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bopbopstyles · 4 years

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Temptation (pt. 3)

RATING: M/smut (cw: prior sexual harrassment mentioned)

WORD COUNT: 14.6k jesUs

CATEGORIES: fratboy!harry

He paid the price in Nora not being his. He couldn’t say anything when he saw guys looking at her from across the room, he couldn’t hold her hand when they walked down the sidewalk on campus, he couldn’t touch her whenever he wanted in public. There was a barrier they maintained during daylight hours—no contact in public. At night when everyone else was drunk they broke that rule and could barely keep their hands off each other, lasting on the dance floor of the parties for a mere thirty minutes before going up to Harry’s. But he couldn’t show her off the world, couldn’t sing her praises, couldn’t call her his. At least, not in the way that mattered. He called her his during sex, but that wasn’t the same, he couldn’t distinguish the fervor of sex from the reality of his feelings. And it pained him more than he had expected.

Because he was Nora’s.

She just wasn’t his.

Nora can’t figure out what she wants and Harry gets hurt in the process. (part three of this / fratboy!harry)

PART ONE | PART TWO

Harry woke to the sound of his door opening and an empty bed. Nora was standing at the end of his bed tugging on her pants, hair a beautiful mess.

“Oi, what’re you doing?”

Nora looked up and saw that Harry was awake, sitting up on his elbows and staring at her in confusion. She didn’t want to run out, but she had to. She had a fucking UTI and she was going to have to pee every five seconds, she needed cranberry juice, and she wanted to deal with all of those things not at a fraternity house. “I gotta run,” she said simply.

“Where?” Harry looked over to his alarm clock. “It’s eight AM on a Sunday. Where’re you going?”

“The store,” she replied. “Gotta pick up some things.” She buttoned her jeans and reached for her shirt, long forgotten on the ground.

Harry sat up fully, confused. Who would go to the store at eight in the morning on a Sunday when they could stay in bed? Especially with him? He didn’t want her to leave. “And get what?”

“Jesus Christ, you’re so nosy.” Nora pulled her shirt over her head, exasperated. “I’ve got to get some cranberry juice, okay? And then I have to go home and spend all day by my toilet.”

“What? Why?”

This boy was clueless. But then again, he was also a boy, so what was she to expect. “I’ve got a fucking UTI, H.”

Realization dawned on his face immediately. “Oh.” And then suddenly, he was out of bed, grabbing a fresh pair of boxers, a shirt, and a pair of jeans from his drawers. Nora watched him and tried not to ogle at his muscles as he lifted hisi arms to get his shirt on, or the way his hair flopped into his face ever so slightly when he pulled on his jeans.

“What are you doing?”

Harry stood up and grabbed his keys from his dresser. “Going to the store for you. Now get back in bed, put on some of my clothes that are comfortable, and tell me what exactly you need.”

“What—Harry—“

He pulled her into his body and pressed the most soft and delicate kiss to her cheek. “I’ve got an older sister. Know how much these things suck and I seriously doubt you want to move much farther than to and from the toilet. So get back into my bed and let me take care of you, okay?”

Looking back, that was the moment that Nora fell for him. Right there, Harry holding her close and telling her to let him take care of her. “Okay,” she said, because how was she going to deny him? Plus, his bed was more comfortable than hers, and he was right, the idea of getting in an Uber and going to the store and then home sounded horrific because she already had to pee again.

“Now, what do you need?”

“Pure cranberry juice,” she told him. “No sugars, no sweetener, no mixed with anything else—pure, unfiltered, cranberry juice, and two bottles of sparkling water.”

Harry nodded, memorizing her words. “That it?”

Nora bit the inside of her cheek. “Some Monostadt if you’re feeling courageous.”

“What’s that?”

“Medicine of sorts. Probably will be in with the tampons and stuff.”

Harry’s cheeks reddened—he couldn’t help it—but he just nodded. “Text me if you think of anything else, okay? I’ll be back in a jiffy. And ignore anyone if they tell you to hurry up in the bathroom.” He kisses her forehead with such kindness that Nora possibly melts right there on the floor, and then he’s out the door.

Harry finds Nora curled up in his bed in his Fleetwood Mac shirt, hair pulled up in a messy bun, and reading his copy of Americanah that he was reading for a Literature class. Looking back, this was the moment Harry fell for her. His heart stops a bit at her in his clothes, in his bed, waiting for him, but he pushes the thought from his brain.

“Got a few different kinds,” he says, rousing her attention from the book. “Wanted to make sure it was right.”

Nora sits up and watches him pull three cartons of cranberry juice out of the bag, two bottles of sparkling water, a pack of Monostadt, two bars of chocolate, and some chips. She hadn’t asked for the snacks, but he thought she would want them and that warmed her heart, and the fact that he braved the tampon aisle for her gave her immediately more respect for him. She surveyed the options and saw he had gotten two that would work. “Those two are good,” she said.

“Perfect,” he said. He grabbed a cup from his desk and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Supposed to mix the cranberry juice and sparkling, I assume?” She nodded. “And the juice is pretty strong?” She nodded again. “Ok. Let me mix something and you tell me if it needs more of one or the other.”

“Ok, Mr. Bartender,” she said and Harry chuckled. He poured the two together, focusing on making sure it wouldn’t be too strong for her to sip on. He handed her the cup and she took a sip—perfect. “S’good,” she said. “Thank you.”

He smiled at her, proud of his ability to make the perfect thing for her. “Course. Now shove over so I can get in with you.”

Nora blushed, scooted over, and watched him get undressed. He stripped down to just his boxers, and then crawled into bed next to her. “Thank you for doing this,” she said softly, carefully edging closer to him so her head was on his shoulder. “It’s a bit awkward, you know. We just...” Had sex, she almost said.

“Hey,” he said softly. He pushed a strand of hair that had fallen out of her bun behind her ear, fingertips trailing down her cheek. “I wanted to do it. Don’t care if it’s awkward.” He pressed another chaste kiss to her forehead, and then grabbed a remote from his bedside table. “Now, want to watch a David Attenborough nature documentary with me?”

“I’ve been meaning to watch Our Planet,” she said, settling in next to him.

Harry decided that she couldn’t get more perfect.

They laid in bed for most of the day watching nature documentaries and ended up cuddling without even thinking about it. Harry discovered that he loves Nora’s head on his shoulder, their legs tangled at the end of the bed, a thin blanket tugged over them to keep them warm in the late January cold that the heat can’t keep out. Sometimes her fingers found his skin and drew outlines over his tattoos, which never ceased to pull a sharp inhale from him and a plea that she didn’t pull away. But she always did. Nora was better at keeping her boundaries up—she didn’t hold his hand, she didn’t snuggle into him too much—there was almost a reticence to the way she relaxed into him. She wouldn’t stop fidgeting and even when she relaxed, he knew she wasn’t letting her full bodyweight lean into him.

She was up and down constantly to go pee and he kept pouring her more glasses of cranberry juice and sparkling water, but her UTI didn’t go away. He asked about it hesitantly, not wanting to make her uncomfortable, and she just blushed before shaking her head. After another trip to the toilet, she reached for the Monostadt from where it’s been sitting on his dresser.

“You okay, Cherry?” The nickname popped out and he immediately remembered saying it the night before, balls deep inside of her and the image made him harden immediately. He tried to disguise it with the blanket, but Nora saw it without him knowing. The image made her smile inside, the reality of what she did to Harry making her quite happy.

“S’not getting better,” she said. “Gonna take this and hope it helps.”

“Need anything?” He asked and she shook her head before heading back to the toilet. He leaned back against the pillows and sighed, keeping the documentary paused so she didn’t miss anything in her absence. His phone buzzed with a text and he grabbed it, swiping it open. It was Nash.

Who’s the girl who is going in and out of the bathroom and your room?

Nash lived upstairs, but he must’ve been cleaning the house and noticed Nora. Her name’s Nora. She’s not feeling too great.

Aren’t you a gentlemen

Harry chuckled before placing the phone back on the nightstand, the sound of Nora re-entering the bedroom making him want to forget everything else. She was on the phone, he realized when she stepped inside, but she was speaking in another language.

“Je vais bien, maman,” she said. It was French, he realized. He didn’t know she spoke French and the sound of it falling from her lips turned him on more than he wanted to admit. “Mon ami prend soin de moi.” She leaned against the door as she spoke to her mother, Harry understanding that much. “Non, un garçon. Non, on ne sort pas ensemble. Maman, arrête.” She sighed, her eyes catching with Harry’s, and she rolled her eyes. Sorry, she mouthed and Harry shook his head, as if to say No matter. “Maman, je dois y aller, d'accord? Je t'appellerai plus tard. Je t’aime. Salut.”

“You speak French?” He asked, amazed.

She nodded. “My mom’s French.”

“That’s so cool that you know French and German.”

Nora tried ignore the way the fact that he remembered that she spoke German made her heart warm. Without a word she laid down next to him, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders. “You can start it,” she said, and Harry followed her directions.

They laid in his bed until almost five o’clock, at which point Harry suggested they order food. They decided on sushi and they picked out a bunch of rolls and dumplings to try, and Harry grabbed the food when it arrives, making a spread on his bed for them. He didn’t tell her that he usually doesn’t let people eat on his bed because he made an exception for her, not being able to bear the idea of making her go downstairs and eat when she looked so cuddled up and warm in his blanket. They finished another documentary and it was seven o’clock when Nora declared it was time for her to go home. She was feeling better, she reassured a worried Harry, and Maddy was at home to take care of her. He insisted on driving her and Nora wore his Fleetwood Mac shirt with her jeans out of the frat house, since Harry wouldn’t let her give it back to him. He made sure she didn’t have to talk to any of his brothers downstairs, coming to grab her when he knew the coast was clear, and she appreciated it—she didn’t want to get whistled at or questioned, just to go home.

His car was a Prius, which Nora smiled at. He was so unlike any other fraternity brother she had ever met and he intrigued her more than she wanted to admit. When he turned on the car, Elton John blasted from the speakers and when Harry went to turn it down, Nora grabbed his hand and shook her head, telling him to keep it. He drove her home and they sang Elton John at the top of their lungs, both grinning from ear to ear, catching each other’s eyes sometimes. Harry loved seeing her in his car, loved having her around all day. When he dropped her off, she hopped out of his car without a kiss and he tried to ignore how it made his heart sink. He hated watching her walk away from him and inside her building.

It’s just sex, he thought to himself. It was what he had told himself time and time again and what he kept having to remind himself of.

The thing was, though, he was starting to have doubts.

In class, Harry checked in with Nora about how she was feeling and when she told him she was all better he smiiles warmly at her. They went and studied together after class, but Nora picked up her books around three and told him she was heading out, barely a look over her shoulder at him as she walked out.

She was creating distance. She needed it—after she’d spent all day with him she needed to remember that it was just sex, nothing more. When he dropped her off, she had gone into her apartment breathless purely from being around him and that whole night all she could think about was him. She needed space to figure out what was going on, to get her feelings in check. Nora had a life that she needed to focus on, grades to keep up, friends to see, an internship to search for. She filled her nights with homework and the job search instead of texting Harry, her mother reminding her that she needed to turn in applications soon if she wanted her dream internship position in London with the archival research department at the Museum of London. (She’d gone the past summer with her parents and fallen in love with the history of the city and decided she had to work there.) It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be around Harry, it was that she couldn’t. Everytime she was around him she felt this itch to fucking touch him and she couldn’t handle it anymore. She couldn’t handle how much she wanted to kiss him and curl her fingers in his hair and feel him between her legs. Nora needed air, she needed to re-calibrate, she needed to remember that she didn’t want to date and especially not a fraternity boy.

Harry’s texts went unanswered for the most part, other than the occasional quick response to something related to their classwork. He tried not to wonder if he’d done something wrong, but it was hard when he went from caring for her and her UTI to feeling iced out. Nora acted normal in class, small talk and shared laughter when their professor did something funny. But it wasn’t the same as usual and Harry was confused. When he asked Nash about it, he looked at Harry and said, “you’re just hooking up, right?” That made Harry self-concious—was he having feelings for her? And if so, did she not feel the same pull that he did between them? Being around Nora this week made him realize how much he just enjoyed her company, whether they were talking or studying or just sitting next to each other in class. He simply missed her, despite how much he tried to convince himself he didn’t.

He invited her to a party that weekend, hoping the weekend would mean he would be able to see her, but she responded a few hours later with a simple Sorry, I can’t :(. He spent the party sulking in the corner, sipping on whiskey and watching people have fun before going upstairs and calling it a night earlier than normal. Nash noticed and when he asked, Harry just replied, “She’s not here.”

The next week was just like before. They chatted in class, but beyond that it was radio silence. She responded to his texts even less and Harry was a confused mess. He threw himself into his school work, getting ahead on readings that he didn’t need to do for two weeks. All he wanted was an explanation, but he was too scared to even ask why she was doing it. Did she wants to stop hooking up? Had she been freaked out by his kindness? Maybe it was the nature documentaries. Did she want him to be more like Nash? More aloof? Did she want him not to care? Because he didn’t know if he could.

That weekend DSig had another party, but this time Harry told Niall, who was seeing Nora’s friend Maddy, he discovered, to invite them. Niall did as Harry had asked, but he didn’t know if they would come. And when Friday rolled around, Harry was stood in the kitchen, alone, drinking whiskey. Again.

Maddy and her friends had arrived, but Nora wasn’t with them. When Harry had asked her about Nora, Maddy had shook her head and said that Nora “wasn’t feeling it”.

“Harry!” It was Nash and he was properly drunk. “My man! Why aren’t you drunk, bro?”

Harry raised at his cup. “I’m drinking still.”

Nash looked in the cup and grimaced. “We’re doing shots,” he declared, looking around the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of tequila, two limes, and handed a shot glass to Harry. The shots were doubles and Harry wasn’t looking forward to it, but he did it anyways, because if Nora wasn’t going to be there then he at least wanted to have fun. He was entitled to have his fun—after all, he was Harry Styles, as Nash kept reminding him. He was hot and people were into him right and left, guys and girls alike.

So Harry decided to have fun. He did four shots, his mind whirring by the end, and followed Nash to the sweaty dance floor. The music overtook him and he let go, blissfully and fully. He danced with girls who he could tell were interested, but everytime he looked at them all he could think about was how they weren’t Nora. Sure, they were pretty, but they didn’t look at him like she did. He danced with them anyways, but when they leaned in to kiss him he stepped away and found his friends again, not wanting someone else to touch his lips because Nora had touched them last.

It was after midnight when he stopped dancing. He was hot, trashed, and wanted Nora. He just wanted her, not some other girl to fill the Nora-shaped hole in his night. It wasn’t until this moment that Harry, drunk off his ass, realized just how deep he was. Something was different with her and he didn’t know why or what it was, but he needed it more than he needed to be at this party. So he pulled out his phone and called himself an Uber, not even telling Nora he was coming because he didn’t want her to turn him away.

The knock on the door had Nora looking at her clock and sighing. It was almost one and she was exhausted—she was winding down for bed and watching a documentary on deforestation, finishing a glass of wine, skin fresh from a face mask. Maddy was out with Taylor and Lauren, but Nora had stayed in. She wasn’t sure why, but when they’d asked her to come to the party with them, she had said no. The idea of seeing Harry made her nervous—the last time she’d been at his party they had hooked up, and she didn’t know if she was in a place where she could do that and not have questions after. So she avoided the situation entirely.

But when she opened the door to find Harry standing in front of her, she was just as lost. “H?”

Harry smiled at the nickname, it settling the part of him that was nervous to see her. “Cherry. Hi.”

“What’re you doing here?”

“Seeing you.”

“I noticed,” she replied. “Why?”

“Wanted to see you.”

She took another look at him and realized he was drunk. Quite drunk, in fact. “How’d you get here?”

“Uber.”

That was a relief at least—he hadn’t drive himself. “Come on inside. You’ll freeze out there.” He’d not brought a jacket and Nora could see the raised goosebumps on his exmposed arms, the tattoos littering his body open for the world to see.

He kicked his shoes off in the entryway and watched as Nora poured him a glass of water. She rummaged through the cabinets before pulling out an Advil, which she handed to him. He took both, murmuring a thanks under his breath. She leans back against the counter and watched him, his presence in her apartment all consuming and more comforting than she had expected. He smelled of sweat and alcohol, but underneath it she could taste his cologne, the memories of it rushing back to her like a freight train. Him, close to her as he fucked her deep and fast, begging for her to finish. She pressed her legs together at the memory.

“Why are you here?” She asked him again, breaking the silence stretching between them.

Harry leaned on the kitchen island, his elbows digging into the granite countertops. “You didn’t come tonight.”

“Didn’t feel like going out,” she explained. She hadn’t expected him to be so disappointed, but she could read it on his face.

“You’ve been dodging my texts and not spending time with me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Bullshit,” he replied, his voice hard in the quiet of the room. She wasn’t answering him and he was about done with it. She was standing there, staring him down, and completely ignoring the meaning behind his questions. He wanted answers, goddamn it—he wanted to understand her. “We’re all busy. It’s more than that and I don’t get it. Did I miss something? Did I do something?”

The way his voice trailed off at the end, emotion radiating through his words, had Nora’s heart aching. She hadn’t meant to hurt him—she had been selfish, needing the time away from him and ignoring how it would affect him, or that it would affect him at all. “I needed space,” she said, trying to find the words.

Harry’s eyes met hers and the way they bore into her soul made her stop fidgeting for once and concentrate on him. “But why, Nora?”

The way he said her name made her realize she had to be honest with him. “We’re just hooking up,” she said, the words sandpaper on her tongue. “And I needed space to make sure it stayed that way. I’m not in the position for anything more and I didn’t want you to be confused.”

Harry didn’t reply. He just looked at her. Maybe it was the alcohol or the hour, but Nora thought she saw disappoint and defeat in his eyes. And if she did, she had nothing to offer him. She didn’t have the psace in her life for someone else right now, only herself. People were complicated, especially relationships, and Nora didn’t want that. She wanted simplicity and hooking up with Harry would only stay simple if she kept it that way.

“I know we’re just hooking up,” he reponded finally. The lie was bitter on Harry’s tongue, because she did need to. The minute her words met Harry’s ears he knew that he was craving more. He had fallen with her, one way or another, somewhere in the week he had known her. His crush was full-fledged and suffocating, because when he looked at her he could barely look away. In her oversized sweatshirt and tiny shorts, her hair loose and messy, face clean of makeup and eyes weary with exhaustion. So when he looked away from her, it took every bone in his body, but he knew if he continued to look at her she would know he was lying. And he wasn’t ready to lose her yet. “You didn’t need to avoid me to make that clear, you know.”

His answer brought comfort to her—he felt the same way, that it was just sex. He didn’t need more, he wouldn’t complicate her life. He would let her be her and not ask for more. “I’m sorry,” she told him. “Shouldn’t have done it.”

He watched as she rounded the corner of the kitchen island and came up to him, her body mere inches away from him. Harry could smell her coconut shampoo and see the wrinkles between her brows from when she frowned. The desire to touch her was almost too much for him. “I survived.”

Nora wanted to touch him with every bone in her body. She wanted to feel his skin under fingers and watch him inhale as she scratched down his back. Since they were on the same page, she realized she had no reason to stop herself anymore.

Watching closely, he exhaled sharply as she touched him for the first time. It was soft, reticent, a reminder and a memory of before. A simple brush of her forefinger down the length of his bicep that had his heart beating faster in his chest. “Cherry,” he said, his voice gravely with desire.

When their eyes met, a simple understanding passed between them in seconds. And then Harry was pulling her up, her legs were around his waist, and he was walking her into her room, their lips melded together as if no time had passed. They hadn’t forgotten how to kiss one another, it was like muscle memory, the need for one another feeding through their skin as they kissed, a shared desire for more and more.

Nora dropped to her bed and she wasted no time with shedding her clothing, her shirt and pants coming off before Harry could even tug off his shirt. He wasn’t drunk anymore—their conversation had sobered him—but when he looked at her skin, he thought he might be intoxicated again because he couldn’t get enough. Sheets curled in her fingers as he pressed his lips to her body, murmurs of how beautiful she was and how much he wanted her flowing from him freely. Gasping, she reached for his chin and pulled him up to her, needing him to kiss her properly again. Which he did. He ground into her, desperate for her to feel him, and Nora moaned at the feeling. How had she managed to go two weeks without him between her thighs?

“Need you,” she said, breathless.

He looked up from where he was attached to her nipple. “Where do you want me, princess?”

“You know where.”

Once he might’ve made her spell it out, but he was too spellbound. He lowered himself flat on his stomach and tugged her panties aside without another word, pressing his tongue to her hot skin.

Things passed like that for a few weeks. They texted each other when they needed one another, Nora went to Harry’s parties just for Harry, and they flirted all through their class. Nora was comfortable with where they’d left things—clear and precise on the fact that they were nothing more than friends who were fucking. No relationship and no future of one.

Harry, on the other hand, couldn’t shake the disappointment he felt that night when she told him they were just hooking up. It poured through every fiber of his being and the more time he spent around her the more he knew that he had messed up. Royally. He had missed the opportunity to tell her how he felt, he had missed the opportunity to steer their relationship in a different direction and he was going to pay the price.

Because he was Nora’s.

She just wasn’t his.

It was a Friday night and Nora wasn’t at DSig—a rarity. Maddy, Taylor, and Lauren had convinced her to go to the bars with them, telling her they needed a girls night. That she had been spending all of her time with Harry (a lie) and they missed her. So she dressed up, looking hot as fuck if she said so herself, and got drunk with her girls. They played drinking games in her and Maddy’s living room until they were all perfectly wasted, before taking an Uber to Slots.

At first, it was just the girls. The music flowing, dancing at the table they get in the corner, dragging each other onto the tiny and cramped dance floor. It was sweaty and drunk and so much fucking fun.

But then, some boys who Taylor knows came over, and one of them had eyes only for Nora. He was tall, but not as tall as Harry, with dark brown hair, but not as curly and gorgeous as Harry’s, and blue eyes, but they didn’t pierce her heart the way Harry’s do. His name was Leo and he stuck to Nora all night. She let him too, basking in the attention, loving when he bought her drinks and asked her about her classes and her life. She asked him about his and the more they talked the more Nora thought he was cute. Not in the way that Harry was—Harry was hot—but Leo was cute in his own way. A bit unsure, fumbled for words, searching for the way to say something in a way that Nora would like. She loved the power that surged through her veins at knowing that she was desired by someone other than Harry.

Leo was a Economics major and planned on working on Wall Street after college. He was from a few towns over from their college and had planned to go here most of his life. He wasn’t in a fraternity, but he was in a couple of clubs and they discovered quickly that they had some mutual friends. He was kind and made horrible jokes that Nora laughed at anyways because she saw that he wanted her to laugh. No—he needed her to laugh. He listened intently when she told him about her major, about her interest in German history, about her time abroad. He asked her questions and listened, diving deeper and asking her more and more. She felt like he wanted to know her in a way she wasn’t used to and she was surprised, but also flattered. Harry didn’t ask her these things, they just came up in conversation. But Leo sought them out, desperate for more information about her.

