#he would honestly look SO GOOD with a tiny golden hoop!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

13uswntimagines · 3 years

Text

Better To Be Friends Than Competition (Lindsey x Reader)

Author’s Note: This Technically wasn’t requested, but @literaryhedgehog and i had a blast writing this. It’s the Harry Potter AU. Basically, reader is a muggleborn who really wants to be a chaser, but maybe there’s a better position for her on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. This is the beginning of what will be a multi-part series following the building romance between two amazing characters and how our golden octet help them out along the way.

@sleep-deprived-athlete

“Alright, you’ve all been told the rules and had the chance to warm up. So let’s start by dividing into groups. Anyone who wants to be a seeker follow Mia there to the far side of the field. Beaters to the left with Foudy. Keepers to the goalposts with Hope. And chasers with me up top,” Brandi said with a wave of her hand, kicking off of the ground and heading towards where her group was going to meet.

You snuck a glance to either side of you as you also kick off and head to your position, trying to guess who out of the eight students around you is going to be your biggest competition. Surely you thought more people would have wanted a chance at a spot on one of the best teams at Hogwarts. Tryouts had been packed for the last two years.

You wondered which drill Brandi was going to start with as you approached the group (said woman was idily tossing a quaffle lightly in her hands as she talked to another one of your competition). For the last 2 years it was always a set of passing drills, where would-be chasers played a very complicated game of catch up and down the pitch.

Maybe those tryouts were supposed to be private, but how else could you prepare for them if you didn’t know what to expect?

Quidditch was honestly a really weird sport. Well, American football made less sense, but you hadn’t exactly studied the rules as extensively as you had Quidditch. Like, the game literally would not end until someone caught the snitch. According to Quidditch through the Ages a game had literally lasted for months. You remembered watching a tennis game that lasted for four days before, but generally the muggle sports you grew up with were more consistent in how long each game took.

“Oh yeah”, you thought, watching the beaters line up across the pitch, “and there is also a ball charmed to try and knock people off their broom. That’s not normal.” Though it was something your dad found hilarious.

Sports were always something the two of you could talk about, even before you found out you had magic. He loved the fact that you loved football as much as he did, and was thrilled by the fact that you had enough talent to play it in your primary school.

Though with your hand eye coordination you had done better with cricket, and baseball the few times you had a chance to play it in gym. So when you had joined the wizarding world you naturally had gotten into quidditch. Learned everything you could about the game so you could give him detailed play by plays about the games when you sent owls home.

At this point you were dying to play. You were too short to be a beater or a keeper, but you knew you could be a chaser. You could catch like nobody’s business, and you had at least half of the tactics in The Beginner's Quidditch Playbook memorized. You were going to be the best damn chaser Hogwarts had ever seen.

“Hey space captain, you ready for this?”

“What?” You froze, heat flooding your cheeks at being caught not paying attention. You slowly turned to face the new presence.

You knew the girl. Well. You knew of the girl (it was impossible not to know about the very pretty blond girl). She was in your house and year (and therefore in your dorm as well as all your classes) but the two of you had never really interacted before. She seemed to already know everyone and everything when she got to Hogwarts, so it didn’t really seem like she was looking for friends, and it was hard enough trying to figure out your new life without having people look at you strangely when you didn’t know a word they used. Not that Lindsey, you thought that’s her name anyway, had done that, but other purebloods did. It was easier figuring things out on your own to start, and by the time you did, you and Lindsey had already established yourselves in different friend groups. Was her name Lindsey? A Slytherin in your year was always calling her strange nicknames, so it was hard to tell.

“The drill. Are you ready for the drill space captain?” The girl asked again.

“Yeah, but I’m not a captain. I’m a second year, like you,” You said softly, your eyebrows furrowing. Maybe that was a wizard saying, but you had no idea what she was talking about. Your heart also dropped just a touch because if she thought you were a captain then she had absolutely no idea who you were.

She shook her head with a giggle (showing off her dimples). “My dad says that’s what muggles call a person with their head in the clouds,”

You cocked your head to the side, your brain running a million miles an hour to try and figure out what she meant. But then it clicked. “Oh you mean space cadet,”

“I guess,” She shrugged, seemingly unbothered about the correct verbiage.

