#honestly want to lock myself in my room until i just wither away

[luminescentturtle]

who the fuck decided to make living miserable

#why must everything be forced upon me #why can i not choose my own life #why do i have to go to school to get into a school that will leave me in debt for the rest of my life just to get a job to pay off that deb #just to fucking eat #i feel like a hamster in one of those spinny wheel things #i just keep running but im never going to get anywhere #this world is designed so that i never get anywhere #honestly want to lock myself in my room until i just wither away #turtle talks

[0v3rcast]

Gnaw (interlude one: electro)

"It's been such a long time since we've had a little chat, my maker." Electro says, having at some point gone from 'taking your hand and awkwardly not letting go' to 'holding your hand as firmly as possible without hurting you'. "Longer still since I've felt your touch. Apologies if this makes you uncomfortable, I just really missed you."

You ask what it is that makes them presume you are their maker.

"Ah. Right. You kinda locked those memories away, didn't you? You decided to have a nice little vacation in some lame low-future setting. Let's just say for the sake of entertaining your delusions that you're hypothetically our creator."

You ask why they're just now coming into contact with you instead of earlier. Why they didn't prevent your deaths, if you're hypothetically their 'creator'.

"Perhaps this will be painful for you to hear, but until now, none of us could physically come to your aid. Myself and the others are the elements of this world, and with that much power comes a certain risk to your body.

Had I come to your aid, you'd have been vaporized by the sheer amount of energy that you could easily wield before."

They give a small, awkward bow, letting go of your hand.

"To be quite clear: I am Electro. First to fall at your command, and the one who sits at your right side. Your... right hand, if you will. Your agent of change on the face of Teyvat... and your executioner."

You ask what exactly led you to need an executioner, even if you hypothetically believe you, of all people, made Teyvat.

They give you an awkward smile as the two of you begin to travel down a small path up from the beach.

"Other creations from other worlds. Heretics, dissenters, and the occasional rebellious project here. They were rarely powerful, so it took me little time to mop them up."

Other worlds? You had them kill people from other realities?

"My maker, you had me erase realities." They grin much more honestly, the symbol replacing their pupils spinning slowly for a moment. "And I thank you for that opportunity. There's just something special about unwinding another existence and watching your less favored creations cease to be."

You're horrified by this, and nearly trip. By your orders, entire universes were erased... but why?

"Usually, they sought to construct an equal to you. Something they could use to harness your power without your guidance. The power-mad, those that saw you as an uncaring divine, those who sought to take your place..." Electro purrs, their incisors less like human teeth and more like fangs. "There was always room at the end of my blade for every single one of your lost little lambs."

You ask if you made them so bloodthirsty. So... cruel. Or if you'd done something to make them like that.

They laugh, moving in front of you to walk backwards and face you.

"Ah, you're such a delight, my maker. No, no, you aren't to blame for what I am. When each of us was 'born', you allowed us each control of who we were. You even gave us little worlds to live a formatory life on.

My world was a simple one, but one that you enjoyed - you based your vacation world on my homeworld, actually, which was super kind of you - and I grew up with a loving, healthy family. A sister and two dads. Nice people, good morals, never really wanting for anything.

It was all I ever knew, then, and it was fucking boring.

I didn't want a long, dull life with responsibilities and a spouse and 2.5 children, or some middle management position I'd wither away my not-quite-century of life tending to.

I gladly indulged myself in the world's pleasures where I could get them. I'm sure you can understand what I mean. And nothing was ever enough. There was just... something I was missing."

For a moment, you say nothing, instead focusing on navigating around a rather annoying hole in the dirt path. They've returned to walking at your side.

You ask what was missing from what already seemed like a very good life.

"Choice. The ability to say 'I am me, fuck the rules, fuck what everyone else thinks.' I fought to see what I wanted to see, to tear down what I hated, to uplift what I loved. Rules meant nothing if they weren't mine. Law meant nothing when someone else made them. The only one who owned me was me... and you."

"Once I died, and you collected my essence for use, I was given my pick of the elements. I suppose that's what happens when you die at barely 30."

You ask what it was that inspired them to be Electro, and not Pyro or Anemo.

"Simple. Lightning doesn't stay in line. It falls, and it's bright enough to leave a mark on a dull world that's just going about the motions. It makes others take notice. It says 'look at me! See what I choose to be!'

How could I be anything else, when instead I could be me without regrets?

Why would I choose to narrow myself to anything else?"

You ask what they think of the Raiden Shogun. They frown, reaching out to pick a berry from a bush and toss it to you. You pop it into your mouth gratefully.

"Ei is a disappointing Archon. Just... following in a corpse's footsteps. Barely living a life. One day she'll get tired of sealing herself up in a dumb little bubble and letting a doll play house with her people.

I can't really complain, though. She chose that, and all I want is my bearers to choose something and to hopefully enjoy it."

You ask who would be an ideal Archon to them. They shrug, kicking a stone into a small stream as you two finish crossing it.

"Honestly? Don't want one anymore. I liked Makoto because she wanted to do something fucking crazy, and was going to raise hell until she made it happen. That really spoke to me, y'know?

But she's gone, and that's fine. Shit happens, and she knew it was a possibility.

I'd rather keep doing what I'm doing and give Visions to whoever I think would be fun to watch."

You two walk in silence for a while, and then you ask just where it is you're heading, now that you've noted the way the cliffs are growing steeper and the vegetation has changed.

"Liyue. S'nice. Wish it wasn't Geo's turf, fuck'em, but if we're lucky you'll be in good hands with their people. About all I can really compliment them on."

You ask if they can stay at your side and hopefully protect you from... zealous worshippers.

They laugh.

"Hahahaha, hahaha, haha, heh, no." They suddenly deadpan, entirely serious, and stop in place. "You'd probably die. It's a terrible idea for me to protect you when you're so... squishy."

You ask for something to defend yourself with, then, if they're going to be unavailable.

They grin.

"Oh, that's easy. I got you."

They grab your wrist, and you hiss in pain as electricity courses up your left arm. There is now an Electro symbol on your inner wrist, your skin there dyed a royal purple.

"That's the sort of master key to Electro. Electro energy will come to you when you call for it, and since you're you it'll shape itself into a form you like."

They lean in to stage-whisper conspiratorially. "My favorite is a lightning bolt, because hitting someone from halfway across the room with a blast of pure 'fuck you' is always a good time, but I've seen some promising animal shapes and even a couple neat weapons."

They notice something in the distance and grimace faintly after a few moments more of walking.

"We're almost to the border between Mondstadt and Liyue. If you see Geo, tell them they still owe me for all the Electro Crystals."

You ask what that means.

Instead of answering, Electro makes a peace sign in your direction and then vanishes in a sudden crackle of static and the smell of ozone, leaving you on a road. You didn't realize you'd actually been walking alongside them all this way in the real world.

You'd thought it was all sort of a daydream. The mark on your inner wrist says otherwise.

At least you've made it this far?

((Taglist:

(Wow. There's so many of you now.

@the-dumber-scaramouche @thatdeadaquarius @ssak-i @imyme20 @fried-lotud @acacla @itz-luna @iruiji @crierofirony @itsredactedlove @sweetsthetik @leafanonsforest @oxyotl @kkazuyass @featuredtofu @resident-cryptid @d4y-dr3am3r @crimson-ashes @red1sg0n3 @the-real-fandom-person @code-roevember @yourlocalsourwolf @rhoswen-drake @minimari415

@reversearrowhead

#genshin sagau #sagau cult au #sagau gnaw #baby's first power #im out of things to add #and the elements are kinda different compared to their bearers #less 'do as i do' #and more 'ooh a mini-me sorta'

[backwards-readings]

The Door that was Never Supposed to be Opened.

Chapter 4: A Bird in a Cage

{Chapter 1} {Chapter 2} {Chapter 3}

{A/N: This was originally posted on AO3, if you would like to read it there you can find it HERE. I'm going to be straight up with you and tell you that this is pretty much a self-indulgent self-insert fic. I'm not gonna lie. If you don't like that, that's cool, have a good day. But if you're DTF with it, let's get right into the story.}

{Art Credit: this lovely artist

++TW: There are depictions of Suicide. Please, if it is a sensitive topic for you, skip this chapter. I'll add notes on the next chapter a quick summary of what happened without going into detail. I want you to be safe more than I want you to read my writing. If you're struggling with thoughts of harming yourself, please reach out to someone you trust. If you're in the US, you can call 988 to talk with someone, or text HOME to 741741. There's help. There's hope. Be safe, please.++

The next few days I am consumed by anger. I scribble more sketches in my book, but the strokes are dark, and in places the lead of my pencil rips the paper. I tear the pieces of the ruined paper out of the book in strips, balling each strip up and throwing it into the unlit fireplace. I sit on the floor for a bit, staring at the torn pieces of paper sitting in the soot. Tears begin to form in my eyes and I pull my knees up to my chest, hugging them. All this just because I wanted to help someone. I pick the journal back up and begin drawing again, this time taking time to carefully sketch out the face of the man in the basement.

My tears stain the page around the drawing as his face takes shape. I stop when I get to the hair and set down the journal, leaving the drawing unfinished. His face already haunts me, the hopeless look follows me when I close my eyes. The hopeless look that I’ll soon have as well. I stay sitting on the floor, numbness creeping across my body. A numbness that starts in my hands starts spreading across my body, taking hold of me. A tightness creeps into my chest and something tells me it’s here to stay for a while.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The next few days I don’t even bother getting out of bed unless it’s to use the bathroom. What’s the point of putting in an effort to eat and drink water if you’re just going to be stuck in the same room for possibly the rest of your life? Ms Downard comes in a few times and clicks her tongue at the untouched food, taking it away and replacing it with fresh food, but she never says anything to me.

The first two days my stomach grumbles, and on the third day my stomach feels like it’s tying itself in knots, but I don’t care. Better to starve to death than to live out my years in this god-forsaken place. After five days of staying in bed and not eating, Ms Downard finally addresses me.

“Honestly, you think a hunger strike is going to do anything for you? Eat, don’t eat, Master Burgess doesn’t care. It would just be one less thing for him to worry about. One less thing for me to worry about, too. Lord knows I don’t have to bring you fresh food every day. I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart, not asking for anything in return.” She lectures me but I don’t respond. If this is her idea of kindness then I don’t want it.

“Nothing?” She huffs “Fine. I don’t care. Have fun sulking in bed until you wither away into nothing. I don’t care.” She leaves a tray of food on the table and leaves, the click of the lock a bitter reminder. That night I take a few bites of the bread that she left, but I throw it up as soon as I get it down. I crawl back into bed and cover myself with the blankets, a chill clinging to my bones that I just can't shake.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

I’m so tired but can’t sleep. I try again and again to eat, but only a few bites make me sick to my stomach, no matter what it is. I drink the water left for me but it doesn’t seem to stay my thirst. I run a bath and sink into the water, the sting of the cold water doing nothing to wake me up. I wash up slowly, letting my hands and feet get wrinkly in the water. After my bath I sit wrapped in a towel on the bed, not waiting to put on the dirty clothes I’ve been in since getting imprisoned. I’m clean, but I don’t feel like it. My chest is still tight and my skin crawls with invisible dirt and bugs. I try to eat a bit of bread again and this time it stays down, feeling like lead in my stomach.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The next morning, there are clean clothes laid out for me on the table next to my tray of food. It’s a servant's uniform just like my old clothes were. They’re ill-fitting, probably left over from one of the girls who left. The sleeves cover my hands, and I trip over the skirt. There’s no apron to put over the plain dress, but I don’t think I would put it on if there was. I have no need for one as a prisoner. I sit down at the table and eat a few bites of cured meat that sits on the tray, the salty flavour causing me to nearly gag. I eat a little of the bread, hoping that it will calm my stomach, and sit on the bed with my journal and draw.

Once again, my drawings turn from inanimate objects to him. No matter what I do, I can’t get him out of my head. I hate him for it. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t even be locked up. But instead of minding my own, I had to try and become his saviour. I scribble him over and over again, his features flooding my mind. As I create him over and over again, anger begins to bubble. He haunted me when I was free, and now that I am captive he is all I can think about.

He may not have actually been a devil, but he tricked me just the same. If he is such a powerful being, why didn’t he warn me this would happen? Why didn’t he tell me? He let me try to help him when he probably knew the outcome. That bastard might have even wanted this, envious of my freedom. I get up and throw my book across the room, sick of drawing. Sick of everything turning back into him. It hits the wall and falls with a loud thunk, but does nothing but make me more angry. I begin to see red and next throw the tray of food that has been given to me, and then push the vanity in the room to its side and let out a yell filled with anger.

I stand there, seething for a moment before my seething hot anger is replaced with ice-cold sorrow. Tears fall from my eyes faster than I can wipe them away and I sink to the floor, unable to stop the convulsions of cries. I curl up on myself, my sabs raking through my body like waves crashing into rocks. I don’t know how long I lay there for, but eventually my ragged breaths even out and I lay on the floor in silence. My eyes wander around the room, taking in the destruction of my fit, and they fall on the broken mirror of the vanity, shards of the silver-backed glass strewn across the floor.

I drag myself towards the broken glass, grabbing a shard that fits perfectly into my hand- as if it was meant to be. My head throbs with every heartbeat as I palm the glass, feeling the sharp edges. They may have taken away my freedom, but I am not helpless. I don’t want to live caged like an animal. I can’t. I won’t. I hold the shard in my hand, shaking as I sit up and press the jagged edge into my wrist, a hiss of pain coming from my lips as it bites into my skin. Tears well in my eyes again as I watch a stream of blood trickle down my arm, landing in my lap. I dig deeper, pain clouding my vision before I remove the shard and move it to my other arm, my hands shaking more and more. I repeat the process, digging into my flesh until I have to bite back a scream. I remove the makeshift blade and drop it in my lap, holding my bloody arms out in front of me. My eyes begin to feel heavy, and I lay down, not caring about the shards of glass on the carpet that dig into my skin.

Despite the pain, a small smile graces my lips as I lay there. My eyes land on the book I had been drawing in it, the pained stare of my drawing subject meeting my eyes. I don’t remember drawing him looking like he was pitying me, but then again, I had drawn him so many times, that I probably just forgot. I close my eyes, ready to let the darkness take me, to embrace death like an old friend, but instead, I hear a voice. Soft and comforting, like a warm breeze on a summer evening.

“Oh, you poor little thing.” The voice says, and I use what little strength I have left to open my eyes. A woman kneels in front of me and gently brushes a bit of my hair from my face. The woman has dark skin, and her beautiful curly hair hangs around her face. Her eyes are soft and kind, like she knows every hardship you’ve ever been through, but wouldn’t dare judge you for them. She smiles at me kindly, and I blink slowly, trying to figure out if my loss of blood is causing me to hallucinate.

“I’m so sorry for what they’ve done to you.” She says, cupping my cheek with one hand as she brings her other hand down to my arm, gripping my wrist. But I don’t feel any pain. Instead, it feels like warm water is being poured over my wrist, and I feel a bit stronger, but nauseous.

“I did this…” I say, my voice cracking as hot tears roll down my face.

“No, dear. You are not at fault for your death. You saw the only possible way out and you took it.” She says, moving her hand to my other wrist. I feel the same feeling of water running down my arm and I gag, rolling a bit more onto my side as I dry heave.

“I know, I know. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” The woman says, gently stroking my back. “You fought a battle that was stacked against you from the start, and you should be proud of how long you held up against it.” She says softly, gently pulling me upright.

“But I’m not ready to take you yet, Patricia Everly.”

#the sandman #morpheus #dream of the endless #self insert #fanfic #slow burn #eventual smut #eventual romance #ao3 #ao3 link

[theonlygamergost]

Dream’s new friend -Dream SMP

I am an absolute sucker for Techno/Dream interactions, and them getting locked up together made me want to write about them, so here we are. 

English is not my first language so sorry for any grammatical error, I try my best. 

~~~~~~~~~~

They have a plan to escape, but it’s slow and very taxing on Dream’s frail body, so Techno tries his best to be a good friend and support him. Spoilers: he only knows how to be an amazing friend. 

~~~~~~~~~

Warning! Mention of torture, Swearing

Enjoy~

“Just so you know, I'm not breaking all of the blocks by myself, you're helping” he looked at the half-pig while his hands went in and out of the water, Techno grinned, “You really thought I'd let you do that all by yourself?” he let out a short laugh, “I just needed to exaggerate my inner anarchist and look lazy in front of chat, that's all. We can do a block per person” Dream smiled behind his cracked mask, returning his gaze in front of him. Meditating on thoughts while watching the water break every time he punched.

It had been a few days since Techno last streamed, they had just broken the second block, meaning that Dream was up for the third block. The bell hadn't been touched very much, Techno had ringed it twice to annoy the other man, but that was about it.

“Do you regret asking for the bell instead of freedom?” Dream was sitting not too far at a from Techno, just enough to have privacy while writing, “Not really” the pig-man was punching away the second block, “I mean, it would have been anticlimactic to get out of here in the first stream” Dream sighed, “Is the entertainment of the situation all you care about?” he looked at Techno, slightly annoyed. The men tilted his head, “Not completely, but you have to agree that getting out of here using DreamXD would have drawn even more attention on you, not only from Quackity” he noted, “But from all the server” the man with the dirty white mask looked up, resting his head on the wall behind him, “True…”. The pig-man took a quick glance at the other boy and returned his focus on punching, Dream had followed suit and went back to writing.

Dream had kneeled and started punching the third block approximately twenty minutes ago, Techno was relaxing his tired body by laying sprawled on the floor: he had underestimated how tiring the process was.

“I have been training constantly up until I came here and this has worn me out, so how are you holding up?” He turned his face to the man punching away, who laughed at the question, “I’m not, why do you think I slept so much right after?”.

Oh right, the sight of Dream huddled in a corner popped into his mind, the cellmate stayed dead still and silent for a long while after breaking the first block. Who could blame him though? He had been stuck in this prison for what- six, seven months? Techno doubted the first inmate of this cell trained daily, with the heat of the lava and the constant sweating, even he wouldn’t want to train.

“Well, it’s still admirable that you recovered from a day of punching just by sleeping it off” Dream nodded as a thank you. After a sigh, Techno went back to staring at the ceiling, this wasn’t the best idea he had ever come up with, but hey, it was the only subtle one since he couldn’t use withers and tnt to get out.

He closed his eyes and focused on the various sounds of the lava: boiling, bubbling, it seemed like a soup cooking, but the sound of the liquid flowing down wasn’t normal, he opened his eyes, “Dream, the lava is falling”. The other man stopped punching and got closer to the edge of the cell, as soon as pistons got into motion, he quickly leapt behind the netherite block line and almost got left out, as it raised from the ground. Techno scooted in front of the bell and Dream leaned on the barrier, curious to see who was coming.

Some dreadful minutes after, the lava finally revealed who was visiting: It was none other than Sam.

“Heyyy Sam!” Techno was quick to chirp a greeting, waving excessively. Dream simply gestured a salute, backing away from the netherite blocks and leaning on a wall. The man in armour hopped on the taxi platform and started making his way, still silent. “What brings you here Sam? Maybe you’ve decided to free me?” The pig-man got no reply, just a stare, “Are you here because I have called every book I signed ‘Sub to Techno’? Listen, I can’t really apologize about that-” Sam got closer, still no response. Dream eyed the bell behind his inmate and hoped that the guard wouldn’t get too close, what would even happen if he saw it? He feared nothing good.

The platform reached the cell and Sam stepped on the obsidian, Dream wanted to ask where was Quackity, why he wasn’t coming anymore, maybe Sam was here to torture him in his stead? But he stayed quiet, not wanting to wake up the sleeping lion.

“Oh I got it!” Techno snapped his finger, “You missed us so you came to see us!” Sam sighed as he started to fumble in his inventory, “Don’t be ridiculous Techno” the guard finally spoke, “I came to check if you weren’t trying to escape-” He plopped a bag on the netherite barrier, “And to bring you potatoes. I’ve heard you’re a big fan of them, Technoblade” A smirk slipped though, god was he tired of being teased with the whole ‘Potato lover’ joke.

Sam turned to  Dream and went back to rustle in his pocket, “I’ve also brought more journals and some ink for you, Dream.”. He also placed those on the barrier, the man with the white mask got off the wall and placed the bag of food on the floor while also grabbed the stationary, murmuring out a “Thank you”.

The guard looked at the two prisoners again, “You two better not be planning anything. Behave and nothing will happen to you” he said as he hopped back on the platform, and even when it started moving, he was still looking at those two. He only broke sight when he arrived on the other side, took down the netherite barrier and re-activated the lava.

Techno had been sweating throughout the entire meet-up, thankfully, the high temperature disguised his nervousness. Focusing on the slow dripping of the crying obsidian helped him avoid fidgeting or bouncing his leg. Dream was mostly focused on not looking in Techno’s direction too much, to avoid raising suspicion, he also restrained himself to tease or talk back to Sam, even though, thinking about it more clearly, in all the times Sam came to check up on him, he seemed lost in his thoughts, absent…

Both the inmates let out a sigh of relief when the lava-curtain dropped, Dream slid down the wall onto the floor, “I don’t know why he didn’t enter the cell like he usually does, but thank god he didn’t”, Techno let out a shaky breath, “That was pure stress… I thought hiding the bell was going to be easier”.

The two took a break from talking: Techno layed down again, placing an arm on his forehead, meanwhile Dream placed both books and food in their place. When he too sat down, Techno asked: “You should get some sleep before going back to punching” he tilted his head to look at the other man, who replied smiling at the friend’s concern, “Nah” he shook his head, “I don’t want to sleep, but I’ll post-pone punching for a little more” Techno nodded, closing his eyes for a little.

Silence fell again and the bubbling from the lava took over as the main noise, the elder guardian screech renewed their mining fatigue and Dream decided to close his eyes for a minute as well.

_________

The hard ground and the heat that wearing the mask had created were hard to ignore, his body ached a little and he was out of breath, “Oh wow that actually worked”, a faint voice made him realize that his mind was foggy: he had fallen asleep.

Slowly stretching his limbs, letting out a long whine and blinking a couple of times got him a bit more lucid, getting up to a sitting position. Scanning the room he realized his inmate was sitting at the edge of the lava cascade blocking the cell, fumbling with what, he couldn’t see.

“...Mh… Techno…” he mumbled with his morning voice, yawning right after. The friend looked over his shoulder to see a sleepy Dream rubbing his eyes, he smiled, “Good morning dear, I’m cooking you breakfast before you head for work”. The white-mask man smiled, “Very funny Techno…”, he stretched again. “Oh no I’m not kidding, I’m baking the potatoes” he turned to show the crispy tubers in his arms, Dream’s eyes widened. “Oh wow, you really did that” Techno nodded, getting up from his improvized ‘kitchen’, “I was surprised it worked as well honestly”.

The smell of food filled the cell, making the sleepy man’s stomach rumble, they both laughed at the sound: Dream had almost forgotten what hot food tasted like. “Here” Techno threw him a potato, almost dropping it on the ground because of Dream’s rusty reflexes.

He took off his broken mask out of excitement to taste the meal, not realizing his own action, but Techno didn’t stare at him nor asked questions about it, he simply sat down himself and didn’t speak a word, probably the easiest and more natural way he had ever shown someone his face, he silently thanked the other man for not judging him or reacting negatively.

Once he started eating it, a tear almost fell off his eye, the pig-man noticed, “Oh yeah… you’ve been eating them raw for a long time”. The potato expert looked over the hungry and content friend eating away, “I can always do more if you’d like, they taste better cooked either way” and he also took a bite. They ate in silence mostly, a couple of words were exchanged but nothing much.

When Techno (who wasn’t as hungry as Dream) finished his snack, he looked over at the ‘ex toilet’ and got up to sit down next to it, rolling his sleeves up. Dream noticed, “Umf...Whatf awe you doingf?” He asked with his mouth full, making the friend smile, “I’ll start punching so you can rest a little more, we can swap whenever you feel rested and full enough” and he did start punching, Dream nodded, looking at the potato in his hand.

Now he understood why Phil and Wilbur liked Techno so much: who he saw as friends were treated with the utmost respect and care. He glanced over at the pig-man once more. But if you never saw this side of him… how could you even try and trust him? That’s why Quackity was so traumatized…

He squinted, the view of Techno standing between him and Tommy flashed in his mind, Dream’s eyebrows knitted.

Then why did Tommy give away Techno’s kindness for a dying country and people that didn’t care for him?

A deep sigh came from the man in the corner, snapping Dream back to his obsidian cell.

As long as Dream was sincere with Techno. they would have been both down to help the other. He finished munching on his meal. Yes, Techno owed one to Dream, but now that he was alone, with no friends or allies, transforming that debt into a friendship seemed like a gift. A gift Dream would treat with respect and gratitude.

“Thank you Techno…” Techno smiled, allowing a content noise to slip out of him, “What, for cooking a potato?” Dream shook his head even if the pig-man couldn’t see him, “No… For being my friend” the man in question turned to look at the white mask- no, underneath the white mask. “I don’t have a lot of friends myself y’know, I guess you could say we are two lonely dudes keeping each other company”.

Dream giggled, they hadn’t interacted that much until now… but he was sure he was going to enjoy being around him.

#dreamsmp #dreamsmp fanfiction #technoblade #dreamwastaken #awesamdude #fanfiction #my fanfiction #writing #my writing #tw torture mention #dream fanfiction #technoblade fanfiction

[youllallriseintheink]

Angel of the Ink Machine, chapter 2: Compromise

The premise of this AU is simple: Sammy leaves the studio instead of Henry, and as a result, Joey needs a new partner in crime. He finds one in Allison. Power struggles, sacrifices, passion, ecstasy and tragedy ensues.

---

Allison’s first few weeks at Joey Drew Studios had been interesting, to say the least. Joey had introduced her to the music room on her first day, and all had seemed to go well. The next day, however, just as she was setting things up in her recording booth, a small, blonde woman who hadn’t been around the day before had come in to interrupt her. Apparently, the last voice actress for the part of Alice Angel- Susie Campbell- had been away the previous day and hadn’t been told that she’d been replaced. The poor woman was heartbroken, and Allison had felt bad for taking a role that was essentially meaningless to her from someone who clearly cared much more about it.

That pity only lasted until Allison realized that half of the music department had taken a disliking to her, seemingly overnight. It was hard to tell how much of that was their loyalty to Susie and how much of that was just their regular standoffish-ness. Either way, Allison didn’t much care for the whole high school-level cattiness of it. Any friends she’d make in this studio would be outside the music department.

Voice acting was fine. Dating Joey was wonderful. She hadn’t gotten to play with the ink machine yet, but they’d done other magic together. She didn’t care for his secretiveness about his plans for the machine worked, though, and after a while she decided to seek out answers on her own.

Her first thought was to ask the man who was building the machine, Thomas Connor. He said that he didn’t know how this thing was supposed to work and didn’t want to, and sure as hell wouldn’t tell some random music department kid if he did. She asked his assistant, Wally Franks, who told her a round-a-bout tale about how he’d drawn up the first blueprint. This was not information Allison could use.

There was one other person she could ask, but it was a long shot. Despite her best efforts, Allison hadn’t fully avoided the high school nonsense of the music room, and she knew the reputation that their projectionist, Norman Polk had as a keeper of unknowable secrets. Allison thought that they were being ridiculous, but it was worth a shot, and he was open enough about meeting with her over lunch one day.

“So, you’re working with Joey Drew on the magical stuff,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“Uh, yes. Does everyone know?”

Norman laughed a little. “Most people here don’t even know that magic is real. Anyhow, I assume that you came to me because you’re interested in knowing some kind of secret?” If he was annoyed about the new girl knowing his reputation, he didn’t show it. If anything, he seemed amused.

“Yes. Honestly, I just want to know as much about Joey as I can. Especially anything that has to do with magic, and the ink machine.”

“Well, I guess telling you can’t be any more dangerous than him keeping it from you. Follow me.”

“You want to know a secret about Joey?” Norman asked as they walked, “he hires people he thinks are vulnerable and down on their luck. So Joey Drew Studios has some teenagers working here, some people with disabilities from the war, and a lot more non-whites and queer people than you’d expect. Not a secret, just a pattern I’ve noticed. But I know that what you want is real secrets.”

Norman took her to a room labelled, “The Archives.” Within it was hundreds of audio logs in locked glass containers. “Joey audio-records us,” Norman explained. “I don’t know his purposes for it, but he clearly does it a whole lot. The glass bins are locked, obviously, but I stole one off his desk a couple days ago. Wanna hear it?” The man’s face had gone from proud and amused to dead-serious.

“Sure...”

Norman pressed the button, and the audio log played. It was Joey Drew speaking to Thomas Connor. They were talking about how to change Bendy from a soulless abomination into a lovable cartoon, and it ended with Joey promising that if these things are soulless, he would get them a soul. After all, I own thousands of them.

“You wanna know what I think? I think that Joey is great at preying upon the desperate. And quite recently, he made a person desperate to be a cartoon character again. So, Allison. I don’t know what your role in this magical business is, but if you can help it, don’t let Joey hurt Susie Campbell- she’s my fiancé. I’ve already told her to be careful around Mr. Joey Drew, but...”

Allison was struggling to take this in. Joey wanted to kill people for this project? That was insane! And yet, some of those pentagrams in the basement had looked awfully large. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean that he wants to murder people. But I’ll talk to him, Norman. I promise. And I do have power over him, so you can count on me!”

---

Allison kept her promise, and brought it up the next time she was at Joey’s house.

“Joey. I need you to tell me right now if this ink machine project involves killing people.”

Joey immediately tensed. He’d been thinking for weeks of a way to break that to Allison that wouldn’t make her run for the hills. “Not... killing. I mean, they’ll still be alive. It’s more like putting them in another body. Yes, the process does involve causing their old body to bleed out, but their consciousness will still be there- probably.”

“Probably?” her face was remarkably calm, given the circumstances.

“I’ve tested the machine on rodents. None of them came out physically resembling a cartoon- only your potion lets me do that. But some of them came out acting like rodents, some of them came out acting like cartoon characters, and some of them went berserk. I’m trying to figure out how to make more of them come out as either rodents or cartoons. If the person retains their personality, they could basically be actors. And if they come out with the cartoon personality, well...”

The more Joey spoke, the more withering Allison’s glare became. “Okay. None of that. I’m not going to destroy people for this. Going forwards, only retaining the consciousness is considered a good outcome. Capisce?”

“Okay,” Joey said, starting to regret letting Allison into the project.

“And I assume that you were going to tell the sacrifices exactly what’s going to happen to them beforehand?”

“Well... Allison, how many people do you think would do this if we were to tell them everything? I was going to tell them that they’d go to sleep and then wake up as the cartoon character they want to be.”

Allison shook her head and appeared to think things over a moment. “You know what, Joey? I’ll do this. But we can’t do it without my potion, so we’re going to do it on my terms. You understand? So, here are my terms: one, we test that machine. We test it on rodents until we have at least 70% of them coming out acting like rodents. Alright? Two, don’t sacrifice anyone without my permission. Ever. And three: I want to be the one who talks people into becoming sacrifices. I have a silver tongue, too, and I don’t trust you to be honest with people. Those are the terms. Take them or leave them.”

“I’ll... I’ll take them. But Allison, if you’re going to have this much power over the project, I need you to show that you’re loyal to it.”

Allison smiled. “Of course. I’m sure that we could work something out!”

---

“What do you think- can you break the lock, Wally? I can’t believe I locked myself out like this.”

“Hmm... Well, Shawn has been tryin' to teach me how to pick a lock. I could try.” Wally got to work on the door and had busted it open within two minutes.

“Alright! Thanks, Wally.” Joey handed Wally the 20$ he’d promised him. They parted ways, and then Joey got to work scouring Allison’s house for that potion recipe.

