gotten on a plane bound for the other side of the country.

Chloe hadn’t even known how to process it all. It had happened so fast that she didn’t even realize how sad she was until she was on the subway on the way to work after saying goodbye. She cried- no, she sobbed the whole way to work, getting plenty of strange and pitied looks from strangers around her. One old lady even offered her some caramel candies and a tissue. The tissue she took, the candies she declined.

Chloe’s coworkers knew that something was wrong with her, though they all seemed to sense that she didn’t want to talk about it, which she was grateful for. She was able to pull herself together by the time she got to the clinic, but if anyone had asked her what was wrong she knew she would have broken down crying again.

Chloe sighs as she pulls her keys out and starts unlocking the door to her apartment, preparing herself mentally for the sight of an empty apartment. There would be no Beca laying bed listening to crappy demos from wannabe singers; there would be no Beca working on her laptop at their tiny kitchen table. No Beca burning grilled cheese at the stove and filling their apartment with the scent of scorched bread, causing Chloe to laugh at her as she cracks open a window.

With a sniff, Chloe pushes open the stupid sticky door, looks up, and-

There was Beca.

Beca Mitchell sat at their kitchen table, laptop bag by the floor next to her chair, and the same clothes she had on her back when Chloe left this morning. As soon as Beca sees Chloe, she shoots out of her chair.

Chloe’s jaw drops. “Beca? What are you doing here?” Chloe asks, incredulous. “I thought your plane left five hours ago.”

Beca nods her head as her eyes roam all over Chloe’s face. Her feet stay firmly rooted in place. “It did,” is all she says.

Chloe’s eyebrows scrunch together, confused as to what’s happening right now. “Then, why are you h-“

“I couldn’t get on the plane,” Beca suddenly rushes out, interrupting Chloe. Chloe’s mouth snaps shut as she watches Beca start to tap her fingers against her leg. “I couldn’t get on the plane because I couldn’t leave you.” Beca says, slower and more quietly this time. Beca’s eyes lock onto Chloe’s and she takes a step forward. “I went to board, and I was thinking about how my life was going to change, and how I was finally getting what I always wanted, and imagining how my life was going to be and that’s when I realized you wouldn’t be in it. You wouldn’t be in my life anymore and I realized that that wasn’t what I wanted.”

Tears are welling up in Chloe’s eyes, though not spilling over quite yet. Beca takes another couple steps forward until she’s standing about a foot away from Chloe, who’s still standing in the open doorway of the apartment. Beca takes a shaky breath before continuing. “I’ve always wanted to go to LA, Chlo, you know that. But it wasn’t until it was within my grasp that I realized it wasn’t what I wanted most in this world anymore. It’s you.”

The tears are streaming freely down Chloe’s face now, but she can’t find it within her to care. “Beca, are- are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Beca smile is nervous but genuine as she says, “I love you, Chlo.”

Chloe lets out a watery laugh, and Beca looks disappointed and alarmed for a second before Chloe takes her hands and says, “I love you, too. God I love you so much.” Then Beca’s laughing too as she pulls Chloe in for a hug. They stand there for a minute, just wrapped up in each other’s arms, laughing like the fools they are.

Chloe pulls back from their embrace too look into Beca’s eyes, and there’s the look. The look that Chloe could never interpret, except now Chloe can clearly see what’s going on in Beca’s dark eyes. She was right all those years ago; love was the thing she wasn’t letting herself see. Chloe brings her hands up to frame Beca’s face. “Is this real?” She asks, not letting herself believe quite yet.

Beca smiles the biggest smile Chloe’s ever seen from her and wraps her arms tighter around Chloe’s back. “It’s real. If you’ll take me, that is.”

Chloe chuckles and rolls her eyes. “Oh please. I’ve already chosen you a hundred times. Who’s to stop me from choosing you a hundred more?”

When their lips meet, Chloe thinks this is a lot what feeling complete is like. Beca’s put a lot of holes in her heart over the past few years, but Chloe thinks they’re off to a good start with filling them back up again.

[viktorrotkiv]

Summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well

Written for @tbehartoo for my follower celebration. Read on AO3

Adam Young was standing in the chalk quarry, their usual meeting place and secret hideout, with all the authority he could muster in his eleven year old human body. It was quite a lot of authority, in fact.

“Right.” He said. “It’s the last day of summer, and we’ve got to take full advantage of it.” He glanced down at Dog. “How’s that, Dog? Do I seem confident?”

Dog whined. He scratched behind his ear. Then he whined again.

“You’re right, I should be friendlier. Like this. Hey, gang. What do you want to do for the last day of summer?”

“I dunno,” said Pepper, coming around the corner into the quarry’s entrance. “You tell us, Adam. You always do.”

“It’s ‘cause you have the best ideas,” added Brian earnestly.

“Oh, hi, guys.”

“I heard from my mum, who heard from your mum, that you got into trouble for stealing some apples yesterday.” Wensleydale took his glasses off and wiped them on the edge of his shirt. There was always a lot of dust floating around the old quarry. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. My dad didn’t want to ground me for two days in a row. He said I would just lounge around all day and watch TV.”

“So you didn’t get punished at all?” Asked Pepper incredulously.

“I didn’t say that.” Adam picked up a stick and threw it for Dog to fetch. “I didn’t get any dessert last night, and I’m not allowed to use the big TV for another two days.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Brian couldn’t imagine many worse punishments than not getting to eat dessert and not being able to watch TV. Perhaps it was because his parents couldn’t come up with any.

“Anyway,” Adam brightened up, “it’s the last day of summer. Let’s do something fun.”

“How do you know that it’s the last day of summer? Seems like something that the weathermen ought to tell us.”

“I just do, Wensley. Trust me, tomorrow it’ll be all cold and windy, and by next week our mothers will all force us to wear coats everywhere we go.”

“Mine won’t.”

“Yes, she will, Pepper. You’ll just take yours off the second you leave the house because you’re opposed to authority.” This from Wensleydale.

“Shut up, Wensley. She can’t make me.”

At that moment Dog returned, stick clasped tightly in his jaw. It wasn’t the stick that Adam had thrown, but he had fetched a stick alright. Adam pulled it from Dog’s mouth absentmindedly and fed him a treat. “How was the circus yesterday?”

“Oh, it was brilliant!” Brian jumped around excitedly. “We helped set up the tents, and they let us feed some of the animals. They’re coming again next month, so you didn’t really miss nothing.”