The whistle blowing brought both of your attention back towards Brandi and the first set of would-be chasers beginning the crossing drill. You coughed to hide a scoff when Lynn Williams raced at breakneck speed up the pitch, and released the quaffle at least 30 feet off where the chasing captain had instructed.

You shook your head at the play. It was too sloppy, too open and it would never connect well with JJ and Alex up top.

“Not impressed by what you see?” Lindsey asked, her eyebrow quirking up (trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t interested in your answer. You were her competition after all).

“Not after Alex basically destroyed the same course last year. She’s got an 85% accuracy rating on goal and nearly 60% of her shots come off of left crosses. Williams isn’t getting high enough on the pitch to provide an adequate pass,” You mumbled out quickly, wincing when Lynn made the same mistake on the way back, nearly sending her partner (a girl in the year below you named Mal) into the stands to catch it (though you were slightly impressed that Mal managed to grab it before it landed in the seats).

“Yeah, I see what you mean. Her throws tend to either go too short or too long. Even if it doesn’t go directly to her partner it at least needs to be consistent so during a game the person she’s throwing it to knows where to intercept it before the other team does,” Lindsey said, taking a hand off her broom to shield her eyes.

“She’s fast but it won’t help if she forces the other chaser off her line to provide service to Alex in front of the posts,” You huffed. Having her on that side would be a positioning nightmare. It left the team open and vulnerable to so many different attacking options.

“I am not entirely sure what that means,” Lindsey said, smirking as she looked sideways at you, “but it sounds like you don’t think she’s competition, which is good news for us!’

You opened your mouth to respond, only to be cut off by Brandi’s whistle. “Alright next pair up,”

You gulped and tightened your fingers on your broom “Guess it’s showtime,” You muttered, surging forward to the starting line.

“Good luck space captain, you’re gonna need it,” Lindsey called back towards you with a wink, taking the ball from Brandi.

You shook your head. You wouldn’t need luck. A fucking golden retriever could beat out the performance you had just whitnessed. As long as you didn’t fall off your brooms, you both would be fine.

***

You raced towards the hoops, reaching your arm out to pluck the perfectly timed ball out of its arc towards the ground. Okay, Lindsey was good. Really good. She HAD to have known how bad Lynn’s throws were, because hers were positively perfect. Your throws were good, but Lindsey had this way of arching the ball up through the air if a perfect loop so it practically fell into your hands. There was no way she didn’t practice over the summer.

You neared the posts, starting to make your u-turn to pass the ball back when a flash of gold caught your eyes. Before you really thought it through, the hand anchoring you to your broom had already lifted to snatch it out of the air on instinct. You had played cricket for most of your life- it was instinct to reach out and grab a ball that looked like it was about to fly into your face.

The next few seconds happened almost in slow motion. As your fingers closed around the cool metal, you realized just how far to your side you had to lean to reach the object, and how far off balance it had put you. Your legs crossed tightly as you flipped completely upside down on your broom, entirely unwilling to let go of the object you had just caught or the large quaffle still tucked tightly under your arm. Before you really knew what was happening, you were staring straight at the ground, your legs the only thing keeping you in the air.

“Holy shit, holy shit. Um, hey Lindsey?” You called, eyes on the ground below you.

“What?” You heard her call. You idly wondered why one of the captains hadn’t put a stop to this yet and put you out of your misery.

“Catch?” You threw the quaffle, well tossed it really, up into the air towards where you thought the other girl was. You knew it was going to be short, but also knew that she was going to catch it anyway. She really was that good. With your now free hand you reached up and grabbed the handle of your broom so you could pull yourself to it and rotate back to an upright position.

Only then did you look down at the tiny ball fluttering in your hand. The tiny, almost leathery, wings flapped like it was waving hello. You stared at it in awe, your lips ticking up. You had just caught the golden snitch. You never thought you would get to touch the snitch, much less catch it.

“Hey you” a voice called from the pitch behind you. You turned to look as Mia flew from where the seeker candidates were staring hopelessly at the sky around them to land on the pitch. “Get down here. Yeah, you on the drills.” She motioned down to the pitch, indicating where you should land, then turned her head to call over her shoulder, “Brandi I’m taking number 2.”