It was nine weeks and four days after Joey had agreed to Allison’s terms. Six weeks, and only now were they making their first human sacrifice. Worse, they’d wasted hundreds of dollars worth of pet store rodents and a few dozen hours spent altering their ritual. They’d gotten those rodents to turn into toons- mostly perfect toons- that acted like animals at a high enough rate to satisfy Allison, and now Allison was headed to Susie’s apartment to talk her into becoming their sacrifice. Joey wished he could be there, making sure that Allison was doing it right and not scaring Susie away from the idea in the name of honesty. But the one benefit to this situation was knowing that Allison wouldn’t be here, and that after this she would be headed straight to the studio- he wasn’t leaving this place without that potion recipe, and thus full power over the project.

Joey checked all the obvious places like cupboards and drawers, paged through binders full of recipes for various potions and food items, and then checked the obvious “hiding place” places, such as under her bed, under rugs, and so on. It didn’t help that Allison’s house was rather cluttered. For all Joey knew, he could have missed the recipe while sorting through the various papers on the kitchen table. He checked his watch and learned that he’d spent too long here and had supposed to be at the studio an hour ago. Well, he had to give up and leave sometime. Before he left though, he went back to one of Allison’s recipe binders, where Joey had bookmarked a page labelled, “Memory spell? Failed.” He tore out the page. Allison clearly wasn’t the best at creating spells, but seeing it had given Joey an idea of something he could add to the ink machine rituals. It would take at best a few weeks to perfect, but what if he could control what the sacrifices remembered and forgot? There were so many potential uses...

---

Norman had been right about Susie being desperate to be Alice again. Susie had been furious when Allison had showed up at her apartment, but once Allison had said the words, “Joey and I want to make you Alice again. We agreed that you’re the best person for the job,” she’d broken down in tears.

“D-do you mean that?”

“Of course I do! It was the plan from the very beginning. Susie, no one is as well-suited to being Alice Angel than you are. Now, I’ll still be her voice actress, but you’re going to make history- trust me, people will remember you as Alice for decades after this. Joey found an improvised means to bring you closer to Alice than any actress ever has been to a character. The process will seem scary, but Joey will help you, I’ll be there every step of the way. I’m pretty excited myself, honestly! No one’s ever done this before. So, are you with us?”

“Well, that sounds... too good to be true. I mean, even just getting my role back would be nice wonderful, but here you are promising me fame and all of that... But you’re being awfully vague about it. What exactly do you have planned?”

“Come with me to the studio. It has to be seen to be believed.”

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #allison pendle #joey drew #norman polk #susie campbell #my fanfiction #Angel of the Ink Machine AU

[therainbowwillow]

https://therainbowwillow.tumblr.com/post/640094221880197120/therainbowwillow -Part 2

Well! Part 3/??? Here’s the premise: Hades’ terms for Orpheus leaving Hadestown are extremely harsh. Persephone threatens to leave him, and he’s forced to back down, leaving Orpheus with a single rule: he can’t sing until he’s out. He orders the residents of Hade to kill Orpheus, the only living mortal in the underworld. Eurydice, Persephone, and other mythological heroes join him on the journey to escape. Hermes gets word of his son’s trial and decides he’ll assist Orpheus. Dionysus joins him to visit Persephone (his mother, I’m using his Orphic parentage: Hades and Persephone) and Apollo comes, inspired by Orpheus’s attempt at freeing Eurydice, to find his lover, Hyacinthus.

TLDR Hadestown, but a different terms for our favorite singer and WAY more characters because why not.

Unrelated but my phone really wants to autocorrect “Orpheus” to “Orange,” which makes for a whole different story, honestly.

Anyway, here we go:

Eurydice lays beside her sleeping lover, staring up at the cracked ceiling of Persephone’s greenhouse. Burnt vines wrap the walls and climb towards the artificial lights of Hadestown. “Plants don’t grow towards neon the way they do the sun,” Persephone had said. “Not even when coerced by a goddess.” Still, the abandoned building provides decent shelter, which is far better than the rest of the underworld. Instead of trapping the heat, it seems to keep in the cold.

Eurydice glances at Orpheus. Even in the cool of the greenhouse, he sweats in his sleep. He’s exhausted and hungry, she knows, but they have no outside food. If he eats the food of Hadestown, she fears it’ll bind him to the damned place, just as the pomegranate seeds had bound Persephone.

Orpheus rolls over. He mumbles something incomprehensible. Eurydice keeps a closer eye on him. “Persephone?” she asks.

“Hm?” The goddess responds.

“What will Hades do if he catches us? I know the stories... Sisyphus, pushing his stone uphill forever. Tantalus, starved, with food just out of reach. Eternal torture. Is that what lays ahead?” Her voice doesn’t quiver. She finds she isn’t afraid of the answer, not after the mines. Hours and hours of her pickaxe against stone. And once she’d finished, she’d be building Hades’ wall or laying wires or partaking in some other pointless feat. Everyone in Hadestown feels like Sisyphus now.

“It’s best... it’s best if you don’t think about it.” Persephone sips from her canteen. Alcohol, certainly. Her voice has a drunken lisp to it.

“I want to know what’s at stake,” Eurydice says. Orpheus again tosses in his sleep.

“Eternal torture sums it up fine.”

“He’ll separate us, won’t he?”

Persephone shrugs. “Your contract will change. All of ours’ will. Probably a ban from speaking to each other.”

“What can he do to stop us?” Achilles mutters. “We’re dead already and he took our paridise. I can bear his whip, his mines. This whole place is torture.”

“Tell me about it.” Persephone rolls her eyes. “A goddess of spring, confined to... this.” She gestures around her.

“They say you loved him,” Eurydice says.

“Loved him. An emphasis on loved.” She takes another sip of her alcohol and slips off her wedding band. She flips it in the air and catches it. “I chose this. I chose Hades over light. Over life and clean air and springtime. I preferred Hades’ tyranny over Demeter’s. That dance... it almost felt like a fresh start. But what did I expect?” She takes a withered vine between her fingers. “This is futile. We should be planning. This place sucks the life out of everything it touches. Our poet included.”

Orpheus gasps. “Speaking of our poet, he’s awake!” She tilts her head. “You alright?” Eurydice asks.

Orpheus swallows. His eyes are wide and his breaths quick. He shakes his head. “No... no. You need to go. All of you.”

“Hey,” she rests her palm over his hands. “I’m not going anywhere. You need rest.”

He wipes his eyes. “You don’t understand. You don’t understand! Go. Please Eurydice. Please.”

“Shh... shh. You’re alright.”

He snatches his hand away. “No. I’m not. It’s... it’s too far. I’ll be... I’ll be dead by the time we reach the Styx.”

“Orpheus! Don’t talk like that. We’re gonna make it.”

“No, we aren’t. Hades is going to find me and he’ll kill me because I... I can’t do this. I can’t walk alone and I’m not allowed to sing and whatever he did to me...”

“Orpheus, look at me. You’re gonna be fine.”

“It’s not over, okay? I... I should’ve told you but...”

“What are you talking about, Orpheus? What is this?”

He sobs and sinks into her arms. “I feel worse. Eurydice, I’m getting worse,” he whispers.

“Once we’re out-“

“Once you’re out. Leave me here.”

“How can you say that? I’m not letting Hades have you!” Eurydice raises her voice.

“I came for you. And now... you’re dragging me out. I’m useless and I’m holding you back. Eurydice, I’d never forgive myself if you didn’t... if...”

“We’re going to get out of here.”

“Would you listen to me?” He yells. “We are not going to get out of here. Not so long as you’re carrying dead weight! I...” he tries to push himself upright but sinks back into Eurydice’s embrace. “I can’t sing. I can’t walk. I can’t even stand.”

She doesn’t respond. She just holds him, tight in her arms. “I don’t care,” she whispers. “I’ll carry you out of here if I have to. I love you and I’m never letting you go again. I promise.”

Orpheus says nothing. “Orpheus?”

She lifts him up and his chin falls against his chest. “Orpheus... no. No, you can’t do this to me.” She places a finger under his nose and feels his shallow breaths. She breathes a sigh of relief. “You’re alright. You’re alright.” She isn’t sure if she’s trying to convince herself or Orpheus, who cannot hear her. She lays his head back down on his coat, a makeshift pillow.

Patroclus kneels at her side. “Orpheus is right. He is getting worse.”

“What’s wrong with him?” She begs.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “He could be ill with some plague, but that’s Apollo’s domain, not Hades’s. Maybe he is only hungry or dehydrated. Regardless, he’s right that he won’t last forever down here. We should get moving.” Eurydice nods. “I wish I could be more help.”

“Someone’s here!” Achilles shouts. Patroclus leaps to his feet.

“Protect Orpheus,” he commands Eurydice and Persephone.

“If it’s my husband,” Persephone growls, “I’ll deal with him.”

Patroclus nods and returns to Achilles.

—————————————

Hades sits beside his office window. He’d given the orders in the morning: kill Orpheus. If the boy dies, his killer will not be asked to work for the rest of their time in the underworld. His plan would soon succeed. His shades would end the fool’s life and finally, finally, Hades would have his kingdom back. It had only been 48 hours or so since Orpheus’s failed serenade, but it had felt like an eternity.

Hades reaches for his wine glass. The portrait he’d torn from the wall catches his eye. Persephone, smiling, a babe at her knee. It had been a long while since he’d seen that child. Dionysus, god of wine and madness. He visited the underworld plenty, once or more every winter. Never the tower, though. He only knew the boy had come by because his wife would return, drunk out of her mind. He’d drag her to bed and every time, he’d bribe Hypnos to keep his dear Persephone asleep an extra few hours, to let her sleep off the hangover. Dionysus could wash away her intoxication with a wave of his hand. He used to. But for a long while now, she’d return drunk. Upon her request, Hades knew. He tried now not to feel the sting of this fact. His own wife would rather be blackout drunk than speak to him.

Still, he loves her. He’d laid a thousand miles of wires to brighten his kingdom, to mimic the sun she so loved. And she’d complained it was too bright. He’d let her have a wide stretch of land to attempt to grow a garden. He’d tended it with her, but still, the plants wilted. And now he had let Orpheus tear out his heart for Persephone. He’d done everything for her, nearly lost everything for her, and still, she hates him.

Hades lifts the painting from the ground and lays it across his desk. He sees his labors. To keep his hold on the underworld and his wife’s affection, if she has any left. He must prioritize his realm. He loves her, more than any kingdom, but the binds of death must not be unwound, Hades knows. The mortal realm his wife so loves would wither without death. It cannot be overrun by fleeing shades. His kingdom is his responsibility, and he must keep it in check. And so he tucks the painting into a drawer, gone from sight, gone from mind.

————————————

Hermes was beginning to wonder if Zeus could think up a worse punishment than his current circumstances. Dionysus tips his head back and chugs another flask of wine. “Want some?” he offers, for what must be the thousandth time.

Hermes sighs. “Yes.”

“Aha! Finally! The best of the best for you, my friend.” He holds out the flask and curtseys, sloshing wine over his tunic.

Hermes pinches the bridge of his nose. “Read the room,” he mutters.

“What?”

“I said thanks,” he lies. He takes a sip. The wine is incredible, better than any mortal’s best vintage.

“My dear flower, light in my eye, the sun to my sky...” Apollo recites.

Hermes wants to scream. His son is probably miserable, cast into Tartarus or locked in a cell somewhere, and here he is, listening to Apollo memorizing lines for Hyacinthus, who’s probably so deep under the Lethe’s amnesia that he won’t remember who the god is. He takes another sip of wine. “Dionysus!”

“Yes?” Dionysus laughs.

Hermes grits his teeth. Intoxication is no help to Dionysus’s ability to understand the severity of the situation. “Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“You’ll undo the effects of your alcohol on me before we get to Hadestown.”

“Sure.”

“Excellent. Now, do you have something stronger?”

“‘Course! Here.”

Hermes drinks. The alcohol burns his throat. He forces himself not to cough.

“Too strong?”

“Mm.” Hermes clears his thoat. “Not at all.” He finishes the flask.

—————————————

“Show yourself!” Achilles shouts. Patroclus stands back to back with him, armed with a pickaxe from the mines.

“I don’t think you’re in much of a place to be making demands.” The voice echoes from every corner of the greenhouse.

“Funny, I disagree.” Achilles whirls and throws his pick axe through the man’s chest. His body dissolves as if it’s made of smoke.

“Could’ve questioned him,” Patroclus says.

“What would we ask? ‘Who sent you?’ Take a wild guess.”

Patroclus shrugs. “There’ll be more of them.”

“So we don’t let our guard down. Let’s get going, Pa-“

“Argh!” He yelps.

“Patroclus!” Achilles whirls. A bowman from the roof. “To cover!” He grabs his lover’s hands and drags him to the nearest wall, out of the range of the archer’s arrows.

Patroclus clutches his shoulder. “If I hadn’t moved, that would’ve gone through my chest,” he states. “Warn Persephone. I’m alright.”

Achilles nods. “Keep your eyes open. There’s no way he’s alone. I won’t be long.”

He runs along the wall. He glances up at the ceiling. The archer is gone. He runs for the exit, then the entrance to Persephone’s greenhouse. An arrow strikes the ground at his feet. He dives in the door and slams it behind him. “We were followed,” he announces.

“So we discovered.” Persephone’s vines wrap the ground and up the wall, where a man dangles by his wrists. “Orpheus is-“

The door opens, Patroclus stands in its frame. Achilles runs to his side. “I told you to stay behind.”

“There’s more of them. They were going for a better shot on me, so I ran.”

“Your arm...”

“Is fine.” Patroclus answers. “Where’s Orpheus?”

“Here! A hand, one of you?” Eurydice calls from the opposite wall. “He’s hit.” They both run for Orpheus.

Persephone’s captive screams. “I’ll ask again. Who sent you?”

“Hades!” The man yelps. “Please!”

“I knew it,” she snarls. “His orders. What were they? Be exact.”

“Any man who kills Orpheus won’t have to work for the rest of eternity.”

“How many are after him?”

“I don’t know!” He cries. “Please!”

She tightens the vines around his throat and the man vanishes into ashes.

“Is he breathing?” She calls to Orpheus’s aids.

“Yes,” Patroclus replies. “He’s only been hit in the leg.”

Persephone nods. “I’ll hold the doors.”

Orpheus groans. “I know, I know,” Eurydice murmurs. “You’ll be okay.”

“I need to get the arrow out. Give him something to bite down on,” Patroclus tells her.

She stuffs a piece of cloth into his mouth. “Bite.” He does.

“Hold him down.” Orpheus screams. “Almost there. And it’s out. Hold pressure. Right here.” He guides Eurydice’s hands over the wound. “Press hard, don’t let up,” he tells her. “I know it hurts, Orpheus. Focus on Eurydice.”

“O-okay.” Orpheus chokes out.

“Achilles, we’ll need strips of fabric. One of the blankets should be fine. Tie a tourniquet above his wound. Apply pressure. The bleeding will stop.”

Achilles begins to tear a blanket. “Your shoulder, Pat.”

“I’m alright.” He presses a hand against it.

“No, there’s an arrow through your arm. And love, that’s what Hades has on us. If you die, you’re stuck on the banks of the Styx forever. I’m afraid... we’d never see each other again. An eternity without you... I don’t want to imagine it.”

“Okay, okay. Give me a piece of that blanket.” Achilles does. “When I take the arrow out, it’ll bleed. If anything happens, I’d recommend you leave me behind. Hades might let me live, if I say I’ll give him information and you won’t be burdened to carry me.”

“You know I won’t leave you here.”

“Yeah, I thought that might be fruitless.”

“You’re gonna want to see this,” Persephone calls. Achilles stands.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells Patroclus.

“Look.” Persephone points at the roof. An arrow whizzes and the bowman standing on it falls. “Someone wants us to make it out.”

“Or someone wants to take us alive,” he says, grimly.

Something drifts down from overhead. A scrap of fabric, maybe. It lands at Persephone’s feet. A cloth carnation. Beneath it, a note: “Hermes is coming.”

#hadestown au #hadestown fanfic #hadestown #therainbowwrites

[cobradoesmcyt]

Black Rose (1/4)

First real post back and it will be the first fic of a four part series! And this particular part is called “We won’t let you wither away”. Also there is a ship, though it’s quite subtle but I’m still tagging it because why not?

Also I was asked to do this: @gridoc 

Grian fell into the water under the concrete machine, which had once again been destroyed. This had already happened four times, this being the fifth. And honestly, at this point he could care less. He couldn't be bothered to fix it again, to rebuild it just to see it fall apart before his eyes. Grian didn't care that the water was soaking through his red sweater, he just wanted to lay still and not do anything. He was peaceful watching the waves beneath him splash up on the rocks and land, the gentle stream of the collection part of the redstone contraption caressing his cheek gently. He didn't realize how peaceful the ocean, or water in general was, maybe he should take more breaks.

Just as he was dosing his communicator went off, startling him out of his previously sleepy state. He sat up slowly, grumbling as the gentle stream of water parted jaggedly, so unlike it had done when he was just laying still.

Sahara's broken again. What did you do?

It was from Iskall. Short and simply, such a normal thing for both him and Mumbo to ask their shortest member. But oh so hurtful to said member. Sure, Grian might take it with a smile, but why can't they see the hurt in his eyes? The seriousness and pleading when he asks them to stop poking fun at him and actually do something? Oh no they can't, they're too busy making fun of him.

Sure Grian knows it's all in good fun, but his friends seem to forget one big thing; You can't poke holes in something forever and except it to stay hole, it's going to break eventually.

And they had poked too many holes.

Tears filled Grian's eyes as he clutched the communicator in his hand, Iskall's message still on screen. He glared at it for a few seconds before throwing it at a rock wall with a loud shout. Months of anger making him throw it hard enough to easily shatter as soon as it made contact.

And just like that all the anger was gone, instead replaced by true and utter sadness and grief. He waded over to the concrete wall and rested his head against it, his fist coming to bang on the wall as he cried.

He didn't want this, this isn't what he wanted! He wanted to be happy, he though he was happy. But he was just fooling himself, he hadn't been happy for ages.

Everyday was filled with reminders of what has happened. War, competitions, infiltrations you name it. But he didn't want to remember, he just wanted to forget. But his fellow Hermits just kept reminding him, over and over again. He was so tired of it all, it was all too much.

They never focused on the actions Grian did, it was always the actions Grian did with others. And he was so tired of it all.

He stopped banging his fist, it was starting to really hurt, and just sat there crying his heart out. He doesn't know how long he stayed there, nor did he care. He just sat there, resting against a concrete wall as he let his tears dry. He wanted them to see his actions, to see him. But how?

A sudden idea came to him, Wither roses. It was a creative way to die, and strangely beautiful. To die in something that usually represented love, which now only meant despair and death. Maybe this would make them see him.

So he left his comfortable place in the water and made his way back to Sahara. He knows Iskall has wither roses up there, so he'd easily get them.

He got the roses and then made his way to the Dragon Bros bunker. On his way he grabbed a bed, as to set his respawn point. He then placed wither roses all around the bed, giving him the easiest way to die over and over.

He set his spawn point on the bed, and before he started the cycle he changed a few settings. Instead of announcing every death, it'd only announce every ten one.

He then stepped onto the small area of black roses, laying down as he felt the effect wash over him. It wasn't the same kind of peaceful-like the water had been. This was peaceful in the way that he knew what fate that awaited him, and it put him at ease. So it was with a calm smile as he withered away for the first time of many. He soon puffed into existence again, the process starting for real.

It didn't take all too long for someone to find him, only thirty two hours. And it wasn't someone he expected to see.

He had thought it would be Mumbo or Iskall who would find him there, but instead it was Keralis and Bdubs. The two stood in shock at the top of the quartz stairs leading down into the main room, and Grian stared right back. At least until he withered away once again.

The two immediately jumped into action, Bdubs running and picking Grian up from the wither rose covered floor and getting him as far away as possible as Keralis destroyed them all.

"Why?" Whispered Bdubs sadly, tears streaming down his tan face, "Why did you do this to yourself?"

"I-I wanted you to see me and my actions as-as that, mi-mine." Croaked Grian, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"But at the cost of permanently scarring yourself?" Asked the raven head quietly, referring to the black patches of withered skin on Grian's arms.

"Did you s-see my actions?" Asked the dirty blond back, not answering the question. He smiled as Bdubs and Keralis both nodded, "T-the-Then my answer is yes, ye-s it was."

"It shouldn't be," cried Keralis, big eyes shedding tears like waterfalls, "You shouldn't feel like you need to hurt yourself for us to see you, that should never be a thing!"

"Would you have seen me if I didn't do this?"

It was such a simple question, but it hurt the two older Hermits greatly. Because no, they wouldn't have. They probably would only share a few passing words with Grian,never once realizing that something was wrong.

Neither answered, deciding to instead wrap the hurting Hermit in a hug.

After a few seconds of hugging Bdubs pulled back slightly, "Do you want to come to new Hermitville with us?"

Grian thought for a few seconds, before finally asking, "Can I have a garden? One just for myself?"

"You can get as many personal gardens as we can fit, Kotek, if that's what you want." Said Keralis, gently running his hand through Grian's tussled locks.

"Then I'd like to come live with you."

And so they all left the bunker, all headed to the village owned by the two older me. Grian was riding piggyback with Keralis, the younger notably more calm and tired then before they left. As soon as they arrived they took him house hunting, he eventually found a house he was allowed to remake a bit to better suit his taste.

It only took him a few days to adjust to living with the two, and he was having such a good time too. Between gardening, taking care of animals and hanging with his saviors he was way happier than before. He had even started talking to them why he had done what he did.

And they were understanding, sitting patiently and listening to him, comforting him when they saw he needed it.

It was no longer Keralis and Bdubs of New Hermitville, it was now Keralis, Bdubs and Grian of New Hermitville. Or NIA as they like to call themselves at times. It stood for N for nHo (Bdubs), I for Idea (Keralis and Bdubs) and A for Architech (Grian).

And all of them couldn't be happier. Sure Grian still felt like using the roses from time to time, and sure he still wasn't ready to face anyone else yet. But he was getting better, and his now two new close friends couldn't be prouder of him for it.

#hermitshipping #hermitship #or at least it's subtle that #grian x bdubs x keralis #I haven't seen it before so I like to think I'm the first! #set in s6 since that's when I made it #my writing #next 3 parts will be uploaded within the week #black rose AU #grian #keralis #bdubs

[makethiscanon]

So for my first request, can you write a one shot of Toshinko in a Cinderella AU please? What do you think?

Okay I’m not proud of how long this took me to get back to, HOWEVER, I am pleased with the result. I might have gone overboard.

NEVER THE LESS.

Here’s all 4.7k words of this fluffy, Cinderella Inko tale! Please enjoy~It’s a long one. You have been warned.

Inko’s Fairytale Moment (An Inko x Toshinori Cinderella fic)

Inko felt the longing in her heart. She watched her friends load into a horse-drawn carriage, hiking their dresses up to their knees to keep the mud at bay. Rei and Mitsuki looked absolutely stunning in their ball gowns. They were going to knock the prince speechless, she could tell.

After very little time at all, Inko had to turn away. She closed the drapes and wished them well from the confines of her bedroom, then sighed a deep sigh at herself. What she wouldn’t give to go to the ball. It was all the worse because she was, in fact, invited. Mitsuki and Rei had begged for her to go. But she couldn’t. Not… as she was.

She wasn’t like her friends, all dainty and slight. Time had dealt her body and her confidence a heavy blow. She was in her forties with a child who had flown the nest long ago. Her skin was tired and her stomach was flabby. It wouldn’t be right to go to the ball as she was, especially when the prince himself was trying to choose a bride. No man of royal blood would ever choose a woman like her and she couldn’t bear the humiliation or the glances or the mutters of other women should she attend, even if just for fun.

She skulked around the house, cleaning to pass the time but it dragged on so very slowly. Even after doing the dishes and mopping the kitchen floors when she looked at the clock it was still too early for the ball to have officially begun. She sighed again. Maybe she would simply go to bed and wait for morning to come.

She climbed the stairs to her room in the top most corner of the house but when she opened the door there was another woman sat on her bed. She shrieked, slamming the door closed in case the woman lunged but instead all she heard was laughter.

“Ms Inko, what are you doing? Come in here. I won’t bite.”

Against her better judgement, Inko opened the door. The woman was on her feet this time, with flowing blonde hair and a racy cream and purple dress that could make any head turn.

“You’re late,” the woman chided, ushering Inko into the room before she could turn tail and flee.

“L-late?” She questioned. “For what?”

“For what?” The woman repeated as if Inko had asked the daftest of things. “For your fitting. Your dress. The ball.”

“Oh.” Inko said, feeling her heart sink. “But I’m not going.”

“Oh yes you are. There’s no doubt about it.” The woman pushed Inko until she was in front of a tall mirror and forced her to look herself over. “Your friends are there. They’re having a good time so why can’t you?”

Inko frowned, wondering just who on earth this strange woman was.

“How do you know so much about this?”

The woman scoffed, stepping back to formally introduce herself.

“Why, because I’m your personal Fairy God Mother. You can call me Takeyama, and bibbity-bobbity-bitch I’m here to turn you into a fabulous queen for the evening. Now get your dancing shoes because I need to know what I’m working with to coordinate your dress.”

She pulled a thin rod from out her cleavage then posed like she was ready to conduct an orchestra. Inko stepped back in alarm.

“Wait. Wait,” she begged, holding her arms up. “Please. I don’t want to go. I can’t. Not when I look like this.” She gestured to herself as a whole.

“I… don’t see your point.” Takeyama frowned, wondering if Inko meant her dress sense. True, she was wearing housewife 101 but a quick flick of the wand would fix that.

Inko hated that she had to say it out loud. She was insecure and shy, and voicing her concerns only made them that much realer.

“My size. My shape. I’m not fit to go to a ball. People would stare. Heaven forbid, what if the prince saw me? I could never. Maybe once upon a time but not now. Please just let me be and let me sleep.”

The desperation in her voice struck a chord in Takeyama’s Fairy God Mother soul. There was nothing wrong with Inko or how she looked, but if this was a case of confidence then, perhaps just for tonight, Takeyama could give her ward the means to love herself.

“Alright, Inko. You can go to sleep. I’ll leave you be. Just do me one small favour.” She flicked her wrist so slightly that it was impossible to see, jolting the wand a breadth. “Look once more in that mirror for me.”

In the hopes that Takeyama would leave, Inko did as she was told. But when she caught sight of herself in the mirror she couldn’t believe what she could see.

“I—I’m—” Gone were her tired eyes and loose skin, her mum-tum and the body that came from a woman who loved her offspring unconditionally. She was a wisp of herself, as bright as a button and simply radiating with confidence once she realised it really was her. “What’s happened to me?”

Takeyama felt proud by Inko’s reaction. She flicked the wand again, adding makeup, hair-up and a salmon pink ball gown to boot. When Inko caught sight of herself for a second time she started to cry.

“Get it out of your system now,” Takeyama cooed, coming to hug the trembling woman. “I can fix your makeup in a jiffy while you’re here but you’re on your own at the ball.”

“You did—you did—you did all this— so I—I—could—I could go to the ball?” Inko could hardly get her words out, tears streaming down her face as her heart swelled with happiness. All she wanted was to spend the night with her friends, dancing the time away without the fear of being judged. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Just spend your time wisely, my wonderfully anxious ward. You’ll only stay this way until the last stroke of midnight, then revert to your natural state, no matter where you are.”

“That’s enough time.” Inko said waterly, wiping her eyes enough to smear her makeup down her face. “That’s more than enough. Thank you. Thank you for everything.”

With a giggle and a flick of her wand, Takeyama fixed Inko’s makeup, then sent her on her way. There was no time to lose. It was nearly time for the ball to begin.

oOo

Inko found Rei and Mitsuki in the palace’s grand ballroom, knocking back drinks and dancing with each other because no man would ever be good enough for either of them, not even the prince himself. They were here for a good time. Tonight was an open bar.

At first neither woman could believe their eyes, not until Inko got flustered and started stammering like she so often did, but in the end the pair were delighted to have their third musketeer with them, and believed every word Inko said about her odd Fairy God Mother.

“Mine let me back in the house one time when I drunkenly locked myself out.” Mitsuki roared, remembering the instance fondly. “Haven’t seen her since but I know she’s keeping an eye on me.”

Inko was shocked at such a revelation. She glanced around, wondering if everyone here was surrounded by a cluster of invisible Fairy God Mothers, each nattering about their wards’ less-than-perfect life choices.

As Rei and Mitsuki wandered off towards the drinks table, leaving Inko alone, she gravitated towards a marble pillar where she could rest and watch the other dancers with interest. Despite her elegant appearance, she was so used to being shy and self-conscious that her position of choice was that of a wallflower. She honestly didn’t know how to act any different.

Just then, trumpets blared to announce the royal family’s arrival. First came Queen Nana, as beautiful as they got. She descended the staircase with a legion of attendees but brushed them aside to speak with any woman that was near, offering them a smile and a wave until she reached her royal throne at the far side. Next, of course, came her friend and advisor, Torino. Though time had withered him down to a height half that of his original size, he still exuded confidence and pride and welcomed the guests like family. Inko found herself jealous at his assurance in himself. He did not seem to care what time had done to him, but took it in his stride.

Perhaps after tonight she would try being kinder with herself. Time took hold of everyone, after all.

Finally the crown prince, Toshinori, arrived. The room erupted with girlish squeals, applause and declarations of love for him. He was dressed in the absolute finest white royal uniform, tailored to contain his gargantuan muscles and stood at a height tall enough to make any woman feel petit. It made Inko’s heart flutter to know he would have no trouble lifting her even if she were normal size.

In a bid to find a place to perch, it seemed Inko’s friends had lost her amongst the crowds. They did not return even after some time. So Inko merely watched the blonde prince as he glided around the room, kissing hands and bowing gracefully to all who approached him. Being the tallest in the room, she could watch him even as women clung to him on ever side.

In a way, she felt sorry for him. Perhaps it was her own feelings, but if she were in his position, she would much rather have room to breathe than suitors invading every piece of her personal space.

Another horn blared, and suddenly every woman in the room flooded the dancefloor towards Prince Toshinori. He smiled and laughed and welcomed them all, and did not seem to mind in the least that they were practically trampling on his feet to get his attention. The horn was a signal that the prince would choose a lady to dance with. Inko stayed back, practically suctioning herself to the column while eager women charge past, shoving each other out of the way.

Really, she thought, it was enough just for her to be here. Her Fairy God Mother had sent her a miracle and her heart was already full to bursting that she was here, surrounded by elegance and dressed like a princess. As soon as the night was over, she would write to her son Izuku to tell him all about her adventures. She knew he would be pleased. He was always telling her to go out and enjoy herself more.

Just as she was thinking about where she had left her writing paper the crowd of women suddenly started to fan out towards her. She wondered what was happening until, to her surprise, she saw Prince Toshinori making his way towards her with the most dashingly handsome smile she had ever seen. She felt her heart flutter as her knees threatened to give way beneath her. He was looking at her. He was looking straight at her with his warm blue eyes.

“Dear damsel, what has you clinging to that column like a gecko?” He asked, his voice both booming and kind. He surely didn’t mean to but his singling-out of Inko caused legions of scorned female eyes towards her. She wanted to answer him but noticed their glares first. How she had hoped being slim and attractive would help her blend in, but by the prince’s efforts she now stuck out like a sore thumb.

“I-I-I—” she tried, but no words would come. Her body was rooted and her face felt clammy, caught under a collectively scrutinising gaze. She could do nothing but beg the prince wordlessly to turn away, to leave her be, to let her breathe. She was flattered and humbled that he would pay her any mind at all but in his presence she felt as though the magic was gone and her body was pudgy and withered once more.

Prince Toshinori, sensing an unease in Inko that he chocked down to nerves, took a stride towards her while extending a hand.

“My dear, I would hate to think of you going the whole night attached to that pillar. If only for a moment, would you please join me in—”

At the moment Inko felt her insides drop, realising the prince meant to ask her to dance, a second miracle occurred. From the other side of the room a familiar voice bellowed out to catch the prince’s attention,

“Oi! Prince Toshinori! You’ve run out of pinot. Can we get some more over here?”

As the women in the room turned to see who dared trouble the prince with such a trivial matter, he gave Inko an apologetic expression then turned to address the voice. The voice, by no miracle but friendship alone, belonged to Mitsuki.