“Any use going there today?”

“It won’t be that exciting once it’s already set up.” Pepper kicked a pebble morosely. “I wish the circus could arrive every day.”

“Then it wouldn’t be nearly as exciting when it did,” explained Adam. “That’s why they don’t do it. And anyway, I’ve got something better for us to do.”

This cheered Pepper right up. “What is it?”

“We’re going to get revenge on Mr. Tyler for telling my dad where we were when we went to the air base. We were just saving the world, and those stupid grown-ups had to punish us for that. They always want to keep all the fun to themselves.”

“It sounds like that’s just your revenge, Adam.” Brian was inevitably munching on a crisp packet.

“Adam’s dad is the one who told all of our parents, dummy. I’m not allowed to ride my bike anywhere for... forever, basically. My mum says I can’t be trusted to be anywhere that I can’t walk to.”

“Pepper’s right. And anyway, we can get revenge on a few people today. Who don’t you like, Brian?”

“I dunno. The witch in Jasmine Cottage still scares me.” Brian shoved the empty crisp packet into his pocket, instead of dropping it on the ground. That was new.

“I don’t know, I think she was on our side in the whole saving-the-world business.” Wensleydale scratched his head. “Speaking of revenge, who made the last move? Us or the Johnsonites?”

“It was definitely us.” Adam wasn’t actually so sure of that. “But we can always make two moves in a row.”

“That wouldn’t be very honorable.” Wensleydale considered this for a second. He pushed his glasses up his nose, and remembered the time that Greasy Johnson had broken them. “But I guess we could.”

“Right then. Mr. Tyler for me, Greasy Johnson for Wensley, and the witch for Brian. Even if she is on our side, that doesn’t mean that she’s nice.” The rest of the Them thought Adam was very wise for saying that. “Who do you want to get revenge on, Pepper?”

“My little sister stole all of my candy.”

“Brilliant. Let’s get ice cream while we brainstorm.” Adam marched out of the quarry, friends and Dog in tow. “Who has money?”

Wensleydale rummaged around in his pockets. “I have enough for… two people. Brian probably doesn’t have anything, right?”

Brian nodded. “My parents don’t trust me with money. They think I’d lose it.”

“Don’t you?”

“I don’t know. They almost never give me any to lose.”

Pepper pulled some change from her pocket triumphantly and handed it to Wensleydale so he could count it. Wensleydale was the Them’s unofficial accountant. “That’s three pounds. Adam, do you have any money?”

Adam patted all of his pockets. “No. Sorry.” His clothes had just come out of the laundry, which meant that his mother had meticulously emptied them of change, pieces of paper, and mud.

“Oh. We’re missing two pounds, then.”

That’s when Adam spotted something shiny on the road up ahead. Running to it, he bent down and picked up a two pound coin. Adam had always been extremely lucky in this kind of way. He didn’t even have to actively wish for things for them to come true. “Don’t worry! We’re all getting ice cream today.”

The rest of the gang caught up with him and gathered around excitedly. “It’s so cool how you always find just the right thing, Adam.” Brian was the second most common beneficiary of Adam’s luck, by a very small margin.

“You just have to look around you to find all sorts of things.” Adam had been oblivious to his unique powers his whole life, and that wasn’t going to change now that he knew they existed. He kept strolling towards the ice cream parlor.

Brian, who wasn’t very attentive, agreed with Adam wholeheartedly that you only had to look in order to find things. He just didn’t do the looking part. Pepper and Wensleydale, on the other hand, often looked around to try and find something exciting or useful, and they almost never did. At least, not nearly as much as Adam, which to them felt like never. “Adam,” Wensleydale looked to Pepper, who nodded at him. “Do you think maybe it’s only you who finds things so easily?”

“What do you mean?”

“I just… We just, Pepper and I, we look around for spare change or discarded toys or candy that our mums just happened to leave out, but we never find anything like that. And you always do.”

“I’m just lucky. Besides, maybe you aren’t looking hard enough.”

“Adam, do you think it has anything to do with what those people at the air base said?” This time Pepper looked to Wensleydale for support. “Because it kind of sounded like the Devil… they thought the Devil was your dad. And they thought you were very special.”

Adam quickened his pace. “That’s ridiculous. Listen to yourself. I’m just lucky.”

And maybe it was part of Adam’s luck, or maybe he was manipulating his friends’ minds again (although if that were the case, you can be sure that he wasn’t doing it on purpose), or maybe kids will just accept anything as fact, but Pepper and Wensleydale let the subject go and didn’t bring it up again for many years.

Twenty minutes later, the four of them were sitting at a small table in the ice cream parlor, happily licking, biting, or scarfing down their ice cream. “Right, enough dilly-dallying. What are we going to do to Mr. Tyler and the witch and Pepper’s sister and the Johnsonites?”

“We can hide in my sister’s closet with scary costumes and jump out to scare her.”

“I have a werewolf mask in my room from last year.” Brian sucked on his ice cream cone thoughtfully. “Or my mum might have thrown it out.”

Adam scrunched his nose. “I reckon we’d get bored waiting for your sister to come into her room.”

“Plus, your mum will never let us all in your house. She says we leave mud everywhere. Even places we can’t reach.”

“Right, you don’t all have to rain on my idea.” Pepper slumped down in her chair. “Except you, Brian. Thank you for offering your mask, which you might not even have, you tosser.”

“It’s really not my fault. My mum says I attract clutter without even trying. She’s constantly trying to declutter.”

“Sorry, Pepper. Adam and I just like to be more practical. You and Brian are the free spirits. It’s your imagination that makes you great.”

“S’alright, Wensley. Thanks.”

Adam had been lost in thought during the latter part of this exchange. He often left the others to bicker among themselves while he came up with new ideas. “We could steal Shutzi.” Shutzi was Mr. and Mrs. Tyler’s dog.

Brian seemed horrified at the idea. “What would we do with him?”

“Nothing bad, you twit. We’d just hide him.” Pepper liked trying out new insults on Brian. He didn’t mind much.

“I think that Shutzi belongs more to Mrs. Tyler than Mr. Tyler. And she’s never done anything bad to us.”

“She married him,” said Pepper with disdain. “Who knows who he would be bothering if she hadn’t?”