So when he asked for her number at the end of the night, she didn’t hesitate to give it to him. She didn’t know what to expect, but it couldn’t be anything big.

But when he texted her in the morning asking if she wanted to get coffee that afternoon, she was thrown off guard. She had told herself she wasn’t going to date anyone. But it was almost March and she had been seeing Harry and a part of her was intrigued by Leo. She wanted to get to know him, see what he was about. If all else failed, she could always tell him it wasn’t going to work out, she decided. So she said yes.

Harry was working Saturday afternoon shift, aka his least favorite shift. He usually spent the afternoons in the library or his room working on readings or writing papers. He had to work on his paper for the Urban Studies class he had with Nora, actually, he realized as he flipped the switch on the espresso machine. Would she want to help him outline maybe? It would be an excuse to hang out with her in a purely PG environment, something he was increasingly trying to find excuses for. He wanted more from his relationship with Nora and had decided he was going to try and ease into the idea—take it slow. Maybe they’d just…end up dating?

Somehow he sensed her presence the second she stepped in the door of the coffeeshop. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, a simple white tshirt and jeans that showed off her body in the ways he loved seeing. He watched her eyes lift from the floor and then they met his, a look of shock running across her face. Somehow they’d yet to have the discussion about which coffee shop he worked at, but here she was when he was working behind the bar making espressos and fancy coffees. Then, her eyesight shifted without even a smile in his direction, and he watched helplessly as she made her way over to a boy who had come in 15 minutes earlier—he was seated in the corner. He’d ordered some flavored latte, and Harry decided that was reason enough to hate him. He had never seen the kid before, but that wasn’t impossible at their school, especially if he wasn’t in a frat or in his classes.

“Harry.” He turned and Lauren, the other barista was looking at him in confusion. “You okay?”

He glanced back at Nora, her eyes bright and a smile dancing across her face. “Fine.” He grabbed the coffee cup Lauran handed him and turned back to the espresso machine, placing the cup under the drip and staring daggers at the back of this kid’s head.

Not too long after, Nora rose, her wallet in hand, and made her way to the bar. This guy wasn’t even going to buy her coffee? Maybe it wasn’t a date, he thought to himself. Any guy who didn’t take Nora out was an idiot, but that was a thought for another time. He heard Nora order her coffee, the same drop coffee and skim milk that he remembered, and tried to avoid making eye contact with her until she was standing right in front of his station and said his name.

“H,” she said, words soft. The nickname she used jolted through his body and he hated it. How dare she use while she was on a date with another guy? But then again, she wasn’t his, was she?

“What?” Harry knew his voice was gruff, but he didn’t care. She should know that he was pissed, even if he had no right to be.

She sighed as he filled her cup. “Why are you acting like this?”

Harry grabbed the milk and filled the cup the amount he knew she liked, and then looked up at her again. He rested his hands on the corner of the counter and leaned towards her—he wondered if she could feel the tension radiating between them. “You on a date?”

“I—“ she looked over to the guy who waved at her, and then back at him. “I don’t know.”

Fuck that. It was obviously a date. “Did he ask you to coffee, no studying or other excuse?” He handed her the coffee, but she didn’t move.

“Yes.”

“Then it’s a fucking date, Nora.”

Her fingers slid up and down the cup, moving the sleeve with them. “Are you mad?”

The laugh that left his lips was dry, mocking almost, and Harry didn’t have it in him to care. “No, I’m perfectly fine, Nora. We aren’t doing any more than fucking, right?” He ignored the way the hurt look on her face stabbed his heart and turned away, desperate for literally anything else to do. A beat later, her heard her footsteps as she moved away from the counter, and Harry tried to blink the tears from his eyes.

Nora knew she had fucked up, but how did she fix it?

She was lying on her bed, staring up at her ceiling and running through every moment she had shared with Harry in the past few months. The sly gazes in class, the conversations as they cuddled in his bed, the sex—the sex. And him. He was unlike anyone she’d known, he was unlike Jonas in all the ways that mattered and the ones she didn’t know were important. Harry was someone she never saw coming and the feeling she had for him she’d been trying and trying to push down since she’d met him, because if she let herself feel them then she would be ripped open for him to see. All of her demons out of the closet laid bare for him to investigate, to judge, to tell her how handle. And she didn’t think she wanted that.

And Leo was simple. He might want to date her, but she didn’t feel the need to share everything about her life with him. He was…easy. They could date for a while, just enough to get her mind off of Harry, and then she could break up with him. She didn’t want something serious and Leo didn’t scream serious at her—he screamed pure, kind, caring. The kind of guy who wouldn’t push her when she didn’t want to talk, wouldn’t bed to know everything about her. And that was exactly what she needed.

And the exact opposite of Harry. Harry desperately wanted to know her—she could see it in the way he looked at her, and it scared the shit out of her. He knew all the surface things and was begging to see the depths of her in a way that wanted her to lock a door and never reopen it. But she had hoped to at least stay friends with him, she enjoyed spending time with him. After the way he’d acted today, though, she didn’t know if that was possible, though. He seemed royally pissed off, despite the fact that he didn’t technically have the right to be, she told herself. She wasn’t his, not in any real way. Despite the way he had said the words, they were true—they were just fucking.

Her phone buzzed next to her and she rolled over to see who it was—Leo.

I had fun today. Study tomorrow?

Nora considered her thoughts, the things she knew and the ones she didn’t. Leo was something to be explored, she decided. See you at noon, she replied, pushing the sinking feeling in her stomach aside.

When Harry saw her on the dance floor, his heart lept in his chest. She’d come to another DSig party, despite the date on Saturday he’d seen. Despite the fact that they’d barely spoken this week, no funny texts during the evenings or study sessions or picking up coffee before class. Just words shared about the lecture and reasons given for goodbye. He could see her messy waves bouncing as she jumped and he smiled, he’d always loved how she danced. Carefree, not giving a fuck what anyone thought of her.

He wanted to go to her, touch her, make her his. But then the face of that other guy flashed through his brain, and he couldn’t rationalize it. She was seeing someone else unless she said otherwise. Off-limits, at least for right now.

“That Nora?” Nash leaned against the doorjamb next to him, handing him a beer. “What’s she doing here?”

“Fuck if I know,” Harry replied. He’d told Nash about what had happened in a rare moment of honesty over one too many beers on Saturday night, but now he was thankful to have someone who got it. “Think I misread the situation?”

Nash shrugged. “Dunno man. She’s coming over here, though, I think.”

Harry whipped his head towards her and saw Nash was right—she was weaving her way through the crowd alone and heading straight for him. Nash left his side so he could be alone, and Harry was thankful for it. Nash was one of the rare good ones.

“H,” she said, voice barely audible over the thud of the bass. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He wanted to talk to her with every fiber of his person, but his brain was screaming at him to walk away, leave her alone, let her figure out her shit and come back to him after. Her fingers ghosted over his chest and Harry sucked in a breath. He looked at her eyes and realized she was pretty drunk—drunker than he was, at least. Is that what it took for her to touch him—alcohol? “Nora,” he said, covering her hands with his, “what are you doing?”

“Touching you.”

“Why?”

She shrugged, her tumbling down her back, “want you.”

Harry gulped. Did he have the self-control? “What about that guy?”

“He’s not here.”

“Are you dating him?”

“No.”

Harry considered her words, the look in her eye that was begging him to fuck her. And for some reason, he decided to do it. “I’ll only do this if you’re sure you want to.”

She nodded, curling her fingers into his black t-shirt, slightly damp from the sweat of being in a room this crowded. “Positive.”

And with that, he decided to shove all of his thoughts telling him that she was just using him to the side and kissed her. Her arms wrappd around his neck immediately and he grasped her waist, pulling her flush to his body. Fuck, he’d missed how she felt against him, like she was made for him. Nora’s fingers curled in his hair and tugged slightly, a moan falling from his lips that he couldn’t stop. “Upstairs,” he said, voice rough with desire and hurt and disappointment.

She followed him up the stairs, hand grasped in his, and pulled off her clothes the minute she was inside his room. He raked his eyes over her, knowing it might be the last time, and decided to fuck her like it was. Slow, deep—make her remember that she wanted him. Make her know how much he wanted her, that he regretted not telling her when he’d had a chance.

And so he did. He left hickies all over her body, telling whatever boy she was talking to other than him that she was his, fucked her so deep she moaned his name like a prayer, held her so close that their skin felt like one, and didn’t let her go after. When she rolled over and crawled down his body, he let her, wanting to have her go down on him one last time, to feel her mouth and watch her grip his hips as she bobbed up and down. And he fucked her again, this time a little faster, a little rougher, but just as deep. And he licked into her after, drawing another orgasm from her, trying to memorize her taste on her tongue, how his name sounded off of her tongue, the way it felt for her fingers to curl in his hair and pull. After, when she was curled up in his arms, eyes shut and asleep on his chest, he prayed that she wouldn’t regret it in the morning. That maybe she’d tell him it meant something, that she wanted him and not the other guy, that she was his and only his.

But when he woke up, the only trace of her was her perfume on his pillowcase.

Weeks passed without more than a few words in class and it pained Nora, but she understood. When she’d woken up in his arms, him holding her close so her faced was smushed in the crook of his neck, she knew it was going to be a bad idea to let herself do this again. He’d barely returned his texts or replied to her in class, the smiles she adored were forgotten. She avoiding the coffee shop where he worked and told Maddy she wasn’t going back to DSig. He didn’t want to be her fuck on the side anymore and she would respect that. She spent time with Leo in small doses, trying not to give too much to him, and when they had sex, she tried not to think of Harry. But it wasn’t as good, it wasn’t the same.

Leo introduced her to his friends and she struggled to stay interested in the conversation, her thoughts anywhere and elsewhere. When they studied together, she found herself on her phone stalking Harry’s Instagram, wondering who the girls in the photo he’d just posted were. It came time to work on the second paper for the class she shared with Harry and she missed his insights into her outlines. Leo couldn’t provide the same help and got frustrated when she didn’t take his suggestions (which weren’t good).

The trees changed colors and as she laid out on the lawns with a book, Nora wondered if Harry liked the Spring as much as she did. Maddy laid next to her with an iced coffee and her computer, working on an assignment for her GIS class, eyes flittering over to Nora every once and a while.

Finally, Nora heard her voice break the silence. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Nora lied. She was thinking about Harry.

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“So you’re thinking about Harry,” Maddy said. She closed her computer and laid her head on her forearms. “Spill.”

Nora shut her book and sighed. She’d avoided talking about Harry with Maddy or any of her friends, never really telling them why it fizzled out. Just that it did and it was fine. Maddy had seen straight through her lies, but didn’t push. “I miss him,” she said simply.

“Then talk to him.”

“He doesn’t want me to.”

“Valid,” Maddy replied.

Nora whipped her head to her friend. “You’re supposed to say he’s stupid.”

“Well, he’s not,” Maddy said. “He’s got every reason to not want to talk to you—you started seeing another guy and then fucked him a week later.”

“But…”

Maddy sighed. “If you tell me you were just fucking, I’ll literally kill you.”

“We were, though!”

“Nora, you’re not stupid, so why are you acting like you are?” Nora narrowed her eyes at her best friend. How dare she?

“You’re supposed to always be on my side, you know.” “I am. You just aren’t thinking straight.”

Nora rolled over and shoved her face into the blanket they’d brought with them. “What am I supposed to do then?”

After a beat, she heard Maddy’s voice. “Do you like Leo?”

“He’s fine.”

“Fine.” Maddy parroted Nora’s word back to her and Nora grimed at how it souned. Bored, uninterested, which was exactly what she was most of the time. The interest she’d had in Leo had fizzled after the first two weeks, their conversations stalling, the desire dissolving.

Lifting her head nad making eye contact again, Nora said, “He’s boring.”

“And Harry?”

Harry. What was there to say and what wasn’t there to say? He consumed her thoughts and her dreams and she hated it. She’d had a sex dream about him last week while she was in Leo’s bed which was quite possibly the worst thing of all time. Sitting next to him in class was hell because she had to be close to his body, smell his cologne, just be around him, but she couldn’t switch spots because the other students would throw a fit. She missed the way he kissed her and touched her and said her name and laughed with her.

“He’s…Harry,” she said simply, becuase that’s all there was to say.

“Nor, I love you,” Maddy said, giving her a small smile, “but you fucked up.”

And Nora knew it the minute Maddy said the words. She’d hurt Harry and she just hoped there was some way she could fix it, because if she didn’t she didn’t know if she could forgive herself.

Leo was her first task. She texted him to see if he was at his dorm and when he said “yes!” she walked over, backpack thrown over her shoulder, a pit of dread in her stomach. Leo was perfectly nice, just not nice for her. He needed someone simple, easy, and most importantly, not completely infatuated with someone else, all things that she was not. Leo lived on the other side of campus in one of the nicer dorms, known for not having too many parties and only upperclassmen and thankfully for her, lived alone. If she had had to go in there and deal with a roommate after she broke up with him, nora didn’t think she could do it.

He answered his door immediately, a wide smile on his face, a pair of sweats and a loose t-shirt for their college adorning his body. “This is a nice surprise,” he said, kissing her cheek sweetly.

Nora nodded, making her way inside. “Are you busy?”

He sat down at his desk chair and gestured to the notes spread out in front of him. “Studying. Or trying to, at least.”

She sat down on his bed, the plaid bedspread reminding her of the nights she had spent cuddled up next to him in his Twin-XL, much too small for her tastes. Harry’s double bed in the frat hour was far superior. “I wanted to talk to you about something,” she said, the words rough on her tongue.

Leo cocked his head to the side but said nothing, shutting his laptop and giving her his full attention. Somehow, this was worse, having him stae directly at her. She almost wished he didn’t have the courage to look at her because she sure didn’t.

“I want to break up.” The words were blunt in the quiet of the room, the only sounds the soft echo of a door shutting in the hall. Leo blinked at her and Nora’s eyes shifted down to her lap, winding and unwinding her fingers. She knew she didn’t care deeply about Leo—not in the way she suspected he did—but she didn’t expect the words to come as easily as they did.

“Why?” Leo asked, his voice broken at the end of the word. Nora expected if she looked at him he would be tearing up; he was always more open with his emotions than she was. Vulnerable, something she did not excel at.

“I—I just…” Could she tell him? Be completely honest with him? Her eyes met his, trying to gauge what she should say.

But he beat her to it. “Is it Harry?”

“What?” She hadn’t even told him about Harry. Nora had kept those two parts of her life as far apart as possible, other than when Harry saw her first date with Leo. Otherwise, she made an effort to never mention Harry to Leo. She didn’t know if it was because she couldn’t bare it or if she said his name it would be harder to be around Leo. Either way, he wouldn’t have gotten Harry’s name from her.

“I saw his name on your phone one time. Asked around. Someone said that you and him were a bit of a thing before we started seeing each other.”

Thankfully this person seemed to have left out that Nora and Harry had last hooked up once she’d started seeing Leo. That was a truth that Leo didn’t need to hear. “It’s Harry,” she agreed, “but it’s also me. I’m…I’m just not right for you, Leo. I’m sorry it took me this long to figure that out, but it’s—this—just isn’t right.” That was about as honest as she could be with him without hurting him. And she didn’t want to do that, as much as she didn’t really care about him, she still cared about his feelings.

Leo studied her, his straight brown hair not falling into his face like Harry’s curls did. She loved Harry’s hair and somehow Leo’s always reminded her of Harry’s. Maybe that was the problem with Leo—he was a constant reminder of Harry, particularly of his not being Harry. “Why aren’t you right for me?” He asked, eyes darting around her face. “Like, how can you make that decision for me?”

God, so many things were wrong with them. “I’m not trying to make that decision for you,” she said, trying to backpedal, find her thoughts. “I—it’s...”

“So what you’re trying to say is that I’m not right for you.”

He was right. “Yes,” she said, voice soft. “But, fuck, it’s not like there’s something wrong with you. It’s just that I need someone and something else.”

Leo bit his lip, blue eyes hard as they looked at her. “And that someone is Harry?”

“Yes.”

It was silent in his room, Nora’s eyes falling to her hands still clasped in her lap. She didn’t have a plan for how to leave the room, but now she felt like she needed one. “Leo, I’m sorry—“

“Jesus, Nor, don’t fucking apologize.” She hadn’t heard Leo curse before, not even during sex, so the word was jarring. “If that’s how you feel then that’s how you feel, I can’t argue with you about it. I mean, I wish you’d been more upfront with me about how you felt, but I’m not going to sit here and say I thought we were completely fine. I just thought you needed more time or something…I just liked you so much, I thought you’d get there.” He swiped at a tear that fell from his eye and Nora softened. Just because she didn’t care for him in the way he did didn’t mean she was completely immune to his pain.

“I was hoping I did too,” she admitted. “You’re a really good guy, Leo. I hope you find someone who loves you in all the ways I couldn’t.”

Leo exhales and wipes his palms on his sweats before looking up at her. “Can…can you go now?”

“Fuck, yeah, ok,” she said, eager to get out of there if he wanted her out. She scrambled to grab her backpack and her shoes, tugging them on at the door. “I’ll see you around, I guess?”

Leo stood behind her in the doorway and just nodded. “Bye, Nora,” he said, and then shut the door in her face.

Which she guessed she deserved.

Harry didn’t know who—or what to expect when he heard a knock on his door at 12:30 at night. There was a party still going downstairs, it being a Friday night and all. Harry didn’t feel like attending tonight though, and had decided to spent the evening curled up in bed with a pint of ice cream watching re-runs of That 70’s Show on Netflix. He’d get up early and go for a run, he decided, and forcing pledges to clean up the mess downstairs. He’d probably end up helping them, though, because that’s just who he was as a person, no matter how many times Nash told him the pledges were supposed to do it.

So when he opened his door in just his boxers and a shirt, his glasses on the tip of his nose, the last person he expected to see was Nora. She stood probably a foot away in leggings and a big sweatshirt, her hair in a messy bun, and Harry wondered what looks she had gotten downstairs when she’d tried to get in. Although basically all the guys knew her by now, since she’d spent so much time in the house when they were…fucking.

Harry leaned against the door, waiting for her to say something. He decided after the last time that he wouldn’t hook up with Nora again, not unless she was properly his. So unless it was to tell him that, he decided he would kick her out, tell her to go home. Have one of the guys call her an Uber though, since it was late and all.

“I broke it off with Leo,” she said finally, brown eyes staring at him with such hope in his eyes he didn’t know what to do with it.

“Good for you,” was all he could come up with to say. What was he supposed to say? Thank god, I’m kind of obsessed with you still?

She looked at him and then into his room. “Could we talk…please?”

Harry stepped back and let her into his room, shutting the door softly behind her. She stood in the space as if she was meant to be there, a piece of art that had been on loan but was finally back home. Harry couldn’t shake the fact that he had been waiting for her to come and see him for so long and now that she was here he had no idea what to say to her. So instead he was quiet, waiting for her to speak, and went and sat down on his bed.

“Are you going to say something?”

“What do you want me to say?” That I can’t decide if I’m happy you’re here or mad it took you this long? That you look gorgeous? That I want you, but all of you not just the bits you give me? He didn’t have the words for what he wanted to say, which was everything.

“Just…fuck. I guess I’ll talk first?” She said, her words rambling—he could tell she was nervous. “I fucked up, okay? I pushed you away and I don’t even know why—well actually I do. But it wasn’t a valid reason. I should’ve talked to you, told you what I was thinking, not just started seeing someone else without any explanation.”

“Why did you push me away?” He asked, the rest of it blending into the background, zeroing in on those few words.

“I—can I sit?” She asked, gesturing to his bed.

He nodded, shifting over to give them space and so he could face her while she talked. Harry had this feeling that this was when he might finally know Nora after being on the outskirts of her emotions for so long. And he so desperately wanted to know. It felt like the only way to know her before this was through sex, through seeing her when no one else was looking and her emotions and her pleasure took over and she was just…her. But if she could give him words and context for the rest of who she was, that would be even better. Then he might, finally, know all of her.

“When I was in high school I dated this guy—Charlie—and we dated for a year, almost a year and a half. And he knew everything about me. All of my secrets, all of my past, all of the things about me that I was scared of people knowing. But he was a year older than me and so when he was going to graduate I wanted to break up because I didn’t want to be that high school girlfriend left behind, you know? I didn’t want to be worrying if he was going to cheat on me with some college girl, and I thought if it was meant to be we’d find each other again. But then, when we did break up, he spread this video of me going down on him around the school and it destroyed me.”

Harry’s heart stopped. Of all the things he thought Nora would share with him, this didn’t even make the list of things he expected. He wanted to hold her but she was sitting bent over, her eyes not even meeting his, and he knew that she had to do this on her own.

“And he didn’t even care? Or get it? Like he didn’t understand why I was so hurt--or he pretended not to, because if he didn’t think it would effect me then why did he even share them in the first place, you know? And then he graduated and he could just leave, but I had a whole nother year there in that place. And it was hell. My friends stuck by me, thankfully, but everyone else treated me like I was trash. And I couldn’t bring myself to file a police report or something because rehashing it all to some police officer felt even more horrible than just dealing with it on my own. But anyways,” she said, running her hand through her hair, “ever since then I’ve had trust issues with relationships. Especially when I have feelings for someone and trust them. And so with you, it was like I had this trust in you from the beginning and you were so good but also wanted me so much and it just…it was too much for me. But Leo I could hold at a length, you know? Like I could keep him away from my heart, but you, you wormed your way in without me even realizing it.” Her eyes met his then, and they just looked at each other for a bit, Harry struggling to find the right words. If there even were such a thing as the right words. Which there probably weren’t.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Harry said, picking his words carefully. “For him to have done that to you…it’s horrific. And I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

She gave him a small smile, her hand flickering up to wipe a tear from her eye. “Thank you.”

“When you said I…I wormed my way into your heart,” he said, breathless, “did you mean that?”

She nodded, hair falling into her face.

Harry scooted closer to her, so close that their knees were touching. They both sat criss-cross-applesauce on his bed and somehow it felt so intimate, more intimate than anything they had done before because they were just looking at each other. “You wormed your way into mine, too,” he told her, a light chuckle leaving his lungs. “And you haven’t left. Did I?”

He ran his fingers over her knee and he could hear Nora’s inhale of breath. “No,” she said softly. “I just refused to believe it.”

“Well,” he said, taking her hands in his, finding joy in the feeling of her skin under his again after so long. “Do you believe it now?”

Her fingers interwined with his and when her eyes met his, Harry knew that she did. “Yes,” she whispered, and Harry didn’t pause before taking her face in his hands and kissing her the way he had been craving ever since he woke up in an empty bed.

Nora’s reaction was immediate, lips melding with his, body falling into him in the way he had missed. Her fingers scrambled up his back, pulling at the fabric with a desperation that Harry felt in his bones. After weeks apart, he wanted to see her—all of her—and feel her against him.