Inko took her chance. She knew Mitsuki didn’t care that one single type of wine was gone – she’d drink absolutely anything as long as it was free. It was a distraction, and Inko wouldn’t pass up such an opportunity. With everyone’s attention diverted she slipped away, heading for the veranda.

Outside the air was cool with enough of a breeze to help Inko’s nerves. She pressed herself against the stone railing, looking out into the gardens. What a mess, she thought. How silly she had made herself look in front of the prince.

She stayed there until the music returned, then spotted the prince dancing with a woman so poised and perfect in the centre of the ballroom. It was better this way, she believed. Rather all eyes be on her anyway.

A short while later, a rather drunken Mitsuki and a more put-together Rei appeared, looking for Inko.

“There you are.” Rei said in her soft voice, coming to hug Inko, knowing what an ordeal that must have been for her.

“Did you like my distraction?” Mitsuki asked, flashing her a lopsided grin. “I’m glad you got the hint. As soon as the prince got more wine he went back to look for you.”

“He did?” Inko asked wistfully. Rei took her by the hand.

“Did you want to dance with the prince?”

Inko’s cheeks reddened

“O-of course.” She said. “But not like that. To make a fool of myself in front of so many people…”

Mitsuki slapped her playfully on the shoulder, a tad harder than necessary thanks to her intoxication.

“Stop being so shy. You’re drop dead gorgeous.”

“For now.” Inko lamented, pulling at the skirt of her dress. Wondering the time, Inko looked up to the clock tower and found it to be only quarter to ten. As both Rei and Mitsuki knew of Inko’s midnight-deal, when they saw her looking skyward they each took her by the hand and tugged her back towards the ball.

“Oh no, I—” she began, but neither would release her hand.

“Come on.” Rei insisted, then Mitsuki took a firmer hold on her arm. “Let’s make these last two hours count, just the three of us.”

O

The night turned out to be as fun as Inko had hoped it would be. With most other women distracted by the prince’s presence, she, Rei and Mitsuki danced the time away together in one corner of the ballroom. It was not a slow waltz like the prince and his partners did, but rather a fun bop like how they had once danced at their children’s’ birthday parties.

Inko smiled and laughed, and twirled to her heart’s content. Rei and Mitsuki took turns disappearing to the drinks table so as not to leave Inko on her own again, fearing something similar to last time might happen should she be left to her own devices.

At quarter-past-eleven a final horn blared to signal the prince’s leave. While Queen Nana and Sir Torino stayed to witness the rest of the party, Prince Toshinori bowed with grace and apologised with regret that, as he had royal duties that he needed to be sprightly for tomorrow he had to retire. Every woman watched him go, including poor Inko who could only wonder what might have been had she had the confidence in herself to dance with him.

Inko danced with her friends a long while more until finally she felt the need for another bout of fresh air, feeling her feet begin to ache.

“Excuse me,” she said politely. “I won’t be long. I’m just nipping outside again.”

Her friends nodded and let her go, with Rei telling her not to stay away for long, unless she wanted to return to a rather too drunk Mitsuki. She promised her friend then made her way back onto the veranda.

Finding her comfortable spot against the stone railings, Inko sighed as she slipped out of her shoes and stretched her toes, staring up to the sky. What a wonderful night, she thought. What a beautiful moon. What a wonderful time she had been blessed with. She looked at her hands, how dainty they were compared to her usual ones, normally calloused from hard work. She span in her dress, feeling the lightest she had ever done. This was a night she would always remember. A night she truly had fun.

“Excuse me, Madam?”

A man’s voice caught her attention. When she looked, she saw a man in a white royal military uniform, although his clothes did not fit him all that well. He was thin and looked ill with sunken in eyes but the gentlest of smiles. It appeared he had come from within the gardens and not the party. Perhaps, she thought, he was on patrol. His uniform suggested he might be part of the royal family’s security.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I was hoping not to startle you.”

“Oh, no.” Inko said softly. “Please, I’m alright.” She looked back to the sky wistfully. “I’m only here to collect my thoughts.”

The man paused for a moment, watching her look skyward with a twinkle in her eyes. He looked into the party then made the decision to keep her company, coming to stand beside her as he too stared up at the stars.

“Perhaps I can help you arrange them.”

She looked at him and smiled shyly, but thanked him for the offer.

“I never dreamed I would be here tonight.” She said. “I’m usually too shy for these kinds of things.”

The man smiled a knowing smile, turning his attention towards her. She noticed his eyes. They were such a warm shade of blue.

“A wallflower, you might say?”

“Exactly. My son will be shocked when I tell him I came here.”

“If you’ll allow me, I can’t imagine why. You look wonderful tonight. A true bell of the ball, I should say. You would be right to have more confidence in yourself.”

“Oh,” was all she could say, flustered by his compliment. It hurt only a little, knowing such a compliment would not occur again after tonight. “But I don’t usually look like this.”

“No?”

“No,” she admitted, tugging lightly at her dress. “I’m a mother and a housekeeper on any other day.”

The man was quiet for a moment, but as time drifted by his warm smile grew.

“You do not seem to mind being either of those things, my dear.”

She chuckled, surprised by the accuracy of his comment.

“No, not at all. My family is my world. I would climb mountains for my son, but as you might imagine, motherhood takes its toll.”

She was met by another brief silence, in which time the orchestra inside began to play a slow waltz. Finally, the man said with a pensive gaze,

“Appearances are not always what they seem. Looks may change over time, but a kind heart will always stay beautiful.”

Her cheeks flushed pink. She tried to think of a response that wouldn’t make her stammer, but while she did so the man began to cough. It was heavy and raspy, and he leaned against the railing to catch his breath.

“Are you alright?” She asked in alarm, placing a tentative hand on his back.

“I’m fine.” He reassured her, wheezing desperately. “Just an old war-wound acting up. It’s nothing to worry about.”

She was reluctant to believe him.

“I can get you some water?”

“No, no,” he said, and after that his coughing subsided. “But thank you for your concern.”

The pair stayed in relative silence for some time, both enjoying the lull of gentle music and the crisp bite to the air. It was Inko who broke the silence. For some reason she felt at ease around this sickly man. She enjoyed his company in a way that made her forget how she looked or how she would look tomorrow.

“I nearly danced with the prince tonight.” She admitted, chuckling at her lack of confidence. “But I was a wallflower, just like you said.”

“Is that why you fled?” He asked, a strangely sombre tint to his voice. Inko’s cheeks turned pink again.

“Ah, you saw that?” She asked, wondering how many others had noticed her cowardly disappearing act. “Yes. My friend caused a distraction to let me get away.”

Surprisingly, the man burst out in a fit of laughter that came from deep within his belly. It was low and delighted, and Inko almost couldn’t believe that the noise had come from him. She stuttered as her blush deepened.

“What was I supposed to do? I’d have shown myself up in front of everyone, I’m sure.”

“My dear, you need to have more confidence in yourself. Whether or not you make a fool of yourself is irrelevant. What’s important is that you have fun.”

The man suddenly stood to attention, placing one arm behind his back as he dipped low in a bow, then extended his hand towards her.

“So perhaps,” he said, catching her by surprise, “you would care to join me in this dance? Out here there are only the two of us, so let us enjoy this moment of peace together.”

He was so unfathomably gentlemanly. Inko felt her heart flutter like a giddy schoolgirl. Her shyness begged her not to do it, but the woman who longed to waltz at the ball was stronger. With a nervous smile she reached out and took his hand. He took her into his embrace, a hand nestled into her waist as the pair began dancing in time to the sounds from inside.

There was something about him, Inko thought as she looked at his face, something that seemed so familiar. It was never stronger than when she looked at his eyes. They were such a brilliant blue but so kind. She had met him somewhere before, she was sure of it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, smiling as he span her gracefully across the veranda. “I never caught your name.”

Her words made him pause. Only, before he could say anything more, the clock overhead began to chime.

“Oh no.” Inko said with a gasp, realising too late that she had spent all her time away. It was already midnight, far too soon for her liking. “Oh no. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

Just was her luck to have such a wonderful moment ruined. She felt awful for abandoning him so suddenly, but Inko rather worried her dance partner would have a rather turn of opinion about her should he see her true form. She let go of his shoulder and tried to pull her hand away, only he kept hold of her and asked her hurriedly to stay.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, hearing the chimes like a gong in her ears. If only she could get inside. It was too late to hide completely, but if she could get inside she could lose herself among the other women and leave, knowing she had not spoiled such a wonderful man’s opinion of her.

“Please,” he said, sounding dejected. “Don’t leave. I have yet to catch your name, too.”

“I—” she said, trying as politely as she could to wiggle her hand free. “Please I—”

Dong… Dong… Dong.

The final chime rang out. The music inside carried on but Inko stilled, knowing it was too late.

“Please,” she begged softly. “Don’t look at me.”

His hand slipped from hers as the magic receded from her body. Mercifully the dress grew to accommodate her but it hurt no less when she felt the appearance of her love handles or the callouses on her palms.

“Please…”

She covered her face, unwilling to see the look of horror in his eyes at what she had become. If only he would walk away now and leave her to her misery, but for some reason she could not hear his footsteps.

“Madam…” he said after the longest, most painful pause. But she could not bear it. He sounded hurt. He sounded lost. She felt the tears well up in her eyes before she could stop them. For a single night she had been beautiful but that only made the reality hurt her more.

“I’m sorry.” She said. “I’m sorry I lied. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. I wanted for one night to be pretty. I wanted to have that fairy tale moment, if just for a single second. I’m sorry. I never should have come here. I don’t belong here. I’m so sorry. I—”

His hands grabbed her by the shoulders. He pulled her into the tightest hug. A hug that was kind. A hug that urged her to stop saying such hateful things about herself. A hug that understood.

“Please, my dear,” he said weakly. “Please don’t say you don’t belong here. You do. You belong here just as anyone else does. More so.”

Inko couldn’t stop her tears. She felt embarrassed and ashamed, but even then his words still found a way to reach her. When she finally chose to lift her head, she saw such kindness in his eyes, like he was looking at someone he had cared for all his life.

“Appearances are not always what they seem.” He reiterated. “A kind heart will always be beautiful.

“When I saw you in the ballroom I knew something was amiss. Now that I know who you truly are, I can say with certainty that I was right to ask you to dance.”

“Hm?” Inko said with a sniff, puzzling over the meaning of his words. Letting go of her so that he could stand back, the man took a deep breath then his body began to steam. Then it happened like a lightning strike. One moment he was the thin, sickly man, then the next it was Prince Toshinori stood before Inko.

“Your highness?” She gasped in alarm. But with another quick fizz and a pop, he was back to his sickly self. She was so in shock. She had no idea what to say. Having expected as much, Toshinori came to her, taking both her hands in his.

“My dear, I know more than anyone what it is to be afraid to show your true self.” He raised her knuckles to his lips and kissed them softly as her face, both tear-stained and covered in runny makeup, broke into a tizzied blush. “But if you’ll allow it, I’d like to show you there’s no need to be ashamed. You really are beautiful, through and through.”

She could not believe this man – this wonderfully kind man who she felt so at ease around – was the crown prince himself. She couldn’t believe what he was telling her, but try as her insecurities might, she could not deny the look of affection in his eyes or the way he pulled her close, returning his hand to the rather bumpier curve of her waist.

“I would rather like to finish our dance,” he said, starting to sway her in time to the music while he gave her time to collect her thoughts. “And then, perhaps if you’ll let me, I’d like to give you that fairy tale moment you wanted, and let you live it for the rest of your life.”

#boku no hero academia #bnha #my hero academia #Toshinko #Toshinori x Inko #inko x toshinori #BNHA fairytale AU #fairytale AU #My Writing #All Might #Inko #Midoriya #Inko Midoriya #All Might x Inko #Cinderella #Bakugou #Todoroki #bnha imagines

[andiandyandee]

Terrible Things

Some Sweet Logicality angst with a happy ending, because my Punk AU isn’t working rn. I’m getting to it, I promise lol.

Words: 2,705 - Find it on ao3

Okay, Here’s The Fic:

     “This is Professor Logan Balmer. He will be giving a guest lecture today on the importance of emotions. I presume you will all give him your full attention.” Virgil bristled at the name, brushing a memory too far back to actually remember in detail more than the name itself. As it were, this class was at 8 AM and no matter how familiar the name was, he couldn’t be bothered to listen to some old nerd talk about why it was important to cry it out. He had a bleeding heart dad for that anyway. So he tuned him out, doodling on his notebook, and wishing the 90 minutes would pass faster. He only looked up because someone close to him yelled out to the professor

      “What about love? Is it important too?” The professor got a soft look on his face. 

      “Yes, Love is important, but there are far too many types of love for it to be classified as a single emotion. Love can be the way a parent cares for their child, it could be the way one cares for their partner, the way someone cares for their plants, or their pets, or their books. Love can be something you earn, or it can be something that is innate. Of course, all love is important, but the love you should look for should endeavor to keep in your lives is unasked for and freely given. You should find unconditional, chaotic love and let it warp your life because it will always make you better for it, even if it hurts sometimes.”

      “Why would we want something that hurts us?” Virgil snarked. “That seems like a terrible idea.” Logan met Virgil’s eyes and smiled a little.

      “Yes, Mr. Sanders, it can certainly seem like a terrible idea.” Virgil was a little confused at that, seeing as he had not introduced himself with his name to this professor. Logan continued as if him knowing Virgil’s name was not strange in the slightest.

      “The problem is, sometimes, that knowing someone who loves you unconditionally, someone who chooses to be around you and wants nothing more than to see you happy is terrible, because they love you when you don’t deserve it, they love you when you break their heart and they love you when you break your own. They are there when you ugly cry and when you’re on top of the world and they always, without fail, show you that they love you. And it’s terrible because you have to live with the fact that that person has given you a part of them, they have put so much hope and faith and soul into loving you that you will never escape that, and even later, years after the last time you saw them, or they see you, the love will still be there.

      Maybe it’s a broken, fragile thing now, after so many years, but it’s still there in the way you can’t look at certain colors without thinking of them, how that one song always feels both like being burned alive and being safe. Maybe you never see them again, and that love withers away into a fleeting thing that only comes up in the smell of a specific pastry or a phrase so few people say that it could only ever mean them. Maybe you see them every day, but you can never bring yourself to just say hello.

      The problem is that when someone loves you like that, you will love them back. You will give them a part of your soul that nobody has ever seen, will never see, and even though they gave you a part of theirs, the same size, made of the same love, it will never quite fill the hole that was left when you gave yours away. There will always be cracks that can only be filled in with inside jokes that are just between you and ghosts, now. Between you and Polaroid pictures faded and stuck in a box in the back of the closet you never use. 

      But let that not deter you from loving. Love recklessly, impossibly so, and fill in the cracks that are left behind with gold, because it is in the cracks where we find ourselves. In the way you will never turn off their favorite song, in the way you take the long way home in fall because they loved to see the leaves change, and so did you. Let that love, the one they left with you, remind you that it is okay to feel, that you are more than your insecurities, that you are worthy of love. Let your love follow them around in your favorite colors, in the way you make your coffee, in the way you sing that song that’s always stuck in your head. Love well beyond what you think is possible, and you will find the world will love you back.” Logan took a shuddering breath and smiled at the class. “Sorry, I believe I went on a bit of a tangent, there. Were there any other questions?” Most of the class had misty eyes, all of them a little shell-shocked. “No? If that’s the case, I suppose my lecture is done. Thank you for your time.” The class filed out, but Virgil was still glued to his seat. He didn’t remember why, but he knew it was achingly important that he spoke to this professor.

      “Virgil? You may leave now,” Professor Addams gestured at the open door. “Unless there is something you need?”

      “Ah, apologies, Remy. I believe young Mr. Sanders is waiting for me. If you aren’t opposed, you can go, and I can lock the door and shut off the lights when I leave.”

      “Oh, sure, no worries Lo.” Professor Addams left, and suddenly the lecture hall felt too small. There wasn’t enough room between Logan and himself, but he still didn’t know why. 

      “I’m surprised you remember me, honestly. It’s been so many years, and so many changes.” Logan looked nervous and heartbroken. He glanced briefly over Virgil, who suddenly felt self-conscious in a way he hadn’t since before he had started transitioning. “I like the name, it suits you quite well.”

      “Thank you, I- I picked it myself.” Virgil tried to joke, but it came out a little hysterical. “I don’t- don’t actually remember you.” Logan raised an eyebrow, but he still looked incredibly sad. “Not really, nothing beyond the name, and that lecturer’s voice you use.” Virgil tucked his arms tightly around himself, trying to keep himself from crying because he didn’t know why he wanted to cry. 

      “You were very young, the last time we spoke. I’m surprised you remembered my name, though. I don’t think you ever called me by it.” The half-smile on Logan’s face was shaky, too, and he was still across the room and simultaneously entirely too close. “I believe the three nicknames I received were ‘LoLo’, ‘Papa’, and when you were particularly belligerent, ‘Mom’.” Logan said ‘belligerent’ the same way one would say ‘darling’ or ‘adorable’. Virgil couldn’t breathe. How long had it been since he had someone he referred to as a parent beyond Patton? A decade? Longer? He was suddenly slammed with the memory of fire, of a hospital room and the nurses who wouldn’t let him move, and it had been fifteen years since then, and the memory still hurt, and the stupid scar was still there on his leg, barely noticeable unless he went out in shorts, because it didn’t tan like the rest of his skin, stayed so pale it was nearly white. He looked to Logan, and then away, so he couldn’t see his face.

      “You left. You left when I was hurt, when I was in the hospital. I- we never saw you again, and Dad would never tell me where you went but I knew, I knew you were okay because he stopped wearing the ring, he took it off and put it in his jewelry box and he still cleans it every Sunday evening, and if you would have died he’d probably still wear the damn thing, he tells people he’s engaged when they flirt with him still, and I forgot that he was, because I was six when you left, and it’s been so long since then that I can’t even believe it. Your stupid lecture about the dangers of playing with the stove stuck, but you didn’t, and oh my god, you’re old now, and, and-” Virgil’s mouth snapped shut, and when he looked back to Logan, Logan, he didn’t know what to say because there were tears pouring down both of their faces, and there was still that stupid, god it was so stupid, engagement ring on his finger, and he knew it matched perfectly to the one his Dad still had, and he was so angry, now. “How could you do that to me? To us?” Logan nodded.

      “I did. I.. what I did was terrible, and foolish, certainly. And I will never forgive myself for it. I am so sorry, Virgil, for any pain I caused, had I known you were in this class beforehand I wouldn’t have agreed to teach it, I know I can never apologize enough for what I did to you, god, I don’t even know how to start, but I am so incredibly sorry, and I am so glad you are okay, now, at least I hope you are okay, and I will be sure to keep my distance, I had hoped, when I saw you, you wouldn’t remember me, I did not want to stir up those terrible memories again, I won’t endeavor to ask anything of you, you need not forgive me, but I hope you find solace in the fact that I still feel terrible.” Virgil didn’t realize until halfway through that Logan wasn’t apologizing for leaving.

      “Are- are you apologizing for the fire?” Virgil was hysterical. “Of all of the things you could apologize for, and you chose the one that wasn’t your fault?” Logan sputtered.

      “I- it was my fault, and you were nearly killed, of course, I am apologizing.” Virgil laughed, a little maniacally, moving closer to Logan, but still keeping a good ten feet between them.

      “It was not in any way your fault that I- in all of my six-year-old wisdom- tried to make cookies on a gas burner! How could you have possibly known the stove was on, or that the stupid light above it would short out? It could have happened at any time, it ended up being while we were there alone! How the hell is that on you?”

      “I didn’t notice you turning the stove on, nor did I notice the fact that the light had been flickering. I didn’t even think to check and see if I had turned all of the burners off, all I did was tell you how dangerous the stove was! I couldn’t protect you from the flames. The only thing I could do was hold you while you screamed, and keep you still while the paramedics tried to stop you from bleeding out in the driveway.” Logan’s voice broke, and Virgil was astounded. “When your father got to the emergency room, and I told him what had happened, I- he was so angry, so upset, and he was right, it was my responsibility to keep you safe, and I failed. How could I ever have thought I was fit to be your parent when I couldn’t even watch you for two hours without almost-”

      “I’m fine,” Virgil assured the man, his hands fluttering, trying to comfort him but too far away. He took a few steps forward, but Logan was still frozen in place. “I was out of the hospital in less than two weeks, it barely scarred. I have never, not once, since then forgotten to turn off the burner when I was done with it. I don’t forgive you, Lo, because there’s nothing to forgive. It was an accident, and it wasn’t your fault. And anyway, you did protect me. That fire should have killed me, and probably you, too, but all it did was ruin the kitchen, melt the shit out of your ugly fake leather jacket and make one of my legs tan funny. It really looks like the only one who was really hurt was you.”  Virgil laughed. “I mean, Jesus, I wouldn’t be surprised if you still had pleather stuck in your hair.”

      “I shaved my head to get it out.” Logan croaked. “I went to the hospital across town so I wouldn’t be in the same building, so Patton wouldn’t feel compelled to talk to me. I only had second-degree burns, I was out in two days. I went to the house, cleaned everything up as best I could, ordered the new appliances to replace the ruined ones, packed my things, and left a note on the kitchen table.” Logan looked nauseated. “I left my cell phone, and moved all the money in my personal account to your fathers, and I left. Moved back to Florida, where my parents were. I stayed there until I could get a new job, and tried my best to not let the guilt consume me. I failed,  miserably, for at least 5 years before I managed to get to a place where I could go to work without having a breakdown. I still can’t use a stove. I’ve eaten nothing but microwave meals and cold food for fifteen years.” Logan laughed a little at that. Virgil snorted.

      “Dad is going to kick your ass when he hears that. You know how he is about nutrition.” 

      “Damn right, he is.” A voice from the doorway spoke up. Patton was standing there, arms crossed, blonde hair pulled into a loose bun, looking absolutely unamused. “Sorry to eavesdrop, kiddo, you were late for our lunch, so I came looking for ya.” Patton addressed Virgil with a smile before turning back to Logan. “You know, if it wasn’t for the fact that your lovely, beautiful mother assured me you were alive, I would have called the police to put out a missing person alert,” Patton spoke with a very calm, very even tone. “When I got home there was a goodbye note and a refrigerator in my dining room, and a stove on the front porch. And for seven years, the only thing that assured me you were alive was your mom calling every Sunday afternoon. And then she calls to tell me you moved back, and that she was sure you would come to visit, because you just loved us so much, how couldn’t you?” Patton shook his head. “A town of 2,000 and I never saw you, not even once.” Patton had passed Virgil, was now standing less than a foot away from Logan, a finger pressed up against his chest. “For eight years, I waited, hoping you’d come around, and I find out the only reason you didn’t was guilt?” Logan opened and closed his mouth a few times before swallowing and nodding. “I am going to beat you senseless, Logan Alexander Balmer. How could you?” Logan laughed, still crying.

      “Sanders. We had already changed it, the approval paperwork came when you were still…” Patton took Logan’s face in both of his hands. “I still use Balmer academically and professionally, though.” 

      “Absolutely senseless. I will shake you so hard that brain of yours will turn into soup.” Logan laughed again, still sounding breathless, but the tears had stopped.

      “I am sorry, Patton. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me.” Patton just shook his head.

      “Of course I forgive you, you moron. You still owe me a wedding. And I owe you a meal that wasn’t cooked in a microwave, goodness gracious what is wrong with you-”

      Logan cut Patton off by kissing him, tenderly and gently, trying to let all of his apologies pour into it. 

      “Okay, ew.”  Virgil groaned from his spot a few steps away. “Get a room.” Logan flushed red, and Patton just smiled at the both of them.

      “Let’s go home.” 

Tag List: @datfearlessfangirl @princemesscharming @illogicalthinking @holliberries

#logicality #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #sanders sides #discussions of marriage #discussions of fire #logan is bad at feelings #angst with a happy ending #my writing #trans virgil #discussions of trauma #ask to tag #ask to be tagged //

[nightwingshero]

Unwanted

Okay guys, so I’ve been working on two different stories for FC5: one that follows the game and the other is a burlesque/mafia au that I couldn’t get out of my head. This is the first piece of work I’ve posted for Wren and John, and its for the burlesque au. I’m going to be posting my work on AO3 soon, but I got really excited about this and wanted to share it! Trigger warning for some alcohol use and dark thoughts, so read at your own risk!

Her green, venomous eyes were taunting. She sneered at everything that came across her withering gaze, her hips swaying with a little extra effort to gain the attention from those around her. It was in vain, of course, with Rowan’s performance still in full swing. But that didn’t stop this woman from holding her head high as she looked down her nose to our dancers. We’ve had people in here before from the first class. Most of the time, they were pleasant, friends of Whitney or John. Some just stopping through to check out the club they’ve heard so much about, but that southern charm had never failed. Until now.

She flipped her platinum blonde hair, the curls catching the little light that created the ambiance. Her short emerald dress hugged her curves, showcasing her breasts perfectly. I was almost impressed. I shifted a bit, fidgeting with the material of the outfit I wore for my last performance. I was talking to John before he had ducked outside to take a call from a client. I stood there, waiting for his return, but as her gaze narrowed on me, I knew I was in for it.

“Where’s John?” she asked in a clipped voice. I would have thought her beautiful, if her personality had matched. I frowned at her.

“I’m sorry, he’s not available. May I ask who’s asking?” I asked in curiosity. John had people come in here and there, asking for his time. This wasn’t new. He would brush them off, telling us to make sure to ask who they were and why they wanted to see him. He was so allusive here, insistent that his business hours were always clearly communicated. If those expectations weren’t met, then too bad. He took his schedule seriously.

She sneered at me, her glossy lips shimmering with her teeth. “I’m his fiancée. Now, go tell him that I’m here.” My brows shot up in surprise as my heart stopped. Fiancée? He had never mentioned…

“I didn’t realize he was engaged.” I replied quietly, hoping to keep the disappointment hidden. I felt deflated, as if someone had poked a hole in me. I wanted to stay neutral, not give away how my heart sank to the pit of my stomach at the thought of it. But she smirked, her green eyes twinkling.

“Well, he is.” She let out a little laugh. “Its cute, you know? This little crush you have.”

“I don’t—”

“Oh please.” She snapped. “It’s so obvious. He probably already knows. You wear it on your sleeve. It’s disgusting and pathetic.” She clicked her tongue as she gave her a look of pity. “Let me guess, you’re some country girl from the middle of nowhere who is trying to make it in the big city. Am I right?” I don’t answer. I’m raging, the blatant rudeness wiggling under my skin. But I can’t seem to defend myself. My tongue feels heavy and the tears are coming. It only fuels her, knowing she is so close to making me collapse into myself like a house of cards.

“Oh honey, did you really think he would go for that? Some little girl playing dress up when she belongs back on the farm? You’re way out of your league.” She steps closer, placing a hand on my shoulder as she squeezes with a false sense of reassurance. As if we were in this together, the two of us against the world. “Honestly, I’m doing you a favor. Saving you from the humiliation of rejection. John has standards, a particular taste darling. And this? This isn’t you. It’s not fitting in the slightest. Whore isn’t exactly on John’s radar. He prefers women of class, love. You’re beneath him. It’s time for you to understand that you’ll never be good enough for him.” She smiles again, before rubbing her hand on my cheek. Then with a slight smack against my skin, she’s gone, and my eyes are catching Whitney’s shocked ones.

The room spins as I lean against a chair for support as Whitney tries to call for me. Fight or flight is strong in my veins, roaring in my ears as my stomach twists and twists, creating something I don’t recognize within me. Reforming, as I stumble to the back, desperate for something I can cling to, something real I can put inside myself to make me real. I’m a ghost of something as I gather my things to leave. The breath in me is gone, forcing me to choke on the stale cigarette smoke Adelaide is supplying. I’m almost in a trance, and yet I feel some sort of clarity. The fantasy broken like a magic mirror, and suddenly I am seeing my true self in the broken pieces lying before me. I barely register Faith’s words, but I’m sure she’s asking if I’m alright. I smile, say yes, pretend that I’m still the same person on that stage. She’s not convinced and so I tell her I’m going home. My sleeve must be dirty from everything that shows there.

I leave quickly, feeling like a fool. Perhaps I should laugh, like most clowns do, pulling all those emotions out of my sleeve like a colorful handkerchief chain. That would require a voice, something I was lacking. A mime would be more fitting. My body the tool, invisible and locked inside a box I created for myself as I tried to put on a display. A vision no one had wanted, the piece of art that sat in the back unwanted. I forced a sob down as I entered my car, fumbling for the keys.

I wish I could say that I remembered getting to my apartment. Out of character for small town Wren, sweet little Wren. The box was closing in, my chest threatening to implode. I let go, the tears and sobs forcing my body curl into itself on my bed. The little moments were a mirage, something my naïve brain believed to be something more. How many times had he been there to protect me? His bullet wound had only just healed. How many times had he saved me? The disaster of a date with Detective Pratt merely weeks ago. I could still taste the fear on my tongue as Pratt plied me with glass after glass of wine. The gentleness in which John had handled me, almost caring. Like I was the most fragile thing in his world.

I scream them into my pillow, the broken pieces of my heart. Pieces of my soul shattering like the illusion of him, the illusion of what I thought we could have become. I breathe in deeply and that’s when I feel the shift, the steel resolve of my psyche overcoming me. It’s the numbness I notice first, turning my sobs into nothing. I rise, making my way to the kitchen like a vengeful spirit that is the one being haunted. The vase is crystal, a gift from Adelaide for the new place, but it’s the flowers I want. He had them sent to me, celebrating our big show only a few nights prior. I laughed to myself, remembering the rush I had felt. For the first time, I had felt high. Elated.

I swayed, humming to myself a bit as I made my way to the bathroom. Turning the chrome handle, I began to run the hot water, desperate to feel the burn against my skin to help me rid myself of her touch. To purge the gaze that had taken me in with such disdain, as if I was a stain upon this earth. Her tainting touch scorched my skin, leaving an invisible mark that only I could see. That I could feel. And with that, I ripped the soft petals from the stems, allowing them to sprinkle down into the water. They dance across the surface, a secret waltz that only they knew.

One by one, I light candle after candle, a dark ritual that was only just beginning. My hair is twisting up and up, piling elegantly on top of my head, and then I’m dipping into the water. The warm, baptizing water welcoming me, loving me as it takes me as I am. Scars and all, it holds me securely in it’s embrace. I could almost hear the shushing of its calming voice, almost feel the comforting fingers of my mother as she played with my hair. The ghost of her was almost enough, pushing me back to a time where I didn’t have to feel the weight of loss or rejection.

And suddenly, her ghost is gone. Blue eyes have taken over haunting me, her fingers replaced by his tattooed ones. He plays me like a harp, pulling my tight strings just so he could hear me sing, watch as I move with a simple flick. The hypnosis of his ocean eyes is deep and tempting, calling for my drowning. They wish to claim my last breath, the very last bit of my being. And I’m rising from the water, panic clawing my throat because I can feel the pull, feel his gaze as I felt hers. I fight off the tears that demand to be seen, that want the show they so rightfully deserve. It was only fair, my heart screams, but I laugh at it. Life is never fair.

I stand naked in the mirror, but I see her standing next to me. The blue bloods that own this city, the embodiment of the perfect Georgia peach. A woman I could see John taking by the waist with pride. Her red lips and dark lashes, the long neck and golden blonde hair on display for all to see. My body not nearly as lean or as striking. I imagined her in her castle as a child, the beautiful princess of Atlanta, ruling her kingdom with her head held high. My childhood filled with softball tournaments and the old beaten up acoustic guitar that slept in the corner, while she attended operas and orchestra concerts. A culture I had never dreamed of, a social circle that could never be touched by the likes of me.  