“That’s actually a very interesting question. Have any of you heard of the butterfly effect? This could be an example of that happening on a bigger scale—”

“Shut up, Wensley,” chimed the other three.

Another minute or two passed in comfortable silence. Then Pepper piped up again. “Do you reckon we could steal the witch’s powers?”

“I don’t think she really has special powers. She just knows how to brew potions and use herbs and read prophecies and whatnot.”

“How d’you know she reads prophecies, Adam?”

“I don’t really know how I know. I just think she does.”

“We could steal her potion books, then.” Pepper sat up, her eyes igniting. “We could burn them!”

“The smoke would be terrible for the environment.”

“You’re such a stickler, Adam.”

“He is right, you know,” said Wensleydale.

The Them had never cared much about the environment before (at least, the Them that weren’t Wensleydale). They had never cared about any of the consequences of their actions. A week ago, they didn’t even really believe in witches.

“What about the Johnsonites?”

“What about them, Adam?”

“Well, I dunno. You’re the one who wanted to get revenge on them. We haven’t thought of anything for them yet.”

“We haven’t actually thought of any good ideas for the rest of our targets, either,” pointed out Brian, who was trying, futilely, to get an ice cream stain off his shirt.

“I guess that’s not really the point at all, is it?” The other three stared at Adam quizzically. “We were never going to break into Jasmine Cottage and steal books. We wouldn’t know what to do with the dog even if we did somehow manage to get hold of him. I guess… I guess it’s more fun to fantasize about these things than it is to actually try and do them.”

Pepper bit into the last of her ice cream cone. Brian rubbed at his shirt with a napkin. Wensleydale adjusted his glasses. They all thought about how Adam was right. Then they all saw Adam grabbing an empty cone from the counter to feed to Dog, and they all got ready to run.

[baepsaetan]

Inkarnate

Summary: Hoseok is a film student looking for muse, and Yoongi is a tattoo artist looking for money. When they meet, the two find that they could give each other far more than creativity and cash, but soulmate isn’t spelled p.e.r.f.e.c.t, and Yoongi’s tattoos cover up more than just his skin.

Chapters:  pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10, pt.11 -> read on Ao3

Genre: Soulmate! AU, Angst

Warnings: Smut, main character death, swearing, implied alcoholism, implied past abuse, seriously a lot of angst, cancer.

Length: 4.7k

A/N: After a very long hiatus, here’s another chapter. I dunno if anyone is reading this at this point, but if you’re keeping up with it, thank you very much! I hope you enjoy, and as ever likes and reblogs are appreciated!

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Meet me at the corner of Skymont and Anpan @ 11. He reads the text one more time, just to be sure he got it right, reassuring himself that there’s no way Yoongi could have meant eleven at night, and that he is, in fact, on the corner of Skymont and Anpan. The little 11:21 on his phone sits with depressing certainty on the top right of his screen, and Hoseok shakes his head, short and anxious. This late and Yoongi still hasn’t sent him a message or anything? What the hell is wrong?

The evils of seeming needy and childish are small compared to his concern, so a minute or two later Hoseok sends, Hey are you good? When he’d arrived, all he’d been thinking about was the upcoming exams and project deadlines, half-chiding himself for agreeing to meet with his boyfriend for something that might take hours (but also not earnestly regretting it, either). Now he shifts in worry, fingers drumming on his thighs. When there’s no reply, immediate or otherwise, he calls Yoongi’s phone; it doesn’t ring before going to voicemail.

Struggling with something close to panic, he continues his somewhat awkward loitering, trying to convince himself that the guy behind the counter in the shop behind him isn’t giving him the evil eye through the display window. It’s uncomfortable just standing there, sometimes having to dance around large groups of people moving down the sidewalk – sunny Saturdays on Skymont are always packed – and as even more time passes, his anxiety only increases. Another phone call yields no more answer than the text had. Had he been the one to mess up the time? Was Yoongi okay? Should he go to Born Tiger? But what if they managed to miss each other? Would Yoongi be pissed? Why were they going to meet, anyways? Yoongi had said it was a surprise, but what if… what if it was some stupid prank? What if –

He puts a pretty hard stop to that train of thought. There’s no way Yoongi would do that to him, and it’s dumb to worry about it. Although that doesn’t explain where his boyfriend is. Or if he’s okay.

That’s a good question, isn’t it? If Yoongi is okay? It’s a question he’s been asking himself – unwilling, shrinking – for – well, hasn’t it been for forever? For as long as he’s known Yoongi? Only it used to be a small voice, a whisper in the back of his mind easily brushed away because it was too hard to consider. Now it’s – well, it’s almost screaming. Sometimes, if he thinks about it too closely, if he really lets himself feel the mounting panic and pain that’s growing like cancer in his chest, he feels like screaming. Because it doesn’t make sense. Because it can’t make sense. Because Yoongi is okay, isn’t he?  

11:38 rolls around with no sign of the other guy and with two more unanswered calls, Hoseok’s just deciding he needs to head to the tattoo shop when a small shape suddenly comes into view down the street, hands shoved into pockets and head down. Yoongi’s walking so fast he almost takes out an equally small old lady, avoiding her only at the last second and ignoring her startled exclamation. For a half second Hoseok thinks he’s going to walk by, but the artist halts in front of Hoseok, yanking his hand out of his pocket and rubbing at his neck.

“Sorry,” Yoongi mutters, not looking up. “Some asshole was a fucking pansy and it took forever to finish his stupid tattoo. You ready?”  

The abrupt apology and question make Hoseok’s brow furrow, but though he’s annoyed, there’s something too wrong with Yoongi’s voice – it’s choked, way hoarser than usual – for him to be properly offended. He ignores the question and asks one of his own. “Are you okay? I called you a few times…”

“I know I’m late,” Yoongi snaps. “Like I said, I was doing someone’s tattoo. Come on, we need to hurry.” And without waiting for a reply he starts walking, his shoulders hunched, black beanie pulled so low it’s almost over his eyes. Hoseok hurries to keep up with his slouching but still rapid stride, struggling with his irritation and concern both. What the hell, Yoongi?

“Where’re we going?” he asks, and if the question is closer to a demand than a light inquiry, the student can’t help himself. And he’s not even that ashamed of it.