“Will you take this damn thing off?” Nora mumbled against his lips, pulling at the neck of his shirt. Harry smiled at her frustration and pulled it off, groaning from the way Nora traced his tattoos. Her mouth attached to her favorite spot—the place right above his swallow where she’d sucked a lovebite into the skin so long ago—and it felt like coming home. The pain of her teeth nipping the skin sent goosebumps up his spine and he couldn’t stop the helpless hum that left him, loving the feeling of her so close to him. He could smell her shampoo in her hair when he leaned his head down to rest on top of hers, and when he tugged her head up and traced a line from her earlobe to her neck, wrenching aside her sweatshirt that he wish was his instead, the scent of her laundry detergent filled his senses.

“Your turn,” he said, nudging up her sweatshirt so he could grab onto the bare skin above her leggings. “Wanna see you.”

Nora leaned back and smiled at him, one of the smiles she gave when she was perfectly at ease. The same one he earned when he brought her ice cream to the couch or tucked the blankets in around her in bed or wiped at a bit of toothpaste at the corner of her mouth. The fact that she was at ease with him again meant the world to him—he was safe for her. After so many men who weren’t, she trusted him, and Harry was never going to give her reason to think it was misplaced. She pulled off her sweatshirt and he helped her get it over her head when it got stuck, muffled curses leaving her mouth before their lips could reconnect.

But Harry missed her skin. So he gently laid her back and set about recreating one of their first moments together, kissing a line from the top to the bottom of her body. Trembling mewls fell from her lips as he went about his work, sucking on her nipples like it was his God-given duty. “I, missed, you,” he said against her skin, each word with a suck of his lips, earning him a wanton hiss that left his aching for her. “All of you.” He licked a stripe from her rib cage to her belly button, softly nipping at the skin of her belly. He loved digging his fingers into her skin and adored the fact that she let him suck marks onto her. Most girls hated them, but Nora didn’t mind in one bit, and Harry was an arrogant son of a bitch and loved the idea of her looking in the mirror and seeing proof of how much he cared for her.

When he made it to her leggings, Nora wasted no time in lifting her hips so he could peel them down her legs. Harry pressed his forefinger to the fabric right over her center and gasped, looking up to catch her eyes. “You’re dripping, love.”

The blush that colored her cheeks felt so out of place in the moment, but Harry loved it all the same. “Your lips are…” She paused, searching for the right word before settling on, “good.”

“Good?” He hooked his fingers in the hem and pulled them down. “You need to work on your vocabulary, baby.” He loved using that pet name on her and he loved even more when it made her smile.

“It’s not my fault I’m not a—fuck—literature major,” she replied, cursing when his tongue licked a circle on her folds. “H, please, Jesus.”

Harry peeked up at her and sucked harshly on her clit, a sharp squeal reverberating in his ears. “Not Jesus,” he teased, rubbing circles on her clit as he nosed at her skin, “just me.”

Nora snorted, but when Harry dipped his finger inside of her, it quickly changed to a gutteral cry that only rose as he found an even rhythm of his finger sliding in and out of her, his tongue licking cirlces on her clit at an even beat. It was like music to him, the most perfect symphony of sound. Her fingers wound into his curls and when he curled his finger inside of her she tugged on his locks, a groan leaving his lips and falling on her skin, drawing a gasp from her. It was give and take and give and take and it was Harry’s favorite game.

“H,” she said, tugging at his head, “need you.” She groaned as he sucked on her clit again, Harry ignoring her words. He had missed the taste of her on his tongue and he wasn’t about to give it up. “Please,” she cried, “I’m too sensitive, I want you.”

“What do you want?” He asked, adding another finger just to torture her for a little bit longer. He lived for her little whines and moans, he decided, the way her eyes fluttered shut and then open, desperately trying to keep him in view. “Use your words, princess.”

“Your dick,” she said, not even wasting a second. “Deep. Please. Please, H.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, drawing his fingers from her, storing the groan that left her deep inside of him to remember for later. Harry wasted no time in pulling at his boxers, tugging them off and dropping them to the floor. She bent at the waist, sitting up and pulling his glasses from his face—he wasn’t sure how they had survived his assault on her skin—and tugging open the drawer in his bedside table, searching around for a condom.

“You’re out,” she said, turning to look at him with a surprised look on her face.

Harry let out a string of curses and clambored over to the table to look inside. She was right though—the brothers must have stolen them in the weeks since he’d last seen her. He’d been low before then, but he hadn’t had any reason to restock. “I—I didn’t need to restock,” he said, looking at her, trying to gauge her reaction.

Nora wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him back down against her, his body resting on top of hers, his dick pressed against her skin. “You haven’t been with anyone else?”

He shook his head. “You…and him?”

She nodded slowly and Harry tried to ignore the part of him that hurt. She was with him now. In his bed, with him, no intention of leaving. “It wasn’t as good,” she whispered, runing her fingers across his jaw. “He didn’t know me like you do.”

That sure as hell made him feel better.

“And we always used a condom,” she continued. “So I’m clean.”

His eyes widened at her meaning. Bare? With her?

Harry thought he might cum from the thought itself. “Me too.”

Her voice was small when she asked him, “Is that okay with you?”

Harry took her face in his hands and kissed her nose, begging her to see how much he cared for her, wanted her in every which way. “Baby, that sounds like fucking heaven.”

She smiled, her lips crinkling at the edges, and Harry kissed a line across the freckles that danced on her cheeks. “I want to know what you feel like,” she said, testing the words, “bare. Inside me.”

The deep growl that left Harry was one he’d never heard before, but it perfectly encapsulated how he felt at hearing her speak like that. “You…are magnificent,” he told her and then he leaned his body up, just enough so that he could reach down. Her fingers drew circles on his arms as he pumped his dick once, twice, a hiss between his teeth filling the silence around them. When he brushed his tip against her folds, they both moaned and Harry recaptured her lips, wanting to feel her moan against his mouth. He wanted to not miss one single sound that left her when he pressed into her.

And when he did it was like remembering how to speak.

Nora’s hands grabbed at the skin at his shoulderblades, begging for purchase—something to grip as he pulled back and then in again. The feeling of being bare inside of her, of feeling the velvet of her walls and the way she gripped him when she clenched without meaning to, Harry decided this was better than any high. “Faster,” she mumbled against his chin, but Harry shook his head. He wanted her slow, he wanted to feel her.

“Want this to last,” he whispered, words threatening to expose his deepest fears.

But she knew immediately, her hands cupped his chin as he thrusted deep inside of her and she said, “I’ll be here in the morning. And every day after. Okay?” She kissed his nose, then his eyelids when his eyes shuttered closed at the grip she had on his heart. “We have all the time in the world.”

Harry gathered her in his arms, wanting to be as close to her as humanly possible, and drove himself as deep as he could. Her legs hooked around his waist, begging him deeper, the neverending stream of moans spurring him on. But he tried to hold back, wanting to enjoy every second of this. Because she—she was heaven and Harry didn’t want to leave.

“I know you want slow,” she said, digging her fingers into his skin, “but I need slightly faster. Please, H. Please.”

That was all he needed. He would have slower later. He wanted to please her, he wanted to give her everything she asked for and more. So he leaned her down on her back and lifted her foot to rest on his shoulder, earning him a deeper angle and drawing a gutteral moan from her chest as he slammed into her. Their hips met over and over again, the only sounds the sound of skin on skin and the moans and breaths that left them both. Harry drove deeper and deeper, wanting to find every inch of her and when he hit a spongy spot she keened, back arching up into him, her breasts bouncing up and down in a way that begged to be touched.

So he did, never wanting to let her be without his touch. “You’re perfection,” he mumbled against her skin as he licked patterns on her skin, kneading into the other breast as he drove his dick deeper inside of her, hitting the spot repeatedly. “Utter perfection. Goin’ to tell you all the time, yeah? Never want you to forget it. How perfect you are. Nora. Nora, fuck, you feel so good,” he said, words a mess in his brain. He didn’t even know what he was saying but from the way she gasped and clenched around him, he knew she liked it so she kept going. He told her that she was all he thought of, of how he’d tugged himself off in the shower to the thought of her, how he could barely stand to sit next to her in class knowing he couldn’t have her. How she ruled his every thought and dream.

“I’m about to come,” she said, arms hooking around his shoulder so he could press closer to her, “you?”

He nodded, hair sweaty against her shoulder where his face rested. Her legs had fallen back to the bed and they were impossibly close. Harry didn’t know two people could be this close, but with Nora it didn’t feel like enough. He wanted to be inside of her skin somehow. To see every nook and cranny of her. He dug his knees into the bed and kept up the pace, hands kneading every inch of her skin, words whispered in her ear for only her to hear, and she did the same. She told him how much she cared for him, how she missed him every moment of the day, how being with him was a new kind of solace. Her fingers drew lines down his back that he decided he would treasure for the rest of time.

Suddenly, her walls fluttered around him and then clamped down and Harry knew she was coming. Her back arched her hands scrabbled for purchase on his skin, his name leaving her mouth in an echo, a prayer, a desperate desire for salvation. Harry could feel himself falling after her and he slammed into her once, twice, and again, and then he fell, holding her still against him as he came, her name whispered in her hair.

She held him against her, arms a cage around him and Harry didn’t want to move. He didn’t have muscles left, he didn’t think.

“H,” she said, kissing his shoulder, “I should pee so we can sleep.”

“But I want to hold you.”

He could feel her smile against his skin. “After. Promise.”

“Fine.” He rolled to the side and she kissed his nose once before pulling on her sweatshirt and his boxers, padding over the door to go pee. Harry’s eyes fell to the sheets which they had claimed as their own and he smiled. He had missed her—everything about her, but this was how they had started in so many ways. This was where they learned each other, memorized one another.

The door opened and she was back, a smile on her face, a flush on her cheeks. It was quiet downstairs—the party must have ended while she’d been here, he realized. “C’mere,” he said, arms outstretched.

She answered by stripping off her clothes and falling back into him. Her chest pressed against his, legs intertwined, and they lay there. “Missed you,” she said softly. “A lot.”

“Me too.”

There was a pregnant pause before she asked him, “H?”

“Mhmm?”

“Can you…” She trailed off and Harry swiped at her hair, pushing it back so he could kiss her neck.

“What is it?”

“S’awkward,” she said and Harry chuckled.

“We just had sex, baby, you can’t say anything that’ll be awkward.”

She ducked her head so her chin rested on his arm which was wrapped around her. “Can you put it back inside me? Miss the feeling.”

He stilled. Fuck, he thought, where did she come from? “Course, love.” He lifted her leg slightly so he could fit there, and then tugged at his cock a few times before pushing gently inside of her. “Still wet,” he choked out. “How?”

“Always want you,” is what she replied and Harry keened.

He pressed kisses to the back of her head and tugged her closer into his body. “Sleep now, huh?”

“Love you,” she breathed out and Harry’s blood stopped in his veins. It was so sudden, but at the same time, so right. The words were what he needed to hear always, he realized. The ones he had been missing.

“Love you,” he answered and closed his eyes against her hair, thankful that she’d be there in the morning so he could say it again.

Waking up next to Harry, shirtless and holding her close, was a dream in of itself.

Nora blinked her eyes sleepily, adjusting to the sun streaming in his windows. He had these soft grey curtains that didn’t do much except hold off the harshest parts of the sun, so whenever she slept over she usually woke up fairly early. Not that she minded too much—it meant she got to watch Harry as he slept, which he hated her doing when he was awake. He always got twitchy under her gaze and ended up distracting her, usually with his lips.

She rolled slowly in his arms so that she could look at his face. His brown curls were smashed against the pillow, long eyelashes framing his cheeks with an impossibly sharp cut to themm. His nose—Nora had always loved his nose—and his perfectly soft lips. Nora reached out a hand and brushed her fingers across his jaw and Harry’s eyes fluttered, but didn’t open. Nora decided that was a good sign, and continued to trace the outlines of his features. She’d missed looking at him studying him, just being with him. She didn’t realize it until she was gone, how much she ached to be with him. And now that she was here, she wasn’t going anywhere. She pressed her lips to the column of his neck, right above his adam’s apple, before gently pulling his arms away from her waist. He was pliant under her touch, adapting quickly to her absence, which she tried not to think about too deeply.

A collection of paper had caught her eye. It sat in the opposite corner of his room, shoved up next to his guitar. It was the one he still had on loan from the guitar shop downtown. He’d taken Nora there once, wanting her to see guitars and understand them like he did. She tried to, but her favorite part was watching him appreciate them—that was enough for her. She slipped on his tshirt that was closest to her and her underwear and made her way over to the stack. Maybe it was snooping, but the truth was that Harry didn’t share this side of him with her all that often. She’d tried to get him to sing for her, but he had refused time and time again. Nora tucked her legs in and sat down on the floor, grabbing the stack to investigate further. The first couple papers were scribblings—words and letters—chords, she realized, Harry had shown them to her. Some chord diagrams too. But when she got fifth page, it was different. Full lines. Chords matched up with it, his handwriting crossing out things and changing them. It was lyrics, she realized. A song.

She looked up at Harry, still curled up in bed, the sunlight hitting his face perfectly, and wondered if this was too much of an intrusion. But when she glanced down at the pages, she couldn’t resist. She wanted to know his brain, that was all. She wanted to know what he thought about and how. And so she read.

Don't you call him "baby" / We're not talking lately / Don't you call him what you used to call me

I, I confess / I can tell that you are at your best / I’m selfish so I'm hating it

I notice that / There's a piece of you in how I dress / Take it as a compliment

Don't you call him "baby" / We're not talking lately / Don't you call him what you used to call me

I, I just miss / I just miss your accent and your friends / Did you know I still talk to them?

Does he take you walking 'round his parents' gallery?

Don't you call him "baby" / We're not talking lately / Don't you call him what you used to call me

She couldn’t help the tears that fell from her eyes because the lyrics were about her. About them. About when she ended things and started seeing Leo. About her calling him “baby” over the phone when he was being annoying, about him seeing her with Leo and the pained look on the face, about the graphic t-shirts that he’d bought that resembled her own. About her accent when she spoke in French that he always loved, how Maddy told her that Harry still would stop and talk to her in the quad. Leo’s parents owned a gallery a few towns over and he’d taken her there on a date, and she’d mentioned it in class one day. “Don't you call him what you used to call me” hit her the hardest, because she never could. The nicknames that she gave Harry, baby especially, they were all just for him. Leo would give her pet names and she could never do the same. The words came easily with Harry, but for Leo, they would’ve been forced and even she couldn’t do that.

When she left Harry it had caused him so much pain—pain she didn’t even stop to consider. It was a snap decision, Leo, and when she thought about him she thought only of herself. How it would be easier for her to leave Harry, to stop what they were doing, to shove her feelings to the side, ignore them. But she had forgotten that she wasn’t the only person in whatever relationship they had. And she had hurt him, despite that being the utter last thing she wanted to do. She had wanted to save him from the trainwreck that she was, from her inability to care for people in the deep way that Harry did for her. But she had surprised herself, because what she had said to Harry last night after they’d had sex, right before they went to sleep, it was true. She did love him. She loved him with every bone in her body, every hesitant, dubious part of her soul.

She was his, even though it scared her.

“Cherry?”

She looked up at the nickname, one he hadn’t called her in a while. He was sitting upright in bed, looking at her on the ground with his papers in her hand. “I was curious, I read them. I’m sorry if they were private, I just—I wanted to understand.”

Harry shook his head at her, giving her a warm smile that immediately put her at ease. “It’s fine, love. What do you think?”

Nora looked back at the paper she was holding and then up at him. “Is this one about me?”

Harry’s eyes widen and she can see the panic on his face. He must not have known this one was in the pile or that she’d read it. “Fuck. Um, yeah—I’m sorry, I just…I needed to process, you know? And then I wrote it, I’m so sorry, it’s so personal, I—“

“H, stop.” She got up, feet padding on the rugs on his floor over to his bed. She laid the paper on the duvet and crawled over to him, throwing her legs over his so she could sit comfortably at his waist. “Don’t apologize, yeah? It’s okay. You have every right to write all about me, about how I make you feel, about your pain. It’s not mine just because I cause it, it’s yours because you feel it.”

Harry’s eyes searched hers, trying to discern if the words were honest. But he would find no hint of a lie, because Nora wasn’t mad. She was angry at herself for being so blind to how her actions had made him feel. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, curling a finger in his hair. “I’m sorry for hurting you,” she said, and shushed him when he tried to speak. “I didn’t think about how I was going to hurt you, I was thinking about how to protect myself. I tricked mmyself into thinking that somehow by distancing myself from you I was protecting me and you, and in the end I just hurt us both. So I’m the one who gets to be sorry here, ‘kay?”

He brushed circles on her thighs, chin dipped to think about her words. “It was so hard,” he said softly, words quiet in the silent house. No one else was up yet, it was just them, wrapped in their own world. “Seeing you with him. Knowing what you were doing with him and not with me. Having to see you all the time—it was like my own specialized torture.”

“Never again,” she said, pressing a kiss to his browbone. “I promise. I’ll tell you what I’m feeling, what I’m thinking. No secrets.”

Harry wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her body in close, and rested his head right between her breasts. It felt so intimate in a completely different way than anything they’d done before. This felt vulnerable in that way where your heart is completely bared open, ready and willing to be taken from you. “Love you,” he said, words muffled in his t-shirt that she still wore. “No secrets.”

Nora kissed the top of his head and rested her cheek against his soft curls. “I love you too, H.”

They sat there on his bed, their body curled up against one another like two commas, perfectly aligned. Meant to be, as long as there were no letters separating them. And for now, it was just them, the two commas, in a sentence all of their own.

——————————————————————————————-

YEEEE SHE’S DONE!!!!! this took so long to get my shit together to write--I had like half written and just couldn’t figure out how to finish. there were supposed to be four parts, but I ended up just rolling it all together in this one. I’m planning to do an extra (#italy!harry anyone!?!?!?!!) and lmk if you have any requests for Nora + Harry. love u all to pieces!

ask me about fratboy!harry here | masterlist here | fratboy!harry tag

PART ONE | PART TWO

#Harry Styles #Harry Styles Fan Fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #college #college au #harry styles college #college harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles drabble #fratboy harry #fratboy!harry #fratboy harry style #harry smut

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fallout-drabbles-n-stuff · 4 years

Text

Male Companions React To Their Baby/Babies Not Wanting Them To Leave.

Danse:

“I wish I could stay too, but..for now I trust that you won’t give your brother too hard of a time, right?”

He’d feel absolutely terrible. Having to bend down to peel his little one off his leg they attached themselves to, instead holding them up eye level with him.

Oddly enough, your child seemed to be calmed down when Danse spoke to them. They had all the faith in the world in their dad, even if he still left..they knew he’d be back soon....and usually with some neat artifact that him and their mom/dad banter about how “historic” it was.

However if they ever muster up the courage to let some tears slip? Danse would be beside himself trying to figure out a way not to fail you and derail the mission while also trying to make them stop crying.

Deacon:

“Hey kiddo, chin up. Daddy isn’t going to be gone for long. Look, as soon as I get back we can play hide-and-seek or anything you want, you name it.”

He internally was screaming when his kid stopped him by the door, little tears making their eyes glassy as they looked up at him with a quivering lip.

He wouldn’t allow himself to linger for long, knowing that he’d give in if he didn’t leave soon. However true to his word, he’d make sure to play to their heart’s content when he got back.

Gage:

“Quit that crying nonsense and hurry up. I ain’t going nowhere without ya, kiddo.”

As tough as he wished he would’ve been, he crumbled at the first sign of them crying. If there was one thing to get him to break, it was definitely that.

As such, regardless of just where the hell his daily misadventures took him- there would be his own little “mini me” piddling around. So long as they stay in his eyesight, he’s alright.

Hancock:

“Okay little buddy, you win this round. Let’s go say hi to Aunt Daisy..”

It didn’t take him long at all to crumble. All your babe had to do was grab his coat sleeve, looking up with their best “puppy-dog eyes” as they begged their father not to leave.

Knowing he still had to tend to his mayoral duties, he sighed. Eventually he’d just come to outstanding conclusion to be a major pushover and let them just tag along. Hell, he even let them wear his hat.

It was “training” them. At least that’s what he told himself to not face the fact that a little kid completely runs him. His little kid.

Macready:

“Fine, fine! I’ll stay, just please don’t tell your mom/dad that it’s you guys that made me...”

He has it the worst.

Imagine having to say, “No, I got to go this time” to one child. Okay, now imagine having to say it to three. Between Duncan, Shaun and any other children you may have, there will always be some reason why dad just has to stay home. So, unless it’s something absolutely dire, Mac is forever a stay at home father.

Maxson:

“Well...Dada is going to be really busy today but, how about the both of you tag along?”

His automatic reaction would be to lovingly scold his child, telling them that “daddy had very important things to deal with”. However it dawned on him..was that what his own father said when he was a babe? Was something similar the last words spoken by a man that he couldn’t even remember looked like?

So stopping himself before he said anything he’d regret, he looked down at the little dark haired babies tugging at each side of his battle coat, tears beginning to well in their eyes.

That’s it.

No matter what he was going out to do that day, the officers could expect two baby Maxsons at their father’s side. Imagine your surprise when you boarded the Prydwen with blood all over you and being greeted with your little ones’ hugging each leg of your power armor.

Nick:

“I’m sorry hon, this case is too dangerous to take you along..but uh, how about we go get some power noodles when we get back? Sound good?”

If he knew it would’ve been this hard to work, he might’ve reconsidered having children. Well, not really. Things were just so much easier when he didn’t feel like a traitor for leaving to work a case.

That was exactly what happened when his baby, his precious baby, stopped him in his tracks, asking just where he was going without them. With a whole lot of hesitance, he’d explain just why he couldn’t let them come along this time- hating everyone second of it as he saw the heartbreak in their eyes.

He’d make it right though. Even if it meant going to the ends of the earth while he was still out just to get that one particular flavor of nuka-cola they loved.

Old Longfellow:

“Sheesh, kiddo...I gotta...darn, alright come on. But, don’t tell your ma/pa......I’m getting to old for this.”

Naturally he’s always been the type to get into, if not incite trouble, so why would his child be any different? They weren’t.

As soon as they overheard him saying something about going to take a fishing trip out in the “storm-banks” they just knew they had to go with. Plus, they didn’t want their da leaving them for that long anyways.

So, they’d make sure to grab their ma/da’s helmet and meet him at the door, giving him a stern look and stating just what they wanted. How could he say no? Besides, he knew the waters well enough.

Preston:

“I’m sorry baby girl/boy, but some good people need papa and mama/dada’s help. I promise you I’ll be back soon.”

He’d be honest with them, trying to fight through the tug of his heartstrings when they gave him those “puppy dog eyes.” The sooner they understood, the better after all. So, he’d explain just why him and mama/dada were leaving and why it was important that they be good for “Grandma Murphy”.

Sturges:

“Aw..don’t do that sweetheart, you’re breaking my heart.”