I dry my skin, the feeling of being paper thin is overwhelming. I laugh to myself, because I know what comes next. I know what I’m about to do. It’s silly, childish, and yet I glide to my dresser. Slowly, I pull out my favorite number, something I had always imagined wearing for him. Not on stage, no. This was something for him and him alone. I put on the bra, the black lace striking against my skin and suddenly I’m untouchable. Slipping on the lacey underwear to match, I turn to my closet, desperate for the last pieces. The silk ebony robe sending shivers down my spine as it caresses me, and it’s as if I’m being held in my lover’s arms. The heels are last, simple and elegant. Tall and black, two thin straps leaving my feet bare, the same shoes I had worn to my father’s funeral. I felt like death herself, all powerful and ready to take whatever she wanted. Provocative and demanding, a queen among men.

My hair is released, falling like a waterfall down my back. It felt good to pretend, to believe in this moment that I was like her, that I wasn’t me. That I was a woman that was cherished and wanted, an envy-worthy being. I reason with myself; I know I’ve gone mad. I had fallen off the deep end and taken flight, and it had never felt better. The feeling addicting, the need for more growing and growing. The heels clicked against the wood floor, fueling me. The righteousness they sang, the vengeance they demanded, it became a soothing lullaby.

The kitchen is dark, only the light above the stove and sink burned with life. I reached for the most expensive red wine I had, pouring a glass with a smile of satisfaction. The blood red liquid was all consuming, drawing me closer. The dark, bitter taste becoming my sanctuary, but I wasn’t done. No, far from it. And as I sat down at my small vanity back in the bathroom, I choke yet again on a sob, and force out a laugh instead. I had a plan, a traitorous plan against the tears that begged for the freedom they longed for. I knew how to trick the emotions into becoming wisps of smoke on the inside of my porcelain glass exterior. I had never been an artist, but I paint. The burgundy against my lips, the black liquid liner creating sharp edges that would dare touch without permission. The brush then creates a frame for the windows of my soul, residing in the blue green irises staring back at me. They’re heavy, sad even, but the mascara does its job and I finish with a flourish.

I’m suddenly beautiful, a perfect doll someone would love to have, to play with, and have on their arm. I wonder briefly which arm he would use to put around my own waist, and suddenly my vision swims. I scoff as I hold my head high and take a sip in victory, toasting myself for outsmarting the betrayal of my heart that suddenly matched the blue of his eyes. I was so strong, I told myself. I was better. But as I held the glass gently, it became comforting to me, whispering sweet nothings and promising me a numbness that kept me safe and sound. I knew I was lying to myself. I was far from better.

A sound pulls me from the calling, and I set the glass down as I rose. The noise led me to my bedroom window, finding a cat messing with some metal trashcans as it scavenged for its next meal. Then I hear the soft clicking of my front door, and I scoff while squeezing my eyes shut momentarily. I should have known. Rowan was the only other one with a key, and I could almost bet that Faith had sent her my way. The wine’s singing int the next room, creating an atrocity of noise in my head. Perhaps just one glass, just to get the noise to go away. To make everything quiet.

Rowan would wait patiently in the living room; she respected my privacy. She wouldn’t just wander around. No, she would sit on the couch or at the kitchen table, preparing for whatever conversation she had planned on having. “Rowan, I’ll be out in a moment.” I call out in a sigh, letting her know I was aware of her and wasn’t being ignored. “I hope your show ended well. Sorry I wasn’t there to see the grand finale.” Every word was an effort, taking energy away from me. I wanted nothing more than to be alone.

I give only a few more seconds as I come to my decision and began making my way back to my bathroom. I could down the glass quickly. Rowan gives no response, but I don’t mind. It doesn’t matter. But as I step into the bathroom, I freeze. The blood in my veins suddenly turn to ice and my breath hitches. The glass was missing, as if it were never there in the first place. Sad and confused, I approach the vanity. The red wine, that had matched my lips, was gone. Staring at the reflection in the mirror, I’m reminded that I could never be her, or any of them. The beautiful women that could seduce him with just a soft smirk, a glance in his direction as her finger curled, beckoning him closer. I cringe as I turn away. I didn’t need another reminder that I wasn’t good enough.

“Rowan, give it back. I’m fine. Let me finish my fucking wine.” I stomp down the fall, my heels screaming their wrath. That’s how I enter my kitchen, ready for war, but I stop as something catches my attention. I make my way to the sink in a daze as I reach for my empty glass, the stain from my former lipstick taunting me. The wine bottle is set down and I reach for it, not caring of the guest I had yet to acknowledge. The lightness of the glass bottle tells me exactly what I had been thinking, it had not been spared. Everything was empty, just like me.

I slam the bottle down as I clench my teeth, seething. I wanted to scream, to see the world burn with the rage I was feeling. “Rowan!” I snap and I begin to shake, but whether it was from anger or the lack of control, I wasn’t sure. “Are you fucking kidding me? I barely had any—”

I’m no longer yelling but choking on the gasp that rushes out as fingers caress my neck, a hand gripping my hip tightly. They tease at the base of my neck before tracing my collarbone. The hand on my hip is sliding and sliding until its entangled with the knot of my robe. I know this touch, this gentle melody against my skin. The same gentle caress that ran over my skin as he marked me, embedding his creation into my skin with his dark ink. A permanent work of art that would be displayed on me for the rest of my life, and then suddenly he grasps my neck, squeezing only slightly. I knew what this was. I knew that this was a punishment, his own way of showing his disappointment for my lapse. He wouldn’t hurt me, I trusted him, and I knew that concern was driving his anger. My head rests against his shoulder as his lips find my ear.

“Promise?” he asked, dead serious. His breath makes me shiver and I breath out slowly through my nose. “Promise me that that’s all you had, Wren. Do not lie to me.”

“I promise, John.” I whispered in shame. He knew, god he knew. I was usually good, drinking only in moderation and at social events. I was so careful. But he knew, in this moment, that I had no intention of stopping. I was so swept up in the hurt, in the insecurity and anxiety, that I hadn’t realized how quickly I was falling down the rabbit hole. I make a sound at the back of my throat, and I feel my armor began to fall, disintegrating into nothing as I’m fighting the tears that are coming back.

He doesn’t give me the opportunity to cry. His lips find the junction of my neck and I sigh. Rowan wouldn’t have taken that step, pouring everything I had down the sink. That just wasn’t how she was. She would have lectured, sure. Express disappointment? Absolutely. John wasn’t like that. John was bold, unafraid of anything that ever came his way. I let out a shaky breath as he pulled away, his hand leaving my neck as his finger gently turned my chin. His lips found mine and I couldn’t think.

How long had we skirted around this? How many times had we came this close, but never crossed the line? The stolen glances, the shameless flirting. The way he held me the night I was almost shot in the alley, and yet neither of us were willing to take it further. I could almost laugh, because I had thought for so long it was just me. I was crushing on someone way out of my league. I had believed the words that woman had said. And suddenly, I remembered exactly why I was in this situation. I’m his fiancée.

He pulled away as the tears fell, and I looked away from him. He wasn’t having it. Gripping the front of my robe, he jerks me around. It takes only a few seconds for him to see, and without missing a beat, his hands are on my thighs. He sets me up on the counter as a sob successfully, finally, escapes my lips. His hands cradle my face as his thumbs wipe the tears away. His eyes are soft and they’re pulling me in, a tug on my seams as I become undone. I tore my gaze away, trying to hide everything I was feeling.

“Look at me.” He whispers, his face close enough that I can feel his breath. I looked back, fear and hurt all over my face. “Listen to me and listen very closely. You are enough. Do you hear me? Wren, you are enough.”

“Enough for you?” I croaked as I cried. My hands twisted as the clung to his white button up shirt. I was creating wrinkles, but neither of us cared. His brow furrowed and his jaw ticked.

“Enough for me? God Wren, who gives a shit about me?” He gently pokes my chest, against my beating heart. “It doesn’t fucking matter what I think or what anyone else thinks for that matter. Anyone.” He sneered as a dark look swirled in his cerulean orbs. “All that matters, is that you’re enough for you. You matter, Wren. You come first.”

“But that woman said—”

“That woman is nothing. Her opinion is nothing. She will never touch you, or get close to you, do you understand? She’s a liar and a manipulator. A child throwing a tantrum for not getting what she wants.”

I shook my head, my insecurities still whispering doubts. “She’s so pretty, John. She’s so thin, and I’m nothing like her. I’m not like her.” I sobbed.

He chuckled, a soft smile gracing his lips and showing off his perfect teeth. The light gave him a heavenly glow, yellow highlighting his features that made him look warm. “No, you’re not. You’re nothing like her, Wren. But that’s one of the biggest things I love about you.” He gently pressed his thumb against my lips, helping silence my sobs as I hung onto every word. “Shhh. Don’t cry, darling. Do you not see? Do you not understand just how beautiful you are, inside and out? Do you not know what it is you do to me?”

“John—” I gasped, but he presses his lips softly against mine before pulling back.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this? I’ve thought of little else since I’ve first laid eyes on you.” He whispers. “I get to watch you, Wren. I get to watch you every night when you perform, and I want nothing more than to devour you, to have you all to myself.” He tugged the robe loose, making it fall open and his eyes travelled down. My skin heated immediately from his attention, his finger returning to my chest as it teasingly traced the top of my breast. “I waited, bidding my time for the perfect moment. It never seemed to come, though, and I had to watch as that idiot detective circled you. But I protected you when you needed, listened to you when you needed the shoulder to cry on. I wanted you, craved you, but needed you to be happy, to be ready and unafraid. I wanted to take my time with you, but I can’t keep my fucking hands off you.”

I laughed and his smile broadened as he leaned back. “So…you’re not engaged?”

He scoffed. “Hell no. We used to be, but that was years ago. She’s nothing to me.” He placed a light kiss on my nose, before going for my lips, but I stopped him. He gave me a look and I smirked.

“Did you break into my apartment?” I asked, my brow raising, and he gave me a smirk in return.

“Oh darling, I plead the fifth.”

“So, that’s a yes.”

“It is not. Need I remind you that I’m innocent until proven guilty?” he asked, a breathless laugh escaping him. He gave me a mischievous smirk, something dancing in his eyes that made my lower abdomen pull as I bit my lip. “I heard about what happened, Whitney told Rowan and I everything. Rowan was enraged, I believe she may or may not have taken a swing at our unwanted guest. I didn’t stay though, I needed to check on my girl.” He tilted my chin up gently, his lips brushing mine lightly. “And you are my girl, aren’t you darling?”

“Yes, John. I’m yours.” I breathed out and his lips crashed against mine once more. Everything forgotten as a sense of relief settled over me. My heart swelled as his hands caressed lovingly against my skin, holding me, and driving the last of my inner demons into the shadows as I fell into his sweet embrace.

#wren blake #john seed #burlesque au #poor wren #she needs a hug #dark thoughts #go john #sorry not sorry #please be nice #i tried #their first post

[hadererer]

Anon requested: Angsty Reddie where Eddie yells at Richie and Richie goes :( (maybe based of like art is dead by Bo Burnham especially the attention attractor part )

Summary: Richie takes the jokes a little too far at the wrong place and wrong time, and Eddie needs space 

Rating: T (language) 

Eddie huffed, closing their apartment door behind them. Their little puppy, a Pomeranian named Olive that Eddie had fallen in love with at the animal shelter, rushed to greet them. Even though she wasn’t technically a puppy anymore, Richie and Eddie still saw her as their little puppy. 

“Easy, baby girl,” Richie tried to calm her jumping as Eddie stormed into the kitchen. Richie bent down to pet and rub her belly for a quick second before jumping back up and following Eddie, unclipping his tie and setting on the table along the way. 

They had just returned from Eddie’s senior thesis presentation fair for his Nursing degree, and something was very wrong. Richie thought the night went well, each time Eddie gave his presentation in front of his tri-fold poster board, looking like an absolute smarty-pants and adorable at the same because he just had that range, Richie could help but smile at him, thinking about how lucky he was to have him. He was starting to believe Eddie thought to opposite, though. 

Eddie was standing at their sink, drinking a glass of water. His eyes stared, unfocused out the window, deep in thought. 

As much as Richie wanted to step up behind Eddie and wrap his arms around him, he could tell that Eddie was seething. Richie found himself at a loss for words, for once. He had thought the night was going great! Eddie’s presentation went really well, all of his professors told him so, and it seemed like everyone was having a great time. 

But the whole way home Eddie had refused to talk to him. He ignored all of Richie’s jokes and teasing, even the ones Richie knew Eddie loved. When he tried to ask him about it, Eddie only sent him a withering look and still didn’t respond. 

This was dangerous territory. Richie knew it. Eddie knew it. Even Olive seemed to sense that something was going on between her parents. 

“Eds, please talk to me. We can work it out, whatever it is. We always do.” 

May-day, May-day. Wrong thing to say. Eddie’s face flushed a deep red. He placed the now empty glass in his hand onto the counter with a controlled anger. After a second, he turned to look at Richie, crossing his arms as he stared him down. Even though Eddie was at least a few inches shorter than Richie (“I’m average fucking height you asshole” he would say whenever Richie playfully teased him about it). 

“Like we always do? Hm? How do we always work shit out exactly, Richie?” Eddie’s voice was deadly calm, with a hint of the storm that was brewing below it creeping in. His eyes were fierce and balmy. Usually those eyes meant that they would be locking Olive out of their room later. But not today. Nope. Those eyes held a different intent this time. “You make jokes or say stupid shit, and we move on, pretending that nothing happened. Pretending like everything’s fucking fine when it’s so not.” 

“Eddie, what--” 

“Nope. Let me finish,” Eddie interjected, voice no longer sounding tight with repressed anger. Oh no, that anger was fully expressed now. “You knew how important tonight was to me. You knew for months. You knew that tonight was my night. My night to show off my senior thesis project. The thing I’ve been working on all semester. Tonight was my fucking chance to network with other nurses and graduate program officials, hopefully help me get a job for when we graduate in two fucking weeks. But instead you made it about you.” 

Wait, what? Richie wasn’t trying to make it about himself. Of course he wouldn’t! I mean, yeah, he was making jokes and teasing Eddie a little, but that was only to help Eddie relax! He thought he liked when Richie did things like that. 

“I wasn’t trying making it about myself! I was just trying to make you relax and laugh every once in a while, Spaghetti!” 

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief before furrowing, again. He hand was raised with his palm open, in a ‘What are you even saying?’ fashion. 

“Are you fucking serious right now?! Not the time, Rich! Not the place!” Eddie spat out before brusquely moving past Richie to head to their bedroom. Richie followed, still trying to wrap his mind around what Eddie had said, with Olive fast on his heels. Even though she could sense the tension, she still seemed to want to be with them. 

In their room, Eddie was taking off his suit when Richie walked in. Even in his anger, he still took care in hanging his suit up to take to the cleaners tomorrow. 

“Eddie, please, come on. You know I would never do anything to upset you.” Richie pleaded. 

Pulling on a pair of sweats and shoes, Eddie began packing a bag. 

Wait--what? No! Richie’s heart beat felt like it was faltering and his face twisted into shocked hurt. 

Eddie turn to him, sighing at the distressed look on Richie’s face. He seemed to deflate a little, eyes softening a little. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I just want a little space, right now.” He stalked into the bathroom for his toiletry stuff. Richie just stood there, staring at the bag, hurt but feeling a little better knowing that Eddie was still coming back, at least. 

“Eds, come one, we can talk this out--” 

“Not right now, Rich,” and damn did he sound exhausted, “I’m going to stay at Stan and Bill’s tonight. I just need some time to cool down and think.” 

After grabbing a few more things and stuffing them into the small messenger bag, Eddie made his way out ad Richie tried to reason with him the whole time. Soon, Eddie had left and Richie was alone. Well, not totally alone, he remembered as Olive pawed at his leg.  

Richie couldn’t believe what the literal fuck had just happened. 

Of course Richie knew how important that night was. They had it marked on their calendar in the kitchen for months. 

His thesis project was fantastic and everyone could see that. Eddie had just looked so nervous and scared and, God, Richie hated seeing him like that. He thought he was doing the right thing. He just wanted Eddie to feel better and more comfortable. Relax. Chill. 

But apparently that wasn’t how it was received. Eddie thought Richie was just trying to make everyone pay attention to him, not Eddie’s project. Eddie thought that all the jokes and teasing were because Eddie thought that Richie saw his project as unimportant. Which was so wrong. 

Richie tossed himself face first down onto the couch, burrowing his face into one of the pillows. He felt Olive jumped onto his back, walk around a little before laying down. 

He took a deep breath. Was he an attention hog, though? He liked talking and joking with people and maybe sometimes that did mean that he liked having attention. He liked being funny and making people laugh. He didn’t really think that would be a negative thing, until tonight. 

And the truth was that the more Richie thought of it, he could kind of see where Eddie was coming from. It probably seemed like he was trying to take some of the spotlight from Eddie, even though he didn’t mean, too. He honestly just wanted to help Eddie loosen up a bit.

---

The next morning Richie was awake bright and early. His neck felt a little stiff from sleeping on the couch, but he also didn’t want to sleep in their bed without Eddie. 

Warm morning light peeked through the curtains as Richie fed Olive before taking her on her morning walk. He wasn’t sure when Eddie would be back, but he wanted to make sure he was there when he got back, eager to talk to him. So, that meant waking up much earlier than he normally would on a Saturday morning to walk Olive. 

Of course, when they returned, Olive whining as she rushed through their front door, Eddie was sitting on the couch, as if waiting for Richie, bag no where to be seen. Eddie reach down to pick up Olive and place her on his lap, not meeting Richie’s eye as he idly began to pet her. 

Richie’s steps faltered before he gained his footing again. He placer Olive’s leash on the hook by the door, before walking over to sit with Eddie. He idly scratched Olive behind her ears, waiting for Eddie to start, like he could tell that he wanted to. 

“I get that you probably didn’t mean to last night, but you acted like my project was nothing. You kept bringing everyone’s attention to yourself. Making jokes about this person’s hair or that person’s outfit. As if everything I worked all the semester for, that was right there, didn’t even matter.” Every word sounded like it was rehearsed. As if Eddie was going through this in his head. 

Richie reached out to put his hand on Eddie’s knee, but Eddie shifted away. Richie felt the fear that he had felt last night creep back up again. 

“Eddie, listen, I never wanted to draw attention away from you or your work. IT’s just--you just seemed so tense! And scared! And I just didn’t want you to be feel that way because you were doing so good and your project was so good...” 

Eddie nodded, “yeah, yeah, I realized that.” 

And wow did that feel good to hear Eddie say. He just needed Eddie to know that Richie would never purposefully do anything to hurt him. He loved him. 

Eddie finally looked Richie in the eye, face stony but also looking vulnerable underneath all the hard lines. 

“I know you didn’t mean to, I know that, but it still felt awful feeling like second-best at during my presentation.”

And Richie understood that. After thinking about it last night, yeah, he probably would have been angry at himself, too. 

Richie reached out to grab Eddie’s hands and this time Eddie let him. 

“I promise I’ll try my best not to do it again, Eds, seriously, I never wanted to hurt you. I love you, you know that.”

Eddie smiled at him, making Richie’s chest warm. “I know, and I love you, too. And I’m sorry for leaving last night like that, I didn’t mean to scare you, I just needed to be alone to think.” Eddie squeezed Richie’s hands and scooted closer to him. 

Richie smiled, “yeah, I could tell,” he kissed Eddie’s hands, “I know that you like space when you’re mad, just like when we were younger and you slept in the guest room during a sleepover because I spilled soda on your new comic.” 

This made Eddie huff and roll his eyes before laughing. “Ugh, you asshole, I was so mad about that! Do you have any idea how hard it was to find?!” 

And that’s how Richie knew everything would be okay. 

#i hope you like it anon! #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it stephen king #it 2017 #it #the pomeranian #writing #ask #mine #audrey writes

[camillemontespan]

lost stars [AU. drake, camille, leo and olivia] [part ten: chanel]

Part Nine  here if you want to catch up.

Penultimate chapter!

@jovialyouthmusic @sirbeepsalot @pug-bitch @moonlightgem7 @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @drakewalkerisreal @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @emceesynonymroll @dcbbw @notoriouscs @themingdynasty @iplaydrake @katedrakeohd @rainbowsinthestorm @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @burnsoslow

 Olivia woke up feeling well rested. She stretched out and yawned gently, enjoying the plump pillows and the sounds of Paris outside her window. 

The sound of water turning off in the bathroom broke her out of her reverie.

Oh god. She had forgotten.

The bathroom door opened and Olivia pulled the duvet over her, hiding herself from her big mistake. 

‘Liv? Are you hiding from me?’

She felt herself blush. She kept the duvet over her, not caring that she couldn’t breathe well. She deserved punishment. 

The duvet was dragged from her and she turned away, keeping her eyes tight shut. 

‘Liv.’

Sighing, she opened her eyes and was greeted with Leo. He was wearing only a towel around his waist and his blonde hair was slicked back from the shower. Droplets of water trickled down his biceps and Olivia resisted the urge to pounce on him. She had done enough of that last night. 

‘Hi, Leo,’ she said bluntly. Leo smirked. ‘Regretting last night?’

‘That’s one word to describe it. Currently re-assessing my life decisions.’ 

Leo chuckled, unfazed by her hostility. He dropped the towel and Olivia averted her eyes, staring at her hands as he padded around the bedroom picking up his clothes. 

‘Liv, you know you want to look,’ he teased. 

‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ she muttered. 

‘What was it you said last night? That I was huge?’

‘Ha!’ she laughed bitterly, now looking at him. ‘I was drunk.’

‘Hardly. Plus, yeah you’re right. I am huge.’

Olivia rolled her eyes. She hated how he was just casually strolling around her suite naked, like it was his right. This was her abode. This was her space. 

She tossed the duvet aside, determined, and slunk out of bed. Leo stared at her naked body as she walked to the bathroom, her hips swinging as she went. As she opened the bathroom door, she looked over her shoulder at him. His eyes were steady on her, turning dark. She gave him a smirk and slowly shut the door.

Standing under the shower head, she closed her eyes as the water cascaded down her body in sheets. She could just pretend that Leo wasn’t in the next room. She could pretend last night hadn’t happened. 

They had gotten off the bus in the centre of the city and had gone their separate ways. It was only when Leo texted Olivia asking her to meet him for a drink that night that she thought it would be nice to have company. Why not? 

Big mistake. 

Huge.

Speaking of huge.. Olivia swallowed, trying to forget about everything he had done to her last night. But she couldn’t. She had felt like a lion let loose. He had encouraged her to just be wild and free and she had done it. She had taken control, riding him hard, and when she thought she was done, Leo had taken over. He was relentless. 

‘Thinking of me, huh?’

Olivia’s eyes snapped open and she instantly stopped touching herself. 

Leo had opened the shower door and was watching her, a smirk on his face as his eyes roamed her body before settling on the space between her thighs. 

Olivia couldn’t think of an answer. He would know she was lying if she said no. 

‘Let me help you,’ he murmured. Olivia stood back and watched as he let himself into the shower. The water poured down his golden skin and Olivia felt her body react. He looked like a Greek god come to life. 

Leo’s hands slid down her chest, cupping her breasts, trailing down her stomach, getting lower and lower. Olivia held in a groan, not wanting to show she was enjoying this. She didn’t want to let him win. 

But when his fingers slid into her, she knew she was beaten. 

             *******************************************************************

'So shall we head to Maxims for breakfast? I tell you, they do a fantastic Bloody Mary if I do say so myself,' Leo said, opening the hotel door for Olivia.

Olivia turned and gave him a withering look. 'No. You are not becoming my little companion while I live my best life in Paris. No.'

'Ooh so this morning was part of your best life, huh?' Leo asked, his eyebrow raised. Olivia turned red, cursing herself silently.

'No. Everything when you leave me alone is my best life,' she protested. 'So, Leo, please leave me alone so I can worship the goddess that is Chanel.'

Leo's mouth quirked up in the corner. Gently, he pushed her up against the wall. Olivia took a sharp intake of breath.

'I believe you've been worshipped this morning all ready,' he murmured. 'No other worshipping is necessary.'

Olivia pushed him away. 'Good God, Leo! What a line! Seriously?'

Leo smirked. 'Ah fine, not my best work. Let me try again.'

'No.'

'Livvv..' He sighed. He looked at her with a brooding expression. His green eyes bore into hers. 'Let me treat you to Chanel. I want you to be dripping in jewels by the time I'm done with you.'

Olivia stared at him.

Leo smirked. 'Too much?'

'What gave that away?'

He threw his head back and let out a bellow of a laugh. His eyes crinkled at the corners and he looked genuinely happy. Olivia felt herself smile in spite of herself.

'Fine, Liv. That was cheesy. But hey, let me buy you a Chanel lipstick. It's the least I can do.'

Olivia groaned but she let him take her arm as he led her down the street. They stopped in front of a Vespa. Leo took out a key and turned on the ignition.

Olivia backed away. 'I am not getting on that death trap.'

'I've got a helmet for you, you'll be safe.'

'I don't care, sitting on that is a death wish!'

Leo leaned against the scooter. 'But Chanel calls your name..'

'I can get a fucking taxi,' she hissed. Leo looked down at the ground, hiding his smile.

'Liv, this is fast, you'll get there in no time. I promise I'm a safe driver. Also, you get to wrap your arms around me and I just know you're dying to do that.'

Olivia's eyes flashed. He continued to watch her until she gave an exasperated groan. 'Fine! But only because I want to get there quickly.'

She took the other helmet and got on the scooter. Leo slung himself over and got the scooter ready to move off.

'Now, Olivia, remember. I'm driving the vehicle so no sudden urges to jump my bones, okay?' he said, mock seriously. 'Safety first.'

                          *************************************************

Camille snuggled up next to Drake as they drank their morning coffees. The past couple of days had been bliss, that was the only word to describe this. Mornings passed in a cloud of coffee, pancakes, sex and laughter. Nights welcomed secrets shared under the cover of darkness, hands constantly touching, bodies together, until they fell into an undisturbed slumber.

Camille was happy. Finally, it felt like everything had slotted into place.

Drake was playing absentmindedly with a lock of her hair, twirling it around his finger. 'Can I ask you something?' he said nervously.

'Sure, what is it?'

He cleared his throat and turned to properly face her. Camille's heart began to beat a little faster. He looked so serious.

'It's Wednesday,' he told her. 'I have my AA meeting today and it's kind of an important one. You see, I've hit six months sobriety and I have to make a speech.. Would you like to come with me? Friends and family are welcome so you don't need to feel awkward and it would mean a lot if you could be there, somehow your face makes everything a little brighter for me and I don't feel so ashamed of it..'

He was rambling now, scared she would say no.

Camille grabbed his hands, silencing him. 'Drake, I would love to see your speech. I want to support you.'

Of course she did. Why had he thought she would say no? She had been so understanding when he told her about his addiction in the first place.

She clapped her hands excitedly. 'That's amazing you've hit six months! Do I need to dress up? Is it like an awards ceremony? Can I cheer when you finish your speech?'

Drake chuckled. 'No need to dress up, honestly. But yeah, you can cheer! I like that!'

                              *************************************************

Camille had made an effort to dress up anyway. She had chosen a silk grey cami, black cigarette trousers and black Manolo heels. She wanted to look good for him.

She sat down with the other guests of the AA meeting, her eyes studying the room. Drake and the other AAs were sat in rows in front, side on so she could see his profile, and a small stage was set up. A table with sandwiches and orange juice was laid out to make the meeting feel less cold, more welcoming.

The AA leader, Kathy, stood up and began to speak but Camille could only focus on Drake. She felt an overwhelming sense of pride. How could she feel so strongly about him after only knowing him for a short time?

'Now, one of our members has been incredible and has reached the six month target,' Kathy said. 'He is always the one who encourages his peers to be honest and I think I speak for everyone here that it is a pleasure to see him every Wednesday. Please welcome on stage, Drake Walker!'

The room clapped, Camille more so. She let out a whoop and ignored the people who turned to stare at her.

Drake smiled as he took the microphone. 'Thank you, Kathy,' he began. Clearing his throat, he looked out to the audience but his eyes met Camille's. He focused on her as he began to speak.

'Before I began attending these meetings, I was a mess. An absolute mess. I was depressed, I felt worthless and felt like my life was going nowhere. I used whiskey as a crutch, to the point where it was the only liquid I drank. This went on for about four months and I entered a really dark place. '

He was quiet for a moment, considering his words. 'My girlfriend at the time was really supportive. Hell, she got rid of my secret stash which she found in my wardrobe and poured it down the sink. She told me she couldn't watch me kill myself. She kept me on the straight and narrow, but I always felt guilty. Yes, I still drink beer but I don't touch the hard stuff, but any time we were in social situations, I could just tell she was worried I would turn to whiskey. She couldn't relax and I constantly felt guilty. Like a burden. We're over now. '

The room was silent. Drake bit his lip but continued, his voice clear and steady.

'I've met someone new,' he said, smiling softly. The audience smiled with him. 'She's great, really great. When we started our.. relationship - we haven't defined it yet but let's just call it that, heh- it was messy. It was really messy and I began to feel tempted to reach for the whiskey.'

Camille blanched. He hadn't told her that before. Drake's eyes were trained on hers, begging her to stay with him for this. 'I felt like an asshole. So many times I wanted to buy a bottle but I'd stop myself because of Camille. That's her name, my girl. I didn't want to treat her the same way I treated my ex. I didnt want her to feel on edge and I didn't want her to see me at my worst. She already knew about my AA meetings and she never judged me for my problem and she never treated me like a child. She just accepted it. Honestly, she's incredible and I don't want to lose that. She helped me in so many ways to deal with the past few months, just by being there. She got me through a dark point and she isn't even aware of it. Seriously, I can see her face now, she looks shocked. '

The audience turned to follow Drake's eyes and they saw Camille, who's eyes were wide and fixed on Drake.

'So I've reached six months of not touching the hard stuff and honestly, I'm not touching it again. Why would I want to numb myself when everytime I see her face, I feel happy? I feel worthy. I feel calm. So, thank you Camille. You saw me for myself. I'm going to keep on this path and I can't promise it will be easy, hell it will be tough, but I'm finally feeling positive. I want to reach 12 months and just keep going from there. I have to keep at this. I will keep at this. I've only just gotten started.'

He was blushing now. He'd said too much. He had definitely freaked her out.

Camille gave him a wide smile and began to cheer, just as she said she would. Drake felt relief. Everyone in the room followed her lead and Drake gave an awkward wave. Camille stood up, her eyes shining as she clapped enthusiastically.

When the AAs went to join their families, Drake slowly walked up to Camille with a hesitant expression on his face.

'So..' He started.

Camille blushed and took his hand. She looked up into his eyes and gave him a smile that caused her eyes to crinkle up in the corners. 'You're amazing,' she whispered.

He shuffled on his feet awkwardly. 'Sorry I drew attention to you there. Got carried away.'

Camille shook her head and pressed a kiss to his lips. 'You said everything you needed to, Drake. I.. I really like this relationship we have too. You make me happy.'

Drake grinned at the word 'relationship'. There. It was defined.

                                  ******************************************

Leo bought Olivia a Chanel lipstick.

When they left the store, Leo suggested they hang out and have a Paris adventure. Olivia agreed - it was the least she could do after he bought her Chanel lipstick. His scooter was left parked, as Olivia refused to get back on it. 

They went to Maxims for Bloody Mary's then ended up at the Tuileries where they sat by the fountain and made a game out of people watching.

They wandered to the Louvre but both announced 'Fuck that!' when they saw the line to get in so they walked aimlessly, ducking into boutiques and bars as they went. They drank Old Fashioned’s in Harry’s Bar, the haunt of Ernest Hemingway and Coco Chanel herself, and they stumbled outside when the sun was beginning to set, casting a rose glow over the buildings.

As they wandered back to Olivia’s hotel, she couldn’t help but think how.. nice this was. They were chatting easily, laughing. She had gradually opened up to him as the day had gone by, just accepting he was going to keep pushing her to let go. 

They reached her hotel front door. 

‘Today was actually not that bad,’ Olivia admitted. Leo grinned, looking genuinely pleased. 

‘I’m a fun guy. Every day is good with me.’

She kicked the ground with her heel and looked at him, biting her lip. ‘Do you.. want to come in for a nightcap?’

He looked past her into the hotel then back to her. ‘I need to pick up my Vespa,’ he told her. ‘Since someone wouldn’t ride back on it.’