Like a halter over his hurry, the question jerks Yoongi to a dead stop, and when he looks back, there’s something a little pitiful about the struggle apparent across his face. Some negative emotion tightens his jawline even as his lips press together, and he shakes his head in jerky, infinitesimal denials of a truth he hasn’t disclosed to Hoseok. After a moment, and with a breath so deep it could have reached into hell, the harsh lines ease, his lips soften, and his body ceases shaking. His smile misses the latch as he tries to hook it on, though, falters and fades away altogether as he pushes himself into motion again.

“Sorry, Hobi,” is his quiet repentance. “Sorry for –” A pause. Another, shorter struggle, during which Hoseok hopes with a desperation that appals him that Yoongi will tell him the truth he can feel looming at their backs, blocking the sun in shades of trepidation. He’s disappointed. “Sorry for being late. I know you’re really busy right now with all your school shit, but…” The small man snorts, abruptly impatient with himself. “Look, I, uh, know I missed your birthday, okay? And I wanted to make it up to you and I hope this will, but then I got a call and had to go to – I mean, someone made an appointment and then took way longer than they should have. It pissed me off so bad I forgot to text you after it was done, just left straight away and we’re gonna be fucking late which is just great and – sorry, I’m still pretty fucking pissed.”

Having this sprung on him isn’t even remotely what he’d expected, not with the wave of emotions pouring off his boyfriend. “How’d you know about my birthday?” is the first thing he can think to blurt out, although words along the lines of why the hell are you lying and what are you lying about hover dangerously close to the fore. Because Yoongi – for all his swearing and scowling – isn’t angry. Hoseok doesn’t know how he knows it, except that he knows, and it’s a wretched twist in his gut, like missing a step on the way down the stairs. Yoongi isn’t angry, but he’s – he’s drowning, or suffocating, and how do you ask someone about that?

The other man’s face smooths even further. “I figured it out,” he replies, another lie, though this one Hoseok grasps with something other than intuition.

“Jimin told you.” Who else would have mentioned it? How else could Yoongi have ‘figured it out?’

Yoongi’s shrug is noncommittal. Hoseok is annoyed, a little, because he doesn’t want to celebrate his birthday, but that’s nothing in the face of his sudden conviction that his boyfriend is hiding something. Something a lot worse than a birthday surprise. It’s such a powerful certainty that he can’t even summon any curiosity about where they’re going, and there’s a rapidly growing, sinking sensation in his stomach. Because this isn’t a shock. Because this isn’t actually sudden at all, is it? It’s just that suddenly, Hoseok is having a very hard time ignoring it, pushing it to the back of his mind and hoping it goes away. There’s something too immediate about Yoongi’s expression – about the raw tension it’s settling across his nerves.

But what to say? What to do? Should he ruin whatever Yoongi has planned just for the sake of figuring this out? Should he make an accusation he doesn’t even have evidence to support? And what even is that accusation? And what if he’s wrong and he’s just being paranoid and it starts a major fight, like the one at the bar? Wouldn’t that be even worse than whatever they’re feeling now?

Slowly Hoseok talks himself out of his distress, out of the sensation of standing on the edge of a cliff and preparing to jump. The cool logic is accompanied by the nagging conviction that he’s circled the wrong answer on a multiple choice exam – but you’re not supposed to change your mind, right? You’re not supposed to second guess yourself? The questions die a whimpering death in his head, euthanized by his fear of something being wrong, and when eventually Yoongi glances back at him, one eyebrow raised, he manages to organize a grin.

It doesn’t stop his boyfriend from asking, “Are you okay?”

His reply of, “Oh, yeah,” isn’t bought, and Yoongi’s searching expression doesn’t ease.

The small man reaches out his hand, and gratefully Hoseok takes it, glad for the tactile grounding. Whatever their issues, ever since they had first slept together, any kind of physical contact with Yoongi feels like finding something to grab just as you lose your balance. A rock solid support. And Yoongi’s voice, gravelly and a little anxious, just reinforces the feeling flooding his gut.  “Seriously, you’re not pissed? At like – whatever? Jimin said you don’t like celebrating your birthday, which I guess is why you didn’t tell me about it, but this isn’t a big deal or anything, so…”

They’re walking quickly now, Yoongi pulling him along, but not so quickly that Hoseok can’t feel a flush of embarrassment at his companion’s words. He hadn’t told his boyfriend about it – hadn’t planned to, ever, really, which was maybe just a little nearsighted – and the discomfort of having people spend time and effort on him is a comfortably familiar terrain. It’s easier to focus on his faults than on the near-crippling concern for Yoongi, so the student – almost relieved – quickly insists, “No, no, I’m not pissed off at all. I should have told you about it, but I didn’t want – I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I didn’t, but honestly, you didn’t – you don’t have to do anything for me.”

“Bullshit,” Yoongi replies, a bit of bite in the word. “I want to do this. Just wish I hadn’t fucking forgotten to ask about your birthday in the first place.” As Hoseok tries to protest, abruptly feeling something worse than mere discomfort at the thought of Yoongi beating himself up about it, the other man talks over him. “Whatever, Hobi, you don’t even know what we’re doing. Maybe you’ll hate it.”

“Yeah right. But what…” They turn the corner, evading a large group clustered around someone watching a video on their phone, and Hoseok lets his question fade. He’s familiar with this street, and even more familiar with the building they’re shortly standing in front of. He’s been here at least ten or fifteen times in the last year.

It’s not exactly hard to figure out why they’re there.

For the first time in the last hour, he forgets his concern for Yoongi. The smile that breaks across his lips is so large it feels too heavy for his face. One glance at Yoongi – who stares at him like his joy is an antidote to everything wrong in the world – confirms that this is exactly what he thinks it is. Suddenly his breath is a little hard to catch, and he’s swinging the hand that’s clutching his boyfriend a little too wildly, and each step is more a skip than anything. They were actually – they were – it was the Spring Day music festival!

In about thirty-seven seconds, his fears and objections would reanimate – Yoongi shouldn’t have bought the tickets, how much did they cost, Hoseok would pay him back, could he afford to spend time here during crunch season, was he wasting Yoongi’s time. But for those few seconds, Hoseok feels something so delighted it stabs and twists inside his chest, alive with an electric current that sends little pinpricks skittering across his skin. It isn’t a wave or a weight, drowning out his worries; it’s an absence of those fears altogether, a lightness, like any second he could take off soaring.

And of course he would take Yoongi with him. Hell, to judge by that gummy grin, by the almost-skip that’s a match for Hoseok’s suddenly bouncing pace, it might just be Yoongi himself who’d be doing the flying.