He feels so bad. Being a first time parent leaves room for all kinds of new learning experiences...so far what Sturges learned is that this whole parenting thing is hard.

That was a no-brainer.

One morning his child saw him strap on his overalls, quick to retrieve his toolbox. They connected the dots. As quick as their little legs could take them, they literally blocked off the door and sat down in protest.

It hurt a lot but he eventually had to convince them that he had to go..leaving them more upset than sad. He’ll make it up to them though, having a brand new toy made especially for them.

X6-88:

“These measures you go to are..ruthless.”

Your child would go as far as to stealing his boots and ammunition, refusing to tell him where they put it until he promises to stay just a little while longer. So, X6 is more impressed than he is agitated.

His child learns quickly. How quaint.

Regardless, X6 would still feel a twinge or guilt when he finally leaves. Finding himself unable to think about anything other than reuniting with his little baby, which often leads him to not enjoying this whole “thrill of the hunt” thing as much as he used to.

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 108

And we are somewhat caught up! My queue has run out at least, and I’m astoundingly glad it has, because now I get to thank a bunch of people who have just detonated my inbox with love, and kept me going.

Before I get into the gratitude: If, at any point, a comment a character makes does not make sense, please let me know. Send an ask, even on anon, because I am well aware that everything in my brain does not get a chance to make it in the story (example: Charly’s triangle comment here, and the fact that Noah’s dialogue in the beginning has an actual translation…)

First, shoutouts to @charlylimph-blog, @baelpenrose, and @quantumizedinsanity for the characters in this chapter and for being very, VERY dear friends to me. A global pandemic and nationwide protests, along with a job change and a major move, have done nothing to hurt friendships that are already cross-country from each other.

Annnnd to everyone who has been blowing up my notes with likes and reblogs: @dierotenixe(hang in there! i PROMISE!), @iamverypotato,@itscryptifssil, @steadynightninja, @thepalemarcher, @feral-possums-in-the-bog, @26fancyraptors(MISSED YOU!), @werewolf2578 (we don’t talk enough, how are you!?), @experimentalspades, @odd-dream-worlds, @duchess-katala03, @pineapplewitchboi, @dark-choclat-cupcake, @littleshydragon, and all the others.

I held my breath, bracing for what I knew was coming. Nothing came after several minutes, to my surprise. I slowly lifted my head and opened my eyes, focusing on drawing deep, even breaths. Maybe he got bored and wandered off. Maybe he had mercy on me….

Yeah. And maybe Grey is making genetically modified fish that fly.

Slowly, carefully, I grabbed my fork and lifted a bite of pie to my mouth. A glance at Charly showed a serious expression, nothing given away. Damnit. I knew she could see Arthur behind me, I was hoping for a telltale giggle, or a warning glance, something. Right when a traitorous voice of reason spoke up belatedly to point out that Charly was never serious…

“You really will adopt anyone, won’t you?” Arthur asked as he came around to take the chair Jokul had just vacated.

Fuuuuuck…. Busted. “I didn’t adopt him!” I tried to argue. “I actually made a very concerted effort to avoid that!”

Unceremoniously, he snagged Charly’s pot pie, only to have his hand held at fork-point until he let go. Without even acknowledging the lunch-standoff, he leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. “You tried to ‘avoid’ it by foisting him off on Zach Khan, your… nephew, thing, and his girlfriend. Still adoption-adjacent.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to interact with him.”

“Uh huh. And how will you explain to poor Hannah that dear Ivan’s partner isn’t invited to Insert Winter Holiday dinner, hmmm?”

“I hate you.”

“Lies and deceit,” he rebutted calmly. “You adopted me first. Before anyyyyone on this ship. I daresay you’re quite fond of me.”

I scowled at him, shoving my remaining lunch in his direction. “Here, before you start poaching this direction.”

An eyebrow arched in the general direction of my fish pie. “That looks suspiciously like dairy. You wound me.” Grabbing my fork, he poked at the lumps of meat. “I would have thought you would be at least a little subtle in any assassination attempts. Have I taught you nothing?”

“Of course you taught me something,” I cooed, jokingly, while I patted his arm. “The fastest way to a man’s heart is six inches of steel through the ribs, slight upward angle. Cyanide smells like bitter almonds, so always use shortbread cookies to administer it. Three pounds of pressure will tear off a human ear, and even a three year old can bite through fingers,” I recited. “Also, the pie is dairy-free, surprisingly. The ‘cream’ is silken tofu and aquafaba, turns out.”

Charly was choking with laughter, while Arthur finally smiled at me. “See, I told you that you love me,” he gloated before scooping up a scallop and some crust. As soon as he started chewing, his expression changed from one of amusement to something strikingly similar to Mac when I flick water in his face.

“Scallops,” I explained. “I had the same reaction.”

“Heathens,” he managed around the mouthful. After he swallowed it, he gave the dish a considering look. “Not bad per se, but… There is no fish in this fish pie. What is aquafaba?”

“Chicpea juice. Usually it’s used as an egg substitute. I guess they used it for consistency here.”

Charly leaned forward, narrowly avoiding landing an elbow in her lunch. “And how can you tell that’s what’s in there?”

Glancing over at his student, Arthur shrugged. “She has a point. This,” he poked at the sauce, “looks like heavy cream.”

“Tastes kind of nutty, though,” I explained. “Anyway, enough about food. What brings you down here?”

“Galactic Core Curriculum,” he explained. “That’s the excuse anyway. Alistair - Cthulu damn his soul - told me you were eating lunch here after fifteen minutes of questioning. Tyche told me Charly was with you, so I figured lunch with you, lunch with one of my favorite students, plus I can kill two errands with one meal.” Charly stared at him like he had lost his mind, but he ignored her. “When I arrived - lo! What to my wondering eyes should appear, than a certain former cult leader harassing said friend and student! What person could resist such a temptation.” Deflating dramatically, he scowled at me. “Imagine my delight to hear you giving him relationship advice,” he intoned flatly.

“I got him to go away,” I pointed out.

“Before I managed even one strike in a highly one-sided battle of wits.“

“Mr. Farro,” Charly cut off, glaring for all she was worth. “Jokull came in peace, he leaves in peace.”

“Oh, he would have left in pieces. His ego anyway.”

“Fucking triangles, I swear,” Charly muttered, attacking her lunch with renewed violence.

“Anyway,” I forged ahead. “Jokul was here for fifteen, twenty minutes. You had your chance.”

He glanced away with a cough. “I… may have been resisting the urge to vomit.”

“Arthur.”

“Relationship advice is… not in my skillset,” he admitted. “Tell you your partner is abusive? Can spot a mile a way. Great for getting people out of bad relationships, with concierge crowbar service if necessary. Not great for saving them.”

“Crowbar? Really?”

“You know, for prying people out of bad situations?” He genuinely looked confused, so I left that one alone.

“For what it’s worth, Jokull wanted to talk to you about what he’s going through right now,” Charly added.

“Why in any galaxy…”

I had to laugh at that one. “Everyone treats him poorly,” I shrugged before giving Arthur a pointed look. “He’s having a rough time right now, feels like he has no one to talk to except Ivan, and thought you would have some insight into that kind of thing.”

“What part of this,” he gestured to himself with a fork, “implies anything remotely close to wanting people to like me and therefore actually knowing how to accomplish that.”

“I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer,” I muttered.

Giving me a hard, thoughtful look, Arthur’s entire demeanor changed. “Ah… On a more serious note, though… yeah. I don’t get why people not liking you is a problem, but you’ve told me before it’s something that bothers you, so it’s feasible it bothers other people. I’ll make a point not to make it worse.”

Clearing my throat, I pushed the conversation on to the next topic. “You mentioned two errands earlier. One for me, one for Charly?”

“Right.” The relief to be changing topics was palpable. “For you, Councillor, Galactic Core is almost finished. Eino is already considering other ongoing-education programs, and you’re going to need to start scouting educators again. That late-twentieth through contemporary Terran history course? Big support-base, turns out.”

“You wouldn’t tell me this without a reason,” I pointed out. “And you’re a History teacher. Volunteering?”

“I want it done right,” he admitted. “The idea being bounced around isn’t for a requirement that everyone take the course. Not at the same time, anyway. History-focused educators only, approved curriculum.”

“Approved?” I asked. “By whom?”

“A committee,” he shrugged. “Eino, obviously. Xiomara, with her background - which, by the way, is ridiculous - “

“We know, we know,” Charly and I groaned.

After glancing between us for a moment, Arthur continued. “And me.”

“Why you?” I asked. “No offense, just trying to understand.”

“No offense taken, I’ll explain that part later, but I promise it’s for a legitimate reason. The point is, Eino and his committee approve the curriculum and number of slots. You and Tyche make the decisions for who is allotted where.”

“Fair point,” I conceded.

“Fine. The area of history I focused on for my Master’s degree has an important component that ties a lot together and makes revisionism harder - wait. What?” I could almost hear the gears squealing as they ground to a halt. “Did you just say yes?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“That was… disturbingly easy,” he gave me a skeptical look. When all I did was grin, he slowly turned to Charly. “As for you, I wanted to talk to you about the assignment that’s due next Friday.”

“I already turned it in,” she pointed out.

“Which is what I wanted to talk to you about. It’s a week and a half early.”

“Right….” she nodded slowly. “And I made sure it met all the criteria on the syllabus. Plus I had three different people proofread it.”

“All of which is admirable, and it would be considered a very well-done assignment,” he admitted. “If you didn’t have an extra week and a half left to make it even better.”

“Mr. Farro….”

“You aren’t in trouble, in any way shape or form,” he reassured her. “But I know you are capable of doing better than the assignment you already gave me. I wanted to offer you a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” Charly asked suspiciously. “This isn’t illegal, is it?”

“What? No…” he sputtered. “Illegal!?”

“Gotta be sure,” she nodded sincerely. I was reasonably certain she was giving him a hard time, but it was still hilarious to watch.

Shaking his head, Arthur did his best to recover. “The deal is this: if you stick with the assignment you already sent me, I’ll grade it as it stands. But. If you re-do it and hand it in on the original due date, you’ll be eligible for extra credit for your extra effort.”

“But I still get the grade on the one you already have, either way?” she asked skeptically.

“I’ve already graded it, and you won’t get a worse grade if you re-do it,” he promised.

“I’ll think about it,” she hedged carefully. “That paper was a lot of work.”

“That’s fair,” he nodded. “What if you sent me an audio recording, instead? No extra writing.”

“I can do that,” she agreed, sticking out her hand. After Arthur shook it, she glanced at the time. “Shit. I gotta go. Sophia, don’t be late back to work, okay? Tyche won’t care, but Alistair may stop letting me have extra marshmallows in my cocoa when I come by your office.”

After she left, I gave Arthur a very serious look. He tried to ignore it, but after about five solid minutes of The Squint, he caved. “For the love of… She’s smart, okay? You know, I know it. The paper she handed in a week and a half early was much more insightful than anyone else in the class. They were assigned a research paper on the underlying causes of the breakdown in relations between the Ekomari and Shalt-kri’i. Everyone focused on political ideologies, trade resources, navigational route control. Standard causes for war, from a Terran perspective. Do you know what Charly Harper wrote her paper about?”

“Food?” I asked, going out on a limb.

“So close! Cultural differences, plain and simple. Ekomari are vaguely mammalian, and their diet consists of native arthropods. Guess what Shalt-kri’i look like?”

“You’re kidding me…”

“Not even slightly. And! To add insult to injury, in a very close to literal sense, Shalt-kri’i greet each other as friends by spreading their appendages, a lot like a hug. Whereas Ekomari show aggression by… standing up on their hindmost appendages and spreading the rest to look bigger.”

“And no one caught this before?”

“Not on the Ark, no.” He spread his arms wide. “No one even considered it. Sure, the rest are good points, and they did make everything worse, more than likely, but the start? She nailed it.”

“Then why have her re-write the assignment?” I was honestly confused at this point.

“The way she wrote it, I could tell she wasn’t confident about the answer at all.” He looked about as frustrated as I had ever seen him. “You get her talking about engineering, or pranks, she knows she knows what she is talking about. I want her to know that she is just as right about this as she was about that.”

Hard to believe that this was the same man whose office I had marched into, out for a pound of flesh and the blood besides, because the same woman we were discussing left his class in tears and begged me not to make her go back. However…

“Honestly?” I ventured. “I want to hear this recording when she hands it in. I’m really curious about this.”

“You think she’ll write it?”

“Pfft,” I scoffed. “I know she will. You gave her a challenge where she can’t lose, but stands a lot to gain. I just hope you’re ready for that sound file.”

“I honestly can’t wait,” he smirked.

<< Prev Masterlist Next >>

#the miys #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #found family #aspec #science fiction #original science fiction #earth is space australia #humans are space fae #hfy #fiction #original fiction #my writing #apocalypse #aliens #post-apocalypse

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scandeniall · 4 years

Text

late night drives & rnb

pairing” atsumu x reader

summary: just self indulging wishing i was on a late night drive with atsumu to an /early/ 2000s playlist. In drabble form because its 1am (therefore this isn’t edited bc it’s just me thinking out loud)

Late night driving with Atsumu would be so fun. I’m talking y’all got the 2000s rnb playlist going because y’all know he KNOWS the bops. It’s a summer night like 2am y’all just driving to go to get some food because he annoyed you into doing it. Anyways it’s one of the nights you didn’t spend the night so he pulls up to your place and literally as soon as you step outside you hear his ass blasting We Belong Together. Like his eyes are closed and his ass is just singing poorly until you get to the car. When you get in he points and dramatically sings at you like a loser. You HAVE to do the backing vocals. Mini concert to “I’m feeling all out of my element. Throwing things, crying, tryna figure out where the hell I wrong”. He doesn’t even greet you once you’re all bucked and he’s done he just kinda takes off down the road.

The end of the song he like pauses his phone and is all “what’s up babe.” The type to scroll his playlist while driving his eyes going back and between the phone and the road. (Sir please not tryna die). Anyways you know how this type of music just makes you soft. So he plays Yo (Excuse Me Miss) and is sweet. The time of night and the type of music as a late night car ride just hits different. He /poorly/ sings and dedicated the song to you. “Should i talk about her smile”, rubs his hand all on your cheek without taking his eyes off the road. At the part where it’s like ‘grab hold of my hand” he grabs your hand and like wave dances it. After that song y’all just kinda vibe in silence while driving and it’s so peaceful. You’re both unintentionally matching in a T-shirt and sweats and the way the streetlights occasionally flicker makes him cute. He just drums his fingers on your thigh as y’all pull into the McDonalds drive thru. “What do ya want” His ass gets a whole meal and I know them workers are SICK. Who wants a Big Mac extra mac sauce, large fry, and 2 apple pies and a ✨sprite✨ at this time. (But it’s his chest weekend so he’ll be damnned if he don’t answer to them cravings he’s had all week). Just get you’re lil mcchicken and Apple pies and vibe. You can eat his fries he’ll be alright. While y’all in the drive thru ‘Like You’ comes on and you know y’all gotta go off. The drivers like either like: they’re so cute goals or i wish these mfs would shut up as y’all are obnoxiously “iainteverhadnobodyshowmeallthethingsyoushowedme LIKE YOUU”. Good mood atsumu is a party and that’s what y’all having with yourselves.

When a more upbeat song like Throw it in the Bag comes in he’s the type to you know point and just move his arm up and down to the beat.

Love by keyshia Cole come on this dummy act like he’s in a music video because thats his SONG. Does the keyboard thing in everything. Man will rest his head on the steering wheel “Im gettin’ in character babe” tryna get fake emotional. He goes on on the chorus and is the type to think he really has some vocals. Does all the runs and whew your poor ears. “I think I could be a singer” yeah ok who gone tell him (you do). Anyways record that shit for blackmail (it don’t matter thought because just play the song on a different day. Nothing new same old shit with him. Song just never gets old)

Bonus: *21 questions playing* while y’all are just parked vibing.

Atsumu: babe would ya still love me if I didnt olay volleyball

You: hell no. The pro player money? Worth it. (make his pockets hurt am i right)

Atsumu: 👁👄👁 alright ima head out

You gotta grab at his arm and he like “just kidding loser” and he lowkey pretends to be mad even while you’re kissing all on the side of his neck but he wants to smile.

a/n: yall i dont even eat red meet so i gotta do the mcchicken. I also havent had mcdonalds in months idk how longs its been but im craving their apple pie pls maybe i can get my “date” to get me one tmw

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #atsumu imagines #hq imagines #ri is craving this pls someone date me seriously

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margridarnauds · 3 years

Text

@hotelfguurl

See, I totally haven’t considered this in any detail while procrastinating on my Old Irish homework, listening to High School Musical.

And I’m going to apologize in advance because I know it doesn’t feature your favorite ship, but also....when I toyed with it in my head, this is what it came out to.

So. Our setup.

Now, first of all, we’ll have to drop the usual expected heroic figure for this particular AU. CMT, as a narrative, is all about societal order and conformity, while HSM, as a narrative, is all about individualism. Therefore....

Bres mac Elathan, a bit of a delinquent teen with a penchant for drama (and four older brothers) is dragged by his eldest brother, the Dagda (a bit of a local legend - He runs a sort of local arcade/movie theatre/bowling alley and regularly offers a ton of cheap deals to the local kids) to a New Year’s Eve party against his will. Initially intending to brood in a corner until it was over and he could collapse dramatically on the couch at home, he inadvertantly runs into.....

Sreng mac Sengainn, who has been deposited here by his cousin and guardian, Eochaid, who is hosting the adult’s party above. He was orphaned about ten years back, when he was ~7, and things have been chaotic since then, with the family constantly moving around the country. He’s a naturally gifted athlete, with a ton of awards behind him and quite a few newspaper articles, but, generally speaking, he very much feels like that’s ALL people care about him for. They look at him and they see a tall guy with a ton of muscle who looks about 5 years older than he is.

The two boys bond over a shared desire to not be there, with Bres miming as a nature commentator at the other guests, causing Sreng to actually come out of his shell for a little bit to laugh, something he hasn’t done since his parents died.

But then, they’re randomly selected to sing together (hey, singing....acting as ambassadors for their respective tribes during some tense negotiations....what’s the difference?) and, as the song goes on, the two of them gradually lose their inhibitions.

BUT before they can exchange their numbers, the Dagda shows up to pick up Bres (their father had heard that he’d taken Bres to a party and was. Displeased) and Eochaid arrives to pick up Sreng.

Then, surprise, surprise, surprise, it turns out that Sreng is the new kid that the entire school’s been obsessed with, the one with a ton of sports awards behind him. (He slammed them last year in the basketball tournament - Literally anyone else would have recognized Sreng as The Enemy, but Bres, who doesn’t give a single fuck about sports, just......didn’t notice.)

The two of them accidentally audition for the spring musical together and, for the first time in Bres’ life, something feels...normal. He never entirely fit in with his brainiac brothers, with a big part of why he’s the Way he is being that he was constantly compared to Ogma and decided that, well, if he was always going to come up short, he might as well not bother. He never fit in with the Dagda, who always wanted him to be more of a man’s man (and who had the bad habit of, like, leaving Bres in bars unsupervised as a teenager while he went off to get some tail. The number of TIMES Bres had to walk home....) He never fit in with Elatha, who wanted him to “get ahold of himself” and become the sort of kid who he can pass his multi-million fishing business off to. But, when he’s singing, when he’s in theatre, he’s in his element.

That and. Really. He thinks Sreng’s hot. And he’s cute when he’s flustered.

But, there’s trouble that comes in the form of Lugh mac Ethnenn, who ALWAYS gets the leading roles and has since he and Bres were in 5th grade (in which Lugh unseated Bres from his prized role as the titular character in The Toothpaste Millionaire, causing a longstanding feud).

Lugh is, as well as being the go-to lead for any musicals, also head of the Student Council, Debate Team, Mathematics Team, School Newspaper, School Yearbook, Chess Club (which he’s actually FREAKISHLY good at), DnD Team, Scholar Bowl, and Book Club. No one knows how he has the time to juggle all of his extra-curricular stuff on top of maintaining a perfect 4.0 average (he’s also predicted, by a long shot, to be the Valedictorian when they graduate), but he is freakishly determined and motivated, with a strong competitive streak.

Will losing the lead role REALLY impact him, given he has around 50 other things to do? No. But it’s the PRINCIPLE of the thing.

And, worse than that: All around the school, disorder and chaos are reigning: The nerds are hanging with the cheerleaders.

This is not what he wanted.

This is not what he planned.

And he’s just gotta say: He does not understand.

#irish mythology #i can have little a hsm cath maige tuired as a treat #bres mac elathan #sreng mac sengainn

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ilkkawhat · 3 years

Note

All the numbers. (If not all then pick and choose a handful to answer).

lol you’re really going for it anon, huh?? 😂 bless your heart. I’ll do all of them and then idk. if anybody wants to send any again, I’m sure I can have a different answer

(I did just answer 7 & 22 so I’ll leave those out. rest below the cut)

1) is there a story you’re holding off on writing for some reason?

I guess if you count all of my active WIPs that have been sitting dormant for months or years, there’s those since I like. I know what I’m doing in pretty much all of them, just as I know what I’m doing in some of my unpublished WIPs, but I think I just need to be in a certain mood/energy to do certain ones (ie, Agony esp is a very heavy fic so I gotta be able to Deal with that)

2) what work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?

I deleted those 😂😂😂 but some of my reeeeeealllllly old stuff is still out there and I cringe thinking about that and though I could easily delete those too, I’m keeping them just since the harddrive that has the docs for it is corrupted lol

3) what order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

Just all over the place these days tbh. Even chapter to chapter it’ll change, I’ll write snippets in future chapters--and I’m talking like three or four chapters ahead--just to get it out there. But then there’s other days where I’ll sit and just write and not stop.

4) favorite character you’ve written

Nick Stokes, of course 💜💜💜

5) character you were most surprised to end up writing

Any of the Macgyver characters outside of Jack. Cause though I’ll claim not to all the time, I do know that I know the CSI characters (though I’m surprised I’m able to write in their POVs outside of Nick.) I grew up with them. I have a bond with them. The mac characters? I’ve only known for like. two years now and not even that well anymore since I’ve stopped watching the show.

6) something you would go back and change in your writing that it’s too late/complicated to change now

Expanding on details. Almost every fic I write, I’ll read it again later and be like “ah shit I should have run with this idea...” but I guess that’s how I can do a sequel/missing scene

8) favorite genre to write

hurt/comfort (emphasis on the hurt, really I mean we’re talking like borderline horror)

9) what, if anything, do you do for inspiration?

See I haven’t really honed in on any one particular thing that inspires me to write. It comes out of nowhere, and the following list of things doesn’t like, always work. When I’m listening to a song. When I’m driving in the car. When I’m watching something unrelated to the source material (totes got some inspiring vibes watching Falcon and The Winter Soldier yesterday tbh lmao) When I dream. When I go on a walk. When people send me asks and I just go the fuck off and suddenly ten chapters later I’m writing a fic that they probably didn’t even want (coughSpecimenStokescough)

10) write in silence or with background noise? with people or alone?