She reddened, embarrassed that she had even asked. Why had she even asked him to join her for a drink? He saw her flush and gave her a soft smile. 

‘But I can always park up outside here..’

Olivia tried not to look pleased. ‘I’ll see you at the hotel bar in thirty minutes then.’

‘Get a bottle of champagne,’ he told her.  Olivia nodded and turned to open the door but was stopped by Leo catching her by the arm. 

‘And tell the bartender we’ll have it in your room.’

#drake walker #trr fanfic #cake #the royal romance #lost stars #olivia nevrakis

[queenlifesupport]

Pure (Ben! x Y/N)

@mhoodx - “hello, it’s me again. i don’t know if you’re still taking request but i’ve been thinking about this idea a lot. it can be something where the reader is chosen to play mary austin, but ben isn’t that happy about it, in fact he’s jealous. because that means the reader is going to be around rami a little too much. that’s just a short idea, maybe you could add something more? have a nice day/night” 

WORD COUNT - 2,130

Warnings - Flufffffff, and language because its me, what do you expect 

I really apologize for not uploading any imagines in a while, I’ve been having so much going on! Sorry if any typos, might've missed some! And sorry for this shitty thing lol. Thank you all! xoxo

"Take three, scene 13, action." The director yelled as he observed the scene that wasn't all complicated. We were currently working on the engagement scene, Rami and I had a hard time focusing while working together due to knowing each other in our personal lives but we made sure it never got in our way of work. We had just gotten to the scene of the guys walking into the makeshift flat, interrupting Mary and Freddie. We had to keep refilming due to Ben making Rogers character too upset when he wasn't supposed to be. I knew why the boy couldn't keep his acting straight. Ben and I have been dating ever since we were casted together, which had been 11 months ago. We met at the auditions, it immediately clicked, he invited me over a few times and eventually we started going out. It's been a few months of dating and just recently it got a little more serious, both of us have been considering moving in together and I couldn't be happier about it. Although given our current status, I don't think he was too happy with this scene though, along with the fact Rami and I have been spending plenty of time together on screen and off. I shouldn't have to change it though, he has nothing to worry about when it comes to Rami and I.

"Which finger do I put this on?" I recited the memorized lines while holding the blanket up to my bare chest, feeling the material graze the soft goosebump ridden skin, allowing the acted emotions to play on my face and through my body language.

"Wedding finger?" We continued the heartfelt scene, all until the boys entered. You could visibly see Ben's locked jaw and anger filled gaze causing the director to call cut and request a break. I sighed in frustration at the fact we didn't get it that time, at this point I felt there was no hope with getting through this scene. One of the stylists walked to me swiftly and handed me the thick black t-shirt with the Queen signature logo printed on the front, supporting the movie production. I slipped it over my torso carefully, making sure to not flash anyone in the process. Ben stood on the other side of the coffee table, crossing his arms while looking at me with his jaw slightly hung open, this wasn't his first time seeing me like this. I stood up, clearly annoyed at the man standing in my  peripheral vision. I avoided looking him directly in the eyes, soon leaving to spend the given break in my assigned trailer. As I shut the metal door behind me, I let out another sigh, closing my eyes and letting my mind unravel and collapse, just what I wanted to do. He's been making me stressed ever since day one on set, I had no clue he'd be this jealous. I wasn't jealous when they filmed scenes with women all over him, why is he jealous about Rami, a close friend of mine and only a friend that has always been a friend. I soon heard the door opening and closing after Ben entered, following me from the set silently. I turned around and locked eyes with him, now crossing my arms in front of my chest as I waited for the next move to be clear.

"Ben, what is with you? You've been acting unacceptable ever since the start date of recording?" I attempted to get answers from him, I was put up with his shit at this point. I knew he wouldn't come clean or explain if I hadn't made the first attempt to get him to spill his mind.

"I - I'm really sorry Y/N/N. We've only been together for such little time, seeing you interact with Rami in a different light than how we interact is kind of nerve-racking. I know you guys have been friends ever since The War at Home, I just need to accept the fact you're with me. It's just you're such a beautiful woman with a guy like me, it is clearly hard to believe that. You're literally the woman of my dreams." He clasped his hands behind his back as he took a few strides towards me. Now slightly towering over me.

I closed my eyes, letting a shaky breath escape, thinking about my next move. "Please just start doing your job, were all trying here and you're really testing our patience. We can't afford to continuously refill, we don't have the money and time." I looked up at him, he then looked down to his feet with a small frown upon his lips. "I forgive you." I whispered after a moment of dreadful silence, I could feel his guilt sap every corner of the room. He settled his gaze back to my face, then embracing me in a warm and lengthy hug. One of my favorite things were being held by him.

"I won't act like this anymore. I'll clear my mind and remember the truth, I promise, love." I smiled at his choice of words, he always knew how to fix our problems and make me smile at the same time. We both had fixing, but we always did it together as a team.

"So, no more acting all upset and jealous just because Rami and I are hanging out?" I questioned after leaving his warm arms, aching to be back in them.

"Of course, I'll now just be upset if you pay attention to Joe or Gwilym." He joked. I rolled my eyes with a warm-hearted smile plastered on my lips. I moved my hand up to caress his softly shaved jawline, rubbing my thumb across his chin. He shifted his head slightly to lay a gentle kiss on the tip of my finger while his hand rested on the top of mine. We stood there in admiration for at least a moment before he cut the lingering silence with his deep voice. "You look absolutely stunning." I blushed at his hushed compliment, his eyes held transparent love.

"You don't look too shabby yourself." I muttered only loud enough for him to barely hear me. I've never been so in love with a human being. He was kind no matter how hard he tried to be rude or judgmental, sometimes it was just masked with jealously or insecurities. Which I could never understand due to him being the most beautiful man I've ever seen walk this planet, let alone the universe. But here we were, two mortals fixing up a mess that didn't make sense. It genuinely made me concerned at times how much I fell for him, or just loved him. I had my insecurities at times too, especially about Ben not trusting me. I've done all I can to put in effort into our blooming relationship and the fact he doesn't give me all his trust makes me uneasy. Plus, look at me, who else would want me, having Ben was already out of my lea-

"What's on your mind, love?" He interrupted the thought I held in my scrambled brain. I swallowed hard as I debated on wither I should tell him or not.

"I just don't know why you don't trust me. Who else would I go after? No ones as good as you and no one will even offer me anything due to me being myself." He scoffed lightly at my remark towards myself, he had knowledge that I was my worst enemy. I feared I looked attention seeking at times, but that's just how I honestly felt and he requests honesty.

"Y/N, listen to me. You don't ever have to be ashamed of who you are. You are beyond beautiful on the inside and out, you have a heart of gold and a god-like beautiful face and body. There's so many people who would be so happy to be yours. I'm just scared to lose you to someone who can offer you more." I lightly gawked at his response.

"You are the kindest person I know, Ben Hardy. But the truth is, no one could ever replace you." I leaned in to place a sweet kiss on his soft lips that held flavor from his chapstick. Taking in the moment as every second passed. I always wanted to be locked with him. He was my everything as of now.

"How long until break is over, darling?" He asked, looking down at his watch once we pulled away. I thought back to the break schedule we discussed while at the start of filming. I also averted my eyes to the small clock on his wrist.

"20 minutes." I quickly did the small amount of math in my head, getting the total and answering him. He looked up to the roof with ideas on his mind. I giggled at his adorable and concentrating look. I felt much better after having the small yet informal conversation between the two of us. Communication was a huge part of our relationship, no matter what it is, it had to be played in the tense air.

"Just enough time to spend it with my favorite girl." He smiled softly at me with that stupid smile I always fall for, no matter what. He yet again pressed against me, allowing me to nuzzle up closer to him, feeling his chin rest upon my head. I felt at home whenever I was with him, mostly when I was rested up in his embrace. I breathed out in relief, feeling that familiar sense of warmth and protection, a feeling no one else but him could give me. His body radiated off heat and love, I could feel both with every pulsing vein in my body. At times I felt like a school girl with a massive crush on the most popular guy in school, always flustered and amazed at his interactions and way of life. But his way of life was with me, his intentions were pure as gold and clear like crystal. I was beyond thankful for being brought to him, he changed my life over the last several months, even in the slightest of ways. "You know how we've been discussing living together?" I felt his jaw move up and down as he spoke with his mesmerizing voice.

"Of course, baby." My voice was muffled by his shirt but someone the man still heard me.

"Let's do it. What's the worse that will happen? We both clearly want the same thing." His hand traced shapes on my back like a small child practicing its shapes on a blank piece of paper with crayon. I lifted my head from his chest, looking up at him while he softly hummed to rid the air around us of silence.

"I'd absolutely love to." I whispered delightfully. My heart raced with anticipation and excitement. I felt happy at the new achievement we've faced as a couple. Moving in together is a big step and there's no one I'd rather take that leap with than Ben.

"Good." Was all he replied with. I could tell he held his happiness under the surface, his posture fixed slightly after I answered and I could hear his heart pound in sync with mine. I inhaled deeply, trying to remember each sense of this moment. The smell of his cologne, the light racket of his breathing and heartbeat, the feeling of his soft and body heated shirt against my cold cheek, the dimly lit room as the sun hit his sand blonde hair, and the taste of oranges from his chapstick he regularly applied throughout the day. Everything played like a movie scene throughout my head, making every single system in my mind all wind down and just enjoy the moment for some time. I felt overwhelmed, but when he held onto me it felt like he held onto my sanity and allowed me to fix all the broken pieces without them floating away, like matter in the depths of space.

"I love you." I muttered, feeling the slight perfection of the moment. My eyes fluttered shut, melting under his every touch he placed upon my clothed or none covered skin.

"I love you too, Y/N." The moment felt nothing but pure and raw. Everything about it felt so natural, being here with him and reciting these words to each other with a different meaning and motive each time. I couldn't get enough of him and this feeling. I never will get enough and I knew I was stuck in this forever lasting love spell the universe set upon us. I would never trade it for the entire world, him and I knew that to be true.

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[flightfoot]

Memories of Godly Selfishness Ch. 2

Here’s the second chapter of “Memories of Godly Selfishness”. Here’s the first chapter, if you missed it.

This was inspired by an idea I had several months ago. At the time I wrote it in the form of an analysis, The fight with Otis and Ephialtes in MoA takes on a whole new meaning in the context of ToA. But now that I can actually write pretty well, I wanted to take a crack at the idea in fanfiction form. Enjoy!

When the world solidified, we were surrounded by a chaotic scene. Fireworks of some sort were going off over our heads, though I was more concerned by the Giant in front of us... until the roof above him fell and crushed him.

I looked around wildly, trying to figure out where and when this was. I saw Piper sitting down, badly injured next to a barely conscious Nico. I instinctively started towards them, then froze. Someone else was already on his way. A young man with blond hair rushed towards them.

Jason.

My mind stopped working, unable to comprehend what I was seeing. I started forwards as if in a trance, but only got a few feet before Meg grabbed my arm. I looked back at her, not understanding. Jason was here! Why didn’t she want me to go to him? She looked back at me with uncharacteristic gentleness, stating quietly, “Apollo, this is the past. You can’t interact with Jason. This already happened. He’s gone now.” Her grip loosened, allowing me to continue to Jason if I wished. I didn’t move. Meg was right. I could only observe.

Get it together Apollo, I scolded myself. You don’t know what this memory will show, so you need to brace yourself.

I looked around some more, trying to determine when and whose memory this was. If there were Giants around, then it would likely be taking placing during the war with Gaea last year. Meg wasn’t involved with that, so it couldn’t be her memory, and I only remembered facing Giants at the very end of the War at the Parthenon, and we certainly weren’t at that point in time, which meant...

I glanced back at the third member of our party. Percy looked tense, ready to pull out his sword and start slashing at a moments notice. I glanced around, and sure enough, there was another version of Percy present in the past here, standing in front of a weird machine, looking out at everything that was going on... which was a lot. One of the Giants - Ephialtes I believed, from what I could dredge up from the depths of my memory - was already reforming, dragging himself out of the pile of his own dust, his head, arms, and shoulders already reformed.

On the other side of the room, the rubble from the roof exploded, showering debris everywhere. I ducked instinctively as a piece of it the size of a basketball rocketed towards me, only for it to pass right through me.

Ah. Yes. I couldn’t be hurt here, not by the past anyway. It could only inflict emotional pain, not physical damage.

“Percy! The controls!” Jason yelled. Past!Percy unfroze, pulling out his sword and slashing at the control panel with it.

“No!” Ephialtes wailed. “You’ve ruined the spectacle!”

Percy started turning around to face him, but it wasn’t fast enough. Ephialtes swung his spear at him.

I lost control of my legs, crumbling to the floor. Distantly I heard screaming emanating from somewhere. It took a moment to realize it was from me.

“APOLLO!” Meg yelled at me. It felt like I was hearing her through a fog. “APOLLO!” she screamed again, kneeling in front of me, blocking my view. Slowly, I focused in on her face, the terror and worry in her expression, the tears in her eyes... all directed at me.

Slowly, I came to my senses. This was the past. Percy was alive and next to me in the present. I looked back wildly to make sure of that fact. Percy was still standing perfectly still, staring at the scene in front of him, looking like he wanted to rip someone’s throat out. I shivered at his expression, but at least he was alive.

Meg cupped my face in her hands, an unusual show of support from her. “No one died here. You KNOW that. You saw them later. They survived this.”

Shakily I drew breath, and attempted to get to my feet. Meg helped me up, supporting me until I could stand up straight on my own. I wobbled a little, but didn’t fall.

I could do this. I had to. I had to know why Percy, Meg, and I were drawn into this flashback. The last flashback sequence I’d been in had been highly painful for both Meg and I, but we’d learned a lot - especially me. Seeing how I used to act and how people reacted to me had solidified my determination to never be like that again. And Meg had learned that people she cared about may have been assholes in the past, but still genuinely cared for her and wanted to rectify their mistakes. I wish she hadn’t had to learn that way, though.

I only hoped that this flashback wouldn’t be as harrowing for Meg as the last one had been. Let all the pain fall on me. I deserved it. She didn’t.

I gathered myself and looked around. past!Percy and Jason were side-by-side, looking tired, but still determined to save themselves and their friends. Piper and Nico were over by the dais on the floor, barely able to move.

Ephialtes smiled at past!Percy and Jason. I shuddered. “Tired, Percy Jackson? As I said, you cannot kill us. So I guess we’re at an impasse. Oh, wait... no we’re not! Because we can kill you!”

That’s right. Giants could only be killed by a demigod and a god working together. And they’d all survived this fight. Which meant that a god must’ve helped out somehow. But who, and how?

I looked around, as if merely willing for a divine being would make it happen. Alas, I saw no sign of a god.

His brother Otis picked up his spear. My eyes locked onto it as he spoke, “That is the first sensible thing you’ve said all day, brother.”

The giants pointed their weapons at past!Percy and Jason. Jason growled, “We won’t give up. We’ll cut you into pieces like Jupiter did to Saturn.”

past!Percy joined in on the attempt at intimidation. I was pretty sure they were trying to convince themselves more than anyone else, “That’s right. You’re both dead. I don’t care if we have a god on our side or not.”

“Well that’s a shame,” a voice cut in. I perked up. I KNEW that voice!

A platform lowered from the ceiling, revealing a man with a pinecone-tipped staff.

BACCHUS!

I smiled, hope blooming in my chest. They had a god on their side now! They’d fight together and defeat Otis and Ephialtes, at least long enough for everyone to get away safely.

I glanced at Percy, expecting to see him smile now that help had arrived. Instead he narrowed his eyes to slits, breathing heavily, his face contorted into an expression of hatred and disgust.

My heart sank. What had happened? Bacchus had helped... right? He must have. They wouldn’t have survived otherwise. So why did he look like he wanted to turn the wine god inside-out?

I very hesitantly called to Percy. I didn’t want that expression, that anger turned on me, but I needed to know.

“Percy, what happened here? Why do you look like you want to rip Bacchus apart with your bare hands?” I asked carefully.

Percy gave me a withering look. I tried not to whimper. I didn’t think it was truly directed at me, but Percy was REALLY mad, and he couldn’t just turn that off. Through gritted teeth, he muttered. “Just. Watch.”

So I did.

Bacchus glanced over at Ephialtes, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Really, Ephialtes? Killing demigods is one thing. But using leopards for your spectacle? That’s over the line.”

I gritted my teeth at the casual attitude towards the demigods’ lives, but didn’t react beyond that. That was typical, as horrible as it was. I didn’t think that would cause this reaction from Percy.

Ephialtes looked terrified of Bacchus, making a small squeaking noise as he stuttered “This- this is impossible.  D-D-”

I missed being able to make my enemies quake so much. But at least I wasn’t scaring my friends anymore, which was nice.

Bacchus cut him off before he could stammer at the rest. “It’s Bacchus, actually, old friend. And of course it’s possible. Someone told me a party was going on.”

Ephialtes quivered, attempting to intimidate Bacchus, and failing. “You- you gods are doomed! Be gone, in the name of Gaea!”

“Hmm.” Bacchus grunted, not looking the slightest bit afraid.

He waved at all the various junk that the Giants had evidently set up, now scattered around the area. “Tacky. Cheap. Boring. And this...” here he pause to examine some sort of rocket-like machine. “Tacky, cheap, and boring. Honestly, Ephialtes. You have no sense of style.”

On that, I agreed. Ephialtes didn’t. “STYLE?” I have mountains of style. I define style. I- I-”

“My brother oozes style,” Otis said, helping his brother out.

“Thank you!” Ephialtes cried.

Bacchus stepped towards the giants, causing them to stumble back as they tried to put some distance between themselves and the god. After seeing them try to kill Percy and Jason, it was gratifying to watch. “Have you two gotten shorter?”

Apparently one thing Ephialtes couldn’t take was height jokes. “Oh, that’s low. I’m quite tall enough to destroy you, Bacchus! You gods, always hiding behind your mortal heroes, trusting the fate of Olympus to the likes of these.”

Jason raised his sword. “Lord Bacchus, are we going to kill the giants, or what?”

“Well, I certainly hope so,” Bacchus said. “Please, carry on.”

I blinked. Then I blinked again. WHAT. He could NOT be about to do what I thought he was going to do. We’d be on the chopping block too if the giants succeeded, it made no sense NOT to help as much as he could. Simple self-preservation should have been enough motivation, even if compassion wasn’t Surely I was the only one who had been THAT idiotic about helping the Seven.

Past!Percy was also shocked. “Didn’t you come here to help?”

Bacchus shrugged, not seeming to care much. “Oh, I appreciated the sacrifice at sea. A whole ship full of Diet Coke. Very nice. Though I would have preferred Diet Pepsi.”

“And six million in gold and jewels,” past!Percy muttered under his breath.

My eyes nearly bugged out of my skull. That big a tribute?! I hadn’t had that large a tribute in one go in centuries! That HAD to be worthy of Bacchus’s help.

“Yes, although with demigod parties of five or more, the gratuity is included, so it wasn’t necessary.”

“What?”

I shared past!Percy’s confusion. He’d gotten an awesome tribute, just take it and help them!

“Never mind,” Bacchus said. “At any rate, you got my attention. I’m here. Now I need to see if you’re worthy of my help. Go ahead. Battle. If I’m impressed, I’ll jump in for the grand finale.”

If they’re WORTHY?! They had both proven their ‘worthiness’ ages ago, between all the quests they did for us gods,  with how they had helped to save us time and time again, with barely any recognition, even a ‘thank you’. They were far more worthy of help than most of the gods were. I growled lowly. I was beginning to understand why Percy had looked at Bacchus with so much hatred in his eyes.

Meg stared at him too. Abruptly she declared, “He’s stupid.” I didn’t disagree with her.

Meanwhile, past!Percy was still trying to figure out what it WOULD take to get Bacchus’s help. “We speared one. Dropped the roof on another. What do you consider impressive?”

“Ah, a good question...” Bacchus tapped his staff in thought. Then he smiled. A cold trickle of dread ran down my back. That was the same smile he gave whenever he came up with an interesting new way to drive his enemies mad. I didn’t want to see it on him here, in these circumstances. I silently prayed that Bacchus would see sense and just help the demigods without playing any games, though I knew even then that it was a futile hope.

I felt a tingle on the back of my neck. Percy was shaking even harder, his eyes eyes as stormy as a hurricane. I felt the intense urge to fall to my knees and beg him not to hurt my friends, but fought it off. He wasn’t angry at me this time, and there was no way he’d hurt Meg.

“Perhaps you need inspiration! The stage hasn’t been properly set. You call this a spectacle, Ephialtes? Let me show you how it’s done.”

Bacchis vanished, taking Piper and Nico with him. Jason shouted, alarmed, “Pipes! Bacchus, where did you-”

Jason was abruptly cut off by the floor rising and reshaping itself, the entire area reconfiguring. Meg shouted in surprise, “Percy, what’s going on?! What’s Bacchus doing?!”

Percy yelled back, disgust dripping from his words, “He’s setting up a show. Jason and I are the main entertainment.”

I flinched. This... this was way too familiar. I remembered all those times in the past when I had watched demigods fight, not caring whether they died. No, that was wrong. Wanting them to die in entertaining ways as I ate popcorn. I’d used demigods lives for entertainment myself, and never gave a thought to the demigods’ welfare.

Still, I’d never done anything like this, deliberately making demigods fight for my amusement before intervening. This... this was WAY too far. It seemed familiar though...

From way up above, I heard Bacchus’s voice. “This is a proper show!” he boomed. He sat resplendent in the emperor’s box, clothed in purple robes and golden laurels.

And then I realized.

This... this was just like when Commodus had made Meg and I fight for our lives in his arena. He had treated the whole thing like a giant game for his entertainment, a celebration of his ego and a way to stave off his boredom. Bacchus was acting the same way. He even LOOKED similar, wearing similar robes and headwear, giving that same smug expression, secure in his own superiority, in his ability to force others to do as he wished.

We gods could be just as bad as the Emperors. And not only the more well-known vindictive gods and goddesses (looking at you, Hera), but even the more ordinary gods and goddesses behaved like this. And Bacchus... of all the Olympians, he should have known better. He HAD BEEN a demigod. He should have known, should have been the one to champion demigods’ values. Instead here he was, smiling condescendingly down at past!Percy and Jason, safe from harm while the mortals fought to survive.

I choked down bile as it rose up my throat. I welcomed the burn. It hurt less than the realization of how BADLY we gods had screwed up, how much pain and suffering we had put others through, people far more deserving of adulation than we were.

“Commodus,” Meg stated. “He’s like Commodus.”

“Yes,” I replied, loathing coloring my words. “Yes, he’s just like Commodus.”

I looked to Bacchus’s side and let out a sigh of relief. Piper and Nico were sitting next to him, being tended to by a nymph. I let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps Bacchus was slightly better than Commodus - but only slightly.

pastPercy glared up at Bacchus, joining our Percy’s hateful stare. “You’re just going to sit there?”

“The demigod is right!” Ephialtes bellowed. I’d jumped. I’d somehow forgotten he was there with how caught up I was in my own head, “Fight us yourself, coward! Um, without the demigods.”

Bacchus smiled down lazily. I wanted to punch him in the face. “Juno says she’s assembled a worthy crew of demigods. Show me. Entertain me, heroes of Olympus. Being a god has its privileges.”

Being a god has its privileges. I had heard that sentiment before, both from Britomartis when she insisted that as a goddess, her needs outranked Jo’s and Emmie’s... and from myself in an earlier flashback, when I had agreed that heroes were for running gods’ errands.

We took demigods for granted, all of us. Treated them like dirt, then expected them to bow and scrape for us, be delighted at any scrap of compensation we threw their way.

We were bullies. That’s all we were. Bullies with an insane amount of power, but bullies nonetheless.

past!Percy’s expression was nearly the same as present Percy’s; incredibly pissed off. Jason didn’t look much happier. They didn’t have time to stand around however. The two giants picked up a fake mountain - why had Bacchus included that? - and hurled it at the two demigods.

Jason yelled something to past!Percy, but I couldn’t make it out over the roar of the crowd as they chanted “Fight! Fight!”. They conferred for a moment, exchanging words quietly enough that the giants couldn’t hear them, which meant we couldn’t hear them either.

They charged out of the trench together. I’d hoped they’d come up with a more sophisticated plan than attack-them-until-either-they-or-we-die. past!Percy caused a water pipe to explode, sending gushing water everywhere. Meanwhile, Jason summoned a howling gale of wind. The combined force of the two elements caused the brothers to lose their grip on the mountain and topple to the floor. They had bought time, but not much.

past!Percy yelled loudly “Hey Otis! The Nutcracker bites!”

I had to snort at that one. Even now, Percy was cracking jokes.

Then Otis picked up his spear again. I tensed, breathing hard. It’s okay, it’s okay, he lives through this, I WILL NOT HAVE TO WATCH HIM DIE AGAIN.

The spear sailed far over past!Percy’s head. I relaxed slightly. At least Otis didn’t have it now.

Otis charged towards past!Percy... bad idea, with the body of water behind him. Otis seemed to realize this as well. Unfortunately for him, giants have a LOT of momentum. past!Percy and Jason dodged out of the way, Jason sending a gust of wind to help push Otis into the water. They brought their swords down onto Otis’s head while he struggled vainly to extract himself from the water. He exploded into dust, but even seconds later, he started reforming. past!Percy churned the lake into a whirlpool, Jason sending lightning bolts onto Otis’s head whenever he started reforming.  But Otis kept on trying to reform, and Ephialtes wouldn’t be down for much longer.

“Bacchus, HELP THEM ALREADY!” I screamed at the lazy, selfish, IDIOTIC god. He couldn’t hear me, but it made me feel better. “They’ve done the most they can do on their own, what more do you need to see?!”

“He won’t help; not yet,” Percy growled. “He doesn’t want to lift a finger. He won’t join in unless they’ve already been defeated. He doesn’t care whether we get hurt or almost die in the process. He’s a god, his whims,“ Percy spat out venomously, “matter more than our wellbeing. We’re just demigods - we’re disposable.”

He’s a god, his whims matter more than our wellbeing. We’re just demigods - we’re disposable.  I wished I could deny Percy’s implication. I wished I could say ‘Oh no, we value demigod’s lives, what Bacchus did was horrible and crossed the line, most of us would never have acted like Bacchus did..’ But I couldn’t. We didn’t value demigods as much as we should. What Bacchus did here was awful, absolutely horrible, but I would barely have batted an eye at it when I was a god. I would’ve just watched - just like Bacchus now was.

The fake mountain exploded, Ephialtes emerging from the rubble. He looked PISSED, his snake feet hissing and spitting. I shuddered. As if I needed ANOTHER reason to hate these giants. To make it worse, HE hadn’t lost his spear.

Jason called down some more lightning, but Ephialtes deflected it with his spear. He charged at Jason and past!Percy, forcing Percy to stop swirling Otis’s essence around and to help Jason fend Ephialtes off.

They lunged around him, trying to stab the giant, but he just parried or dodged out of the way of every blow. Jason and Percy were slowing down. Ephialtes was not.

“I will not yield!,” Ephialtes roared. “You may have ruined my spectacle, but Gaea will still destroy your world!”

past!Percy slashed Ephialtes’s spear, breaking it in half. For a moment I dared to hope that Ephialtes would throw it away, would at least pick some OTHER weapon, but no. He held onto his (now considerably shorter) spear, sweeping Percy off his feet with a swipe at Percy’s feet (with the blunt end of the spear at least, so there was SOME small favor there). Percy fell hard, his sword clattering out of his grip. My heart skipped a beat. I knew Riptide would reappear in his pocket in a few moments, but I wasn’t sure that he HAD moments.

I looked over at our Percy, staring at the scene in front of us intensely. He had survived this. I had to keep remembering that.

I switched my attention back to the past. I wished I hadn’t.

Jason stepped forwards, stabbing at Ephialtes’s chest while his attention was still on past!Percy. Ephialtes was not THAT distracted unfortunately. He parried Jason’s strike and lashed out himself, slicing the tip of his spear down Jason’s torso, then kicked him away.

I screamed.

The world wavered around me. I collapsed on the ground, my legs folding underneath me. I was on Caligula’s ship, Piper on the ground next to me, watching in horror as Caligula plunged his spear into Jason’s chest, unable to do anything but observe, useless.  Distantly I heard Piper cry out.

Wait... I actually HEARD that yell. The world snapped back into focus. I looked up. Piper was yelling down from the emperor’s box, her eyes wild and panicked. I had seen those eyes before.

They were the same eyes she had when Jason was murdered in front of us.

She’d had to watch, horrified, as Jason and Percy were almost murdered in front of her, herself too injured and far away to intervene, an uncaring god by her side, just WATCHING. Who COULD help, but who DIDN’T CARE. As I glared at Bacchus, he smiled lazily at the terrible scene, munching on a Dorito chip.

This... this was why Piper had lashed out like she did after Jason died. “You don’t care because you’re a god. You’ll go back to Olympus after you free the Oracles, so what does it matter? You’re using us to get what you want, like all the other gods.” 

She’d seen it before. She knew that the gods didn’t care, that the gods would just use her and her friends, never mind the destruction we left in our wake, not caring about the aftermath.

Not caring that her friend had almost died for a god’s sick amusement.

Not caring that he did die, on a quest that wasn’t even his.

No wonder she hadn’t wanted to see me after that. No wonder she wanted me to leave and never return. At this moment, I didn’t want me around. I didn’t want the reminder of all I had been, of all I had done. Of all I hadn’t done.

My mouth felt dry and sandpapery as I gazed up at the vile being lounging in the Emperor’s seat. He revulsed me.

No... the entire attitude of gods towards the demigods, towards our children, our FAMILY revulsed me. I couldn’t pretend that it was just Bacchus. Most of us had this attitude, this utter disregard for anyone who wasn’t in our weight class. If they weren’t strong enough to seriously harm us, and we weren’t personally attached to them, then why should we care about their lives at all? They were pawns to use and discard as we pleased.

This HAD TO END. It wasn’t enough to just change myself. That would NEVER be enough. For the first time I truly appreciated what Percy had said after the Second Titan War, when he turned down godhood, and asked us to grant his wish instead. I had been annoyed that he would presume to bind us, that he would have the AUDACITY to tell us how to treat our children and each other, though I secretly agreed with him.

But now?

Now I understood. We had been monsters, only barely better than the beings we had rebelled against. I couldn’t blame Luke or any of the other demigods from rebelling. When the people who should care about you, your family barely acknowledges your existence, uses you as they please and throws you away, anyone who promises a better future, a way out, sounds tempting. The alternative was to continue the status quo, and the status quo was intolerable.

Percy had done the best he could, forcing us to send help for our children, to bring them to camp, and to actually claim them. But it wasn’t enough. We had obeyed his wish to the letter, and things HAD improved, but there was still a long way to go.

We had to change. All of us gods. We had to start treating demigods better - and not only our own children, but other gods’ children as well. They were NOT our playthings. They were PEOPLE. They were FAMILY. It was time we started treating them as such.

Time moved forwards, as it inevitably does. Ephialtes raised both halves of his spear above past!Percy’s and Jason’s heads as they lay on the ground, weaponless, barely able to move.

Meg screamed up at Bacchus, fear coloring her face, but her voice quivering with anger, “Help them NOW, you STUPID GOD. They’ll DIE!”

“He won’t help yet,” Percy growled, his voice low and even. I wished he had yelled. It would have been less terrifying. “He doesn’t care.”

“Then how...?” I croaked. I could see no way out of this without outside help.

Then I looked up.

“Oh.”

Ephialtes hadn’t noticed. Otis tried to warn him, but his head still wasn’t full reformed, so it came out as, “Uh-umh-mooo!” which wasn’t very comprehensible.

Ephialtes couldn’t understand him either. “Don’t worry, brother!” he proclaimed, his eyes fixed on both of the demigods, and unfortunately for him, NOT on the sky. “I will make them suffer!”

“Actually,” past!Percy said,” Look behind you.”