Flying, that is, until thirty-seven seconds have gone by and Hoseok, glancing once again at his boyfriend’s face, notices what Yoongi hasn’t yet. The clot of red just barely seeps from the artist’s nose, a liquid warning flag, and for once – finally – Hoseok heeds the warning. He plummets out of the sky, lands bruised and shaken on the pavement, and slams to a halt.

“Yoongs,” he chokes out, just as the first droplet of blood loses its fight with gravity and falls. It’s quickly followed by another – another – until the drops have turned into a trickle, and now Yoongi lifts up a hand and swipes at his nose with the heel of his palm. It comes away smeared with red, and the tattooist stares at it for a long moment, a little knot of frustration resting between his brows. More blood drips down, and he does nothing to halt it, still inspecting the sample on his hand as though it belongs to someone else.

It’s Hoseok that ends up being the first to try to stop it. He fumbles in his coat pocket, pulls out some crumpled Kleenex that have seen better days. Yoongi doesn’t take them when he offers, and he has to physically force them into the artist’s hands, to start to help him clean his palm, before the other man responds. Inhaling sharply between his teeth, Yoongi abruptly seems to wake up, and instead of shoving Hoseok away – as he’d dreaded – the fingers on one hand curl around Hoseok’s, helping him clean away the blotch of red on his skin. With his other hand he gathers the majority of the Kleenex, shoves it against his nose.

Yoongi isn’t swearing, angrily or otherwise. That’s – there’s something wrong about that, about the stony silence. Gut wrenchingly wrong. For some reason Hoseok can hardly look at his boyfriend, but when he manages it – in twitching glances that hurt like pins and needles – Yoongi is devoid of colour. His face isn’t devoid of emotion, but the irritation is a cover-up, as ill fitting as a shirt two sizes too small. It’s such a tight expression it feels like they’re both just waiting for it to rip. And what’s underneath? Fear? Rage? Horror?

Once he’s managed to wipe the blood from his boyfriend’s hand, Hoseok waits a few more seconds, pressure filling up his lungs; a balloon threatening to pop his ribs off their hinges with the force of its expansion. Yoongi doesn’t break the silence – because of course he doesn’t – and eventually Hobi exhales, hard enough to hurt.

“You need to go to the doctor.” Even behind the wad of Kleenex, Hoseok can see the scowl that crosses the other man’s face, and he feels his fingers tightening around the bloody tissue he’s still holding. “This is, what? The fourth nosebleed this week? That I’ve seen? And who knows how many you haven’t told me about.”

“Hobi, come on, just…”

“Just ignore it, right?” Yoongi’s mouth snaps shut, his eyes falling down, and Hoseok feels a throb across his collarbone, at the base of his throat, like something alive and scorching is curled up there. “Screw ignoring it. You have to go see someone. Whatever’s got you – like you are, it’s better to get checked out.”

“It’s nothing. Some shitty little flu or something.” Even his voice is pale, washed out and muffled through the tissue, and whatever Yoongi is trying to sell, it’s obvious even he’s not buying it at this point.

“That’s lasted a month?” Or more, Hoseok thinks but doesn’t say, because he should have said something a month – or more – ago. When the artist’s thin lips tighten, Hoseok knows that they’re headed for an argument, an argument that’s going to go exactly nowhere if he doesn’t change where they’re moving. This has happened time and time again. Hoseok pushes – Yoongi shoves back. They get nowhere. Once again, Yoongi is putting him off, and once again Hoseok can feel that automatic temptation to let it happen, to – just ignore it.

How long can you ignore thunder before you get hit by lightning? How long can you ignore a growl before you get bit?  

“I’ll get over it.” There it is, that digging in, a familiar stubbornness that brings exasperation to a low simmer in Hoseok’s stomach. What is it with Yoongi and doctors? Hoseok hasn’t ever known anyone who gets so violently ill, so often, and yet refuses to see anyone about it. He knows why, at least to some extent – it’s not like Yoongi never makes sarcastic reference to what his dad called him whenever he got sick – but this seems excessive. Childish, even. And it’s also a lie, written in the blood that had dripped down to the pavement at their feet before Yoongi had managed to stem the tide.

It’s hard to smile, and Hoseok’s uncomfortably aware of how much he’s aiming to soothe his boyfriend, to back him off the instinctive obstinacy. He’s even more uncomfortable with the idea that’s stirring to sluggish life at the back of his mind. But it’s not manipulation when it’s for someone else’s own good, right?

“Get over it? Yeah, you will,” he says with a laugh that’s only a little too brittle. “Because you’re gonna go to the doctor and get some drugs or whatever. We’ll go together. I’ll even hold your hand if you’re scared.” The teasing isn’t natural – not with the fear still thick and suffocating at the back of his throat – but he can’t get as angry as his worry is urging him to be. If he does, Yoongi’s going to shut down, close off. Just another hurtle they haven’t quite managed to get over together.

Responding to the light tone as Hoseok hoped, Yoongi shakes his head without much conviction, fingers still pinching the bridge of his nose. “For a bloody nose? I mean…”

“Not for a bloody nose – for me. If you want to think about it that way.” Yoongi’s dark gaze cuts to him, and Hoseok’s grin softens into something pleading, almost apologetic. “I’m… worried about you, Yoongs. I know you don’t think it’s a big deal, but if you went, I’d – I know I’d feel a lot better.” The words are sincere, but how honest can he afford to be when he’s struggling to keep his balance atop Yoongi’s evasions? The answer: not as honest as he wants to be.  

It almost makes him sick, the tremulous smile Yoongi hauls onto his lips in response. “Y’know, if I go, you won’t have any excuse for failing any exams. No sleepless nights worrying about your worthless boyfriend to blame for not studying. You really ready for that?”

His jaw tightens before he forces it to relax, and Hoseok nods with mock seriousness. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Fine.” Yoongi heaves in a breath, pinching his nose harder. “I’ll go sometime this week.”

“Or… you could go today. Right now.” He’s not entirely kidding, the joy of the music festival fled so quickly the after-image of it is drifting like smoke across his mind.

With an ill-advised snort, Yoongi replies, “Fuck that. We still got some films to sit through, remember? We’re late as is.” Although somehow the urgency has totally left both of them by this point, and they make no move to enter the theater, ignoring the weird looks they’re getting from passersby.