You quickly flew towards where she had pointed, shakily dismounting from your broom. You weren’t sure if it was fear, adrenaline or nerves, but your legs felt like jelly. You clutched the little ball in your hand so tightly that you were sure there was going to be an imprint in your palm later.

“What in Merlin’s name are you doing in the chaser section?” Mia said, tucking her broom under her arm and throwing her hand up towards the group of would be chasers throwing a ball around at varying distances. (You tried not to wince when Lynn nearly pegged Mal in the face again).

“Um, trying to be a chaser? I was always a good forward so I thought it might fit?” You mumbled with a shrug, scratching the back of your neck with your free hand. a light shade of pink covered your cheeks. It was a little embarrassing how clueless you were with the magical world sometimes, and how even after being here for two full years, you still felt completely out of your depth.

“That’d be like using a cauldron as a teacup because they’re both the same shape. It’d work but what a waste!”

“I…- I have no idea what that means. I know I caught the wrong thing, and I’m sorry. I’ll leave now if that’s what you want,” You stuttered out, suddenly finding the way your shoe poked the pitch underneath you interesting.

“No, kid you misunderstand me. Look, you, what’s your name again?” Mia stepped closer, tilting her head as she looked at you.

“Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n,”

“Right, Y/n, you could play chaser. You’d even be a decent one with a bit of work. But that’d be a damn waste of talent. You’re a natural seeker. I’m not upset with you for catching the wrong ball, I’m upset you weren’t over in my section trying to catch the snitch in the first place. Look at that lot over there, they still think it’s somewhere over the stands.” Mia stepped next to you and turned, gestured to the group of seeker hopefuls flying in circles near the Ravenclaw seats.

“Oh,” You breathed out, following her hand to look at the large group. They were squinting towards the stands and swooping low at whatever they thought they had spotted, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the snitch had been caught on the other side of the pitch and that Mia wasn’t even paying attention to them anymore.

“I’ve had a lot of practice spotting this ball,” Mia said, tapping the snitch trapped in your hand. “I was able to see it within about a minute of it being released, and have been watching it since. None of them saw it when it was on their side of the field, but you saw it instantly- even when you were focused on something else. That is a talent Y/n. Why didn’t you try out for seeker in the first place?”

“I didn’t know how to practice for it, and that-. It wasn’t like any of the other positions I have ever played,” You muttered, trying to cover your insecurity with a nonchalant shrug. It seemed like the position that required the most innate ability, and as a muggleborn you didn’t think you had any.

Mia nodded slowly looking at you. “Right,” she said, turning and mounting her broom, “I wanna run you through some drills. Come on.”

You blinked at the woman as she hovered in front of you. Your eyes darting between Mia and the object still clutched tightly in your hand. Where were you supposed to put it? Were you supposed to let it go?

You brought your palm up so it was level with your eyes and opened your hand, half expecting the snitch to fly away. It didn’t. It’s wings slowly unfurled and it waved docilely at you. Like an old friend.

“What’re you waiting for?” Mia called down at you.

“It won’t fly away!” You called back, looking up at the woman, who rolled her eyes indulgently.

“Of course not, it’s yours. You caught it, and you can watch it like some love-struck puppy later- stash it in your pocket and come on!”

***

You were having a fucking blast, even though you had no idea what you were in for when you joined the seeker group. Every year when you watched tryouts, you never payed attention to what they had to do, as you never thought you would have to do it. Even without the advantage, you were killing it.

You had been separated into pairs, just like the chasers were, but Mia had enchanted clear balls (the size of tennis balls) to randomly fly through the air. The balls were given a 5 second head start before you and your partner were allowed to race to catch it. Now this was familiar, the jostling of arms while racing after a ball and trying to prevent someone else from getting to it before you. Only once out of five rounds did your opponent get to the ball before you, but really, that elbow to your ribs was a red card if you’d ever seen one.

Then everyone took turns hovering in the air as Mia took ten of the enchanted balls and flicked them up haphazardly one by one every five seconds. The goal was to catch as many of them as you could before they hit the ground, even as they were sent up in different directions and some much higher in the air than others. You didn’t get all of them, but the seven you saved still seemed to impress the other seeker candidates who didn’t scowl. The second highest number saved was six, but that girl still congratulated you as you got off your broom, since “those last few of them went way further out than they did for me- and you were an inch away from that eighth one!”