Percy and Jason rolled out of the way just before the Argo II fired its first shot at Ephialtes. It didn’t destroy him, but it left him charred and exhausted on the ground. Otis wasn’t much better. He was still trying to gather himself together, but he looked like burnt oatmeal from the arms down.

The ship descended to the ground, Leo at the helm, Hazel and Frank grinning by his side. I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. Of course Leo had come through - when had he not?

past!Percy turned around and yelled insults at Bacchus, still lounging in the emperor’s box. Perhaps not the smartest thing to do, but it was satisfying to watch. “Well? Was that entertaining enough for you, you wine-breathed little-”

“No need for that,” Bacchus cut him off. “I have decided that you are worthy partners for this combat.”

“Partners? You did nothing!” both Jason and I yelled. I blinked, startled. I guess we thought alike at times.

Bacchus strolled over to the pile of Otis mush. Bacchus smacked him with his pinecone staff, disintegrating him completely. The crowd cheered wildly, as if Bacchus had accomplished some great feat, instead of smacking an immobile and helpless opponent with a stick.

He strolled and strutted over to the other giant, basking in the adoration of the crowd. I felt sick. What was he trying to prove? And to who? Everyone had seen what had really happened. Percy and Jason had done most of the work, while the Argo II had finished them off. The ONLY reason Bacchus was required at this point, was because of the technical requirement that a god and demigod had to work together to defeat a giant. He hadn’t done anything great, or worthy of applause. He’d barely done anything at all!

As Bacchus raised his pinecone staff (a stupid-looking weapon if ever I had seen one, but I had learned better than to insult other gods’ symbols of power to their face), the crowd roared “DO IT!”

Ephialtes yelled in a panic, “DON’T DO IT!” but Bacchus wasn’t about to listen to him. He tapped Ephialtes on the nose. He instantly crumbled to ashes.

The crowd in the stadium cheered and threw confetti. Bacchus strode around triumphantly, arms open, basking in the applause. “That, my friends, is a show! And of course I did something. I killed two giants!”

Who was he trying to convince? He certainly wasn’t convincing the demigods. THEY had done all the work, had endured all the danger, while he just lounged around. And yet he wanted the credit. Saying that he had killed the giants may technically be correct, but he was exaggerating his role, making it seem like he had done more than he actually had.

Exaggerating his role...

I had done much the same thing over the years, spreading tales of what I had done that weren’t strictly accurate. I had told myself at the time that they were essentially true, even if they weren’t technically true. I hadn’t quite been able to fool myself.

I misrepresented the truth sometimes. Partly I did this to spread a certain reputation around, be seen in a certain way. I didn’t think the truth was enough, so I’d spin things to make myself come off differently.

Sometimes though, I was really lying to MYSELF. After I had defeated Python, I had declared how easily I had bested him, that a single arrow from my quiver had turned him to dust. This wasn’t to make myself look better to my brethren, though I told myself that that was the purpose. Hearing the TRUE story, how I had fought and struggled, had almost been destroyed several times throughout our battle, but had won in the end, would arguably have been more impressive.

But that wasn’t what I had WANTED to happen. I WANTED to tell myself that I had easily destroyed Python, that he didn’t haunt my nightmares, that I didn’t flinch when I heard the rustle of scales on stone. It was my way of rewriting history, of coping with the trauma of that battle.

And I just... kept on doing it. when reality didn’t line up with my needs or desires, I told myself that it was different. That was why I had my motivational pep talk, you are gorgeous and people love you. It was an attempt to persuade myself that it was true.

What did it say about Bacchus that he was attempting something similar, trying to persuade himself that he had been more impressive, had done more than he really had? Perhaps we weren’t so different, in the end.

Still, regardless of his personal issues, he should NOT have taken them out on these young demigods. They had enough on their plates already.

The Argo II landed, Leo, Hazel, and Frank leaving the ship. Piper and Nico struggled down from the emperor’s box as best they could, until they reached the rest of their friends. The Colosseum which had only moments ago held a roaring crowd (granted, mostly of ghosts, but still a crowd) slowly dissolved into mist.

“Well, that was fun,” Bacchus said, looking satisfied. “You have my permission to continue your journey.”

“Your permission?” past!Percy snarled. I had much the same reaction. They didn’t need Bacchus’s approval. Besides, if he HAD stopped them, Gaea would have destroyed us.

“Yes, though your voyage may be a little harder than you expect, son of Neptune.”

“Poseidon,” Percy corrected. “What do you mean about my voyage?”

It seemed that Percy had already moved on from his fury. Of course he had. This was typical for gods; he hated it, but he would be used to it by now.

“You might try the parking lot behind the Emmanuel Building. Best place to break through. Now, good-bye, my friends. And, ah, good luck with that other little matter.”

Bacchus vanished.

What was he talking about, Percy’s journey being harder? Not for the first time, I wished that I had paid more attention to the world around me while I was trapped on Delos. But seeing the pain Artemis was going through, aware of what her Hunters were going through, but unable to intervene, had dissuaded me from doing so. I had been miserable enough as it was.

The world vanished. We were back at Camp Jupiter.

Percy turned to face me, his eyes stormy and full of resolve. He put his hand on my shoulder, looking me squarely in the eye. “Promise me,” he stated. “Promise me that when you regain your godhood you will never do what Bacchus just did. Promise that you won’t just stand aside and use us as your entertainment. That you’ll value our lives.”

A promise, oh-so-similar to the one Jason had extracted from me on the day he died.

How could I not give my word?

I stared back into Percy’s eyes. Beneath the undercurrent of anger, I could sense how tired he was, how afraid that this would all be for not. That even after all that had happened, history would repeat. That the gods would continue on their path. That he and his friends would be toyed with again by those who were ostensibly on his side.

“I promise. If I regain my godhood, I will fight to stop the gods from using demigods only to throw you away. I will not allow this to continue if it is in my power to change it for the better. And I will not forget the worth of a mortal life, nor will I toy with them for my own amusement. How we treated you demigods was wrong. You are our family. We should have treated you as such.”

Percy held my gaze a moment longer, searching for sincerity in my words. Finally he nodded. I saw a sliver of cautious hope enter his eyes.

I took the opportunity to do something I should have done a long time ago.

“I’m sorry.”

Percy looked back at me, surprised. “For what?”

“I shouldn’t have treated you and Grover so badly, back during Grover’s birthday. I sent you two to retrieve my wayward automaton. That should’ve been MY responsibility. I completely ignored your objections, convinced that my needs outweighed yours. To make it worse, I threatened Grover. I saw that memory recently. I was a tool. I won’t do it again, force demigods and satyrs to take on a quest that should have been MY responsibility. It was wrong.”

Percy’s expression softened slightly. “Thanks. Make sure to apologize to Grover too, alright? He’s the one whose birthday was ruined, and he was the one you scared.”

“I will, next time I see him. I’ve got a long list of people I need to make amends to.”

“You do that.”

As he walked out the door, Percy paused and looked back at me. “Oh, and Apollo? I stand by what I said at camp. You HAVE changed.”

He went out the door.

A warm glow filled my chest. Before I hadn’t been thrilled to hear that I had changed. I didn’t want the reminder that I was less than perfect, that I could change like any human. But now? I could think of no greater compliment.

I had changed. I would ensure the other gods changed as well. They had to. I couldn’t let our neglect and abuse carry on. Not anymore. Never again would I sit on the sidelines. 

I would keep my promises to both Jason and Percy.

And I would remember.

#trials of apollo #fanfiction #memories of godly selfishness #apollo #percy jackson #meg mccaffrey #lester papadopoulos

[heathendolan]

People Like Grayson (G.D)

Summary: The last words your soulmate will say to you are tattooed on your wrist. 

Warnings: none besides swearing and a lot of sad stuff

A/N: hi everyone, maybe not the type of fic you wanted but i really wanted to challenge myself as a writer and write something that i would never typically write. honestly i could hardly do it i was an emotional wreck lol :// extended authors note here. Ethan’s version: Forget Me Nots.

Word Count: 14.9K+ || masterlist 

You waited until your fourteenth birthday to check what your wrist said.

You'd waited years until you really wanted to know, until you couldn't wait, and then you waited some more. You never saw the point in finding out; you weren't a fan of the future when your life was average and rocky, and you didn't want anything to be set in stone, including the words you'd hear echoing in your head torturously after you'd lost the one you would love. So, you avoided the ink like the black plague and hoped that maybe if you didn't know, it wouldn't happen.

But then, you were twelve and you stood at the wake of your grandpa's funeral with bloodshot eyes and a lawless hatred for the universe and you held your brother's hand like it was a lifeline. From the corner of your eye you saw your mother cry hysterically into her hands and that was just too much for you, no matter how much you bit on your lip, no matter how much blood seeped into your mouth, no matter how much you clenched your jaw to hold back strangled sobs, you couldn't hold it in, so you let it out. You shook your head and cursed your emotions, cursed your love for people, cursed your giant heart and the memories it held for the little old man who brought you to ice cream parlors every Sunday.

You curled in on yourself in the back of a church bench, wrapped your own weak arms around your own weak knees because you'd shoved away the affection of everyone else that night, because it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that we spent our lives loving and losing and trying to deal with the aftermath of constant heartbreak. You were bawling into balled fists when you heard the creak of old wood beside you, and you feared it might be God himself coming to chastise you for your doubt, for your anger and your hostility.

But it wasn't. It was your grandma, sweet as honey and warm as the sun, grinning softly as she rubbed a wrinkled hand down your back. You scrubbed away your selfish tears, humiliated as you stared at the woman that would suffer the most from it all, the woman who smiled in sympathy as she lost her soulmate. "Darling you're going to flood the Sahara with all these tears," she cooed, chuckling as you groaned.

"Gram, I don't wanna go a Sunday without ice cream," you whispered, sucking in your bottom lip.

"Who says you gotta?" she asked.

You shrugged and picked at a loose thread in your very prickly dress. "Fate."

"Did fate kill all the cows and steal all the sugar?" she laughed, patting your thigh casually, and that stung more than anything--that your Grandma was cracking jokes for your sake when you were sure she was withering inside.

"Gram, it hurts," you breathed, your words practically inaudible. "Please don't act like everything's okay."

"But everything is, Sweetheart. I got all I need. I got closure," she beamed. She yanked up her shawl sleeve and ran her finger over the veiny skin of her wrist. "Says 'Don't forget to feed Brutus while I'm gone,'" she grinned, still petting the ink where it marked her.

You weren't quite sure how that could sugarcoat the fact that her husband was dead.

"He knows I forget. He knows me better than anyone else, and he just had said it as I sat in the hospital holdin' his hand. Such a bittersweet feeling knowing you spent your life with the right person as they die, and Honey, I had your grandpa for forty-eight years; had him for long enough for him to know me and love me too. Everything is okay."

Your eyes flooded once more and your nose stung. "What'd you say back?" you asked, your voice thick with emotion.

"Said 'Don't forget to love me when you leave,'" she smiled, squeezing your leg painfully tight and you knew it hurt her. But then she was chuckling all raspy and saying, "Bastard. Gave him such a romantic tattoo, and all I have is this reminder," with a laugh, waving her wrist.

-

So, you waited two more years to find out, itching with curiosity.

Waited until you wanted to know, and then when you really wanted to know, you waited some more. So, you sat at the counter with your birthday cake in front of you, illuminated with fourteen rainbow candles. "Alright go ahead- wait, hold on, let me get the camera," your mom squealed, running off. You stared down at the frosting with a watering mouth and watched the wax dribble down under the heat. "Okay, okay. Make a wish!" she cheered, snapping pictures left and right.

You sucked in a chest-full of air and puffed out your cheeks, blowing out the flames one by one. Let it be good, let the words be good, let him be good, let life be good, let it be-

"What'd you wish for?!" your mom shouted, clapping her hands together excitedly.

"Mom, stop, you're being weird," you chuckled nervously.

"Oh, don't tell me fourteen comes with this angsty teenage sass?" she wailed. You rolled your eyes at her and shook your head. "See! None of that," she said, pointing an accusatory finger at you.

"Well, I can't tell you my wish, then it won't come true," you whined.

"Don't tell me you believe that old myth, c'mon, share with your momma," she grinned, pulling up a stool and propping her chin on her fist.

You glared at your cake, twisting the candles out of the glaze. You did believe that old myth. "Of course I don't, you just don't need to know everything about me," you sniffed haughtily.

Your mom cocked her head, a disapproving frown on her lips. "(Y/N)."

"Fine," you groaned dramatically. "I'm just hoping my soulmate words are good. Well, as good as they can be. They're gonna be bad either way since my soulmate will be dead after I hear 'em," you shrugged, sucking the frosting off the bottom of a candle. You grabbed the kitchen knife beside the platter and sliced a slit into the fluff. After a few beats of silence, you dragged the slice onto your plate and mumbled, "And I don't care if you think that's dumb. I just want life to be good."

Your mom cleared her throat and you glanced up at her. "I didn't realize you hadn't looked yet," she frowned, grabbing the knife and dishing herself her own slice. "I didn't realize you thought so cynically about your words, either."

You glared at her and said, "I don't know how you can think so positively about them. They're torture. And that's not my 'teenage angst' speaking or whatever, that's realism. What if you don't meet the right one, and you spend your whole life with someone else, only to find out that they're not actually the one? Or that you've already heard them, and you don't even know it. It's stupid, like how do you even know if Dad's the one? That's right, you don't." You stabbed your fork too aggressively into your birthday cake, feeling more miserable by the second.

"Missy, I don't know where this know-it-all complex came from, but until you fall in love with someone, you don't know what you're talking about. I'd risk everything for your father, so if he's not the one, I couldn't care less. I'm insanely in love with him. I'm sorry babe, but life isn't gonna be that bad for you," she smirked, shoveling a forkful of cake into her mouth. You mumbled your mouth in mimicry, and she reached over and smacked your head.  "Enough of that, and I'm not kidding. I'll take your phone. Where's my sweet thirteen-year-old?" she frowned.

"She's dead and gone," you smirked, chomping down on another chunk of dessert. "Thank you for the cake, mother dearest," you drawled, tossing aside your attitude and kissing her on the head. "And thank you for the great birthday. Now, I'm off to go look at my words. Read 'em and weep," you snorted sarcastically.

You clambered up the stairs to your bedroom, taking the steps two at a time. Your hands shook a bit as you sealed your door shut, locking you in a silent room full of nervous, breathy sighs. Okay. Okay, you can do this. You trudged over to your bed and fixed yourself crisscross-applesauce on it, sucking in a deep breath. Just do it. Just do it. Just do it.

So, you flipped over your wrist quickly, in hopes of ripping the band-aid off--but it would only open up a fresh new, undeniably painful wound.

It was nice to meet you.

What? you thought, your lip wobbling as your eyes studied each word separately, then together, then again, and again, and again.

It was nice to meet you.

What the fuck did that mean? You're only ever going to meet them, and then lose them right after? What?

It was nice to meet you.

No, no, no.

It was nice to meet you.

You tangled your fingers in your hair, tore knots in it and yanked out hair with shaky hands. This was a joke right? A fucking joke?

You only vaguely remember screaming, screaming bloody murder and sobbing profusely. It wasn't until your mom busted down your door that you realized you were deaf to the world--apart from the high pitched ringing echoing in your ears. Your lips were numb, your hands were numb, your legs were numb, and the only thing you could really feel was the anxiety churning in the pit of your stomach and your heart thumping radically in your chest.

What's wrong? you saw your mom mouth, undoubtedly screaming, but fuck, you couldn't hear. You wailed and thrashed; you'd take your Grandma's 'Don't forget to feed Brutus while I'm gone' etching over this any day. You'd take anything but this; you'd do anything to get your soulmate the way everyone else did; for life. Your mom yanked your wrist to her and reflexively gasped into her hand. And you might have laughed bitterly, or you might have cried harder--didn't matter to you.

Yeah Mom, life is gonna be that bad for me.

-

You sat with Anna at a coffee table, disgustingly-sweet frappuccino in one hand, phone in the other. "Did you see Karlie got lowlights? What is this, 2004?" she spat, shaking her head with a pair of wide eyes.

"They might look good," you shrugged, licking away a drizzle of caramel syrup from the rim of your cup. "Besides, absolutely nothing can be worse than her bubblegum pink hair from last year," you snorted. Anna flipped her phone to you, and you squinted at the picture. "Oh, oh god, never mind," you winced, sipping from your straw.

"Uh-huh," Anna nodded, scrolling with her thumb.

"So, how's Chris?" you asked with a smirk, flexing a brow.

She curled her lip and shook her head. "Not feeling it."

"Anna, come on. You've ditched every guy you've dated so far," you said, cocking your head disapprovingly.

"So? I'm sixteen, what do you want me to do, marry them?" she laughed dryly and rolled her eyes.

And maybe that did sound a bit stupid on your part. "Well, no, but who do you really want? Like, what are you looking for that they don't have? Cause Chris is rich as hell--if you're not gonna take him, I will," you giggled, grinning warmly at her in hopes of rekindling the carefree atmosphere you had only moments before.

She smirked and said, "I don't know, just none of them compare to your brother," airily. You suddenly couldn't care less if there was a carefree atmosphere; she was pissing you off too. "I'm kidding!" she exclaimed, stirring her latte with a straw.

But you knew she wasn't.

"Besides, he's like, way older and- and I don't even think about him that way," she bluffed, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, which was her lying tick.

"Uh-huh," you chuckled, shaking your head. "Whatever, I don't care."

"Speaking of soulmates, got any ideas of-"

"Whoa, holy fuck, you did not just call my brother your soulmate!" you screeched. Everyone in the cafe turned their heads in interest, ready to hear the juicy details of this real-life soap opera. She ducked her head low, her face tomato red, and you squeezed the bridge of your nose. "Sorry. Kind of. Anna, what?" you sighed, sliding a hand down your face.

She cowered beneath your gaze and said, "I mean, nobody knows for certain, but-"

"Anna."

She groaned and pressed her head against the table and mumbled something incoherently.

"Anna."

She stomped her feet against the coffee shop's floor. "I'm in love with your brother. And my wrist says 'Please spend Christmas with my family even after I'm gone, you know my mom loves your apple crisp,' so I think that's pretty damning," she squeaked.

And it was. Your mom loved her apple crisp.

"Fucking aye," you growled, falling back against your seat with a stone expression. You didn't want to be sour--it's not like she chose her soulmate. It wasn't even necessarily that it was your brother, it was that she had someone for life and you didn't.

"(Y/N), look, I'm sorry," she gushed, grabbing your hand from across the table. "If I could choose anyone else, I would. But-"

"But you can't choose, and I get that. I'm not mad at you. I'm mad at everything else," you explained, shrugging a shoulder.

"What do you mean?" she asked timidly, propping her chin on her fist.

"I mean, I'm pissed that you get a soulmate," you grumbled, pounding the table with your fist. And Anna looked like she might cry. "No, no, no, sorry, okay, no," you rushed out when it dawned on you just how awful that sounded. "I-"

"You don't think I deserve a soulmate?" she croaked, curling in on herself.

"No, Anna you know I think you deserve a soulmate," you sighed. You picked at your cuticles with a scowl, unsure just how to go about explaining that you'd be alone, forever. She waited patiently, sadly, quietly. "I don't get a soulmate. Well, not for long, at least," you admitted, tears pooling in your eyes.

"What?" she breathed.

You shoved your wrist in her face and avoided that sympathetic gaze she was bound to give you. You heard her gasp softly, and then she was tugging you into her tightly. And you cried on her shoulder in the middle of that coffee shop, and that's all you needed for a second, some release.

-

"I left money for pizza on the counter, her bedtime's 9:30 and she'll definitely try and convince you to let her stay up and watch Looney-Tunes, and she's good at it too okay, she can nearly persuade me, but just, be strong. Also, she'll use these super cute eyes and ask for Kit-Kats, just, don't give them to her, especially since she's already had two donuts today, god what kind of mother am I-"

"Carol, get out of here," you chuckled, shooing her from the door. "Brooke and I are gonna have an awesome night, aren't we Brookie Dough?" you asked, bouncing her where she clung to your hip. Brooke giggled and nodded, tangling her stubby fingers in your hair.

"Okay, okay!" Carol said, waving her hands about. "But seriously, no Looney-Tunes, it ends after 10:00 and that's way too late for her-"

"Carol!"

"Fine! Alright, bye you two," she smiled, backing out of the house and slamming the front door shut.

You grinned devilishly down at Brooke as soon as you saw Carol's car pull out onto the street. "You wanna Kit-Kat?"

"Yes, please," she giggled, crooked-teeth in full display.

You laughed and nodded, juggling her as you walked to the kitchen, grabbing a basket stowed away on the top shelf. You held it out for her and said, "Just one." Brooke nodded furiously before grabbing two, layering them discreetly, and you pretended not to notice. With a chuckle, you asked, "Where's your momma going?"

She hugged the candy bars to her tummy, attempting to be discreet. "Ummm, she's going out on a date with Daddy. And she says- and she says he's her mate person," Brooke says, cupping her hands around your ear and whispering not-so-quietly.

"Oh, that's good!" you cheered, your stomach wrenching at the thought of soulmates.

"Yeah, her wrist- and her wrist says, 'I'm glad'- it says 'I'm glad we spent our whole lives together,'" Brooke mumbled, her words stringing together messily.

Jealousy sprouted in you and your heart began to ache. "Well, your momma and daddy are very lucky to have one another," you said, kissing her temple.

"What's yours say?" Brooke asked, jabbing you in the wrist.

The permanent smile you wore for babysitting duties faltered a bit, but you quickly recovered and said, "It says, 'Hey, it was nice to meet you.' Not very exciting." You forced a laugh and pinched her side, sending her into a fit of giggles. "What does yours say, Brookie Dough?"

She giggled some more and pulled up her knitted sweater. "I don't know, I can't read yet," she said. Above it was a temporary tattoo of a butterfly, iridescent and glittery and childish and perfect. "Can you read it to me?" she asked flashing her wrist to you.

You grabbed it and scanned the tattoo. Your total will be 3.58. Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach.

"Gosh, I can't read it either, Brookie-Bear!" you fibbed, animating your lie with a shocked, believable expression. You weren't sure if you were awful for postponing her heartbreak, or kind for letting her learn on her own, just as you had.

"That's what momma and daddy said, too!" she laughed, shaking her head so her curls bobbed around. "Weird."

And that's when you realized you didn't have it so bad. So, you gave Brooke another Kit-Kat, flipped the television on, and let her watch Looney-Tunes until 11:00 PM.

-

Sunshine peaked from your cloudy mind after that, because someone out there was always going to have it worse than you, and that was just a fact.

"So, you gonna throw a rager for your eighteenth?" you smirked, eyeing Anna in the passenger seat.

"Maybe if you can get my parents to fuck off for a weekend," she laughed, rolling her eyes. "No, I'm kidding. Kind of. I don't think I'll be able to if they're home, obviously, so probably not," she shrugged. "What about you? Your B-day is pretty close, too," she said, poking your arm.

"Nah, can't throw one or drink at one, Mom would kill me," you laughed.

Anna groaned and dragged a hand down her face. "Dude, you gotta live on the edge for once in your life. What's the worst that could happen?"

"That's one stupid fucking question," you chuckled, pulling into your driveway.

"Okay, but what's the best that could happen?" she prompted, hope in her voice and a skip in her step.

"Harry Styles spontaneously makes a pit stop in New Jersey and absolutely rails me-"  

"(Y/N), you're disgusting," she laughed, shoving you into your house.

"I'm disgusting? You literally have a kink for-"

"Don't say another fucking word," your brother garbled around a mouthful of Special K. He was lounging on the couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table with Rugrats reruns playing, and Anna's breath hitched and her face blushed a furious red, just as it always did when she was around your brother, and you smacked her upside the head.

"You really are disgusting," you grimaced, strutting into the kitchen.

"Hey," your brother shouted, still chomping on his cereal. "You have some mail from Berkeley," he mentioned casually.

You spun on your heel, sprinting back towards the living room, grabbing his head. "What?"

He scrunched up his face and swatted at your jazzy hands. "Ew, get off of me," he groaned.

"Oh my god, why wouldn't you tell me as soon as I walked in the door?! Why aren't you excited?! Why-"

"Jesus Christ (Y/N), just go open the fucking letter," he grumbled, jerking his head away from your hands.

Anxiety bubbled in your stomach as you scampered off to the kitchen, rounding the corners by sliding on your socks, and rummaged through the mail, tearing a few envelopes in your haste. Your hands fluttered as you shredded the casing. You could hardly hear anything over the coursing of blood through your ears. Through tunnel vision, you examined the letter.

Dear (Y/N) (Y/L/N),

On behalf of the Admission Committee, it is my pleasure to offer you admission to University of California, Berkeley-

"Holy fuck!" you screamed, your arms flying skyward compulsively. "I got into Berkeley!" You darted all around your home, working the seemingly-endless supply of adrenaline out of your system. "Anna! Anna, I got into Berkeley!" you cried, your hands flailing around. "Anna! Anna! Anna, you got into Berkeley too!"

"We got into Berkley!" she yelled, tackling you in a hug. You could only return it momentarily, squeezing with all your might before breaking away with another surge of energy.

"Oh my god, oh my god, I can't believe- Oh my god," you screeched, back to hustling about the house.

Your brother paused his Rugrats and between bites, said, "Hey, you make it in?"

"Yes! Oh my god, I can not-"

"Yeah no shit, the whole neighborhood knows," he snorted. "But hey, congrats. Proud of you, (Y/N)."

You bit your lip and squealed, hopping in place. "I'd hug you but-"

"No, please don't, that's okay," he cringed, resuming his cartoon. You rolled your eyes, before prancing around, skipping as you paced through the house, 'cause you made it into Berkeley.

-

Your brother walked through your dorm room door carrying the mini fridge and the microwave and the coffee maker with strained muscles. Anna's eyes bugged out at them, and you smacked her upside the head.

"Where.. do you want.. this stuff," he muttered, before immediately dropping the boxes to the ground with a crash, undoubtedly breaking something.

"Great fucking job, you probably broke the Keurig," you huffed, pinning him with a glare.

"You're pissed that I carried up all this shit for you-"

"-and Anna!"

-and Anna, and I set it down?" he asked incredulously, his face contorted with annoyance.

"Obviously I'm not pissed that you set it down, I'm pissed that you dropped it like an idiot-"

"Oh, so I'm an idiot for helping?" he barked, his hands flying around.

"No! You're an idiot for-"

Anna's head fell back and she groaned, "Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up, both of you."

And you stopped because it was Anna, and your brother stopped because it was Anna. You glanced at him to find him watching her with those googly-eyes he so-often gave her, and you smacked your forehead. You were not putting up with their bullshit today.

"Okay. Anna, top or bottom bunk?" you asked, craning your neck to the stacked beds.

"Bottom bunk."

You stamped your foot childishly and said, "No! I want bottom bunk."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"To be nice!"

"Too late," she shrugged.

"Okay, I don't think that's-"

Your brother crossed his arms and added his two cents. "Anna should get the bottom bunk if she wants it."

You were irritable and cranky and annoyed. But before you could spit out something nasty, Anna said, "Look, there's only one desk, and I know you need to work at a desk in order to study. So, I'll use my space on the bottom bunk for a study spot, and you get the top bunk but you get the desk too. That's fair, and you know it."

You weighed your options, and then realized you had none because Anna was right and blindly supported by your brother. You set your jaw and said, "Fine."

"So it looks like you two are getting along great as roommates already," your brother snorted. You scowled at him, which did nothing, and Anna ignored him, which was enough to wipe the grin off his face. You pinched your eyes shut and counted to ten before you heaved a dramatic sigh and began fitting your sheets on the top bunk.

-

Kraigshaw droned on and on about the importance of velocity and you had absolutely zero interest. You leaned back in your seat, rearranging every few seconds when the wood dug uncomfortably into your spine and shuffled your legs. With a sigh, you flopped forward and began doodling a cartoon beach on the margin of your notebook.

A boy behind you grunted and fidgeted furiously, rustling around in his very squeaky chair.

You shaded in the masts of your comic sailboat, tuning out both the professor and the idiot behind you.

But he kept whining.

So, you twisted in your seat and said, "Dude, are you okay?"

He scowled at you with dazzling hazel eyes that stirred something warm in your stomach. "I'm fucking dyslexic. I can't keep up with his slides."

And then you kind of felt like an ass, because you were rude to a person with a learning disorder, and he was really, really gorgeous. "Oh."

"Yeah," he sniped, setting his jaw and rolling his eyes.

Your professor clapped his hands together with finality and said, "Alright y'all, that's enough for the day. I'll see you all... Tuesday? No, Wednesday, sorry." Students clambered out of their seats and up the lecture hall stairs, desperate to ditch physics as quickly as possible.

The boy behind you groaned and let his head fall into his hands pathetically. "I don't get any of this fucking shit," he grumbled.

You bit your lip, and without a moment's thought, said, "I could help you," because he looked so sad, and your heart simply couldn't take it.

He peeped through his fingers. "What?" he asked.

"Could help you, with physics. I'm not that good, but I'm not that bad either. Or, at least help you with the slides. If you want. If you don't then never m-"

"No, I'd love that, I would love that so much," he insisted, nodding frantically.

You giggled and grinned at him. "When are you open? I don't have class until three, so-"

"I'm free right now, I'm done for the day. We could go to the library or one of our dorms, but I don't recommend mine cause my brother Ethan is such an ass and-"

"We can go to mine," you smiled, nervous jitters coursing through you. What if he thinks my room smells weird. Wait what? What am I thinking-

"Perfect, it's probably cleaner than mine too," he laughed.

But it wasn't clean. You laughed for conversation's sake, and then frenziedly texted Anna to clean the room ASAP.

"Mine's good. Um, what's your name?" you giggled, collecting your belongings and striding towards the door, mystery boy on your heels.

"Grayson, how about you?" You could hardly respond, you were stuck on the fact that his name was Grayson and how fitting that was for someone as stunning as himself. Grayson. "What's your name?" he tried again awkwardly.

"Oh, sorry, uh, it's (Y/N). My name's (Y/N)," you fumbled, your cheeks boiling. "Not as cool as Grayson, I know," you laughed.

"Are you kidding? That's a beautiful name," he breathed, stepping in time next to you. "I mean- I mean it is, I-I just- I didn't mean to-" he squeaked, his words jumbling together nervously.

"Thank you, Grayson," you smiled. You'd never been this nervous in your life, you nearly got lost on your way to your dorm, despite having lived there for nearly a month. "I don't know why I'm so nervous right now," you blurted for some unknown reason. You wanted a hole to swallow you up.

"Me too!" Grayson cheered, really laughing for the first time since you'd met him. Dimples popped in the creases of his cheeks and you sucked in a short breath, feeling dizzy and tingly all over. "It's probably because you're really pretty," he confessed, his voice cracking halfway through 'pretty', and he slapped a hand over his mouth with embarrassment.

"I think you're pretty too!" you cried, and then winced. "Handsome, I meant handsome. Well, I meant pretty, but handsome works too. All of those adjectives that mean attractive," you rambled, feeling stupider and stupider by the second. Grayson ducked his head and smiled sheepishly, and you thought your heart might just burst.

You rummaged through your pockets for your dorm key and busted down the door, praying to god Anna cleaned it up before she left for her 1 o'clock. "I don't know that much about physics, but I have a pretty good handle on the math stuff and the history part and the vocab and stuff," you shrugged, dumping your stack of books on your desk.

"That's everything."

You rolled your eyes, "But it's not everything. But I'll try," you mumbled, flipping open your binder. Grayson grinned down at you with the softest of smiles, and you realized physics could be your favorite subject.

You had spent a few hours pouring over formulas and equations (and completely sidetracking with conversation), when you slapped the textbook shut, pinching your nose.

"That's enough for the day, I can't read the word velocity one more time," you groaned, falling back against your chair. Grayson chuckled and agreed, fidgeting nervously where he sat on your desk. 

"What are you fussing for?" you asked, teasing him comfortably after spending a few hours with him.

"Nothing," he denied, anxiety in his voice.

"Grayson." He avoided your eyes, so you repeated, "Grayson.”