“Then afterwards. At least make an appointment afterwards.” Unconsciously Hoseok’s hand rises, pressing through his shirt against the tattoo that’s coloured such an ashy shade that the original blue tinting of the flowers is all but gone, and the white may as well be called grey. The petals are so wilted and sparse he’s taken to wearing clothes that cover them up, ashamed of and sickened by the failure printed across his collarbone and neck. Afterwards. What’s he going to do after the flower dies completely?

He’s trying to face things more head on, but it’s a question filled with too many tears and Hoseok blinks them away, the pressure suddenly heavier than he can handle.

Yoongi is watching him, little creases at the corners of his eyes. For a moment Hoseok thinks those same dark eyes are wet, and an answering pain lurches in his chest, his throat, almost like his tattoo is trying to rip away from his skin. Except then his boyfriend tosses his head, shoulder jerking. “I’ll call, yeah. Right after.”

On impulse, Hoseok stretches out his hand. “You promise?” he asks.

The other man hesitates, his free hand rising to rub at the skin behind his ear. Which just means there’s yet another evasion, another not-quite-truth, stirring in the breathless air between them. For the first time today Hoseok feels something far less convoluted than panicked concern and a grief for things he doesn’t understand, for things that haven’t come to pass. He feels… he wants to call it impatience, or annoyance. Something shallow and easily brushed away. Except it’s not either of those things. Honesty – sick and compelled and unhappy – forces him to acknowledge what it is. It’s anger. Betrayal, even. Why – why won’t Yoongi tell him the truth?

He still can’t confront his boyfriend, though. Still can’t bear the thought of bringing this – whatever this is – out into the open. Better by far to swallow the anger, the fear, the nausea. At least until he’s sure of what’s happening.

After a moment, Yoongi accepts his hand, holds it tightly, as though that alone can make up for what’s wrong. “Promise,” he says, and smiles. But for all that a familiar feeling of warmth surges in Hoseok’s stomach in response to the contact and tone and smile – for all of that, his responding grin is hollow. And he hates that it is.

It’s only the plan, taking uncertain shape while his thoughts and emotions churn, that lets Hoseok keep it together as Yoongi leads him into the theater. It’s only his conviction about how much he loves the other man that stops him from breaking their clasped hands apart and demanding more than Yoongi is willing to give. Neither of those are enough to ease the sick anxiety, and even the prospect of going to see the art he loves isn’t enough to remove from Hoseok the certainty that in the near future – be that days or weeks or even months – something between he and Yoongi is going to change.

And given how happy he is with his boyfriend, how can that change be for the better?    

---

On the towering screen in front of them, some dude is monologuing to his dog, and though Yoongi supposes that there’s a time and place for talking to a pet, he kinda wishes the guy would get on with it. That’s maybe a bit harsh – there are tears and snot and everything, the guy is grieving so hard, and the dog even looks like it’s sympathizing – but to be honest, Yoongi’s not really in the mood. They’re only on the second film, and a cramp is slowly swelling to fill the space on his left side. It feels like the pain is making out with his ribcage. That’s not unusual anymore, but normally moving around eases it, and he can’t right now.

Gnawing on his cheek – at least Hobi probably can’t see in the darkened theatre – Yoongi shifts, just a little. Even that tiny change catches his boyfriend’s attention, and though Hoseok doesn’t look away from the screen, his hand slides over, palm up, an offering no trashy modern god could resist – and Yoongi ain’t as strong as any god.

The second their skin makes contact, a slushy wave of contentment sloshes through his body, not quelling the pain but distracting him from it. Entwining their fingers is a thrill all its own, and though they aren’t speaking to each other, in a way they are. It’s one of Yoongi’s favourite parts of the bond. He doesn’t know how to describe this silence that isn’t quiet at all, but it’s like they’re communicating at a level totally beyond anything as physical as sound waves. Higher than Hoseok’s stress, clearer than Yoongi’s cancer, it’s above anything as basic as bodies. Hoseok can’t feel it in the same way, because he obviously doesn’t know about the bond and thus can’t embrace it, and that’s a shame, but it’s there, and it’s wraps around him in the same way Hobi wraps around him when they lie in bed.

It comforts Yoongi, and he needs that diversion. This morning had been absolute shit, and the trickledown effect has hardly paused as he passed into the afternoon. The thoughts are there – his doctor’s strained face as she’d told him the new results, the way she’d all but begged him to bring someone with him to the next appointment, the nosebleed that had continued the ruining everything trend – but for now, Yoongi ignores it. Hoseok had been upset outside the theatre, and Yoongi suspects he’s still upset, even now, but the films will smooth things over. He hopes. At any rate, wallowing in any of this, particularly in Hobi’s company, isn’t going to do anything for either of them. He just wants Hoseok to have a good birthday gift.

Clinging to his boyfriend’s hand, it really feels as though that shouldn’t be too much to ask.

Things are coming to a head. The appointment this morning confirmed that. Yoongi feels like he’s teetering on the edge of a precipice, and every direction is down. What way can he go, now? Backed into a corner, sitting in the frying pan, there’s nothing left but concrete walls and a fire. Nothing he can do. It’s not about money anymore; he’d made enough and started taking the drugs, just in time to be told it was probably too late for them to help. The ratio of diseased cells to normal ones suggested he was well into the accelerated stage. Maybe even blast. More tests needed. Why was it called the blast stage, anyways? He sure as fuck wasn’t having one.

He might need something besides drugs. A bone marrow transplant. The waiting list is very long, Yoongi. What right did his doctor have to look so stressed and sympathetic as she told him that? Who gave her permission to have a heart for his sake? Can you think of anyone who might be willing to donate, and might also match? Your father, a brother... maybe a friend?

Five friends, and a lover who almost definitely matches, given the literature he’s read on soulmates. He can’t ask any of them, though, because that means telling them the truth. Yoongi can’t do that. He’s too far gone down this path. And anyways, if Hoseok volunteered for the transplant and it failed – which was entirely possible, soulmate or no – it would kill him. Knock him right off the self-worth spire that Yoongi’s been helping him build, a sweaty brick at a time.

So, no. Yoongi settles more deeply into the theatre seat, even as he settles into his deceptions. When he squeezes Hoseok’s hand, the other man mutters under his breath, fusses with the armrest between them until he figures out how to haul it up and out of their way. From there, it’s easy for Yoongi to slump into his boyfriend’s side, breath relentlessly even and peaceful.    