I think the last couple times I’ve like, really written it’s been in silence. Definitely alone. Don’t got people to write around, really lmao (unless you count my parents being in other rooms with obnoxiously loud televisions and tablets)

11) what aspect of your writing do you think has most improved since you started writing?

All of it. And I’m sure it’ll keep improving.

12) your weaknesses as an author

Dialogue. I don’t know how people talk 😂

13) your strengths as an author

Detail, description, and I also like to think--emotion? but idk. It’s hard for me to assess my strength tbh

14) do you make playlists for your current wips?

Oh YES! At least for the longer WIPs like Last Breath or Agony. And listen to it on a loop when I’m trying to brainstorm or write if I want to write with music on. I’ve been starting to link the playlists when I’m doing with the fic (which is not many so far)

(I think Hellbound is the only one-shot I made a playlist for that I didn’t share)

15) why did you start writing?

I honestly can’t remember, cause I think I’ve been writing stories (fan fiction or not) ever since I was in middle school?? Maybe even elementary? But I do feel like I had gotten more encouragement for it than drawing from the few people in my life that did actively cheer me on, and there’s just something about writing that is so...fulfilling? Esp since I can’t like. Just manifest the images or make the “movie” in my head, at least I can write them down and hopefully convey what I see/feel in my mind through words.

16) are there any characters who haunt you?

All my neglected OCs lmao. I did and I guess on some level still do want to make an original series.

In a chilling way Veronica also haunts me cause I realize how much of that like, darkness in myself I put in her.

And Nick, well, he’s just always on my mind.

17) if you could give your fledgling author self any advice, what would it be?

Just fucking go for it! Don’t give a shit if anybody will read it or not. Take your time, flesh out those details. Describe what you see, what they see, what they feel.

If you think you’re going too far...you’re not.

keep going

18) were there any works you read that affected you so much that it influenced your writing style? what were they?

I mean any fan fiction I read in the past has probably influenced me on some level. I know that when I came back to CSI in 2018, reading all of kristen999′s nick whump def encouraged me cause I was like “oh...there’s others like me who like to see him hurt!?!?” and I do think that maybe sometimes after I read a fic, I might like. Try to incorporate those styles I see. The way words are described, sentences constructed. Not like, copy of course but I feel like a long time ago my writing wasn’t really idk, novel-like? very short, almost read like a script whereas now, since I’ve seen the way people write their stories (some novel length stories, too), I flesh mine out a lot more.

19) when it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, ect.?

I don’t 😂 Thinking of my bigger projects like Agony, I do just kind make up some of it as I go with a rough outline although sometimes it is a bit more detailed--like First Flight actually has a super detailed outline but I know that once I start writing, something might come up, some twist I didn’t think of before--or even one that somebody suggests to me, but idk I feel like I do have a way of tying everything together regardless? Cause especially with those bigger WIPs I will try to go back and re-read if something seems familiar or if I’ve forgotten a detail, or if I’m planning on diving back into it after a long break from it.

20) do you write in long sit-down sessions or in little spurts?

Depends. I feel more accomplished with the long sit down sessions so I target that, but lately it’s been little spurts with maybe one big dump at the end of the week.

21) what do you think when you read over your older work?

Mostly cringe, but there are times I’m like “holy shit this is really good???”

like I remember recently I re-read Agony and loved it, when I wanted to delete it maybe like. a week before that. I think it honestly depends on my frame of mind, and why I’m going back to read the fic? Cause I’ve had times where I’m like “wait what was this one?” and then I read it and laugh at how bad it is, but then other times where I’m like, “I wanna read that one fic I did...” and then I do and it makes me happy.

But, I will always kinda criticize at the same time--”aw, I could do this better, I could have expanded on this,” etc

23) any obscure life experiences that you feel have helped your writing?

My life is suuuuuuper boring so. not really lmao. One of my earliest CSI fics that actually created what I consider to be my number one OC (she’d be the lead in that original series I mentioned earlier) came out of me sitting and staring into a campfire lmao.

also there was this teacher I had (one of those good IRL supports) that told me a story of something that happened to her (or was it her daughter?) and I turned it into a story (back in my teen days) so. I guess there are somethings.

24) have you ever become an expert on something you previously knew nothing about, in order to better a scene or a story?

Expert? No. But I will do numerous google searches to try and figure some stuff out and get lost in a rabbit hole of “research” for a while and hope that when I do write it, it comes off as I know what I’m doing when really, I do not lol.

25) copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of

haven’t really written much in this past week, and certainly nothing to be proud of, but this line hit me like a ton of bricks for Specimen Stokes and I’m in love with it:

“Because, my dear specimen, I wanted to see if you loved the danger...or if you loved me.”

#mk.fic #mk writes stuff #nonny #mk talks

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getallemeralds · 3 years

Text

Explorers of Arvus: uhhhh / 3.23.21

today's notes are different from usual bc. well. you'll see

LAST TIME ON EXPLORERS OF ARVUS i broke my sleep schedule and am barely existing so this is fine. we went back to camp vengeance an uhhhhhhhhhhhh we are now going to fuck off into the forest to die or prove a very important point

oh god we forgot to level up

[mgd voice] BOOSTING NYX TO MAXIMUM LEVEL

im so fuckin tired. what on earth am i doing. how do i level again

k is not here this time but instead we've got mae+nii bonking their heads together to simulate 2 braincells and so far it is not working. i might just have to like fuckin, drop out n zzz partway thru or somethin. would be fun to see how chaotic michael makes charlie in my absensce

oh wait i can do d&dbeyond i think. how do i work this again. will i ever remember i have shield

what level am i. level 6? pog. oh shit i think i have a new thing

. new spell

. 3 total 3rd level spell slots

. bend luck! i can now screw people over on purpose (and will probably use my sorcery points FINALLY)

michael is leveling charlie up bc my brain is apple sos

ASDXFKLJFH I FEEL CALLED OUT zec rb'd my most recent art of MaX with "all i know about xem is that leo likes xem a lot that's the extent of my knowledge" THANK U FOR SUPPORTIN ME ANYWAY

there will be less blaseball distractions than last time bc blaseball is now on siesta. however i will still have MaX brainrot in the background bc i was drawing xem

wyatt mason my beloved

OKAY I GOTTA MUTE THE TACO STAND FOR THE ENTIRETY OF D&D i cannot and will not get distracted. we can do this. we

nintendo wii

we havent even started yet and im already incoherent

ok i have made a decision and that decision is that i do not have the brainpower to play. however i do have the brianpower to take notes hopefully! so ill just like. vibe. this will be a first

oh man im gonan pick up Blink. charlie is gonna be a fucking menace to herself and others

oh my god its not concentration so charlie may continue teleporting while unconscious. thorne is going to hate this

[charlie gets her soul eaten by a ring] [charlie singing dragonston din tei at halvkWAIT JORB HAS A PRIZE

jorb got a thing! an evil genius thing! figure man. fugrine. figuring. help

GREEN HAS DIAGNOSED ME AS TIGREX MONSTERHUNTER i love this

my notes are a disaster. this is so sucks

serotonin is stored in the wiggly zoomy jorb camera

jorb: his pinky is the size of the rest of his fingers

leo: he has a disease

jorb: he has a disease.

jorb: that disease is male pattern baldness

leo: [reduced to tearful giggling for mysterious reasons]

LAST TIME, ON EXPLORERS OF ARVUS: we've returned to camp vengeance! taure is still unconscious, which is not very great. camp vengeance is doin better tho!

michael, as part of the recap: ingrid is getting railed by her new girlfriend,

first dice roll of the day is michael rolled a 1. good start

OH THORNE IS AN ARTIFICER NOW thorne took a level in artificer!

"...it's like figuring out the right mathematical equation to summon a gun."

group is gonna go check out the statue that we passed by now that we're not WHAT DO YOU MEAN PONK AND GEORGE CANONICALLY HAVE IBS thats it im not looking at 772 anymore

im doing a bad job of paying attention but at least im Present

SIERON LEARNED FLY AND USED IT ON CHARLIE

michael: what do you want to do with your new flying powers?

leo: how many problems can i cause in 10 minutes

guard 1: ...why is the halfling flying?

guard 2: [rolls a 3 on intelligence] i think they can just do that

groundhogs, the real scourge of the campaign

silje and sieron are gonna hunt a big elk. they got distracted and sieron is putting grass on silje's head. i think

WAIT WE'RE ON WATCH NOW FUCK

we have discovered kali's tragic backstory whoops

update i am. too sleepy for this. good nigh everyone

[ and then leo went and somewhat took a nap! solar, normally playing thorne, started playing charlie in my stead. @jorbs-palace, local hero, started taking shitpost notes in my stead. ]

jorb's ghostwritten notes for leo:

help solar is immediately doing a cursed voice for charlie. charlie can do so many crimes

congratulations, charlie is now temporarily immortal!

dwarves can hit things with their beard

kali wants to know if she's legally allowed to bail

she'd feel really bad if she had to loot our corpses for payment if we died.

we have entered the Tree Zone

one of the corpses is now a flamingo (has one leg)

silje has decided to stab the ground. take that, dirt

kali was large size for a second there but then she remembered to not be a giant

"you accidentally deleted my cat?!"

silje has learned naruto cloning jutsu

be gone, thot

oh boy, making an int check to look at a statue! 11! silje is dumb apparently.

hmm. the statue has divination magic. it's also affecting silje.

SILJE LEARNED A 6TH LEVEL SPELL? its only single use but still

you solved my statue riddllllleeeee

thorne forgot to have eyes

its a shame mac and cheese doesnt exist in the d&d universe

wizards are just math criminals (the criminal part is setting people on fire)

sieron crit fails a check but it was still a 9 because of having +8

thorne is looking for what's weird!

uh oh music got scary, never a good sign

hmm. those leaves over there weren't dead a moment ago.

UNDEAD TROLL TIME! rolling initiative

"it's ok, im a wizard, it's my duty to be correct." "wow! waow!"

woooah here he comes

IT JUST DID HALF SIERON'S HEALTH AS A PASSIVE END OF TURN EFFECT?

thorne backed up and cast eldri- oh, ray of enfeeblement. character development continues

charlie is going to just blink out of existence for a minute.

big chungus has grabbed silje and sieron. BIG CHUNGUS HAS THROWN SILJE AND SIERON.

sieron is using hit and run tactics! isn't good at his extra attack yet though

silje is activating bid bid blood blood blood

thorne uses beam of skipping your leg day. troll's legs are now skipped.

michael is trying to determine what a 'clavicle' is

"does that mean the star trek kind, or the bdsm kind?"

charlie wants to cast magic missile.

charlie has vanished back into the ethereal plane mid-taunt

silje has decided to not get bitten today

silje may or may not have stats.

oh, right, trolls are weak to fire! and also we forgot to upgrade sieron's firebolt. so it actually hurts now!

silje is full of knives and blades and does 31 damage in one turn!

charlie shouts words of encouragement from the ethereal plane. a nearby ghost vibes with this.

🎉 eldritch blast 🎉

kali remembered she hates the sun

silje is enthuasiatic about charlie saying "get him cat boy!"

charlie contemplating using fireball to nuke the troll and also the entire stonehenge

charlie has decided to use magic missile instead, probably for the best

the troll bit at charlie SO POORLY it broke some of its teeth on the ground

charlie is too small to hit

accidentally rolled advantage on a firebolt, so got to learn it WOULD have done 29 damage with a crit but instead it missed because it was not actually with advantage

silje has just sliced open its entire back and made a spray of frozen blood! radical. big boy is down!

we have burned the body because we are not stupid. well, we ARE stupid, but not stupid in the way of leaving a body full of necrotic magic around

[dr coomer voice] i think it's good that he died!

we're also doing a funeral pyre for the other corpses that were around. just to be sure.

our loot is: the satisfaction of a job well done

thorne is cosplaying as charlie

charlie has located the direction troll came from! she found the 'the way to sweet loot' sign

thorne is apparently better at survival checks than our hired guide? wack

we found a viking house! it has: mead, a shield, gravestones,

found a gold coin in the mead! maybe it was thirsty

oh theres a LOT Of coins in there actually. 60 gold and 120 silver!

have successfully pointed out a hole in the DM's logic :)

there was a raven! it cawed and left. ok bye buddy

and that's where we leave it! heading back to camp vengeance next time.

someone rated this session a 7.2 out of 10, which is very specific

good night mr coconut

#leo chirps #ttrpg #explorers of arvus #jorb #thank u based jorb

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huntsman-ash · 3 years

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RWBY LiveThoughts: V8E7

Since I finally have time for it today, lets make sure Im all caught up for the hiatus.

Before we get fully started, an idea; Its not a war crime if they’re Grimm. Then its just self defense. So break out the napalm, the cluster bombs, the chemical weapons, the fun stuff. Make em regret it, yeah?

And we start off...on a farm. Looks like my moms old farm in South Dakota. Even on Remnant, hay is best used in bales.

Waiiiit. Thats the place the Whale set down isnt it. I see a Sayber running. Ah, and the Atlas military! Surely, the vanguard of a massive force to hold the line! Also Im glad to see a close up of the helmet for once, I want to make my own. Also, the gloves, and the rifle itself. Not sure why it doesnt have a stock, seems kind of silly...

And airships too, so they got some fire support...whats that wall behind them though?

Also it TOOK US 8 FUCKING SEASONS to get a close up of these FUCKING Weapons. 8. FUCKING. SEASONS. Okay maybe more like 5 cause they didnt first appear till 3 or so but come on. Im so picking this shit apart later.

Pfft, bros got some nerves going on. Come on man, its just some Grimm, you’ll be FINE.

Atlas field harvesters resemble Halo’s JOTUN Farming equipment. As wel as our own. No surprise there.

Alright, bunch of Saybers, not seeing much of a threat here.

Hey, Paladins! Damn, they...look way different than I remember them to be.

I wont lie, I dont like the Paladin design. Way to much visual noise, I cant tell where anything IS.

Also that is the most 2D grass I have sever seen in my fucking life. What the hell are they growing here...

Huh, the whale has two sets of teeth. Wait, its just there? And its wpewing out Grimm. So...why isnt the air force firing on it?

Yeah its not moving, its just raising its head and slamming down and vomiting out more Grimm. Im not sure what the issue is here, just...seal the mouth.

Oh, huh. Apathys. Let me guess, RTs gonna try and tell us depression is going to kill most of Atlas. Oh for fuck sake. IM NOT IMPRESSED RT. IM REALLY NOT. IM MORE FUCKING ANNOYED THAN ANYTHING

Okay so...I see what this is. Its farm land outside of atlas proper and there’s an additional wall behind them, plus the power lines I guess? Seems like a viable place to make a stand.

...thats it. Please tell me this is just a single detachment of the Atlas military because there is less firepower here than a NATIONAL GUARD UNIT ASSIGNED TO ONE CITY

Im fairly certain there are more people assigned to ONE UNIT attached to JBLM then I amm seeing here.

Not to mention this is an OPEN FIELD the Grimm have to run through. This is a literall fucking TURKEY SHOOT. Running across an open field anywhere is a ticket to DYING.

Just ask the poor fucks on D-day.

Also uh...why is everyone in line formation? What is this, fuckin’ 18009s combat Napoleon style?

And did the distance suddenly change, I feel like the whale suddenly got a hell of a lot closer.

Just...I dont get this. This makes no sense. Did Ironwood learn how to deploy forces from a fairy tale book? This is legitimately some fuckin Lord of the Rings shit here.

RIP that one specific trooper hit by that Behemoth though. Dont worry friend, the thing walked next to a Paladin. Its getting its eye blasted out

And cut back to Ironwood. Doing...fuck if I know what.

Staring angrily it seems.

“Dammit, my tactical deployment by line formation and parade ground tactics isnt holding back the Grimm, curses!”

Well MAYBE IF YOUD THOUGHT TO INVEST IN SOME FUCKING AIR SUPPORT...Seriously.

I know people have told me why this is. I understand myself why this is. But it really just...does...not...jibe with me. At all.

Okay so more details; first, apparently Atlas has a subway. Makes sense, its a big island. Inter-system transits probably a given. Second; Was that Mantis Squad Omega? Some kind of unit maybe...interesting.

Also I love how this guy just questions Ironwood. Like, bro, if the General says do it, do it.

Hold the fuck up, why is everyone outside? It looks like fuckin’ Cali during our lockdowns...what ever happened to martial law huh?

Also “underground subway stations”. Yes, thats...kind of what a subway IS. I guess maybe they have overhead ones like New York does. Mass transit be weird like that.

I mean HELL the signs on it are almost identical to the ones in NYC too! Even with the colored circles and train cnumbers.

According to the sign here they’re at Pickens Square Station.

Oh boy. Ironwood just fed these poor bastards into a meat grinder. Anyone here ever played the Metro game series, or read the books?

Remember the Dark Ones? The Nosallias? Yeah. Tight corridors and monsters only work out well for angry vodka fueled Russians.

Didnt see it very well but I THINK those Mantas had some kind of wing gun. Either thats new, a separate armament setting, or RT forgot what ind of weapons they gave their ships AGAIN.

Cant get the shields back up, yeah, no shit, they DETACHED ONE OF THE FUCKING PILOTS YOU IDIOTS.

Also hah, they arrested Yang, Ren and Jaune. Not surprised.

Beta squads apperently been hitting the whale. ‘Bombs, missiles, we cant make a dent, sir.” ...while Im not surprised by this, I also hear shades of the opening of Halo 2s level Metropolis. “Where’s the rest of your platoon?” “Wasted, sarge. Blew right through us. Rockets, fifty cals, didnt do nothing.”

Honestly they could have SHOWED THAT too. Them just saying it feels like a cop out to me. Take that as you will. But if you want us to see the things hard to kill, show it.

Not that I figure Atlas’s rockets are much more than Dust in a propellent tank. Not exactly a Hellfire or TOW.

Nice to see proper military talk for...a moment anyway.

Or what I figure RT figures is proper.

Oh so now the whales moving. Okay...huh.

Jaunes commentary is the same as mine. Though I guess the size seems to shift depending.

Ohhh. Its MANTA. As in the gunships. Alright, sure that works. And this guys making a good call. If you cant hit the big one go after the smaller. Of which there seems to be a HELL of a lot. Actually holy fuck that Grimm spew is across like...ahlf the fucking island right now. Time to fuckin torch and burn people.

Ahhhhhh and they get to the proper idea. If you cant punch it from the outside, hit it from the inside.

I knew a crew...three madmen, names of Keegan, Lahni and Mac. The Hivebusters. Something tells me a Venom bomb would do the trick...if it can rip apart Swarm creatures as big as a Snatcher or a Swarmak and reduce them to green slime, I think it’ll work on Grimm.

Something tells me RT isnt gonna give em a bomb though. Too obvious.

NEVER MIND. “Science team is putting together a bomb.”

Also I LOVE how Winter’s pupils expand and retract in fear as she realizes what Ironwoods asking her to do.

Awww now shes getting the shakes too.

Salem directing this shit like shes some kind of orchestra leader. I mean it FITS but...I dunno.

Ah so the command deck is directly behind the whale’s glowing nose. Basically inside where the spermacetiy organ would be in a real sperm whale.

What the fuck is Emerald doing there?

Sneaking I guess. Huh. Why’s she sneaking around the whale. Also, huh. guess seeers can get fooled by Emeralds semblance. Is HE STILL BEATING UP ON OSCAR? Jeez dude. Take a breather.

Honestly if this was TRUE I would be okay with it. Replace the Huntsman with, I dont know, a massively overequipped military for each Kingdom, let them run rampant...stomp the Grimm out or push them back to nonexistence...everyone lives happily ever after

Lets be real here, the idea of the academies? Really really fucking dumb. Its cute. Fairy tale like.

But if theres one thing this show has taught me its that fairy tales SUCK. Reality...tends to be worse.

Ah theres one of those torture hooks they mentioned a few episodes back. Nice of the whale to have a specific interrigation room.

And at last we get some information on how Salem works. Alright so...what happens if you seperate the parts then? Sink one in the ocean, launch one into space.

Sounds like Oz/Oscars telling the fans what we’ve been saying forever, Companion Book be damned; Salem wants to die.

These mind games bore me. Its cute, but I dont like it cause I cant follow that shit. Give me a straight up fight any day, fuck this sublty backroom fuckery

No lies from them both here honestly.

Medical supplies in Atlas seem almost the same as here on earth interestngly. Also, soup. Or...coffee, tea?

Blake with the obvious here. But I mean thats not really saying much cause...well. Not hard to outfight the Atlas military it seems like. (Long suffering sigh)

Im gonna make a seperate post about my frustrations with that and leave it there. But dont expect me to stop fully complaining about it because everyones gotta have something to bitch about with this show, and I’ll be DAMNED if I start joining the BB whiners.

Good question, Ruby. Might be that YOUR NOT LIVING IN A FAIRY TALE

I’d like to see these people dying in Mantle. I refuse to believe that there isnt SOMEONE in the nation that once brought Remnant to its heel that wont stand and fight. Unless Im wrong about that too...

May backstory? May backstory. Yeah. Not amazingly complicated but it works. Cant tell if shes Henry though...or was.

Dramatic lightning flash

Cute you think that Ruby. Theres sides. Always are.

Further proof honestly.

Hazels look of though is amusing. Cant tell if he doesnt believe Oscar, or if his tiny peabrain is runing full bore to think this through.

Coordination between farm boy and professor.

Oh. OHHHH. Plants the seed of doubt in Hazels tiny mind, he uses the last question for himself, sees the truth... Clever, Oscar. Clever.

Hazel peabrain go THUNK

Ah so Mercs going off to Vacuo. Guess that means everyone else is going there next too. Eat that, random Discord person, I called it.

Course, CFVYs there so...maybe we get to see Yats beat up on him.

Oh hi Tyrian. Do you just...randomly roam the halls of the whale waiting to DRAMATICALLY REVEAL YOURSELF and give violent expositon? Im very much okay with that.

Also I love how he just...accepts this. Totally fucking bonkers, totally down with it.

Oh shit, Tyrian and Mercury going to Vacuo? Damn thats gonna be INTERESTING. I guess Tyrian’ll fit in well enough honestly.

Flying Beringal literally out of the roof.

I remember back when this season first started and I said those weird bone platforms looked like VTOL launch bays. Guess what? They are.

Merc and Em emotion blah blah DONT CAAARRREEE

Jaune thinking tactically for ONCE IN HIS FUCKING LIFE. An I mean military tactical of course.

Also I like how the Aces say they dont let emotions cloud their shit WHEN THEYVE BEEN DOING THAT THE WHOLE FUCKING TIME.

This ENTIRE PLANET is emotionally run. Thats why the Grimm are such an issue! Makes small note to make Remnant Adeptus Mechanicus cult

Seriously though...

I wont lie though, Hare isnt wrong. Wonder what happened to that Tortuga guy. Tyrian, is my guess. Love how Ren interrupts the moment they almost mention Clovers name.