"I wanna kiss you, okay!" he exclaimed, his hands flying defensively. Your jaw dropped, and then his head sunk into his hands, and he started cursing himself. "Just ignore me, okay. I didn't mean to do that."

It took you a few moments, but you finally worked up the courage to say, "Then kiss me."

And Grayson's eyes bugged cartoonishly, and you shrunk back in your seat and let him scurry over to you, pad either side of your face with his hands, and kiss you clumsily with all the electricity in the world.

Physics was definitely your favorite subject. 

-

"Who knew Cali was so hot," Grayson groaned, screening his eyes with a hand.

The air smelled of tropical tanning oil and chlorine, which was ideal for the blistering heat California so-graciously gifted you. You were stretched out on your stomach, soaking up the sun, Grayson at arms reach, with Ethan fetching you lemonade--life was good. "Literally everyone. It's one of those notoriously hot states," you snorted, nuzzling your nose in the crook of your arm. You peeped open on of your eyes to gauge his reaction. However, Grayson was squinting at his arm with a frown, ignoring you completely.

"Think I got sun poisoning," he mumbled, folding up to inspect his skin better.

"Not possible, we've only been out here for an hour," you laughed, rolling your eyes. "Always so dramatic," you sing-songed vexingly.

His eyebrows shot up and he held up his arm pointedly.

You cocked your head, amused by his theatrics, before yanking his arm over to you so you could fuss over him properly. A nest of butterflies wrestled in your tummy as your fingers brushed over his words, far too scared to ever look at them since they couldn't possibly be meant for you, but you were quickly distracted by the fact that Grayson did indeed have dark red speckles blooming across his skin. "Huh," you muttered, poking your tongue against your cheek.

"See! I'm not the dramatic one, Ethan is," he huffed, pushing at you playfully.

You caught his hand and pulled him towards you, grabbing his jaw and kissing his cheek. "Mmm, no you're still dramatic," you teased, smacking a few more kisses wherever your lips landed. "You're scruffy too," you admired, tapping your fingers against his five-o'clock shadow.

And then he was grabbing your face and scrubbing his stubbly chin all along your cheeks, scratching your skin and giggling like a kid.

"No! Grayson, Grayson!" you screamed, squealing. Grayson chuckled and continued his torture, buffing your skin with his prickly jaw. "I'm gonna get a burn," you whined, pushing at his bare chest.

"Oh, I can't imagine what a burn would feel like right now," he mocked, gesturing to his patchy skin. "And you say I'm dramatic." You giggled and pinched his chin, beckoning obedient lips to yours, kissing him just as you'd practiced hundreds of times before. He was lazy to slide off his pool chair, climbing aboard yours and pressing a palm to your slippery, tan-oiled skin, moving his mouth against yours in that mesmeric way that he did. His kisses slid sideways, exploring their way to your jaw, to your neck, that spot by your ear, the tops of your collarbones and the knoll of your shoulder.

Your fingers teased the nape of his neck, swirling a stray strand around the tip of your finger, and you said, "Gray, nuh-uh, Gray," you laughed as he snuggled deeper against you. "It's too hot--your skin proves it. God, I can't believe you got sun poisoning," you frowned, shaking your head. You dragged a hand down his arm until you reached his blemished forearm. You scowled at the skin. "Stupid."

"Stupid?" Grayson blurted with laughter. "Did you just call my skin stupid?"

You shrugged with a poorly-suppressed grin and said, "Well no, I meant the sun. Your skin's stupid too, though."

"The sun is stupid, as well as my skin?"

"Do I really need to explain everything I say?" you griped, shoving his hovering body out of the way. "Now, move. We need to get you inside before you turn to bacon," you insisted, dragging him by his wrist.

"Bacon? What do you mean, ba-"

"Christ, Grayson."

-

You laid in your top bunk, completely smushed in your twin-sized bed with Grayson. "Can't wait until we can get out of this dorm," you groaned, pressing your fist against the ceiling that was a hair shy of touching your nose. Grayson grunted in agreement. "Actually, I can't wait until we can get out this college. Like, I love it and all, but I have so many things I want to do."

Grayson turned his head to you and kissed your cheekbone, sending a flurry of butterflies to your stomach. "Like what?" he murmured, his lips moving against your cheek.

You grinned and said, "A lot of things. Like even just in the state of California."

"We could do those together," he prompted, squeezing your side where he held you.

"Could we?!" you gasped, flipping over to face him. He chuckled and nodded.

"Say the place and I'll take you there," he smirked, brushing a stray hair out of your eyes.

You couldn't be more in love with him.

"Alright..." you breathed, filing through your brain for all those little spots you were dying to see. "Well, there's Point Reyes, first of all. That's the number one stop. We are going their first, and not a single place before," you stated pointedly, jabbing his chest.

"Alright, noted," he chuckled, sliding both his arms around the small of your back.

"And then, we're gonna go to Glacier Point. They have the best star gazing I've been told, and I love me some stars," you nodded, completely blissful at the thought. "And then, we're going to Big Sur Coastline and going cliff diving. And then-"

You yapped for hours and hours about all your favorite destinations without ever picking out dates for these wondrous ideas, because you had all the time in the world with Grayson.

-

Anna shuffled into the library, balancing two coffees and two donuts atop her laptop. "You think they'd give me like a carrier or something," she sniffed haughtily, setting everything down gently.

"Cut 'em some slack, do you think everyone just bends at your will?" you laughed, hardly lifting your head from your textbook.

"I will eat your donut."

You snorted and fake gasped. "You wouldn't," you cried dramatically, earning you a glare from a neighboring student, and you just smiled at them. "Besides, you actually wouldn't. You'd complain about the extra carbs and blah, blah, blah," you smirked, grabbing your sprinkled donut and chomping down on it.

She curled her lip at you and rolled her eyes. "Whatcha working on?"

"Physics. I gotta redo my notes, they're all messy..." you frowned, combing through your stack of papers for that one equation.

"Fuck, can you help me with that? I have no idea-"

"I gotta help Grayson too..." you mumbled unapologetically.

"Oh, that's not fair. He's your boyfriend, he gets help from you all the time," she whined, grabbing your donut and taking a huge bite. "I'm not sorry for this, either."

"Well now you're definitely not getting my help," you grumbled, grabbing your stuff.

"Dude, don't leave because I took a bite of the donut I bought you," she scowled, rightfully irritated.

"Oh, I'm not," you snorted. "Grayson's just waiting in our room for me to tutor him. But thank you for the donut," you said, shoving the round into your mouth. "Means a lot," you spoke through a mouthful of pastry.

As you walked back to your dorm, you munched happily on your food and sipped your very sugary drink. You twisted the key in it's slot, propped open the door, and said, "Hey babe."

"I thought you'd never show up," Grayson groaned and shimmied out of the covers of your mattress, before angling himself and springing from the top rung of your ladder, and dropping to the floor.

A sickening crack sounded, immediately followed by the painful howls of Grayson, and it all happened so fast you nearly had whiplash. "What? Gray what happened?" you shouted, rushing to his aid, panic pooling in the pit of your throat, and you felt as if you couldn't breathe at the sounds of his cries.

"I think I broke my ankle," Grayson wheezed with wide eyes, still thrashing with agony.

-

"So you're saying you just jumped, maybe six feet high, and broke your ankle?" Dr. Schneit frowned, tapping a pen against his pursed lips.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm saying," Grayson grumbled, glaring at his boot.

"And... of course this is unusual," Schneit thought aloud, squinting at his chart. "You seemed to be in peak physical condition a few months ago."

Grayson blushed across the tops of his cheeks and said, "Well, I don't know about peak. I've been pretty tired lately, and headaches and stuff."

Dr. Schneit's brows sloped further. "Grayson, it says here you've lost twenty pounds since you came in September. Did you notice any weight loss?"

You could tell Grayson was clearly sheepish about speaking on this subject, so you quickly said, "Gray, I'm gonna go to the bathroom and get a coffee, I'll be right back," and deserted him with privacy.

You roamed the halls until you found the restroom and ducked in. As you shut the stall door, two nurses ushered in and began chatting, their conversation echoing throughout the tiled walls too loudly to be ignorable. "Lisa won't even take my shift tomorrow. She's all, 'I have a bachelorette party tomorrow night and I want to get a good night's rest' and whatever."

The other girl hummed in affirmation. "Totally typical of her. She never takes shifts but she's always asking for them off."

"Yeah, and like, I don't want to be here for the bone marrow test cause that shit chokes me up."

"No way, who's it for?"

"Some kid who broke his ankle. Literally just fell on it and it shattered."

"Shit, he's gonna have tons of blasts. That's really sad, dude."

"I know, I don't want to be there to take his stuff. I'll start crying."

Your heart was racing at a trillion miles an hour and you pushed out of the stall and into the hallway again, your blood coursing through your ears. You sped back to Grayson's exam room, a sick churning feeling in your stomach, and you pressed your ear against the door to listen.

"Does your family have any track record of cancer, Grayson?" Dr. Schneit asked.

Silence.

"Grayson?"

After a few beats, Gray said, "Yeah. Dad."

"Alright..." Schneit replied, shuffling through papers. More silence. "Do you know what type?"

More silence.

"Grayson, this kind of information is important."

Grayson cleared his throat, which was clearly thick with emotion, and said, "No. I was too young."

"And your mom never mentioned-"

"No."

More silence.

"Shows here that your twin, Ethan, is your emergency contact. Does that still stand?"

"Yeah. But you could add (Y/N) (Y/L/N) as my second emergency contact."

You shoved open the door then and smiled tightly at the two of them. You slid into your seat beside Grayson and immediately clasped his hand in yours, hoping it could calm the horrible shakes you had. Grayson lifted up his other arm and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with your presence during his exam but you couldn't help it, you needed him right now, as selfish as that was.

"Grayson, what's that on your arm?" Dr. Schneit mumbled, wheeling his chair over your chairs. "How long have you had that?"

"This?" Grayson murmured, craning his arm in Dr. Schneit's path of vision. "Sun poisoning. I don't know, a few weeks."

Dr. Schneit shook his head and bit a wobbling lip. "W-we're going to have you, have you come back in tomorrow, maybe around 10ish? Whenever you're comfortable. Whenever it fits your schedule Grayson, take your time," he assured, patting Grayson's shoulder in an attempt for comfort.

-

Cancer.

You watched Grayson's face crumple, and you hoped yours wouldn't, because you had to be strong for him.

"Grayson, there are treatment options. You're in stage three, which means you have a chance. We could..."

Schneit droned on and on and you rocked Grayson's crunched body. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be real.

"Grayson, your ankle broke because you have acute myeloid leukemia, or AML for short. It's a blood and bone marrow cancer, so your bones were extremely weak and that little jump was enough for them to collapse under pressure. It's a very... very quick spreading cancer. The first sign was that 'sun poisoning' as you called it. It was actually petechiae, which is surfaced blood from eaten away blood vessels. The white blood cells in your body-"

Grayson's shoulders began to shake with sobs and you whimpered, falling on top of him and exhaling blubbery wheezes.

You were convinced you really had jinxed your life the day you told your mom your birthday wish, because life? Life was not good.

-

"First round of chemo today," Grayson mumbled, bouncing his leg at an alarming speed.

"Gonna be there for you the whole while, G," you promised, leaning forward and kissing him. He fisted a chunk of your hair, really pulling you in tight, and slotting your mouths together to distract him, and you welcomed it generously. You pulled back and kissed his cheeks and his nose, and mumbled, "It's gonna be okay. I've got you."

Grayson blew air out his cheeks and nodded, staring down at his feet, mumbling something incoherent.

"What was that?" you asked.

"I might lose my hair," he croaked, playing with a loose thread in his sweatpants.

"You're already too hot for your own good. You'll pull it off, I just know it," you grinned, running your fingers through his messy locks.

He looked up at you and smirked softly, leaning forward once more to peck your lips. "I love you."

You felt that rush of feeling, that indescribable feeling, and nodded. "You know I love you too. Is Ethan coming?"

Grayson's positivity seeped out of him and he shook his head, glaring at the wall. "No, said he couldn't miss his lecture. Promised he'd be here for the next one, though."

You nodded, your blood boiling beneath the surface. If you could ditch your bio lab, Ethan could miss a lecture. "Well, that's okay, cause I'll be supportive enough for the two of us."

Dr. Schneit rapped his knuckles against the door and creaked it open. "Good morning Grayson, are you ready?"

Grayson squeezed your hand so viciously you thought it might break, but you just kissed his cheek. "I'll be here." And with that, he left the room with a nurse, thanking Dr. Schneit on his way out.

You hung your head between your hands, utterly heartbroken at the sight of your boyfriend walking out the door towards cancer treatment.

"He thanked me. He thanked on his way to get chemo, which I prescribed. He thanked me for putting him through hell," Dr. Schneit said with an emotionless gaze.

You nodded your head. "That's just the kind of person Gray is."

-

Grayson intertwined your fingers together, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. "Hey, baby?"

You glanced up from your book and turned to him in your shared cot. "Hmm."

He was biting his lip nervously and squeezing your hand subconsciously, so you folded your novel shut. "Could you- Could you maybe wash my hair?" he asked. "Hurts to lift my arms."

You grinned at him and nodded. "Of course, babe. Wanna do it right now?" you asked.

He nodded sheepishly, and you pulled him off the stiff hospital bed and into the suite bathroom. "I haven't been able to wash it in forever--it's probably so gross," he groaned.

You laughed and shrugged. "I mean, I'm washing it, it's not like I can't wash my hands as I do it."

"Well I'm thankful," he gushed sarcastically, palming his heart. You shoved his shoulder, twisted the tap, and waited for him to get comfy. When he dunked his head beneath the water, you lathered your hands with cheap hospital soap and said, "We need to get you some better shampoo. This stuff is so gross."

He snorted and said, "Yeah, how about you just bring me your $20 shampoo-"

"Not even in your dreams. Not everyone gets to have luscious locks like mine," you drawled snobbishly, grinning.

He rolled his eyes and grinned with dimples. "I think I deserve it," he prodded, squeezing your calf where it draped over the tub.

"Keyword: think. Sorry champ," you smirked, digging your hands into his mane. You scrubbed at the gunk with gentle hands, sudsing up every strand.

"Then I could smell like you all day," he giggled happily, his eyes drifting shut under your touch.

You tangled your fingers all through his hair and then pushed his head beneath the faucet again. "Yeah, but then I wouldn't get to smell your cologne, and that's one of those girlfriend perks that I'm not ready to give up."

Gray might have responded, but you were too shocked to soak up what he was saying. His hair was flowing from his head as the water ran through it. Clean off. Not all of it, but a lot of it, and it was disappearing down the drain.

"(Y/N)?" Grayson asked, flicking your leg. "What's wrong?"

Should you tell him? "Uh," you stalled, glancing down at your fingers that were littered with his hair. "Nothing's wrong. Your hair's just falling out, that's all," you tried to sound casual, as if this was inevitable and common and not heartbreaking.

Grayson froze and scrambled out of his position and to the mirror, gawking at himself. It wasn't super bad, but it was noticeable--he'd probably have to buzz his hair.

"I'm going to be bald," he breathed, staring back at you with saucers for eyes. He pulled at the strands that flattened to his forehead and whimpered as they stuck to his fingers.

You bit your lip and nodded. "Yeah. Want me to shave it?" you asked quickly.

Grayson cocked his head and stared at you with an unreadable expression. "Really?"

Heat flooded your cheeks and you feared you overstepped your boundaries. "Just thought it'd be easier-"

"You don't care that I won't have hair?" he mumbled.

And if that wasn't the most ridiculous thing you'd ever heard.

You shook your head and laughed out loud, covering your mouth. "Gray, what?"

"I'm going to be ugly."

And then you were really laughing, with wheezes and an incurable case of the giggles. "Grayson, you couldn't be ugly if you fucking tried," you gasped. "Enough of this bullshit, I'm gonna go ask the nurse for a razor," you snorted, rolling your eyes and turning the tap off. You strutted past Grayson only to have him pull you back and kiss you with enough unspoken emotion to trap you there for five (or twenty) more minutes.

-

"Ethan, you just need to come visit him," you whispered furiously into your phone. "It's not that hard!" You stood outside Grayson's hospital room, pacing back and forth and back and forth, completely irate. After a minute of white-noise, you threatened, "Ethan," through clenched teeth.

He sighed loudly into the receiver and said, "You don't get to decide what's hard and not hard."

Your vision blurred with rage and you nearly chucked your phone against the wall. "Then who gets to decide? Because you fucking love to take the easy way out. I don't get you, Ethan, I really don't. He's your twin, you've been best friends for life, and then he gets cancer--a time when he needs you most--and you fucking ditch him. How cruel are you?" you spat.

"You don't get it." And you didn't. "You know how fucking hard it is to watch him die? To see him fall apart right in front of me? I can't handle it, (Y/N). I don't want to be awful, but I don't want to be heartbroken, either. This is killing me," he growled, as if you'd stepped out of line by asking him to see his goddamned brother.

You barked a cold laugh. "Yeah, okay Ethan, this is too hard for you. Imagine losing your soulmate. You know what? Fuck this, you're the one that's going to regret disappearing when Grayson needed support the most. I don't know why I even bother when you're fucking heartless," you snarled, hanging up the phone.

-

Quite possibly the hardest part was watching Grayson fall apart at the seams.

And yeah, we'll get to the worst part, but you never imagined how torturous the secondhand pain would feel. Never in a trillion years would you suspect he wouldn't just be your other half, he'd take up camp in your aching nerves and desperate lungs and quaking legs as you watched Grayson weaken, and weaken, and weaken.

You rushed to the bathroom, trailing at his heels as he pitched himself to the hospital bathroom floor, scrambling to the toilet. He ducked his head into the bowl, emptying his stomach with guttural groans and chokes and breathy sighs. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he managed between heaves. You slid down to the floor and pressed a hand to his back, only to have him flinch and jerk away with his last ounce of energy, and that stung. He hung he head in the toilet long after he finished, absolutely drained of energy.

"G?" you whispered after ten minutes, tentatively poking his arm.

He rolled his head onto his arm, far enough away for you to flush away the mess. "Hot," he rasped.

And you think you understood. His cheeks were flushed and beads of sweat trickled down his temple and he was pressing against the cold tile like it could cure him. You wished it could.

"Want ice?" you asked, already leaping from your spot. You scurried over to his cot, fetching his water and an ice pack from the mini fridge. You rushed back to the bathroom, finding him pale as you'd ever seen him in a heap on the floor. You towered over him, and that was new, and that was just sad. Sad to think you were taller than the man that used to put you on his shoulders--well, you and the world. He glanced up at you through glassy eyes, his mouth parted and his lips chapped. "Water?" you offered, crumbling to the floor next to him so you could feel a little stabler.

It seemed like blinking might be too much for him. Or breathing. Or living.

So, all he could muster was the shortest of nods, and you reached out to hand him his glass, which was fucking stupid of you to offer it to him, because he stuck out a wobbly arm and a limp wrist and grabbed a glass that weighed more than all his sorrows and you two watched it slip through his fingers, to the ground, water splashing everywhere.

Grayson started crying. But, not in the way where he was thrashing and crying and frustrated--like he did when he could be considered human and not a shell--but quietly, distantly. Tears dribbled down his cheeks as if his eyes were raining, as if this was just his body's reaction to all the pain and he wouldn't have cried if given the option. Seemed like Grayson didn't get a lot of options these days.

You bit back your own sadness, choked down all the emotion you could, because Grayson didn't need that. He needed support and love and patience and it seemed like all you did was ache and pity a man who was stronger than you'd ever be. So, with fumbling movements, you grabbed the rub near the sink and soaked up the mess you'd made and sat the glass upright. And then you turned to fetch him some more when you heard him swallow.

Swallowing. That's what Grayson had resulted to for communication. Swallowing.

You twisted and found him shaking his head. He tapped his finger twice against the tile, and so you sat beside him again, ready to force the sun out of the sky if he so asked. "You're still burning up, G," you mumbled with droopy eyes.

He nodded. Kind of.

And then he placed his fingertip over yours, and then you sat on that hospital bathroom floor until your legs were as numb as Grayson.

-

"Ms. (Y/L/N)?" Dr. Schneit spoke softly, cracking the door open only enough to fit his nose through.

You nodded and slipped your hand from Grayson's slack one, leaving him to sleep silently in the comfort of his cot. You ducked into the hallway, wincing under the glare of the yellow lights. Dr. Schneit was holding his clipboard so tightly you thought it might snap in his shaking hands. His knuckles were white and his jaw was clenched, and it was one of those things you just know.

"How much longer?" you think you asked. You couldn't hear, really.

His nose flared with emotion and you stared back at him, sure you'd pass out from the pain. It'd be nice if you did.

"Not much," he said, voice strained in that professional way that Doctors' voices strain when they tell someone that their loved one's going to die. Oh, how you'd wished it would have cracked--for proof that you weren't the only one falling apart, that Grayson was so much more than a patient or even a person, that Grayson was Grayson and there'd never be another like him. "The cancer cells have just spread to the central nervous system and it's only a matter of time before they reach the brain. Maybe a few weeks."

Oh. Not much at all.

"Feels like I'm dying too," you mumbled. "Kind of wish I was. And I know I shouldn't say that to a doctor who would prescribe me a therapist, but you probably know how to deal with telling people their soulmates are gonna die and all, so. Figured I'd rather tell you than my mom. Or Anna. Or Ethan," you shrugged a shoulder, too desensitized to bother with anything but the truth.

"It never gets easier," Dr. Schneit confessed.

"Really?"

"No. All the good ones get cancer. And all the best ones get leukemia. And people like Grayson, people like Grayson get an incurable case of Acute Myeloid Leukemia. And it never gets easier, and it never makes sense," he said with a wavering voice. And then he was throwing his clipboard on the ground with a deafening smack, and sliding down the wall with rainclouds for eyes.

You fell down beside him and breathed deeply, swallowing down the sob that echoed in your throat.

"People like me don't deserve people like Grayson," you cried, burrowing your head in your arms.

Dr. Schneit grabbed your shoulder and squeezed it and said, "People like Grayson deserve people like you."

-

You sat in your 11 AM, rigid in your seat with a foot bobbing at a thousand miles an hour. Your stomach was churning with anxiety, and you could hardly hear anything but Dr. Schneit's voice concluding that yes, Grayson was dying.

"It has been remarked by at least one of my colleagues that one reason we have such a hard time teaching Newtonian physics to college students is that we have to first unteach them their already prevailing “natural” worldview of physics, which dates all the way back to Aristotle-"

Your mind was moving at the speed of light. Grayson would have hated this, you thought, your mind racing back to the time you tutored each other and he hopped from your top bunk and broke his ankle and went to the doctors and got diagnosed and-

"Newton’s discoveries were a core component of the Enlightment, a period of a few hundred years in which Europe went from a state of almost slavish, church-endorsed belief in the infallibility-"

You chewed on your lip so viciously you thought you might bite right through it.

"Hey, could you stop tapping your foot? You're shaking my table," the boy next to you asked somewhere between kindly and irritably. You didn't have the time or the patience to figure it out.

"Again, interested students are encouraged to look up Karl Popper’s “Falsifiability” and the older Postivism. A hypothesis must successfully withstand the test of repeated, reproducible experiments that both seek to disprove and-"

"Dude, seriously, I'm trying to focus here," the guy snapped.

Your eyes darted to the door again, and you said, "I can't do this," and shot out of your spot, books already tucked in your arms. You marched with a mission towards the door, uncaring of your disturbance or the silence that settled over the class as they watched you walk away.

"Um, Ms. (Y/L/N), please-"

"My boyfriend is dying!" you shrieked, your chest heaving as you spun to look your professor dead in the eye. "My boyfriend is dying from acute myeloid leukemia, and I don't give a single fuck about whatever Newton did! He's already dead, I have someone else I have to worry about!"

And then you shoved the door open and sprinted down the hallway with tears streaming down your face.

-

"Where're we going?" Grayson asked, twisting his head to look up at you. You rolled him down the sidewalk in a wheelchair, jouncing over cracks and pivoting into the parking lot.

You pulled his beanie over his ears despite the warm spring temperature. "Somewhere--gotta get you out of that gloomy ass hospital," you smirked, digging your lanyard out of your purse and unlocking the car. Grayson folded his hands together in his lap, hunched over. "You cold? Didn't think it was too bad out, but I can grab your jacket if-"

Grayson groaned irritably and cut you off. "(Y/N). Stop babying me because I have cancer. I'm fine."

For the first time in forever, it felt, you laughed outright and hugged the back of his neck, kissing his cheek around the bend. Independent Gray was something you'd missed--he truly needed help with just about everything these days, and he used to be so picky about assistance. "Oh, shut the fuck up, I'm not babying you because you have cancer, dumbass, I'm babying you because you're my boyfriend and I love you," you smirked, opening his passenger door.

Grayson smiled sheepishly and avoided your watching eyes, so you walked in front of him and pulled his lips to yours. He smiled freely when he kissed you, slipping a cold hand into your hair and his tongue into your mouth. It'd been so long since you felt life in him. You held onto the sides of his wheelchair, ducking low so he could feel bigger so he could tower over you like he once did, and Grayson pulled apart chuckling. "You are 100% babying me because I have cancer now," he laughed, tucking the bulk of your hair behind your ear and off your shoulder.

You grinned and kissed his cheek. "Why're you all in my business? I will baby you if I so please, Grayson Dolan. Now get in the car, we're going on a trip."

He huffed and rolled his eyes playfully before clenching his jaw with focus. He took his time standing, working his sore, sore legs straight. You forced yourself to ignore his winces and whimpers, because he was still human after all, and he deserved to have his dignity during his struggles. You'd let him do the things he could on his own; you knew he wanted to.

Once he stood completely, he loomed over you arrogantly, pushing your back against the fender of your car, splaying a possessive hand across your stomach and kissing you deeply. You yelped with surprise and he just swallowed it down, kissing you feverishly, like he didn't have a spare second. He doesn't, you reminded yourself. So, you wrapped loose arms around his neck and pressed your body flush against his, and made out with Grayson against the hood of your car like the teenager you were.

Grayson pulled away, breath wheezing in and out of his lips. "Too much?" you asked, flattening a palm against his chest. He nodded with a furious blush and dodged your stare. "All good. I'm gonna go put this in the back," you said, jutting your thumb to the wheelchair. "But get in the car! Jesus Gray, how many times do I have to ask?" you whined dramatically.

"I'm going, I'm going," he laughed, climbing into the ajar door.

After loading the wheelchair into your trunk, you hopped in, eager to get there.

"Where're we going?" Grayson asked again, sifting through his phone for music to play.

"Somewhere as pretty as you," you smirked, pulling out of the hospital parking lot.

He snorted and shook his head, nibbling on his thumbnail. "Can't believe we're going to a literal art museum," he laughed, shaking his head comically.

You pushed his shoulder and giggled. "How far do you wanna go?"

"That's what she s-"

"Grayson," you chuckled.

He smirked. "Well, do I have to be back at the hospital tonight?"

You pursed your lips in thought and shrugged. "Don't think so. I mean, I could call them but like, it's your life, I don't think Schneit's gonna follow us and force you to come back, you know?" you said, mentally reviewing the pros and cons of pissing off the hospital staff.

Grayson smiled at you and leaned over and kissed your cheek. "Thank you, for doing this. Alright, let's go on an adventure," he cheered, reclining his chair and propping his hands beneath his head. You fixed him with a judgmental stare, shaking your head. Grayson returned you with a smug smile. "What? I'm too sick to drive so I'm gonna use my cancer perks and take a good ole nap for the whole ride-"

"Oh, fuck off," you grumbled, much to his amusement.

-

Point Reyes was as peaceful as you'd imagined. Just as Grayson had promised, he slept the whole ride, and you understood. You shook him awake and assisted him into his wheelchair as much as he'd let you, and then pushed him through the famous breathtaking arc of trees, as blissful as you'd been in a long time. "We can check it off the bucket list," you said, overwhelmed by all the beauty. Grayson didn't respond.

You had wheeled Gray down the soggy forest trails before landing on the cliff overlooking the Pacific. He was propped up beside you, crisscrossed and snuggled in his hoodie--one that used to fit him, but now engulfed his scrawnier body. He plucked dandelions off the ground and tossed them every which way: off the cliff into the jagged rocks below, behind him without a care, into your lap--and pretty forcefully too.

You kept quiet until he wanted to talk. And then he said, "I'm kind of like a dandelion."

The wind blew at liberty, calm but using its freedom to billow on the coast where the only skyscrapers were peaks of rock. You wrapped your arms around yourself and bit your lip, mulling over the words Grayson had said so bitterly. "What do you mean?"

Grayson's lip curled and he looked off distantly. "Weed. I'm a weed," he said, and you would have laughed any other time at his ridiculousness, but he looked a little heartbroken. "A weed in all this grass. Or maybe, no, maybe I'm the grass, and the dandelions are the cancer cells, and they just keep spreading and spreading and it doesn't matter how many of them chemotherapy tears out of the ground, it's too late, and I'm just dying," he scoffed, throwing another dandelion into the bay.

You knew he had more in him, so you sat tight and waited. "At this point, I'm just a dandelion, actually. I'm 100% cancer. 100% poison," he laughed dryly. "And I don't want to be bitter in my last few days, okay? I don't. It's just, it's just that I'm so fucking tired. And I don't have any hair. And I'm cold. And I have so many reasons to be bitter, you know?"

You nodded solemnly, letting the breeze blow cool air against the gaping wounds in your heart. Grayson plucked a few more weeds and tossed them your way, so you grabbed them and started wielding them together. "And honestly," he continued. "I wanna be like a... fuck, I don't know, a daisy. Or fucking- fucking baby's breath, I don't know! Something that spreads like wildfire but is still good. Something people want around them, something pretty. Something not cancerous, obviously," he huffed. You nodded along as you tangled the dandelions in on one another, braiding them together.

After a few beats, you said, "I know you're frustrated, and I know I might not mean much, but you're the whole damn bouquet to me." You outstretched a hand and, without any permission, snatched his beanie off. Grayson sucked in a harsh breath; he never took off his hat.

"(Y/N), don't-"

You shook your head. "I don't care how insecure you are without hair. You're breathtaking to me Grayson." You grabbed the crown you'd constructed and plopped it on his head, twisting it around his ears and smiling to yourself. Beautiful. "There. And also, I get what you're saying, but fuck your idea of yourself. That's the stupidest bullshit I've ever heard. I am in love with the strongest man in the world. You've got the weight of the world on your shoulders and you take it a day at a time. Do you know how hard it is for me? How hard it is to watch you go through all this, and then hate yourself for it?" you asked, hoping emotion didn't creep into your voice.

"I know you need someone to tell this stuff to, I know you're going through it all, I know you're dying Gray, but part of me is dying too. I want to burn off these words," you said, voice starting to waver. "and-and live life with you. I'm bitter too, Grayson. I'm bitter that everyone else gets a soulmate for life, that some people never have to go through this, that I have to go through this, that you have to go through this. And then I thought about the fact that there is a little girl named Brooke who will never fucking get to meet her soulmate, and at least I got you, however short of time. And more than that, I'm convinced you gave me enough happiness for a lifetime--that people will never feel the same amount of love in their entire life as I got while you were here. So, maybe it's unfair for us, but it's also unfair for everyone else to see how fucking incredible we are."

The waves crashed ashore far below you two, and the meadow of dandelions bent to the will of the wind. It was warm, but not warm enough for Grayson, and yet he sat there with you on the edge of the Pacific without a single complaint of the weather. You fell back on your elbows and stared at Grayson, feeling hopeless and hopelessly in love with him, trying to come terms with all this, even if it was a lost cause. You meant every word.

Grayson's hand crept up to the wreath on his head and grinned warmly. With absolute certainty, Grayson said, "You still love me even if I'm a dandelion."

You smiled at him, kissed his lips, and cupped his face. "I love you like the daisy you are."

-

You sat in a coffee shop with Anna, stirring your black coffee with a complimentary wood stick, distinguishing vague patterns in the swirls it created. You knew you were boring Anna, or making her uncomfortable with your silence, but what was there to say?