He wishes he had told Hoseok when they first met. He wishes he’d told him at the bar. He wishes he’d told him during any of the million of moments they’ve shared.

He wishes.

[primatechnosynthpop]

"I can't get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you're having breakfast with me in my sweater" fir the ask thing? Every ship is welcome 💕

It was Saturday, which meant no classes, giving Claire a chance to sleep in for once. By the time she woke up, sunlight streamed in through the half-open window, bathing her and Gretchen's dorm room in light. Letting out a yawn, Claire stretched and rolled over onto her side, expecting to see her girlfriend laying next to her. To her momentary disappointment, the spot where Gretchen had laid down beside her the night before was empty now. That disappointment was quickly quelled, however, when she picked up on the sound of her girlfriend shuffling about and humming quietly to herself across the room, accompanied by the low sizzle of a frying pan and the smell of something frying.

Smiling, Claire turned around to see Gretchen standing over the makeshift kitchenette they'd set up in their dorm. With the window open, there was a chilly breeze coming in, so as Claire stepped out of bed she grabbed a green turtleneck sweater that was lying on the floor next to her facedown biology textbook, still open to the page she'd been studying before falling asleep. She tugged the sweater on over the faded t-shirt she used as a pajama top and strolled across the dorm to join her girlfriend at the kitchenette.

Gretchen turned at the sound of her approach, casting a warm smile over her shoulder. "Hey, good morning."

"Hey, Gretch," Claire greeted her with a quick kiss to the temple. "Watcha cooking?"

"Um, I'm trying to do pancakes..." Gretchen glanced down at the contents of the frying pan she was holding over their miniature stovetop: a messy spatter of batter that looked a bit off in terms of colour and consistency. "I'm not sure how well it's turning out."

Claire held back a giggle as she leaned over her girlfriend's shoulder to examine the misshapen array of batter in the frying pan. It was beginning to sizzle; frowning, Gretchen poked at it with the spatula. On the counter next to her was a bowl with the rest of the batter, along with the ingredients she'd used to put it together. There were a few spills dotting the countertop; Claire swiped a dab of spilled batter off the counter with her finger and licked it to test the flavour.

"Maybe it just needs to be mixed a bit better?" she guessed.

"Yeah, maybe," Gretchen said with a shrug as she struggled to flip what was currently in the pan before it could burn.

Claire picked up the bowl of batter, grabbed a fork, and started stirring it around. Right away, she could tell that consistency was part of the issue with the batter; it blended together a bit better once she'd mixed it around a little more. Even then, though, it felt a little too liquidy. With a hum of contemplation, she reached for the bag of flour on the countertop and sprinkled a dash into the bowl to stir in. Meanwhile, the smell of burning arose from the frying pan. Gretchen cursed under her breath as she scraped at the pan's contents, which decidedly didn't resemble a pancake.

"You know," she said with a wry smile once she'd gotten it out of the pan and onto a plate that already contained several other misshapen lumps of slightly burned batter, "Maybe I should just make some toast."

Claire's nose scrunched up in amusement at the sight of her girlfriend's failed attempts. She was never one to encourage giving up, though, so she shook her head and gave Gretchen an encouraging clap on the arm.

"Nah, keep trying! I added a little more flour to the mixture, so the next one might turn out better."

Gretchen didn't look entirely convinced, but she agreed nonetheless. A few minutes later, they sat down across from each other at their study desk/dining table (several of their textbooks were piled up in the middle of the table, which Gretchen pushed aside to lay down a bottle of syrup) to share a batch of pancakes that, honestly, could have been a lot worse. Claire cut off a piece and chewed it thoughtfully, giving the flavour a chance to circulate in her mouth before coming up with an evaluation.

"So, uh, what do you think?" Gretchen asked with a little huff of nervous laughter. "A little undercooked, maybe?"

"I mean, yeah, it's kinda doughy," Claire admitted once she'd swallowed her bite of pancake--but even as she spoke, she was already cutting off another piece. "But... uh, is this your first time making them?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Then it's a pretty good start!" she said earnestly. "Like, I'm good at baking and stuff now, but that's only because I had so much practice--like, making cupcakes for bake sales and stuff. Did you ever so stuff like that?"

"No, not really," Gretchen said with a shake of her head. "I wasn't really the type for extracurriculars... well, except for the anime club in ninth grade, and we weren't even close to competent enough to pull off a bake sale."

Claire grinned at that, delighted to learn a new piece of information about her girlfriend. Gretchen must have seen the amusement shining in her eyes, because she blushed and ducked her head in embarrassment. Chuckling slightly, Claire turned her attention to the plate of pancakes in front of her, and they ate in companionable silence for a moment. Then, while she was reaching across the table for the syrup, she noticed that Gretchen was staring at her with a look in her eyes that resembled amazement. Claire's cheeks heated up from being the subject of such a stare. Even though they'd been dating for a couple of months now, receiving affection from her girlfriend still flustered her like nothing else. It was a good kind of flustered, though--soft and warm and so pleasant that she wanted to keep feeling it for the rest of her life.

"What are you looking at?" Claire asked teasingly as she popped the cap off the syrup bottle. "See something you like?"

"Oh, do I ever," Gretchen replied with an affectionate grin. She reached across the table to take Claire's hand, idly twining their fingers together. "No, I was just thinking, um..." She shook her head, cheeks colouring, as a tinge of embarrassment seeped into her voice. "I can't get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name, and now you're having breakfast with me in my sweater."

"Oh, wait, this is...?" Claire glanced down at what she was wearing. Sure enough, she now recognized the article of clothing as belonging to her girlfriend. No wonder it was kind of big for her, then, with the sleeves dangling loosely over her hands. But she was finding it pretty comfortable, so... "I hope you don't mind me stealing it."

"Nah, it's fine. It looks good on you," Gretchen said, her words taking on a flirtatious tone as she admired the way the sweater fit around Claire's figure. "Then again, most things look good on you."

Claire smiled and fondly shook her head, blushing. "Aww, babe, you flatter me. But you're right," she added. "About the two of us, I mean. It's pretty cool how things work out sometimes, huh?"