Expendable, yes. Replacable, no. You should have a talk with squadron leader Grey from Star Wars Squadrons Ren

ANNNNDDD SEMBLANCE EVOLUTION. Or the edibles just kicked in.

This is cool and all but its really fucking dumb and hamfisted. Explain all you want. Mention emotions all you want.

The Aces are fucking huntsmen. HUNTSMEN. FUCKING. SUCK. They always have. Its a dumb idea. Yes, lets stop the hordes of monsters invading this world BY SENDING IN SINGLE OPERATIVES WITH FUCKING MELEE WEAPONS

I’ll make this clear to you, Ren, right here and now. If you faced a REAL elites, you wouldnt have stood a chance. Nor would RWBY. Their bodies would have been three-shot from 20 meters out with a breach and clear and stacked against the wall like cords of wood, one final shot to the dome to make dead sure they were down. None of this stupid flipping and acrobatic crap, none of this clashing weapons and Dust and semblances...no.

You’d be dead before you knew they were there and they would move on. You’d just be another body to the pile, one more faceless corpse to add to their kill count. A meatgrinder in human form.

Professionals. Dont. Lose. AND THE ACES ARE NOT PROFESSIONALS!

Because thats not what RWBYs about, never has been. And that is what annoys me slightly. That and the fact I cant distangle what I know of other universes and our own from RWBY’s. Its hard to hold a universe on its own when everything they make points towards it being like ours, but they change it when they see fit.

I feel like thats bad writing.

Hehehe. Winter touched Elms boob.

Glad to know that Winters got her priorities right. Course, that bomb probably aint gonna do shit cause its Dust based.

...again, hoping its a chemical weapon...

Wait, the Atlas forces from earlier are STILL FIGHTING? Damn, these Grimm must suck if they couldnt wipe them out in that little time...

Also I cant tell if its getting dark cause of the storm or if its the dawn of the next day. Or did...they shift time around? I lost track. I SWORE the sun was setting the last time we saw everything.

Also return of the shitty 3D grass...

Marrows gonna defect.

Awww poor Winters got emotions. HEY MAYBE DONT SEND A MENSTRATING WOMAN OUT ON A FIELD OP, ATLAS!

So according to May there’s still front lines. Cool.

AYYY ITS KLIEN! HES BACK

Oh, I guess hes a doctor too. Oh he MAD.

Ayyy Whitleys being USEFUL for fucking once in his shitty life.

Shes gonna hug him isnt she.

CALLED IT. For fuck sake...whatever. Cute. But whatever.

Oh annnnddd now Grimmquake?

No. It stopped...Bolide?

No. PENNY.

Annnnddd shes leaking coolant. And sparking. And dead.

RIP Penny.

The concept art of the beached whale looks so fucking silly. Seriously, just...detach the whole section there. Drop the fucking thing.

Oh well.

And thats it for almost two months! Be prepared for me to BULLSHIT MY WAY THROUGH ALL OF IT and continue on with my military fanwank because THATS HOW IM SURVIVING 2020!

#rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby v8 #spoilers

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chaoticgabby · 4 years

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My Cheap & Relatively Healthy Grocery List for College Students

Context: I had been used to eating fast food so much because it was cheap that when I went to the doctors' they said I had high glucose content. That wasnt good. So I started eating healthier. Anyway let's skip the BS and get straight into it:

Ramen: the OG cheap food. I personally don't own ramen bc I dont like it that much, but if you want to save money this is the meal, at least add an egg or some veggies to make it healthier.

Frozen Veggies: anywhere from 50 cents to a dollar or two a bag. Can easily be kept in your freezer (if you have one) for months

Mac n' cheese: my all-time favorite. Of course, it might not be healthy for everyone to eat pasta all the time, but I do it anyway. Add some real cheese and spices for taste or chicken and veggies in it / on the side.

Other Pasta boxes (Pasta Roni, Velveeta, Hamburger Helper, etc.): basically as cheap or almost as cheap as Kraft macaroni, but maybe you arent a fan of mac n cheese.

Soup (Soup!!): Cambell's Tomato soup is often $1 a can. I like to eat mine with grilled cheese. Thats a whole ass meal. But of course you can get other soups just as cheap. Basically, any canned foods.

Canned foods & veggies: this one goes without saying. Although, the better options are sometimes $2 to $3 the same can be said for frozen veggies, but just heat these up and cook them in fried rice or just add butter and eat them aside a nice entré

Chunk light tuna: speaking of canned foods, canned tuna is soooo cheap and is a great option (if you even like tuna). Dont actually get the "pack tuna" for $1 a pack unless you want to keep it in your bag bc canned tuna is around 60 cents a can. Mix it with Miracle Whip (or mayo) and spread it over break for a good sammich.

Grilled cheese (or cheese toastie if you arent American I think??): similar to previous options, youre getting your cheese and your butter and your bread. Not as healthy as other options but way better than fast food calories.

Quesadillas: similar to grilled cheese, except spICY. My brother only eats these and he has no meal plan. I do it now too. Honestly, adding up tortillas, cheese dip, shredded cheese, & chicken is kind of costly but worth it. Also cooking chicken is annoying bc I dont have time for that. But. Yknow. A great option.

Pillsbury Crescents: a little costly, about $2+ per tube, but still fookin delicious. Also imma be real: actually havent checked the nutrition label to see if these are actually healthy. But these are sO useful. Make them by themselves for breakfast (with jam, eggs, or alone) or use the dough for other recipes. I use these with Manwich sauce, cheese, and ground beef for snacks :)

Manwiches: manwich sauce cans are $1 and although they have some sugar, its not nearly as bad as fast food. Just cook up some ground beef to go with it & maybe add cheese, sliced bread, or hamburger buns

PB&J: Another OG. I could never get tired of these. You just gotta make sure you have soft bread and the pb&j and youre good to go. Although..like.. some people apparently like theirs toasted or with different jams (I like strawberry).

Eggs!!!! : Just keep these in your fridge. Just do it. You never know when youre going to run out of food. Boiled? Scrambled? Fried? Soft boiled? With ramen? Omelet? In fried rice? Egg sandwich??? Eat them with bread, eat them with toast, eat them as a breakfast sandwich, scramble them with cheese, the list goes on. If you dont eat them often, get a smaller carton, but always have eggs! Also, for baking.

Rice, or fried rice: If you like rice, have been cooking rice for a long time, and can actually make it without burning, make sure you have rice. If you like rice but have never actually made it yourself, it takes trial and error in a pot. Or just invest in a rice cooker. Additionally, fried rice is not that difficult to learn & it fits the bill for healthy bc you can add unlimited veggies and meats. Im not here to educated you but the more ingredients, the better, is how i see it.

Fresh Food:

Fruit: I literally have "an apple a day" for breakfast. It's just good for you. Keep them in your fridge to keep them fresh. Keep one in your bag in case you get hungry. Bananas? Awesome! Use them in smoothies or a milkshake or eat them with your cereal or even with peanut butter. Possibilities are endless with fruit. Just make sure they dont spoil. Apples are OG bc they dont spoil as easily.

Vegetables: Make sure to only periodically get them so that they dont go to waste. Make some broccoli with butter & eat it alongside pasta. Or asparagus. Anything you want. Just make sure to have some with your meals sometimes. Greens are good. Additionally, carrots can get addicting if yoh eat them with ranch. The plus side is they are filling. If you have a tendency to want to munch on something: carrots.

Deli Meat / Sandwich Options: I personally dont make deli sandwiches because ham (as well as roast beef or turkey) can be expensive and then wanting to add lettuce and tomato to a sandwich sounds amazing but I'm scared they will spoil. Dont let me stop you though! Sandwiches are amazing.

Meat: you dont want to be cooking meat all the time bc it can get expensive, but the basics I always get are ground beef and chicken. I prefer "boneless skinless chicken thigh fillets" but you would need to cut off the fat. You could always get rotisserie if you arent feeling to for cooking. Also, if you're feeling expensive one week, salmon is just sooo good. I ate it with asparagus and seasoned with lemon. Delicious.

Snack / Dessert Options:

(I personally don't keep snacks or dessert in my home very often bc you dont want to binge eat. But here is what I have)

Peanut butter: classic, filling, can be potentially bad if you eat a shite ton

Nuts: peanuts, almonds, cashews, and especially pecans

Cookies: make your own, a lot of simple cookie recipes exist and it's a lot easier than you think. Baking essentials like flour, sugar, milk, and eggs are not that expensive to keep around in an apartment kitchen. Difficulties may be vanilla extract (the avg student doesnt have this lying around) a baking sheet, a big bowl, and possible a whisk. Store bought cookie dough isnt too bad either.

Box-cakes / box-brownies: simple and easy. Takes a few eggs sometimes and some oil, milk or water. The same goes for pancake mix. Honestly, I had an out-of-country roommate and he had never heard of boxed cake mix or brownie mix. They always made from scratch where he lived.

Low-calorie ice cream: okay ice cream can be pretty expensive and filled w/ added sugars. I used to eat this strawberry icecream sweetened with stevia and it was SO delicious, but I couldnt find that at my grocery store. Other options are "low-calorie" ice cream or "no added sugars" ice cream. I have one of these and the thing abt it is that its just the right amount of sugar to taste like ice cream and the neat thing is that you dont feel like binging it bc it doesnt have addicting added sugars.

Milkshakes / smoothies: this is a tough one bc me and most other students dont own a blender or juicer. I personally get my smoothies from a local smoothie place that only uses fresh fruit and then I ask not to add the natural sugars bc it is sweet enough with the fruit. Natural smoothies are delicious & I find that you can kind of make then if u freeze your fruits and blend w a fork. "Handmade" milkshakes are actually super easy w this method.

Yogurt: just...mmm.

"Healthy" snack food section, often called the gluten-free aisle: im not too experienced with this and im sure they have added sugars too but what I do know is I tried these gluten free oreos once and they were delicious

Fruits: I mentioned earlier but apples are great snacks

Veggies: also like I said earlier, carrots are great snacks. Not exactly a veggie but possibly potatoes for a meal or snack.

Granola Bars: for when youre too lazy to keep up with fruit and if fruit will spoil, granola bars (they healthy kind, not the chewy sugary kind) are so good to have in your pantry or keep in your backpack for a snack (and to keep you from on campus temptations). Also I used Nature Valley ones instead of cereal. They actually dissolve and are delicious with milk, since some cereals are so sugary.

Since my last college tips post got some notes I figured I'd keep writing these advice posts. For reference, I am hoping to become an RA next year at my college, so I'm not just speaking out of my ass. I generally have experience at college thus far and want to help students.

#Im American and Im not Vegan so sorry if this didnt help non americans and definitely not vegans :(#college tips #college advice #life hack #healthy living #food

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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If You Ever Wanna Be in Love (I'll Come Around), Chapter Five (Branjie) - Athena2

Previously: Brooke and Vanessa’s night of babysitting turned into them kissing Now: They both deal with the aftermath and find themselves pulled together once again

A/N:Thank you all so much for the amazing feedback and comments you’ve been giving this fic! They really do mean a lot to me and I appreciate them all. It would be great if you could leave some on this chapter as well. Thank you so much to Writ for betaing and helping me out with this chapter, you’re the best.

“I kissed Brooke,” Vanessa blurts to A’keria. Saying it makes it real, proves it wasn’t a dream or hallucination. It really happened, and Vanessa knows it doesn’t mean anything, but her lips are still tingling.

“What the hell happened?” A’keria asks.

“We were babysitting, and her niece chanted for us to kiss and…yeah.” Shit, it sounds lame like that. But on that rug, with the sunset illuminating every inch of Brooke’s face, her cheeks glowing, it was almost…magical. Almost real. It’s not, though. It barely lasted five seconds. Vanessa kissed her abuela longer than that as a kid, scrubbing sticky lipstick off her cheek after.

“Damn. One six-year-old is all it took.” A’keria mutters.

Vanessa swats at her. “Hey! She was loud enough for the whole building to hear, okay? We had to!”

A’keria rolls her eyes. “Yeah, she really forced you. Who would win, two adult clowns or a first-grader? Not you, apparently.”

“You calling me a clown?”

“You and Brooke. Might as well open up a circus.”

Vanessa groans. “It was just so the kids would quiet down. She’s gonna be my fake wife at the carnival to shut Paul up some more, and that’s it.”

But does Vanessa want that to be it? That can be the end of the fake-wives-and-girlfriends thing, but Vanessa knows she doesn’t want it to be the end of their friendship. She can’t lose Brooke in her life, laughing at work stories and sending each other selfies, someone who just gets her, who didn’t ask her to change anything.

They were thrown right into the fire at first, forced to act married. But things have slowed since then, the intense blaze now a cozy fireplace warmth, with more of Brooke unraveling before Vanessa’s eyes. How sweet she was around her family. How she sends Vanessa pictures of dogs she sees. How excited she was after realizing she made mac and cheese. And the kiss–but Vanessa’s not thinking about that.

“If you say so.”

“We’re friends. Not every relationship has to be romantic.”

“No, they don’t,” A’keria agrees. “But if your feelings for her go beyond friendship, I don’t think you should deny that.”

Vanessa shrugs. She’ll deal with that when–and if–she has to.

—

“Hytes!”

The men on the museum board favor last names for address and Brooke can’t argue without being called whiny. She snaps her head up, trying to focus. Her brain is a slow computer with too many tabs open, pinging between guests and her speech and kissing Vanessa—

“Yes, Greg?”

Ugh. Greg. He hadn’t believed Brooke was department head the first time they met, had called the museum director to accuse her of lying. The resulting pride that erupted in her after Greg found out that Brooke is, in fact, department head, had left a stream of tension between them at every board meeting.

“Check with the guests for the T-Rex opening again. Some are major donors, so we need them.”

Brooke nods wearily. So much of the museum came down to donors, and she knows it’s important, but she wishes this entire exhibit opening didn’t have to fall on her. But her shoulders are more than strong enough to carry it.

“Unfortunately, with the expenses of the T-Rex,” Greg continues, “Your department might face cuts if this doesn’t go well.”

The words slice at Brooke’s stomach. “Cuts?” she demands. “But funding got cut last year–”

“Then you’ll just have to do well, won’t you?”

Brooke nods. She could punch Greg, but she has to channel that energy into this exhibit instead. She can’t face more budget cuts. She cried after letting Ariel the intern go last year, and she won’t lose Plastique this year. Cuts would also mean less events and kids programs. How many kids like her come through those doors and gain a new passion for paleontology? How many find a safe space, or realize they’re not alone? How many dream of ages past as they walk through the rooms?

Brooke won’t let them down.

All she wants is to text Vanessa after, to rant with someone who knows that higher-up board-member nonsense. Vanessa said that one racist library board member told her ‘someone like her’ didn’t even belong in a library, and Brooke just wanted to hold Vanessa and comfort her. Now, selfish as it is, she wants Vanessa, because somehow Vanessa has come to mean comfort to Brooke. She writes a text asking Vanessa for coffee and freezes.

Vanessa doesn’t need Brooke’s problems weighing her down. She knows how caring and empathetic Vanessa is, how she takes on the feelings of others, hurts when her friends are and sad when a kid at the library cries. Makes it her mission to cheer them all up. Brooke loves it about her, but she can see Vanessa caring too much and getting stressed, and she won’t let Vanessa do that. They’re friends, and they share things, but this seems too big, something Brooke wouldn’t want anyone to carry with her. She won’t hurt Vanessa with it.

She deletes the text.

—

Vanessa hovers outside Brooke’s office. Something’s up with Brooke. Her replies have been short and half-hearted all week, and though it could be nothing, and she knows she has no right to expect essay-length texts from Brooke, she knows in her gut something’s wrong.

Vanessa finally knocks, and the Brooke that greets her isn’t unlike normal Brooke. But Vanessa looks closer, for things she would have missed before but are obvious to her now. Brooke’s eyes are dull, rimmed with dark circles. Her hair is messier than normal, like she’s been tearing her hands through it. And then she sees Brooke’s hands, usually so sturdy and clever and quick. They’re trembling a little, just enough for Vanessa to see. She has to restrain herself from grabbing those hands, running her thumb over the smooth skin until Brooke is calm.

“What’s wrong?” Vanessa asks.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” She can see the wheels spinning in Brooke’s mind, the worry in her eyes. She’s seen Brooke nervous before, but this is different. This is tense and stressed Brooke, trying and failing to keep her professional put-togetherness, and it hurts Vanessa’s heart. Vanessa puts her hands on her hips, daring Brooke to lie again.

Brooke sighs. “It’s the exhibit. I need to make sure all the donors are coming, and if there’s not a good turnout my department might lose funding, so everything…everything has to be perfect.” She takes a deep breath, and Vanessa wonders how long she’s been holding that in, letting it poison her.

“Perfect’s a lot to ask,” she says softly.

“I can do it. It has to be,” Brooke says simply, and Vanessa wonders how many times perfection’s been asked of her before, how many times she’s worked herself into the ground to deliver it.

“Who said? That asshole Greg?” She’s heard enough from Brooke to know Greg is not someone she wants to meet.

Brooke nods weakly, and all Vanessa wants is to smooth that wrinkle between her eyebrows.

“Can I help with anything?”

“I don’t think so. I just have to wait for replies. And finish my speech–” she grabs notecards off her desk, “–which is horrible.”

“I’ll listen to it! No arguing,” she says when Brooke protests. “Read it.”

Brooke does, talking about how great it was to bring the skull here and the importance of museums. It’s a good speech, one that’ll have rich people opening their checkbooks. But something’s missing–that breathless, childlike passion Brooke has when she talks about dinosaurs, the excited inner child that comes through in her smile. Brooke is going for cool and professional, and it’s good, but it’s not her. At least, not the Brooke Vanessa knows.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Vanessa says gently, “But can you make it less formal? A little more fun, more like you?”

“That’s how I had it the first time,” Brooke admits. “I just–”

“You wanted it to be perfect,” Vanessa finishes. “But it’s perfect when it’s like you too, you know.”

Brooke smiles, and Vanessa knows she’s gotten through to her. “Thank you, Ness.”

Vanessa wrinkles her nose. “Ness?”

“That’s what Sophie calls you. I kinda like it.”

“Okay, Brookie.”

Brooke swats at her playfully, and Vanessa drops into Brooke’s desk chair. Her desk is neat, of course, littered with tiny dinosaur figures and pens in a C-3PO mug. She smiles at pictures of Brooke on fossil digs, in graduation robes, giving presentations.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes, dino expert.” Vanessa shoots a horrible imitation of Brooke into her desk phone.

“I don’t sound like that!”

“Sure you do.”

“‘Sure you do,’” Brooke mimics in a raspy voice that Vanessa admits is accurate. She could sit here all day, but lunch is almost over.

“I gotta go, but take a break,” Vanessa orders. “I know you’re working too hard.”

Brooke nods, and her smile loops in Vanessa’s head all day.

—

Brooke types the last sentence of her speech, sitting back in awe. Her speech for the opening of a special exhibit, a childhood dream come true. It hadn’t been easy to get here. There were the doubtful years of college when Brooke learned paleontology was a lot more than digging up bones, when professors–usually male–approached her in lectures and asked if she had the right room, maybe you’re looking for the teaching department, sweetie? There was the struggle of needing a perfect application for one of only a few internships, the job prospects that made her toss and turn at night, wondering if she should go the teaching route, suck it up and teach earth science to bored college kids needing an elective. And then those first bones shone through the dirt, glittering under the Montana sun, and Brooke had known that this was all she ever wanted.

She reaches for her phone to tell Vanessa. It’s strange—Brooke never would’ve thought of sharing this with anyone, would’ve just kept it to herself. Another day at work. But she’s done it, and all she wants is for Vanessa to know, to share it with her. Lately she’s sharing more and more with Vanessa, from funny memes or restaurant recommendations to the book of Mary Oliver poems she’s going to give Vanessa as a thank you for helping with the speech. She loves when Vanessa sends stuff back, selfies of her in a witch hat, or pictures of crafts she’s done. The fact that Vanessa did something like tiny She-Ra swords and thought of Brooke, wants her to experience it too, makes Brooke warm and fuzzy inside.

There’s a missed call from her mom, and Brooke calls her back first, trying to calm her heart. There’s no reason to think anything bad happened, she reminds herself.

“Mom?” Brooke asks hesitantly.

“Brooke!” She’s too cheerful to report bad news, and Brooke relaxes. “Your dad and I were wondering if you and Vanessa want to come for dinner some time?”

Shit. “Um–”

“We’d love to see her again.”

“I’d have to check.”

It’s not fair to ask Vanessa again. The agreement was one work dinner and one family party, but they’ve strayed so far from that Brooke doesn’t know where they stand anymore. Brooke planned to say they broke up if her mom asked. She never thought her parents would like Vanessa so much. But she should have expected it, because who doesn’t love Vanessa seconds after meeting her?

“Well, I hope so.” Her mother’s voice is so loving that Brooke’s guilt burns hotter. “Vanessa’s such a good fit for you. You’re so happy around her.”

It’s not real! Brooke wants to yell, and she almost tells her mom the truth. But that would crush her, crush the person who always wanted Brooke to be happy. The person who brought her to the park and coaxed her to join the other kids, even though Brooke was too nervous to ask for her turn on the monkey bars and sat under the slide instead, dreaming of worlds where she wasn’t told to come out of her shell. Who brought her to museums and science camps and encouraged her to keep going in college. Who tried to find women for Brooke to date after she came out, wanting her to have someone she could be happy with.

How could she disappoint her mom like that?

She swallows the lump in her throat. “I-I’ll check, Mom, okay?”

“Okay, honey. Love you!”

“Love you too.”

Brooke sighs, shrugging out the tension in her shoulders. She needs the big guns for this one.

—

“I don’t know what to do, Nina.” Brooke burrows herself deeper into Nina’s couch and takes another sip of wine. “Everything’s a mess.”

Nina occupies the couch’s other end, just like their college days, giggling on a cramped twin bed. Brooke wishes they were back in that freezing cinder-block room, where her biggest concerns were finding edible dining hall food and finishing homework and herding drunk Nina, who just wanted to re-enact every Disney movie ever, into bed. Not the absolute disaster things have become. One little lie. One little lie to stop endless questions about dating, the well-meant hopes that she’ll find the one. Now, the lie is a skyscraper about to collapse in front of her, and all she has to mend it is duct tape.

What was she thinking, agreeing to this? One smile from Vanessa and she was gone, fake ring on her finger and knees touching on her parents’ couch like teenagers, watching movies and bringing coffee and texting nonstop. Now she has to break her mom’s heart and tell her they broke up, or do the act all over, pretend to be in love again, and then what? They keep doing this for the rest of their lives?

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Nina says finally. “You said Vanessa liked your parents, so why not ask her?”

“Because where does it end? We do this again, my mom loves Vanessa more, she keeps asking to see her. I’m supposed to ask Vanessa to do this for every birthday and holiday and whatever? Next thing you know we’re spending Christmas there–”

“Brooke.”