She drummed her fingers against the wood table and chewed on her lip, clearly scrambling for conversation. "Uh, how's Grayson doing?" she asked tentatively. "I mean, I know he's... you know..."

"Dying?"

Her eyes softened and she hunched in on herself with guilt. "Yeah, that."

You huffed a laugh and dragged your stick through the sea of brown in your cup, hardly entertained by the waves it created. "Yeah, he's okay. I think he wants to die, a little bit, so that's kind of fucked." You pursed your lips and shook your head, your gut wrenching.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

You returned to glaring at your drink, too tired to put any real effort into speaking to your best friend.

"You look pretty tired," Anna noticed, frowning sympathetically. "You could come back to the dorm for a night, get some real sleep," she persuaded.

You wanted to, but if Grayson died while you were gone, you'd never forgive yourself. "I'll be back when Grayson's gone, promise."

You didn't want to be this cynical, but you couldn't hold these thoughts in any longer. You felt so much fatigue, and yet, it felt like there was something inside you pounding its fists against your bones, begging, 'let me out!'. You sucked in your lip and bit down on it hard enough for it to really hurt, but it felt a little good to feel something.

"Um, so how'd your religious studies test go?" she prodded, hoping to coax you out of your daze.

"Didn't take it. Was at the hospital," you shrugged, marveling at the bubbles that speckled in your cup.

"Didn't take it? Dude, did you email your professor?" she chastised, eyeing you quizzically.

You fell back in your seat and shook your head. 'Life is better with a cup of joe' read one of the cliche signs that dangled on the walls of the cafe. You looked at your mug and frowned.

"(Y/N), you can't... you can't just throw away college for this, throw away your life. I know you're sad, but-"

Something inside you snapped, right in half, and you began crying. "Throw away my life? Anna, my life is fucking laying in a hospital bed searching for a bone marrow transplant! My fucking life is dying, he's got no hope and neither do I. He's sleeping in an uncomfortable cot waiting for me to come back, because his own fucking brother won't even visit him! I'm literally all he has, and sometimes it feels like he's literally all I have! Jesus Christ, do you think I wanted this?" you cried, uncaring of who listened in on your very public outburst.

"Of course I don't think you wanted this! (Y/N), I know you love Grayson and I know you're going to be heartbroken and I know I could never understand, but you are paying thousands of dollars in tuition to fail out!" she hissed, slapping her palm against the table.

"Grayson is paying thousands of dollars to die!" You wailed. "Oh my god, Grayson is going to die."

And just like that, it really hit you. That you'd have a lifetime to pay off student loans, and Grayson was going to die.

You started crying, really crying, in the center of that coffee shop, and Anna came over and hugged you tight, and you sat in a coffee shop and weeped on Anna's shoulder for a second time.

-

You pressed the phone against your ear with your shoulder as you held Gray's hand in both of yours.

Ethan picked up after a few rings. "H-"

"Come see Grayson today. I'm not asking."

And then you hung up.

-

Grayson's legs were tangled with yours under the thin hospital sheet, and you cradled his head between your hands. "I'm thinking of an animal."

Grayson chuckled and kissed your temple. "Does it have spots?" he asked.

You groaned and shimmied away from him. "I'm not sure. Let me look it up," you huffed.

"That was only the first question," Grayson snorted.

"I'm aware."

"I can literally see you looking up 'poison dart frog.'"

"No you can't," you grumbled. "Alright. I'm thinking of an animal-"

"Is it an amphibian?"

"Maybe-"

Three knocks resounded through the room and then the door creaked open hesitantly. Grayson shuffled into a sitting position and peered his head around the curtain, but you already knew it was Ethan.

"Hey," Ethan mumbled tentatively, waving a lame hand before stuffing his fists in his pockets when he reached the foot of the bed.

It only took Gray a single second--which was truly a feat for him in this stage--to scurry out of the bed and launch himself onto Ethan, hugging him harder than you thought his muscles could allow. Ethan dug his hands out from his jeans and squeezed Grayson back with a lot of pent-up regrets.

You did your best to suppress your disgust for Ethan and simply offered him a raised brow in greeting. He licked his lips and nodded, noting your hostility, and smoothed a hand over Grayson's back. It sent a pang through you when you found Grayson was smaller than Ethan. Grayson held on for a few minutes, and Ethan held him back.

"What are you doing here?" Grayson blubbered as he pulled away, wiping away his tears frantically.

Ethan shuffled from foot to foot. "Got two tickets with our names on them to the Kings game tonight--if you wanna go. We don't have-"

"Yes! Yes, let's go, please," Grayson begged, grabbing Ethan's forearm desperately. "(Y/N), can I go?" he asked, gawking at you with pleading eyes.

"Did you just ask me for permission?" you snorted.

"Yes or no!" he cried, his arms flailing.

"Yes, but be back by 9:30," you smirked.

"9:30? (Y/N), it's already four, I can't-"

"Oh my god, I'm kidding, go!"

- +

You sat up in the hospital bed, reading your book and reminiscing about the old feel of the bed in your dorm and the life that came with it.  

The door creaked open, and Grayson was rolled in by a nurse. You offered him a sympathetic grin; he looked absolutely beat. "How was it?" you asked, patting the spot beside you.

Grayson just gave you a lazy, sleepy grin.

You bid the nurse a goodnight and hopped out of bed to help him in it. As you swept his blankets over him, you snuggled into his side.

"Did LA win?" you asked, your finger dragging a stripe down the bridge of his nose.

"No, but that's okay," Grayson shrugged.

"Good to see Ethan?" you whispered.

Grayson's throat bobbed and he nodded, tears beginning to stream from the corners of his eyes. "Yeah," he croaked. Silent sobs racked his body as he turned into you, cowering in the warmth of your body. "Miss him so much," he bawled, an agonizing weep echoing through the room, and you knew then, as you held Grayson through his meltdown, that you couldn't forgive Ethan for abandoning Grayson, not now, not ever.

-

It's one of those things you just know.

So, when you stood in front of your closet, simply looking for a change of clothes after all those days spent in the same ones, and the hospital's phone number blinked on your screen, you sprinted down the flights of stairs by your dorm room, into your car, and floored 60 in a 30 with your emergency lights on.

You don't even know if you really threw your car in park because your tears were blurring your vision so much. Five more minutes, give me five more minutes Gray, you prayed. Wishing for forever just wasn't an option anymore.

You skidded into the clinic, your shoes slapping the linoleum as you raced into an elevator and back out again when you realized you didn't have the time to wait for it to go up a floor. You took the stairs two at a time and ran like wind blew.

Only briefly did you note the woman sitting in the hallway, crying as she stared at her wrist. She was wailing and trashing in pain, and you knew it was only a matter of minutes before that was you. But you didn't have time to think about her. Grayson didn't have time.

You burst through his door, your nerves buzzing horrifically.

"Hey," Grayson wheezed from his bed, so quietly you had to read his lips.

You rushed to his bedside, unaware you were already falling apart. You clamped your jaw so tightly it might crack and hot tears burned the tops of your cheeks. "Grayson, fuck- I can't, I can't fucking do this, I can't watch you leave," you yelled through clenched teeth. "Grayson, Grayson," you cried, so frustrated you couldn't even think. Fuck everything you told him at Point Reyes, you were selfish and you couldn't do this, you wanted a refund, you wanted anything else, you wanted to die, you wanted to never exist.

"(Y/N), look at me," Grayson whispered, squeezing your hand so limply you screamed. You wanted more time. He turned your arm ever so slightly, and smiled at the words. "We need to do this. I need to say this," he said, tapping his finger against your wrist.

You shook your head with a pained face and wheezed, "Grayson I can't, I can't."

"You have to. You're going to." He was so tired, you could see it. It took everything in you to look into those brown eyes, the ones that were losing life by the second. "I love you. I love you more than anything in this world," he whispered.

"Grayson, I can't," you insisted, burying your face into his knuckles. It hurt so bad. It hurt so bad.

He ran his hand down your cheek and whispered, "Let me let go, please."

And then you were nodding despite your anger, your hatred for life, because you loved Grayson. Because he was dying, and he wanted to die, and that was something you would have to accept later and help him through now.

"I'm lucky I got to spend the rest of my life with you. It was nice to meet you." Grayson rasped, his head lolling against the pillow, and you could practically see the life drain from him, and you couldn't find the stopper.

And you could have never prepared yourself for the pain that surged through your body at those words.

"Yeah," you nodded, your voice hardly distinguishable. "You too, G."

And though it should have been so very expected, you felt his hand uncurl from yours, and his pulse fade as your pressed your lips to the words on his wrist, and that hurt, to put it simply. And then he was asleep, somewhere much farther away than arm's reach, and you pressed your head to his hand and stayed there until it turned cold.

And then, you walked out of his room and sat next to the woman pressed against the wall down the hall and held her hand instead.

-

They took his beanie off for the funeral. You knew he would've hated it.

All you could think was 'Sure are a lot of people here that never bothered to visit him in the hospital.' But it was a tough pill to swallow that some people just took Grayson for granted, and that you were probably guilty of it too.

Ethan sat beside you and held your hand so tight you lost feeling. You nearly shook him off when he reached for you, your hatred for him still boiling too close to the surface, but his hands felt so much like Grayson's.

And funerals were for closure, you always thought.

And when you looked back on your Grandfather's funeral when you were twelve, you nearly threw up. Your Grandma was content with her loss, and promised that the words would be bittersweet when you heard them.

Those words were nothing but dreadful.

And the remainder of your night was spent sobbing, thinking that Grayson was six feet below you with a plethora of bouquets and a dandelion resting on his casket.

-

"Hey," you mumbled, trudging up the hill Gray's tombstone. "You'll never believe this, but Anna got engaged to my brother. Guess they stopped dancing around each other and finally started dating. It's only been like, six months, but I guess when you know, you know, you know?" you laughed, plopping down on the grass. "We would have gotten married. I thought about it all the time. Think we would have done a winter wedding, so all our family could vacation in Cali for a week. Maroon and gold for colors. E could have been your best man," you murmured, trying to keep your emotion at bay.

"Tried to go on a date. Wasn't worth it. Free dinner, though," you laughed. "Um, I went to Point Reyes the other day, by myself. That little field isn't filled with dandelions anymore. Think that's kind of symbolic though," you snorted, tears slipping from your eyes.

You sat with him and updated him on all the little things and all the big things that had happened in the past few days. You made it a habit to come around a few times a week and keep him company, because he always loved to be around people. Must get lonely up there.

"Hurts to come around sometimes. I know you're listening, but you're not talking, and that just... just hurts, G. God, I miss you," you breathed, pressing your palm to the cold marble of his tombstone.

"But I'm still gonna come, you know? Cause that's what people do for the people they love. Even if it hurts. But Gray, it hurts so bad," you whimpered, thinking of Ethan without malice for the first time in a long while.

And maybe you understood a little.

-

"How do I look?" Anna fussed, her hands fluttering around undecidedly. She stood in her dressing room, sheathed in white, with fidgety feet and a restless mind. "Fuck, he's gonna think I'm stupid for wearing all this makeup-"

You snorted and jerked her into a bone-crushing hug. "Anna. It's your wedding day. I don't think he thinks you're stupid for anything. Well, except when you got that neon green stripe in your hair in sixth grade. That, he definitely thought was stupid," you chuckled, feeling her slump against you. "You're beautiful," you whispered with complete sincerity.

She squeezed you tighter and nodded. "I know."

You broke into a fit of laughter and swirled a piece of her hair about your finger. "You already knew that, you literally were just fishing for compliments."

"Yeah, pretty much. Holy fuck, I can't wait to marry him," she grinned cheerily, biting her lip.

"Anna, I literally could not be happier for you. Literally," you smiled, pinching her cheek. "Even if it's my brother. Which is disgusting. You could do better."

She smacked your arm and snorted. "Like who?"

"The world's second greatest man," you smirked. "Sadly, I already got the first one, so you're gonna have to suck it up and take whoever's in second place."

"I'm pretty sure your brother's the second place-"

You barked out genuine laughter. "Ha! Yeah fuckin' right. I personally think it could be Harry Styles," you quipped, tossing your styled hair off your shoulder dramatically.

Then Anna cocked her head and gave you the warmest of smiles and said, "(Y/N), I'm so happy you're back. Grayson would love to see you again like this."

Your heart fluttered and ached all at once at the mention of him. Whether they were happy or sad, tears surfaced in your eyes and you giggled and said, "Yeah, he's watching over me all the time. Which is nice, cause I'm a firm believer he still laughs at all my horrible jokes that you never think are funny."

Anna hugged you tight, so tight, and you hugged her hard back.

"Enough of this mushy shit, I have a wedding to be a maid of honor to, and you have a wedding to put on!" you shrieked, dragging her by her wrist to the french doors. "One last thing..." you muttered, leaning in close.

"What?" Anna mumbled, chewing on her lip anxiously.

"I left the back door of the church open, so when you realize my brother's a fucking idiot and flee, it's ready-"

"(Y/N)!"

-

New Jersey was just as cold as Gray always described it.

You slipped your hands beneath your sweater sleeves and balled your fists in the fabric, breathing hot air into your hands in an effort to warm them. You rung the doorbell once more and tapped your foot anxiously.

Muffled voices sounded from the other side--the warm side--and you waited. The door unlatched and then swung open, revealing Ethan in very festive attire. "(Y/N)?" he gasped, his eyes widening. He looked so much like him still. You smiled, and before you knew it, Ethan was tugging you into him.

You didn't want to hug him back.

Well, yeah, you did. So you did.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, squeezing you too tightly and it felt just like Grayson.

"Um," you said, tucking your hair behind your ears after he let you go. "Wanted to spend my Christmas with some family."

Ethan searched your eyes as his watered and nodded slowly. "Well, you know you're always welcome. We have drumsticks," he cheered, guiding you into the kitchen.

"You know those are my favorite," you gushed, grabbing a plate and loading it immediately.

"Gray’s too,” he smiled sadly. “My wife's upstairs, but I'll be sure to introduce you. She's heard a lot about you," he said, scratching the back of his neck.

You nodded and turned to face him, tension still resting between you two in a very obvious way. "I-"

"I regret it every day (Y/N). I was young and stupid and so hurt and I'll never forgive myself for it. He was my twin. My best friend," he whispered, turning away from you. "Do you know how awful I was? Of course you do. You were there every step of the way and I wasn't there for one. You know I got the call? I was his emergency contact. And I cried in my room, and didn't show up because I couldn't move," Ethan gasped, balling his fists at his side. "I lost him too, you know. It might not have seemed like it, but I lost him. Eighteen years of being inseparable, and I deserted him. I can't even- I will never forgive myself, (Y/N). I regret it more than I can even explain."

You heaved a deep sigh, and all those years of hating Ethan dissipated away. "I know you do," you accepted. "If you can't forgive yourself, I will."  

"What was saying goodbye like?" Ethan breathed, his voice trembling terribly. 

You leaned against the counter and bit your lip, swallowing down any emotion that threatened the surface. "Well, it was awful. Hardest thing I'll ever go through. But, he was sweet, and he was ready. "What did he say? Before he went?" Ethan garbled, tears streaming down his face. You grinned one of those grins that took years and years of healing to even form, and flashed him your wrist. And then Ethan was crumbling.

You stood in front of Ethan, and then you reached out and wrapped your arms around him, hoping that your tight grip would piece him back together, and if it didn't, you were going to be there to help search for the missing bits, because Ethan was family. And with that, you joined Ethan and his relatives in their living room, exchanging hugs with people you had never met and sharing stories you had nearly forgotten about the boys, and it gave you a feeling, an indescribable feeling, that you had really, really missed.

#grayson dolan #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan imagines #grayson dolan fanfiction #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan #ethan dolan imagines #ethan dolan fanfiction #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins #youtube #mine #masterlist

[marvelousmarvelimagines]

Five Times You Thwarted Loki’s Plans

Pairing - Loki x Asgardian Reader

Summary - Loki has been a pain in your ass ever since childhood. Here are five times that you managed to be a pain in his. 

A/N - This is actually my entry for @revengingbarnes writing challenge! My prompt was the sentence, “You know I can hear every word you’re saying right?” Congratulations and happy birthday! This is also my first time attempting a Loki story so I hope you guys enjoy!

Warnings - None

I

There was no doubt that Asgard was one of the most beautiful places in the world. I had only traveled to a few other locations, but I knew that Asgard would always be my favorite. Everything here was so bright and gold, almost all of the citizens smiled . . . I couldn’t imagine anyone not loving it here. 

Then I met that swine. 

All I wanted to do was learn all I could about sorcery. Asgard was such a magical place, and I wanted to be a part of that magic, even help create part of it. I wanted to soak up knowledge and be the best. Unfortunately that wasn’t possible because of him. 

Not only was he constantly interrupting our lessons with ridiculous stunts, but it all came so . . . easy for him! While I had to study and practice for hours and hours just to even understand all the science behind my work, Loki had the concept and practical work correct before time for our first meal. 

It was infuriating, and he was infuriating. It was why, even at the age of seven, I was looking for any chance to one up him. Finally, that day arrived. 

Watching him had become a habit. It had started out just as a way to pick up on any tips that made him so good. Then it became a way to watch for any disruptions before they happened. It was how I found out exactly what he was going to do. The glint, the mischievous shine in his eyes gave it away. My gaze then caught the subtle movement of his fingers underneath the table. I hated how elegant and effortless it looked for him. Within moments though, I realized what he had done. Our tutor was completely terrified of snakes, and Loki had turned his writing utensil into one. A writing utensil he was about to pick up. 

I didn’t even hesitate, my fingers moved, though not as skillfully or swiftly as Loki’s, but it had the desired effect. The utensil turned right back to normal seconds before our teacher touched it. 

A triumphant grin formed on my face, excited that I had been able to undo Loki’s magic. His face, on the other hand, showed disappointment before meeting my eyes in a withering stare. 

I smirked. 

II

The call came rather quickly when a prisoner collapsed, and his heart stopped beating. As the head of the healing staff, I was immediately sent to the scene. By the time I got there, they were already wheeling the patient out of the room on a cot. “Wait!” I called, immediately recognizing the black head of hair. I rolled my eyes and twisted my fingers, undoing the illusion and revealing the real Loki about to escape. “Really, Loki? I expected more.” I said, rolling my eyes. 

“Good to know that no matter how long I’m away, you’re still just as irritating as you’ve always been.” Loki replied, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Captivity did not suit him. His hair was a mess, his skin more pale and sunken in than ever before, his eyes lacking the mischievous glint I had become oh so familiar with. “You must be pretty desperate to get out of here if you’re attempting such a predictable trick.” I said as everyone else was ushered out of the room. 

“To be fair, I would have tried harder if I had known they were going to send Asgard’s second most powerful sorcerer to heal me.” Loki replied with a smirk. 

I glared at him. He knew just how much it irritated me that I had never been able to surpass him in our studies no matter how hard I tried. “Actually, I think that privilege of  yours was revoked when you tried to take over Midgard.” I told him. 

“Ah . . .” He stalked forward to me. “So I supposed you win by default. How proud you must be of your forfeited accomplishment.” 

I knew what he was doing. He was trying to get into my personal space to make me uncomfortable, to intimidate me. I didn’t move an inch though. “It wasn’t a competition.” 

“Are you sure about that, darling?” Loki asked, cocking an eyebrow, stalking me in circles like a lion stalks his prey.  

“Even if it was, I wouldn’t be proud of winning by default because you had a dramatic fit of jealousy about how you weren’t going to be King.” I hissed. 

Suddenly, my back was against the wall, Loki pressed against every inch of my body. I was unable to hold back my gasp at the sensation, staring up at him with wide eyes. This was the closest I had ever been to him, and I was shocked at just how entirely he filled my senses. “Don’t presume you understand anything about me, Y/N.” 

Another gasp left my lips as a sharp burning sensation filled my arm. I hadn’t even noticed he was touching me. When I looked down, shock filled my features, for Loki’s arm was not in fact his normal, pale, Asgardian state, but was instead - “Frost Giant . . .” I looked back up at him in disbelief. “You’re part Frost Giant.” 

As quickly as he had pressed against me, he was gone, letting go of me as well. “Well done. Your intelligence never ceases to amaze me.” 

I ignored the sarcastic jab. “Odin never told you.” 

“You can stop the pitying look for the monster.” Loki said, turning away from me. 

An unlady like snort left my lips causing him to turn back around and glare at me, his eyes like icy daggers. I paid it no mind. “You’re not a monster. I believe you’re a bit of a fool, but not a monster.” 

“You think me a fool?” His voice was somewhere between disbelief and anger. 

“You were manipulated by a mad Titan to attempt to take over Midgard, a world with no true resources. The boy I was jealous of would not have wasted his talents on fool errands such as that.” This time I was the one invading his personal space as I approached him, “and parents lie, Loki. Sometimes for your protection, sometimes just because they want to. Even you are not immune to that. It doesn’t give you the right to throw a tantrum and murder thousands of people.” 

His hand gripped my chin tightly, but not hurting me, just forcing my eyes to stay locked on his. I kept my face unchanged, unwilling to let him see just how much his proximity and touch was effecting me. “You should take care how you speak around a god, darling.” Loki barely whispered, so close I felt the warmth of his breath on my face. 

It took me a few moments before I could find my words, but eventually I did. “I think we both know I’ve never watched my tongue around you, Loki.” 

He only smirked. 

III

I had found it a little odd when Odin had sent me off to teach my healing practices to the rest of the nine realms. I hadn’t questioned it though. One, because it was Odin, and I wasn’t about to argue with the protector of the Nine Realms. Two, because honestly, I could use the time away. Although I hated to admit it, over the past couple of years, Loki and I had bonded. While he had been in prison, I had visited him several times. I couldn’t explain to myself why, just that after hearing about how he had been lied to his whole life, there was a connection between the two of us. Hearing about his death and how he had sacrificed himself to save Asgard . . . it made my heart ache. So I took the job. I traveled the Nine Realms and helped teach and heal their wounded. It kept my mind and body busy, and I didn’t even have time to think about Loki’s death. 

That was until Thor called me back, and I discovered the truth. 

I didn’t go see him. I was too upset and angry. Instead I found myself outside of one of the doorways to exit Asgard. It wasn’t long before I wasn’t by myself anymore. “Ah . . . I suppose I should have assumed this would happen.”

I stalked towards him, stopping inches away from him. For a few moments there was nothing but silence between us.

Then I slapped him.

Loki rubbed his jaw where my hand had connected, but otherwise had no reaction. “I wonder, is that for deceiving you, or just some other imagined slight?”

“It’s not an imagined slight, you swine! I thought you had died!” My voice shook as I glared at him.

“I didn’t think that would bother you, considering you’ve been longing for my death for years now.” He replied.

My gaze darkened. “That’s not true.”

“Of course it is. Unless you’ve somehow grown fond of me -” Loki stopped, and I knew he could see through my flushing facial expression clear as day, because he burst into laughter. “Oh dear. Of all the terrible ideas you’ve had over the years, this is your worst.”

I gulped but refused to break our eye contact. “Be that as it may, I’m not letting you escape again. You -” Loki took the final step and invaded my personal space. “You will not escape again.”

He chuckled, his chest now pressed against my own. “I think we both know that if I wanted to, I could.”

My face hardened, trying to hide my heart’s reaction to his closeness. “I hate you.”

Loki’s fingers brushed my cheek, feeling the heat that was still residing there. I breathed out a heavy breath as his thumb touched my lips, leaving them trembling in his wake. Finally they settled under my chin, forcing my gaze to stay locked on his. Not that he needed the help. Those green eyes, darkened with desire, were impossible to look away from. “Not the most convincing lie you’ve ever told, darling.”

IV.

Midgard was interesting that was for sure. As much as Asgardians had loved their feasts, Midgardians loved them more. I had only been on Earth for a few months now, and I had realized that. This one was being held by the famous Man of Iron. He seemed to be the usual culprit of such events. I was finding I rather enjoyed them. I got to meet and enjoy conversations with several interesting creatures. In fact, at the moment, I was having a conversation with a Groot who was telling me all about his journey to Nidavellir with Thor and his father. My attention was distracted though by the entrance of a sullen god.

Loki had been attempting to make a sort of amends on the request of his brother. He wasn’t enjoying it, and no one gave him a speck of trust, with good reason, but he was doing it. That didn’t mean he didn’t have his occasional bouts of mischief. I watched as he took a small vile of Asgardian mead and slipped into a glass intended for the noble Captain America.

Sensing a scheme, I excused myself from Groot and hurried over to the bar, grabbing the glass and downing it mere seconds before Steve Rogers’ hand closed over it.

“Sorry, Captain, I though that was mine. I’ll get you another.” I said with a smile. 

Of course Steve didn’t mind, thanking me as I poured him another glass while Loki smirked from his place behind the bar. “You really shouldn’t have done that.” Loki whispered in my ear, sending chills all throughout my body.

“And why not?” I asked, sliding the glass back to the Captain.

“Because, that was not just ordinary Asgardian mead.” He replied.

I turned to face him, biting my bottom lip as I noticed just how close we were standing together. “What was it?”

“A slightly stronger version.” He replied. “You are going to soon be quite intoxicated.”

I flushed. “Why in the name of Odin were you trying to give it to the Captain then?” I hissed.

“I would quite like to see the righteous and just man a little unhinged, wouldn’t you?” Loki asked, raising his eyebrow at me. “Really I was doing him a favor.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that since now that he had put the image in my mind, I couldn’t get it out, and it was amusing.

“Must you always ruin my plans?” Loki asked with a sigh.

I chose to ignore his words. “Well, I don’t feel anything, so you might want to check your source.” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

Loki smirked.

———

“He’s very frustrating, you know?”

“I completely agree.”

“It’s like he can’t take t-two seconds to just you know, breathe. He has to be causing trouble! Is it hot in here?” I asked Thor, stripping out of my sweater. “Anyway, don’t you ever just get . . . exhausted watching over him?”

“It is indeed. I would often end up with these . . . rather large aches in my head that would take much slumber to end.” Thor replied, taking another sip of his drink and urging me to do the same.

I giggled. “Exactly! We should call them Loki-aches.”

A hearty laugh left him as he held his drink in the air. “To Loki-aches!”

“To Loki-aches!” I repeated loudly, clinking my glass against his and taking a large sip. “I swear, if he wasn’t so damn good looking I would have strangled him by now.” I told Thor.

“Good looking?” Thor repeated with a slight smirk on his lips.

“Unfairly so.” I said.

“You know I can hear every word you’re saying, right?”

I gasped, turning and finding Loki sitting there, the picture of ease, with his legs propped up on the table, only his face showed the mixture of annoyance and amusement. “How long have you been there?” I asked in shock.

He rolled his eyes. “Since our last conversation about oh . . . ten minutes ago?” Loki replied, looking mockingly at his blank wrist.

“Oops.” I snorted causing Thor to burst into laughter again.

“I had no idea you were so amusing, Lady Y/N.” Thor said.

“Yes, she’s just the entertainment of the night.” Loki replied sarcastically.

“Might I remind you -” I poked his chest with my finger. “You’re the reason I’m so entertaining.”

“A mistake I will not make again. You are even more irritating drunk than you are on a day to day basis.” Loki replied.

“Yeah? Well . . .” I racked my brain for a reply. “There’s a strand of your hair out of place!”

Not my best work, but I could have sworn for a brief moment I saw a smile form on Loki’s lips before it quickly vanished.

“You know, brother, irritating is not the word you used to describe her earlier.” Thor said, grabbing both of our attentions.

“What?” A huge grin formed on my face as I turned from Thor to his brother. “What did you say about me?” I asked, poking him in the chest with both fingers this time.

“That you always exceeded my expectations -” He grabbed my hands in a tight grip. “At ruining all my fun.”

I pouted at him. “You’re so mean. I’m going back to talk to that Groot. He was much more polite -” As soon as I stood up, it was as if the world had decided to tilt. My foot slipped as I tried to right myself and suddenly -

“I don’t think you’re going anywhere other than your room, darling.” Loki said, a genuinely amused smile on his face as he held me upright in his arms.

His closeness had my heart pounding strong against my chest and even more heat rushing to my face. It made it difficult to form words, but somehow I managed. “Room - uh - my room sounds nice.”

“I’ll escort you to make sure you don’t stumble over any of this supposedly priceless furniture.” Loki said, his hand coming to rest on my back.

I nodded, my eyes wide as I stared up at him. I didn’t know if it was the alcohol or just Loki’s presence, but my head was spinning so fast it was as if I couldn’t think straight.

It wasn’t until we reached my room that the unspoken tension mounted. I didn’t want him to leave, but I also knew that asking him to stay was a terrible idea. “I . . . I’m expecting a nice hangover cure by my bed in the morning.”

He smirked, his body stepping closer to mine, causing me to take an involuntary step backwards. My drunken mind was too hazy to deal with him and the alcohol. His mere presence was intoxicating enough by itself. “Are you giving me permission to sneak into your room, Lady Y/N?” He asked.

I gulped. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It wasn’t?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

I took a deep breath, trying to focus. “I wouldn’t imagine you wanting to visit a room of someone who - who irritated you so, anyway.”

Suddenly my back hit my door as he invaded all of my senses and physical space. It was sobering, the way he stared at me, those green eyes dark. “I do find you terribly irritating.”

I let out a breath.

“But I also think you’re the most intriguing creature I’ve ever known.”

I couldn’t tell you who started the kiss, only that our lips had found each others with easy accuracy, as if they had done so several times before. My whole body  heated from the touch of him, my pulse increasing to what I was sure was an alarming rate. I found I did not care a bit though. Kissing Loki felt more amazing than I had ever imagined. When his hands found my hair, I wondered how I could have ever considered this a bad idea. Nothing this good could be all bad.

His hands formed a fist in my hair and tugged. An embarrassing whimper left my lips as my hips thrust forward, searching for his. My actions caused him to pull away, and his fingers moved from my hair to touch my still trembling lips. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into here, love.”

“Unfortunately, I know exactly what Im getting into.” I replied.

“I’m not a good man. That’s not going to change because of you.”

At least he was honest. Well . . . about this. 

“What would I do with myself if you turned a new leaf and I didn’t have to constantly stay on my toes?” I asked.

Loki grinned.

V

“Schwarma is an awful idea, and it is now obvious why it is unheard of on Asgard.” I groaned to myself as I laid on the tile floor of my bathroom. Tony Stark had insisted that I try it, and Thor had agreed, so I decided there would be no harm.

It turns out I was terribly wrong. Terribly.

Just then there was a loud bang as Loki stormed into my room. “Loki!” I screeched, startled.

He looked at me, a disgusted look on his face as he took in my paler than pale skin, extremely messy hair, and baggy clothes. “What in Odin’s name is wrong with you?”

I became self conscious of just how terrible I must look as I used the last of my strength to throw a pillow at him. “I’m sick, you swine!”

A laugh of angry disbelief left his lips at my words. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Confused and not in the mood to deal with his anger, I covered my face with a pillow I had carried with me to the floor. “What are you talking about?” I groaned.

“Even when I’m trying to do something nice, you just can’t let me.”

“Since when have you ever wanted to do something nice? Yesterday you shut a door in my face.” I reminded him.

“I’m nice when it benefits me, such as taking you to that freezing cold ice . . .” His voice was full of contempt as he spoke. “Thing, even though I knew you would make an idiot of yourself in the hopes of spending some alone time with you after. Which is what I was planning to do today, but no, you had to go and get yourself some ridiculous Midgardian illness -”

His words were interrupted by my scramble to the toilet as my body continued to expel the offending food. After a brief moment I felt Loki’s hands in my hair, holding it back from my face. After I had finished, I took a towel and wiped my lips before looking at him. “You were going to take me ice skating?”

Loki sighed, “Thor said it was a good idea for a ‘date’ or whatever the Midgardian term is.” He informed me, rolling his eyes.

I couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. “I can’t believe you were going to do something that sweet.”

HIs nose crinkled at the word. “Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t,” I assured him.

With Loki, I didn’t think I’d ever get used to anything. He certainly lived up to his name as the God of Mischief.

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