"Mm, yeah. The fact that we're together now, especially considering all the crazy stuff that was going on around us when we were first getting together..." Gretchen's gaze wandered back up from the sweater to meet Claire's gaze. Her eyes were full of that same look of amazement, as if they were only just finding each other for the first time all over again. "People say college relationships don't last, but I dunno, I'm feeling pretty good about this one."

Claire grinned, giving her girlfriend's hand an affectionate squeeze. She could feel that warm fluttery feeling inside her chest, and it seemed to encompass every fibre of her being as she held Gretchen's gaze. What the two of them had... she couldn't promise it would last forever, but by god, she wanted it to. And right now, in this comfortable domestic moment, it felt like it could.

"Yeah," she replied. "I feel good about us, too."

[meetmeinthematinee]

Surprise Party -- Ted Theodore Logan Style

A/N: This is my first non-Wick story but I feel like Ted Theodore Logan would throw the cutest birthday party. So -- happy birthday @hereticpriest Hope it’s a great one! 

No warnings -- it’s fluffy.

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“Hey Bill!” 

“Yeah, Ted?” 

“Well, like. Dude. Today is my princesses 21st!” 

“Whoa! Wait, 21st what?”

“21st birthday dude!”

“EXCELLENT” They both yelled in unison and air guitared. 

“She’s a most righteous babe, so like. I gotta do something special ya know?” Ted said holding his hand over his heart. 

“Yeah dude!” Yelled Bill before high-fiving Ted. 

“I gotta think real hard Bill.” 

“Yeah sure. You’re like so good at that dude.” He laughed and Ted punched him in the shoulder.

“Bogus dude.”

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“Ugh, Cindy. It’s my birthday and I’m stuck here. With you. No offence. Like, this is sooooo uncool.” You said dejectedly. “I’m 21, that’s like, kinda a big deal right? But nooooo instead of spending that day at the beach with Ted I’m working.” You sighed dramatically and leaned against the makeup counter. “Well, like is Ted doing anything special for you tonight? He’s soooo crazy about you.” Cindy asked. You shrugged. “Like, I dunno. I haven’t even heard from him today.” You frowned. Maybe he forgot -- he is kind of a ding dong sometimes. You thought to yourself. A customer appeared in front of you looking for a blue mascara so you put on your best smile and got to work even though you were major bummed.

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“Whoa dude. She is going to freak out when she sees this.” Bill said with a huge grin as he looked at the beach picnic in front of them. “Bill, you’re a most excellent friend for helping me!”

“No problem Ted!” They stood quietly for a moment. “Ted, did you like, invite her?”

Ted cocked his head to the side and then his mouth dropped open. “Oh, no dude!” He yelled.

Bill shook his head and put a hand on Ted’s shoulder. “It’s ok man. I’ll go pick her up. Missy -- I mean Mom -- lent me the car, so like. It’s no problem.”

“Whoa, Bill! You’re like, the best dude.”

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You were moping around at home after work. You still hadn’t heard from Ted and you were heartbroken. You tried calling his apartment but all you got was the answering machine. You were wiping your eyes when you heard a loud knock at the door. You ran and flung the door open and were super confused when you found Bill standing there. “Happy Birthday dudette!” He said with a smile. “I’m here on a super secret birthday mission. So like, you HAVE to come with me.” “What? Where’s Ted?” “Come on, like, you’ll see!” “Ok, ok. Just like, let me grab my flannel dude.” You said with a smile. When you got to the car Bill handed you a bandanna. “You gotta tie this on your face dudette.” “Uh, are we like… robbing a bank or something?” Bill laughed “NO! Like, I mean around your eyes. So you can be surprised!” 

“Ohhhh! Cool. Ok!” You laughed and tied the bandanna around your eyes. Bill was such a goofball. He treated you like a sister so you trusted him. 

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“Here we are dudette! Time to get out.” “But Bill! I can’t, like, see anything dude!” You giggled. “Don’t worry princess, your noble squire is like, at hand.” “TED!!!!!” You squealed happily as you felt him take your hand and guide you out of the car. “You crazy excellent kids have fun. I’ll like, see you later or whatever.” Bill said as he drove off. 

You could smell the salt in the air and hear the waves crashing against the shore. You grinned even bigger. “Oh! Ted. Are we at the beach?” “Yeah, I know you like, love it here so.” He was guiding you with his arm wrapped around your waist. You leaned your head against his shoulder as you walked through the soft sand. Suddenly Ted stopped walking and he pulled the bandanna off your eyes. “WHOAAAA Ted! You did all of this?!? For me?!?!” You were blown away. You really thought he’d forgotten and you felt bad for thinking that. There was a huge blanket on the sand and balloons and like, so many kinds of alcohol, and an extremely melted cake. “I didn’t uh, like. Know what kind of booze you’d want so I kinda got a bunch of different stuff. Sorry that your cake is so melted. It’s like, an ice cream cake.” Ted said shyly, scratching the back of his head. “That’s ok Ted. It’ll be like a milkshake.” You said with a smile. “I kinda thought you forgot my birthday babe. I’m like, so surprised right now.” “OH NO! I was like, planning this all day… and then… I uh, like. Yeah.” He said looking sheepishly at the ground. “You forgot to invite me didn’t you.” You said teasingly as your fingers caught the hem of his tshirt. He laughed. “Uh, yeah. Kinda. I was just like, so excited you know?” He took your face in his hands and kissed you. You loved his kisses. He was so soft and so warm. You could feel your heart melting every time. Ted pulled away and gave you one of his signature ear to ear grins. “Happy 21st birthday to my most bodacious, most righteous, most excellent babe.” 

You both settled down onto the blanket and started eating spoonfuls of melted ice cream cake while you leaned against each other. “Mmmm this is like, majorly perfect.” You said savouring the sweetness. “So, would you like sex on the beach?” Ted said. You gasped. “Like, oh my god Ted Theodore Logan!” He laughed nervously. “Oh! What? Ohhhhhh. Like, I just meant, like, the drink. You know. Cause you can drink now. Cause you’re 21.” He said tilting his head to the side, his hair falling over his eyes. You fell backwards onto the blanket with laughter. “Ohhhhhh! Like, I was so confused. Yes, I would like that. But umm, also I might like the um. The other thing too.” You said shyly. Ted just stared at you with wide eyes and his mouth hanging open. “You are like. The most bodacious babe in all of San Dimas. Wait. No. Like, in all of California. I love you princess.” He said  sweetly and earnestly before he leaned down and kissed you again.