“–And my mom loves weddings. There hasn’t been one since my sister’s so she’ll start asking about that–”

“Brooke.”

“–Then we’ll have a fake wedding, and what if she starts asking about kids? Oh my God, I’m gonna have to kidnap a child and they’ll make a Lifetime movie about me—“

“Brooke! Breathe, okay?”

Brooke realizes how fast the words are tumbling out, how little she’s breathing. She forces a deep breath, willing her lungs to accept the air. Nina pats her shoulder gently, and Brooke nods that she’s okay.

“I think you should just ask Vanessa,“ Nina continues. “There’s plenty of time to figure things out after. You can tell your mom you broke up later.”

“But it’s not fair to keep asking Vanessa. And the longer this goes on, the more it’ll crush my mom when it’s over. It’s easier to end it now, before she really gets attached to Vanessa.”

It’s not just her mom, Brooke realizes. The more they do this, the closer Brooke gets with Vanessa, and the more it will hurt when it ends. Vanessa has become one of her favorite people, and she can’t lose their friendship. What if asking Vanessa to do this again ruins it?

“Honey, I get that. Vanessa did ask you to the carnival though, so maybe she won’t mind going to your parents’ again? It’s one more event each way, so it’s not totally unfair.”

Brooke shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Don’t forget yourself either,” Nina says. It’s familiar, something’s Brooke’s heard since they were eighteen and Nina made sure sleeping and eating didn’t get sacrificed to Brooke’s studying. “You can’t keep fake dating just to please people.”

Brooke nods. “You’re right, Nina. How’d you get so smart?”

“Just born that way, I guess.” Nina sips wine with a smug smile. “And I want a lead role in the Lifetime movie.”

—

The carnival grows closer, and preparation is in full swing. There’s a running tally, currently at seven, of how many game booths Yvie’s told off on the phone for not following safety rules. There’s the list of food trucks Vanessa and Silky assembled from their personal rankings, plus a new Greek one Brooke told her about. There’s Nina and A’keria’s practice sheets of face paint designs, from fierce tigers to questionable butterflies.

Aside from the kids, this is what Vanessa likes best about her job–having different activities to do, things that let her be creative and not have to sit still at a desk like she did in school, or spend hours refolding the same shirts like when she did retail. She can run outside to test paper airplanes for a craft, or arrange displays, or help kids with homework, and maybe that’s why she never wanted another job. What other job would let her have this much fun?

The added bonus is that it distracts her from Brooke and dinner with her parents. She shouldn’t need distracting from Brooke, but try telling her brain that after seeing Brooke in a fire-engine red skirt the other day, the fabric wrapped around her legs like a second skin. Not to mention the fact that she kissed Brooke pops into her head at random moments, and she can still feel those soft lips against hers.

Is there something more to her feelings? But they’ve been faking a relationship, and that’s bound to rub off. How many movie co-stars got together after playing love interests? Not that she and Brooke are exactly movie stars, but hey, their performance was convincing. Sure, she talks on the phone with Brooke for hours at night, just like high school minus the tether of the phone cord, and brought her cookies once, but those don’t have to be romantic. The speeding up of her heart around Brooke, the way she’s drawn close to her like a magnet, how her eyes can’t leave Brooke when they’re together, aren’t anything either.

So having dinner with Brooke’s parents again shouldn’t be a big deal. If this were a real relationship, a second parent meeting would be much more serious, requiring Vanessa to wear her best dress and bring fancy wine. But they’ve already passed the test, and it’s just dinner. Brooke is nervous, she knows, never planned things to get this far and felt awful for asking, but Vanessa gets it. If the situation was reversed, she doubts she could crush her mom, always on lookout for girls Vanessa can date, like that either.

And she did ask Brooke to the carnival, which wasn’t part of the agreement. Another dinner isn’t unfair. One more dinner, and Brooke will end things on her side, and Vanessa will go back to saying her wife is sick when parties come up. Vanessa hates to think of Brooke’s parents being upset they broke up, but she can do it.

A’keria’s wrong. She’s not in love with Brooke.

At least, she doesn’t think so.

—

Dinner is just them and Brooke’s parents, and Vanessa lets herself go. They want to know more about her, and she tells stories of summers at the beach as a kid, sand clinging to her legs as she built sand castles with her mom, how she and brother splashed for hours, how her dad hoisted her on his shoulders to watch the nightly fireworks. She talks about her college roommate Shea–they kissed once, incidentally, but Vanessa leaves that out–and how they threw a party on the dorm roof. She talks about the time she, Silky, and A’keria misread the recipe and made 30 pancakes instead of 15 and passed them around the apartment building.

Everyone laughs, and it’s hard not to love this, not to want this. A girlfriend like Brooke with her nice family, who reminds Vanessa of her own family even if they’re nowhere near as chaotic. Talking about memories must spur something in Brooke’s mom, because after dessert she pulls them in the living room and whips out a photo album.

“Here’s Brooke as a baby,” Brooke’s mom says, and Vanessa melts, her heart damn near exploding at baby Brooke, wrapped snugly in a white blanket patterned with pink hearts. Her hair is lighter than it is now, almost white-blonde, but her smile is exactly the same. Her eyes are wide and shining with joy.

“Here she is in kindergarten.”

There’s five-year-old Brooke outside a red brick building with a huge grin on her face, modeling a pink tutu, in a blue dress at graduation.

“And here’s Brooke in middle school—“

“Mom, I’m begging you,” Brooke groans, but the page flips to a picture of teenage Brooke whose reluctant smile reveals wire-covered teeth.

Brooke buries her face in her hands, and Vanessa gently pulls them away.

“Hey, everyone looked horrible in middle school,” Vanessa soothes. “I bleached part of my hair once and looked like Cruella DeVil.”

Brooke brightens. “You owe me a picture of that.”

“Fine.”

The pages turn, and Vanessa doesn’t notice how late it’s gotten, doesn’t notice anything until thunder tears through the sky, bringing pounding rain with it. Everyone jumps, and the reality that they have a half-hour drive in pouring rain and darkness hits, making Vanessa squeeze herself.

“I didn’t realize it was so late,” Brooke says. “Wanna go, Ness?”

If Vanessa could focus, she’d notice her face flushing over the nickname. But she can’t, because she very much does not want to go out into that storm.

“Maybe we can wait it out?” Vanessa suggests, and Brooke nods.

It’s still going strong half an hour later, and Vanessa’s jumpy, rubbing sweaty hands on her legs.

“I don’t think it’s gonna let up,” Brooke’s mom says in worry. “I’d hate for you to drive in this dark anyway. Maybe you should stay here for the night.”

Vanessa turns to Brooke, who’s biting her lip. Vanessa knows Brooke doesn’t want her to feel uncomfortable staying here, but Vanessa would much rather be in this cozy house than driving in that storm. Brooke gives a nod that lets Vanessa know it’s her call.

“I think we should stay, Brooke,” Vanessa says quickly. “There’s no point driving in this or waiting for it to stop and driving home at midnight or something.” She appeals to reason, not wanting her fear to show.

Brooke agrees, her gaze softening as she takes in Vanessa. Vanessa suddenly realizes she’s folded up into herself, alert for the next crash of thunder.

Brooke’s mom smiles. “I’ll get the guest bed ready…” She heads down the hall and Brooke turns to Vanessa, eyes soft and tender.

“Are you sure you want to stay?” Brooke asks. “I don’t want you to think you have to.”

“I want to,” Vanessa insists.

Thunder rumbles and Vanessa jumps, curling into Brooke’s side on instinct. Brooke seems shocked at first, but softens into the touch.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Brooke says softly. She lowers a tentative arm around Vanessa and her muscles unclench. “We’re safe in here.”

“Sorry,” Vanessa whispers. “I know it’s just a storm—“

“Don’t worry. Everyone’s afraid of something,” Brooke soothes. “I’m really afraid of flying. Small spaces too.”

Vanessa nods shakily. It’s so embarrassing to be scared of thunderstorms as an adult. No one judged her as a kid in her blanket nest, snuggling stuffed animals to protect her from the rain lashing at the windows. Even her brother would stop teasing and let her hold his favorite Batman action figure. Her mom would bring her hot chocolate and comfort her, and Vanessa shouldn’t need comfort anymore. But Brooke is offering it, holding her securely enough to fend off a storm herself, and Vanessa lets her, the safety of Brooke’s arms better than her childhood blankets.

When Brooke’s mom says the guest bed is ready, Vanessa thinks she would rather sleep in Brooke’s arms.

—

The guest bed is a cozy cloud of soft white cotton sheets, and Vanessa wants to jump right in.

Brooke grabs two pillows. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” she says, assembling a makeshift bed with the pillows and spare blankets.

“Oh, you don’t have to–”

“I don’t mind. Really,” Brooke insists.

Brooke’s gaze lingers on Vanessa, and Vanessa tries to catch all the feelings that flash across Brooke’s face. Does Brooke look…hopeful? Like she wants Vanessa to resist, pull her into the bed? Or is she hoping Vanessa lets her stay on the floor so they don’t have to sleep together? Is she worried about making Vanessa uncomfortable? Is Brooke uncomfortable? Vanessa doesn’t want to make Brooke uncomfortable, doesn’t want to force anything, so she agrees, wondering if that’s sadness or something else on Brooke’s face. Vanessa slides between the sheets, and the bed feels way too big with just her in it.

“It’s weird, sleeping in my parents’ house.” Brooke’s voice rings faintly from the floor, and Vanessa moves to the edge of the bed to hear her better. It reminds her of the sleepovers she had as a kid, snuggling in her Little Mermaid sleeping bag and sharing secrets with her friends, everything more exciting when it was past their bedtimes.

“Sleeping in other places doesn’t bother me,” Vanessa says. “I stayed at my parents’ last Christmas and slept like a baby. Even better than a baby.”

“Is the bed okay?” Brooke frets. “I can–”

“It’s fine.” Vanessa pauses. It could be the sleepover memories rubbing off, but she wants to talk with Brooke, talk all night about everything and nothing, in a way she hasn’t since she was thirteen.

“What were you like in school?” she asks, eager for more of the Brooke in that photo album, of the joy in her eyes that Vanessa recognizes now sometimes.

Brooke props herself up on her elbow and peeks up at Vanessa. “Quiet, mostly. You know how some kids just walked in a room and made friends?”

“Yeah.”

Brooke sighs. “I couldn’t do that. I usually read by myself at recess, watching the other kids. I could never think of anything to say, and when I did it was either too late or I was too afraid to say it. I thought everyone would laugh at me. They usually did.”

“I’m sorry,” Vanessa breathes into the space between them.

Brooke shrugs. “It’s okay. I had some friends, but I didn’t mind being on my own. Or I got used to it, anyway. I don’t know if things would’ve been different if I wasn’t as nervous around people, y’know?”

“I get it,” Vanessa says. She would say more, but she knows it’s hard for Brooke to open up, and she doesn’t want to push her.

“What were you like?” Brooke asks.

“I was funny. I made one joke and suddenly I was the class clown. I didn’t always want to be, though,” she admits. “I was smart. I loved reading, loved learning—when I could focus, cause ADHD’s a bitch. But everyone thought I was stupid, ‘cause I was so restless. That’s why I decided to keep being funny instead. I didn’t realize there’s no reason I couldn’t be both.”

She had been friends with everyone—cheerleaders, drama kids, honors students. She had cracked jokes in class and had the charm to win over anyone. But it had been exhausting at times–sometimes she just wanted to curl up in the library and read, but there was no escaping the funny, popular kid gig, no way to try new things or change herself.

“Right,” Brooke agrees. “It’s like you were stuck in a box. Whatever people called you, that’s what you were.”

Vanessa nods, because that’s it. Brooke always gets her, and it’s a relief to have that understanding.

“God, school sucked, didn’t it?” Vanessa mutters. “At least we never have to go back.”

“Shit, yes. You couldn’t pay me to do high school again.”

They keep talking–about school, about childhood, about themselves–until Vanessa’s not even aware of the rain anymore, until there’s nothing in the world but their secrets and laughs floating through the darkness. They keep talking until Brooke’s eyes start drooping, her words growing farther and farther apart as she drifts off around 2am, and Vanessa settles and tries to do the same.

But she can’t sleep. That hole in the mattress where Brooke should be is a hole in Vanessa’s heart. Why didn’t she insist Brooke get in the bed with her? Vanessa usually sleeps well, but her best sleep is always with someone there, with warmth and safety beside her.

As a kid, she slept with her entire stuffed animal collection so no one felt left out. Through all her relationships, it was sleeping with someone that she loved the most–waking up in the night and feeling the safety of someone there, letting arms curve over her waist, the morning sun shining off her girlfriend’s face. There was such intimacy and tenderness in seeing someone sleep, seeing them so vulnerable and knowing that you loved them and would protect them. Maybe it’s better Brooke’s not next to her. Maybe it would bring up those feelings.

Vanessa peers down at Brooke. She’s curled up on her side, lips parted slightly. Vanessa’s heart beats in time with the gentle rise of Brooke’s chest. Sweet Brooke, who held her in the storm and always praised her and brought her coffee just because. Who always thinks of others first and never makes Vanessa do anything she’s uncomfortable with.

She looks at Brooke’s face, soft and untroubled and angelic in her sleep, and her heart swells, and shit, she knows that feeling. She tries to stop it, but it’s like using an umbrella for defense from a hurricane. She wants Brooke here, wants her warmth and intimacy because—

Because she’s in love with Brooke.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #akeria davenport #nina west #branjie #lesbian au #s11 #fake dating au #if you ever wanna be in love #athena2 #concrit welcome #submission

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elyreywrites · 4 years

Text

do you know who you are?

a fic written for Pride Month 2020!! (yes, i know pride month is over, but i posted this on AO3 on June 30th so.) this is a projection fic. it’s not an exact projection of my experience, nor is it meant to be a generalized representation. this isn’t everyone’s experience.

warnings: slight mention of Jack and Janet Drake potentially being homophobic, and discussion of compulsory heterosexuality

thank you to my betas in the Capes & Coffee Discord - Bumpkin, ZulieTheProgrammer, and Oceans!!

title is from Moana’s “I am Moana”!

please REBLOG - DO NOT REPOST

AO3 Link

Teen 1,678 words Bart Allen & Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent slight one-sided Tim Drake/Jason Todd - as in, tiny-Tim has a crush on Robin-Jason

Summary:

He’s twelve and watching Robin fight. He’s seventeen and staring up at the ceiling. He’s nineteen and text-spamming his best friends.

Tim’s growing up and finding himself, and he would really appreciate if the Realizations didn’t happen when he’s trying to sleep. Kon and Bart would probably appreciate that as well.

- - - - -

It starts as he’s watching the second Robin knock out some muggers. It’s not the first time Tim has seen Jason’s Robin take down a group of criminals, but it’s the first time that he nearly gives himself away as he squeaks.

Jason’s so strong, and cool, and pretty, and – oh. Ah. Okay.

He calls it a night at that, bright red from the questions that are swimming around in his head. He spends most of the trip home lost in thought. When he’s sitting on his bed, one of his best pictures of Jason’s Robin sitting in front of him, he gives them a voice. Talking usually helps him get his thoughts in order. “Okay,” he whispers, “do I like boys?” He doesn’t dislike them – not at all. But does he like them? Maybe, but… how is he supposed to know? “Is that too big of a topic?” he wonders aloud to the picture. “Let’s start with this: Do I like Robin? Jason-Robin.”

That doesn’t turn his brain into a jumbled mess like the previous question did. Of course he likes Jason-Robin. He’s absolutely amazing, protecting people and checking on the working girls and kicking criminal ass! He’s only a couple years older than Tim is, but he does so much more! And he’s real in a way Dick isn’t.

Jason’s just a kid like Tim, though they have such different backgrounds. Dick was a trained acrobat, with skills Tim never really believed he could learn. Jason seemed closer. He was still more amazing than Tim could ever hope to be, but it wasn’t an entirely impossible stretch like it was with Dick.

“And he’s so passionate, especially when it’s a kid that’s in danger. And every time he smiles, it just makes me so happy that I kind of want to giggle and—” Tim stops babbling. He doesn’t need to anymore, after basically answering his own question. Yes, he does like Jason Todd, the current Robin. As in, he has a crush on him. Tim falls back on his bed to stare up at the ceiling.

“Well,” he says, “that explains the weird, squirmy feeling I get in my stomach every time I imagine talking to him.” That feeling is always accompanied by a fierce blush and Tim hiding his face for a good two minutes. He thinks he probably should have caught on sooner. Deciding that was enough Realizing Things for the night, Tim quickly locks the picture of Robin up with the rest and collapses on his bed to sleep.

The next day – a Saturday, which is Mrs. Mac’s day off – Tim hops on the computer and starts researching. He has a crush on one boy, but Tim still thinks girls can be cool. Batgirl is pretty awesome, after all! After a few hours and a lot of new information, he settles back on his bed again. He’s bisexual, and sexuality can apparently be really fluid. In all honesty, it didn’t take him hours to find the term, he just fell into a rabbit hole of researching sexual orientation and gender identities. Tim’s fairly secure in his gender, but he’s glad to have learned. It’s something to keep in mind about other people – to not assume anything based on appearances.

He’s bisexual, with a crush on a boy, and his parents will still expect him to only date girls. At least the boy was Robin and completely unattainable.

- - -

Years later, Tim is laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling once again. It’s a different bed by now, in his own apartment at seventeen. The thing is, he’s pretty sure he has no interest in romance. And now his brain was mixing everything up in a tangle of thoughts and feelings again.

“Holding hands is nice,” he admits. “I like cuddling. That was fine.” He hasn’t gone further than making out with anyone, so that’s about the limit of his physical experience. It’s the implication of emotions that makes him want to skitter away. Specifically, emotions of the romantic variety. Now Tim’s reassessing every romantic relationship he’s had, though he’s only ever dated women.

At the time, he had thought he was happy while in each relationship, but… it’s becoming much more likely that it’s because he was previously starved for affection. He suddenly got that affection while dating someone. That thought makes him want to hide from everyone he’s ever dated. Stephanie is the only one he really still has to see, and that has him burrowing under his blankets.

It sounds awful, honestly. Like he was using the relationship to get the affection he so desperately wanted. Logically, he might be overthinking this. He just wishes his dumb brain would tell that to his anxiety and the ingrained societal expectations. “I didn’t mean to,” he mumbled into the blankets.

Romance, dating, being happy in a relationship? He has no other experiences to reference! He didn’t know that something wasn’t right.

Hell, he’s only having this Realization because a woman was flirting with him at a gala and asked if he would like to get dinner together sometime. A romantic dinner date with a woman he wasn’t close to. The entire scenario would be romance with no physical affection, and that didn’t sound pleasant in the slightest. It did, however, make him realize that he might need to think things through again.

So, here he is. Thinking things through. No romance – if he’s remembering his research correctly, the term is ‘aromantic’, similar to ‘asexual’. Asexuality was something he’d heard more about over the years, but he rarely heard of aromanticism. It had just stuck out because while the terms were similar, their meanings were pretty different.

Now he’s glad it stuck in his mind. It gives him less reason to panic about being confused. So, he was bisexual and aromantic. That’s fine! He’s a vigilante, romantic relationships would be difficult anyway.

- - -

A year and a half later, Tim’s fingers fly across the screen of his phone, sending text after text without waiting for a response. Either his friends would wake up or they wouldn’t. Hopefully they would.

Tim: Oh my god. Guys, wake up, I’m an idiot. Bart, Kon, please. I’m so dumb. How the hell am I this oblivious? I’m not bi-aro at all. I’m just fucking gay. It’s 5 am and I can’t sleep, and I just want a boyfriend. I want to do couple things, like cuddle up while watching movies.

Clone Trooper: dude, it’s the middle of the night. why do you do this to us?

Tim feels no sympathy for his friends – he’s been running on less than six hours of sleep for years. Sometimes less than four hours. High school and vigilantism don’t mix well. Anyway, they can deal with waking up to deal with his Realization.

Sonic: bro we cuddle up when we watch movies are we not good enough for you anymore

Tim: Yeah, but that’s platonic, Bart. And yes, I’m aware of the time. I’d like to be asleep too, but I’m lonely and sad and having Realizations! Suffer with me.

Clone Trooper: … suffer how? are you expecting us to have an existential crisis too, or is this just suffering by being awake?

Tim: Being awake. It’s not an existential crisis, it’s just a Realization.

Sonic: its the middle of the night i think it can be deemed an existential crisis

Tim: But seriously, someone please tell me how I jumped passed the logical conclusion I should have come to of “I’m just not attracted to women” and directly to “I have no interest in romance at all”? How did that make sense to me?

Sonic: society conditioned u to like women

Tim blinks at his screen. Bart isn’t wrong, but Tim has absolutely no idea where he’s going with that. He already had the Realization about societal conditioning, thanks.

Tim: Okay? I’m aware, but I’m not sure how that translates to how I didn’t think of the logical conclusion.

Sonic: dude. for years it was a fact – since you were a kid u were so conditioned that u should like women it was just a fact

Clone Trooper: think of it like this, tim: as far as you knew, you liked women. later, you figured out you like guys, but you still think you like women too.

Tim: We’ve established, yeah.

Clone Trooper: so, suddenly something is weird. the only really new thing is that there is romance involved. so that’s clearly gotta be the issue.

Oh. He stares so long the screen goes dark. He drops his phone on the bed and stares up at the ceiling, turning that over in his head. So. He jumped to not wanting romance because it was so deeply ingrained that he was supposed to like women? His exhausted brain seems to accept this explanation enough to calm the edge of self-recriminations.

Tim: That. Makes sense, I guess. But still, it really seems like I should’ve realized a while ago. Also, I’m kind of surprised that you aren’t teasing me for being oblivious.

Sonic: oh thats coming but teasing is saved for when u arent having a crisis

Clone Trooper: later, we’ll absolutely laugh about that jump in logic. but right now it’s too early and you’re already having A Time.

He’s not sure if he has wonderful friends or terrible friends. Tim suspects that he’s still going to hear about this in a few years. It’s the kind of thing they won’t let die for a while.

Tim: Fair enough.

Clone Trooper: great, glad we got that cleared up! now tim...

Tim: What?

Clone Trooper: please. GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP.

Snickering, Tim plugs his phone in and smothers his face in the pillow. He’s still lonely and he still wants to analyze every missed evidence over the years, but he’s also exhausted. The chat with his friends did get his brain to shut up enough that he might actually be able to sleep. He can rethink his entire life again after he wakes up.

#fanfiction #elyrey writes things #tim drake #kon-el #conner kent #bart allen #friendship #lgbtq themes #lgbtq character #self-discovery #coming out #pride month 2020 #dcu

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queenangst · 4 years

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blister

blister achieving elysium | read on AO3

It’s been about three months since Galo has seen Lio’s face. Okay, well, not just his face, but the point is that three months is like, way too long.

But Galo gets it. The Burnish need care, and help, and a leader. Where Galo’s shiny, Burnish-Flare fighting tech is a little too much for fighting regular fire, and the Burning Rescue’s original purpose is gone—there’s still work to do. Still fires to put out with his burning soul. For the Burnish, though… everything is gone. It’s a chilling thought.

Every now and then he checks in with Lio; the guy seems to be in a different place whenever Galo calls. One day he’s half around the world, the other Galo catches him glowering at some poor Promepolis official. He’s trying to help the Burnish find family, rebuild, sorting out logistics, fighting the deep-rooted prejudices that Galo suddenly realizes has been everywhere for the past thirty years.

Yeah. Galo gets it.

So he doesn’t expect to see Lio Fotia on the other side of the door when he’s rudely woken up at some ungodly hour.

“Lio!”

“That’s my name,” Lio says dryly, picking at his sleeve.

“You’re here!”

And then Galo’s brain catches up, because the poor thing works really hard and takes some time, you know?

“Holy shit—Lio! You’re here. At my apartment!” He squints. “And it’s like, two in the morning.”

Lio cringes. It’s such a non-Lio movement that Galo pauses, realizing he’s crossed the boundaries of what Remi keeps calling ‘personal space.’ He backs off.

Lio takes a breath. “I…”

And he falters.

Okay, so Lio is being super not-Lio. Okay. The Lio Galo remembers made a fucking dragon out of fire, would have thrown himself into anything to save the Burnish, was quick and confident and sure. He’s not— pale and shivering, eyes low. Suddenly Galo shifts, and the dim light catches on a dark smudge on Lio’s face. Blood.

“You got a little, uh….” Galo blurts, “uh, you’re bleeding!”

Lio cracks a smile. Lio’s bleeding, and he’s smiling.

“I’m well aware,” he says, and his lashes flutter against his cheeks. “I can leave. If I’m… inconveniencing you.”

“Dude,” Galo says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re bleeding. Come in.”

He steps back into his apartment, and Lio follows, right hand clasped around his left wrist. He slips his shoes off and walks quietly behind—ghostlike. The last time Lio was here he’d walked into the place like he owned it, familiarizing himself in the space. He’d made box mac n’ cheese in the kitchen, eating it curled up in front of the news on TV.

They head right into the bathroom, where Galo has a dedicated cabinet full of first-aid kits. Lio sits on the floor with his back to the bathtub, watching warily as Galo pulls out a clear box.

“I’ll take it from here,” he says when Galo cracks his kit open.

Galo frowns.

It’s not like Lio isn’t capable. Lio’s capable of plenty, even without the Promare. He commands a room with his presence; he can draw every eye to him with the same magnitude as he can make them look away. Galo’s seen him stare down every Promepolis official there is, every person who worked on the Parnasuss Project. Galo’s seen him run a soothing hand down a child’s back. He’s seen Lio smile, and it’s kind of one of the coolest things in the world.

But he also remembers back when the mess had only begun—Meis pulling him aside and saying, you gotta help us look out for Boss ‘cause he’s not too good at doing it for himself. And the other one, Guiera; he doesn’t know how to ask for help.

Galo had promised.

“I can help you,” he says. In the fluorescent light he sees Lio. Drawn, tired. There’s bruising forming along his jaw. The blood’s from a cut along his cheek. Galo tries for a smile. “We’re not Galo de Lion for nothing, right?”

Lio sighs. His eyes close for a second—Galo jerks, thinking Lio’s passed out.

But then Lio opens them again, and says, “Alright.”

Before Galo can react, Lio’s twisting. He carefully unzips the jacket, a size too big, and peels it away. Galo throws himself backward when he sees the mottled skin on Lio’s arm. Burns.

“...Lio?”

Lio doesn’t meet his eyes. His breathing is uneven. Slowly Galo scuttles forward on the bathroom floor and takes Lio’s hand, gently straightening his arm to get a closer look.

“Why didn’t,” Galo’s voice doesn’t sound right, “you go to… the hospital, or, or, why didn’t— you’re welcome here, don’t— who?”

Lio shrugs with his uninjured shoulder. “I can’t go anywhere else,” he murmurs, “I trust you.”

Lio’s fingers curl around his. Galo’s shaking, but he doesn’t let go. He’s trained for this. He’s a member of the Burning Rescue—he forces himself to stop shaking and reaches for a towel, throwing it into the tub and running cool water.

“Lio,” Galo says, to the sound of running water, “what… happened?”

Lio bites his lip, glaring angrily at the ground. There. Anger. Galo can work with that.

“Fire doesn’t protect me anymore,” Lio says after a moment. He doesn’t make a sound when Galo pressed the cool compress to his arm. He doesn’t even flinch, but his fingers twitch. “I knew that. But people started figuring that out, too.”

There’s a sort of ugly picture forming in Galo’s mind.

“You’re not a bad guy,” Galo whispers.

“Not everyone sees it that way.” Lio closes his eyes, dropping his head forward against Galo’s shoulder. He’s shivering, so Galo reaches for the jacket on the ground and half-drapes it over Lio’s shoulders.

“So someone…”

His stomach churns like the time he’d challenged Varys to a pizza-eating contest. He can see it. A dark figure grabbing Lio— the dizzying light of a fire catching— Lio, alone, Lio, hurt—

“Did you fight back?”

Lio shakes his head, hair shifting across Galo’s skin. Galo reaches for the antibiotic cream.

“Why… you’re not the type to take a hit lying down.”

Lio huffs a laugh. “So the ex-Mad Burnish terrorist leader attacks an innocent citizen. Then what? My months of work turn to ash. People are scared. What will my people do if I’m arrested? What will they do when the government decides we’re not innocent?”

“You are!”

“It’s hard to believe sometimes,” Lio says.

“I’m gonna punch them.”

Apparently it’s the right thing to say, because Lio laughs. “Idiot,” he says, but the word is fond. “You can’t just punch problems. And they’re not your problems, either.”

“Ah. Nuh-uh. Your problems, my problems,” Galo says. “We’re a team. We share stuff. Sometimes too much stuff, like when Lucia takes shit from the Burning Rescue communal pile of snacks, because wow, she really puts that stuff away— anyway, your problems, my problems.”

He finishes wrapping Lio’s arm. It’ll do for now; maybe later Galo can drag him to a clinic or call in a favor to get it looked at.

“Are you hungry? Aina sent us all home with leftovers yesterday, and did you know that Varys is really good at making cookies? What I’m saying is we’ve got robot cookies. And—”

“No,” Lio says firmly. He lifts his head again, and Galo reaches without thinking with the towel to wipe at the blood on Lio’s face. Lio goes still.

“Sorry,” Galo says.

“I trust you,” Lio repeats. His eyes flicker.

“Sleep,” Galo decides. “Sleep fixes everything.”

“Almost everything,” Lio says. He stands and takes a very convincing step—but Galo grabs him when Lio’s legs give out and he crumples.

“I got you,” Galo tells him, lifting Lio up. Lio weighs, like, nothing. Sure, he can knock a guy in the face as hard as anyone else, but Lio’s also small. He doesn’t eat a couple pizzas on the regular, and it totally shows.

Whatever’s been keeping Lio going just— disappears now. He goes quiet and limp in Galo’s arms. Pain tightens his face. He’s just hurt, and Galo hates it, hates that people can’t see how cool Lio is.

“I’ll be out of here tomorrow morning,” Lio says, curling towards the edge of the bed. He’s surprised Lio doesn’t protest more; he’d slept uncomfortably on the couch the last time he crashed at Galo’s place. But maybe he’s too tired to care now. Galo climbs in after setting him down, their backs pressing together to share a spot of warmth.

“You can stay,” Galo mumbles. “However long you need to. Lio.”

Lio’s silent for so long Galo almost believes he’s fallen asleep.

But finally— “Thank you, Galo Thymos.”

Galo grins. “We’re friends.”

“I tolerate you.”

“That’s a whole lot of tolerating,” Galo says. Lio sighs.

Galo breathes in. It’s reassuring, to feel Lio pressed to his back. He feels like he’s been missing something for a while now, missing that surge of right when he and Lio had piloted together for the first and the last time in perfect synchronicity. When the fire had flowed from them.

“I missed you,” Galo admits. It’s easy to say that with their backs against each other, staring at the distant shapes in the darkness. He doesn’t have to look at Lio’s face, or expect anything. “And I’m glad you… I want to help you.”

“We’re a team, aren’t we?” Lio says, so quietly Galo almost misses it. “I hate being weak.”

Galo wants to roll over, wants to look at Lio’s face, but he thinks no. Lio won’t face him, not like this.

“You’re not.”

“And I’m tired.” He’s talking about a lot more than just tired, Galo knows. Tired of fighting, he thinks, and tired of suffering, and tired of holding things together.

“You’re not alone,” Galo tells him, “you know that?”

Lio hums. It’s enough for Galo to close his eyes, to let his own tiredness wash over him. The warmth between them.

“I’m with you,” Lio says. “Tell me that again—tomorrow.”

Tomorrow, Galo thinks. He reaches back, searching, and Lio takes his hand. Yeah. There will be a tomorrow, for healing, and for waking, and Lio will have him if nothing else.

#promare #promare fanfic #my fanfic #lio fotia #galo thymos #whump

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ohblackdiamond · 4 years

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little t&a (paul/gene, nc-17) (part 5 of 29)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10 part 11 part 12 part 13 part 14 part 15 part 16 part 17 part 18 part 19 part 20 part 21 part 22 part 23 part 24 part 25 part 26 part 27 part 28 part 29 Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter: Gene tries to reason out some deep-seated denial, and Peter defends Paul.

Normally, Paul could spend hours in clothing stores. Tight jeans, platform boots, designer blouses and ascots. Feathery jackets and animal print coats. He’d dressed as wildly as possible from the time he was twelve or thirteen on, saving up every dime to buy new clothes, always hoping they’d be the ticket to feeling—oh, like they did. Like other people must. Confident and swaggering. Gene had been like that from the very start, even though, when he’d met Gene, Gene had been easily forty pounds overweight and was wearing overalls that only emphasized his gut.

That had been a pretty rude awakening for Paul. He’d realized it wasn’t in looking the part. Confidence was something inherent. Offstage, he couldn’t ever seem to purchase more than small slivers of it. And he didn’t think he could purchase it now (well, on Gene’s dime), in a mid-tier boutique, self-consciously shoving his way through racks of bras. Gene hadn’t told him to pick one up, but he hadn’t had to, either. He’d known he needed one from the start; it kind of hurt to run up stairs without any support, and the nightclub would be fucking awful without a bra, but he’d just kept putting it off. As if this female body would go away if he refused to acknowledge it, like a groupie left to linger in the Coop until morning.

Speaking of groupies, he was still wondering about the one who’d cursed him. He could sort of remember her face as Suzie had described her, but it was puzzling. The S&M bit had been relatively light, no whips or toys, and she hadn’t come across like a nut. She’d said he’d had her before. That didn’t mean much, either. Especially in certain areas, he’d end up with some of the same groupies again. Sweet Connie, for one—the only girl Paul knew for a fact had fucked every single member of the band, and half its roadies—and there were plenty others. It was almost a wrestling circuit; the girls all knew each other, even if he didn’t know them.

But what could he really have done to make that girl that mad? He couldn’t remember promising a chick much of anything in several years. Sometimes he’d get a bit sloppy with it, toss the girl some cab fare as he asked her to leave (she’d think he meant it as a tip, and throw it back at him), but he didn’t get off on humiliating them like some guys did. They came with the room, that was all. Stress relief. God knew he’d heard of plenty of rockstars and movie stars who’d Quaalude the hell out of whatever girl (or guy) they wanted. But he’d never done something like that. Fuck, his chicks were actually sober.

It really didn’t add up. Gene was triple the cad than he was, and he still had his dick. Peter and Ace cheated constantly on their wives, but Lydia and Jeanette hadn’t joined forces and sent a sex-changing demon after them. Whatever. He exhaled, taking four bras of slightly different sizes back to the dressing room and trying on each in turn, wishing he’d let the shopgirl help. The clasps were annoying enough that he ended up having to fasten the bras in the front, squashing his chest in the process, then turn the whole thing around just to put it on. The third bra out of the stack seemed to fit the best, a cream-colored underwire one that wasn’t too padded or too heavy on the lace and flowers. It looked okay reflected in the dressing room mirror, if a little stupid, paired with the boxers he was still stubbornly clinging to.

After another ten minutes or so, he’d also picked out a few pairs of underwear and a pair of fishnet stockings. Another half an hour and he had a fake leather jacket, graphic tee, cut-off jean shorts, and a pair of boots. He didn’t really dig the ensemble in the mirror. More that he didn’t dig the unhappy girl in the mirror any more than he dug the unhappy guy he usually saw there. But maybe he’d look punk enough for CBGB. Would he need more clothes than that, though? On the chance that she didn’t show, or, worse, didn’t reverse the curse? Paul’s stomach churned at the thought. He got another dress, two blouses, heels, and a pair of jeans, deciding he’d write Gene a check for everything once this was all over.

By the time he headed to check out, Gene was already waiting for him with his own bag of already-paid-for clothes. Paul tried to get a peek—he didn’t think Gene could go believably punk without intense help—but Gene held his two bags closed, pulling out a credit card to cover Paul’s purchases.

“Hey, that’s not fair. I could use the laugh, show me what you bought.” Aggravating enough to have Gene watch the clerk ring up the bra and underwear.

“Later.” Gene looked positively amused. Paul grabbed his own bags of clothes as soon as they were paid for, oblivious to the raised eyebrow the clerk threw Gene’s way for not carrying the bags for him.

“If you won’t show me, don’t expect me to drive you anywhere for lunch.”

The clerk perked up.

“Your girl’s driving? She’s got you by the balls.”

“You have no idea,” Gene said.

They ended up going through the McDonald’s drive-thru for lunch without Gene having to divulge any of his purchases. Paul had dug up enough change from the middle console to pay for it, and he was chatting up a storm about CBGB’s semi-resident bands—Blondie, apparently, was a pretty good act—between handfuls of French fries.

“It doesn’t hold a ton of people, either, so if the groupie’s there, we’ll know pretty quickly. It’s not wall-to-wall like at Studio 54.” Paul shook his head. “Have you gone over there yet, Gene?”

“Not yet.” He’d meant to. The disco had just opened when they’d gotten off tour. The big stars had already marked it as their territory, people like Mick and Bianca Jagger, Diana Ross, and Liza Minnelli. The prospect of being in their league was its own intoxicant. “Have you?”

“Yeah, once. Y’know, I saw Andy Warhol there. He said he wanted to paint me.” Even through the food, Paul sounded pleased. “I kinda blew him off, I think he was just trying to come on to me, but hell, it might be fun.”

“Getting with Warhol?”

“Getting painted by Warhol. Jesus, Gene.” He paused. “He’s not my type.”

“You’re not his type, right now.”

Paul looked a little stung, but didn’t retort for a second or two.

“What do you care, anyway?”

Gene stuffed about a third of the burger in his mouth and shrugged.

“I don’t.”

“Remember when he did the Marilyn Monroe screen prints? Everyone in my class was trying to make their own versions, and our teacher…”

Paul kept trailing off about his art magnet high school. Gene was only half-paying attention. Something strange and almost possessive had curdled in the back of his throat. He took a swig of his cup of Coke, but the feeling persisted. Maybe it was the dissonance. Girls worth talking to didn’t dismiss fucking so casually. Paul wasn’t really a girl, sure—well, he was, but—

“You’re not listening.”

“I don’t know anything about art, Paul.”

“You do. You draw. You used to show me your comics. Everybody knows something about art. Everybody knows what they like about it.” Paul exhaled. “Look, you’ve gotta be getting tired of my place. I’ll take you home, meet you at the club tonight?”

“You really want to do that?”

“Yeah, of course I wanna go to the club. I’m not losing my whole life because of one groupie.”

“You’d be okay getting there by yourself?”

“I—yeah, I’d be okay.”

“Just take us back to your place.”

“I’d be fine, really—”

“No, take us both back.”

“What, you think I can’t drive over there by myself?”

“Maybe I like your company, Paul.”

Paul reached for his soda cup. The edge of his mouth was starting to twitch up.

“Yeah? Maybe I like yours.”

By the time Paul pulled into the driveway, Gene was feeling a little sluggish. Two Big Macs, French fries, Coke, and most of Paul’s Sprite sat heavy on his stomach. He figured he’d take a nap on Paul’s couch or in his guest bedroom. Maybe play some records after, if that didn’t tear at Paul too much. Maybe get a quick dinner at a restaurant before heading to that nightclub—he almost thought he could talk Paul into it now.

Paul seemed to have about the same idea. He kicked off the tissue-stuffed heels and headed to his bedroom, leaving the door open. Gene watched him hang up all his purchases before doubling back to the door.

“I’m gonna sleep for a bit,” Paul called out. “You can turn the T.V. on if you wanna, I don’t care.”

Gene nodded, and Paul shut the door, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He shucked off his own shoes and stretched out on the orange velour couch in the living room, feeling weirdly nostalgic. The last time he’d really been at Paul’s place for more than an afternoon, Paul’s place had been his parents’ place. They’d be at the kitchen table, talking about records, bumming their way through Beatles songs on their acoustic guitars, while Paul’s baby niece squalled in the background. He’d never admit it, but he envied the noise in that apartment. The coiled-up tension Paul assured him lay just beneath the surface was something he never saw.

Paul had rarely gotten past the door of Gene’s house when his mother was around. His mother thought Paul was the Lampwick to his Pinocchio, eagerly leading Gene into a world of sin he’d already partaken in and a world of drugs he’d never touched. Paul’s ego had been sufficiently bruised by the assumption that he never tried to convince her otherwise. But Gene was sort of wondering now. If Paul had been a chick instead of a guy when they met, some mousey, bitchy friend-of-a-friend that played a little guitar and wanted to start a band, would his mother have liked him any better? Would Paul being a Jewish girl, if nothing else, have been enough to save him, her, whatever? Probably not.

Would he have gone after Paul then?

Probably.

Anyway, it didn’t matter. He didn’t plan on going after Paul now. They’d get this reversed soon enough, and once the tour started back again, he’d be up to his neck in Playboy Playmates and groupies, all way easier on the eyes and the wallet and the brain than a girl with a gap tooth and a terminal case of nerves. Yeah. Yeah.

He watched the cuckoo clock on the wall for a while, the one that Paul had gotten during their last Europe tour, waiting for the bird to pop out from the little hatch. But it, like everything else, seemed to be taking its time. Gene sighed, getting up from the couch and heading for the T.V.—what was on this time of day, anyway? Gunsmoke reruns? The only thing that stopped him from finding out was a knock on the door.

He opened it without thinking, figuring it was the mailman delivering another of Paul’s occult books. Instead, he was met with Peter, wearing his version of casual—jeans, a vest, a pinstripe shirt, and a handful of necklaces—and a bewildered look.

“You’re still over here?”

“How’d you know I was over here?”

“Ace told me. Where’s Paul?”

Shit.

“He’s not in right now.”

Peter looked him up and down suspiciously.

“Then are you gonna let me in?”

Despite himself, Gene’s glance went to the bedroom door almost on automatic. If he could get rid of Peter fast enough, Paul wouldn’t wake up.

“C’mon,” he said finally. Peter stalked in without hesitation. Gene had half-expected him to take a seat, but he didn’t, looming in the living room like he was certain he was being let out of the loop, without being told.

“Look, maybe Ace can write off all sorts of shit, but I can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“He won’t see anybody, he won’t talk to anybody. He gets into fucking voodoo. He has you call up Ace for his psychic. Says you’ll make sure Paul calls me back and he doesn’t. But everything’s cool, everything’s great—”

“Pete—”

“Something’s the matter. Paul ain’t that kind of a nut! Now, either he lost his mind or you’re pulling one on him, but either way, something’s screwed-up here. I’m not leaving until I talk to him.”

“You’ll be waiting awhile.”

“I’ve got time.”

“Pete, really, he’s gonna be out until pretty late, don’t you think—”

“No, I don’t. I’m staying. You want me out, call the fucking cops. Get a real nice headline going—"

The bedroom door creaked open. Peter turned around immediately, Gene following suit. Paul was standing in the doorway, still in that floral dress from earlier that afternoon. Gene bit his lip.

“It’s you again!” Paul seemed to cave in on himself with every word out of Peter’s mouth, stepping back. “You—I see how this is!”

“Peter,” Gene started again, “Peter, listen, it isn’t—”

“You fucking asshole!” Peter grabbed Gene’s arms, oblivious to or maybe just not caring about the weight and height Gene had on him. “How the fuck could you do that to him?!”

“You’ve got it wrong, I’m not—listen, Pete, I—”

“You’re fucking his girlfriend! Your best friend! Paulie’s fucking losing it and what do you do, you move in on his girl! Move in on his house! You motherfucking pig!” Pete advanced, or tried to. Gene twisted away his grip, grasping his wrists. Pete yanked himself free easily, stalking forward, forcing Gene back, closer and closer to the wall.

“Pete, calm down.”

“I won’t! This ain’t stupid band shit, Gene! This ain’t fucking solos! You got no right to do this!”

“Stop it.” It was Paul. Gene stared, stunned, as Paul stepped out of the doorway and into the living room, face pale. Peter was watching, too, looking disgusted. “He wouldn’t do that to me.”

“He wouldn’t?” Peter started to laugh. “Baby, he’s done it to every chick that got within three feet of him.”

“Pete, please.” Paul was biting his lip, breaths hard. “Pete, I’ve gotta tell you, listen—”

“Don’t,” Gene cut in, but Paul didn’t listen. God only knew why. Gene could tell Paul was scared as hell, even as he stepped between them, taking Peter’s arms. Even Peter had about an inch on him now. Surprisingly, he didn’t pull back. “Don’t do it, you don’t need to.”

“I’ve got to. Peter, I—” He let go of one of Peter’s arms, pulling down the right shoulder of his dress to expose his tattoo. “I’m... damn it, Peter, you know who I am.”

Peter’s face contorted.

“What the hell are you doing? What’s that supposed to prove?”

“You and me, w-we went on vacation together last year. To Hawaii.”

“Bullshit, I went with Lydia! I’ve never gone anywhere with you in my life!”

Paul was staring at Peter like he’d just been slapped, but he kept his grip on Peter’s arm like a lifeline. Gene didn’t know how to help him. Part of him wanted to just go straight between the two of them and scream at Peter to get out of there, never mind the fallout on both sides after. But he didn’t. Instead he just watched as Peter tossed away Paul’s hold like it was nothing at all, shoving him back, hard enough Paul stumbled backwards, hitting his leg on the coffee table. Peter turned to Gene.

“You think you can do anybody any fucking way, don’t you? Fuck Paul, right? Fuck him and his crazy broad. That’s the way you are. Loyalty don’t even matter to you.”

“Peter—”

“Forget it. I’m out of here.” Peter stalked to the door, shouting as he yanked it open. “Don’t think I won’t tell him what you’ve done! I don’t give a shit if it splits us up!”

#kiss the band #kiss fanfiction #gene simmons x paul stanley #paul stanley #gene simmons #peter criss

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