You nodded, smiling at her, though you were probably more embarrassed than she realized about that eighth one. That one had been sent towards the far side of the field, where you looked up to meet Lindsey’s eyes. You had been placed perfectly to catch the ball as it started falling from it’s apex, but in the moment your hand faltered, and it brushed by your hand instead. You cursed and considered going after it, but then you flew back to where Mia had already released one of the last two on the other side of the field.

“Alright, for our last drill, we’re going to try to catch a real snitch again,” Mia said, pulling another golden ball out from inside her robes and holding it between her thumb and pointer finger. Its wings sprung out and flapped wildly, unlike the slow waving of the one in your pocket.

Everything in you wanted to catch the little golden ball. To tame it like you had the other one. For it to sit calmly in your hand and wave hello like an old friend.

“Isn’t the other one still out there?” The same girl asked, her head tilting to the side.

“It’s been taken care of,” Mia smirked and shook her head, sending a little glance in your direction. The girl stared at her wide eyed, opening and closing her mouth as though she wanted to say more, but Mia again cut her off with a stern glare. ”As I was saying, the first of you to catch it gets to keep it and also gets a boost to the points on their scorecard. Now line up,”

You all flew low on the pitch, forming a circle with Mia and the snitch at its center. Your eyes never left the frantically flapping little ball as you waited for her whistle to blow. There was no way it was going to escape you and if you got to show off for the would be chasers watching you near the posts, that was fine with you too.

***

“Congratulations Y/n! There’s no way you won’t get picked to be seeker,” the girl said, after Mia released you, promising that the results of the tryouts would be posted next week.

“Oh, um thanks-...” You said trailing off towards the end, awkwardly rubbing the back of your neck. You didn’t know her name.

“Oh, sorry. You missed introductions at the beginning. I’m Savannah, from two years above you.” Savannah grinned at you, a bit ruefully. “You know, I thought this was going to be my year to nail the seeker position. But with you on the team, there’s no WAY we’re gonna lose to Slytherin. And Lloyd can stop looking so smug about the cup win last year.”

“The only reason they were better is because they had Amy and Sydney scoring. They won despite her and her stupid tactics. If Slytherin actually got a decent seeker then we’d be in trouble,” Lindsey said, throwing her arm over your shoulder and stepping to walk between you and Savannah.

“Carli’s decent, just distracted I think. She had NEWTS along with scouters and stuff,” you muttered, a bit defensively. You know you weren’t supposed to like the Slytherins- house competition and all that- but Carli’s strategy was pretty impressive. The recruiters certainly seemed to think so, you heard rumors that the recruiters from the Wasps and Arrows had a bidding war before the Harpies showed interest.

“Pshh it was just the Harpies recruiter. Even if they have Potter, she’d still probably tank their win streak. At least that’d help my team,” Lindsey snorted, shaking her head.

Your eyebrows furrowed. The Harpies were the second oldest team in the league, and since they recruited Ginny they had been on a tear taking down the Cannons and the Magpies in the final games of the European cup three years running. You thought Carli’s strategy would fit nicely in their ranks.

“I’m pretty sure there were Wasps recruiters and Magpies guys here too,” Savannah said to Lindsey. You noticed her eyes glanced towards Lindsey’s arm around your shoulder as she smiled widely. Lindsey dramatically rolled her eyes.

“Which team is yours?” You asked softly, leaning your head on Lindsey's shoulder as you trudged towards the locker room, ignoring Savannah.

“The cannons of course,” Lindsey said confidently. Savannah seemed to be hiding a smirk, and waved goodbye at you as she headed into the locker room.

“They’re pretty alright, but Ronaldo is a little too cocky for me. Sinclare and Potter together are a lethal combo for the Harpies and with Angerer in goal they’re like unstoppable,” You hummed thoughtfully. You also liked that the Harpies were an all female team.

“Ugh, you sound like Emily,” Lindsey said, rolling her eyes. “She and Sam are giant Magpies supporters.”

“I mean the Magpies have a 75% score rate while the Cannons are only at a 60. And Messi catches the snitch within the first hour 80% of the time, while Ronaldo’s catches take about 85 minutes on average,” you rattled off. So maybe you were a little too into statistics. At least your dad never had to worry about your math skills.

“No way, they’re super into team stats too! Maybe you can help me convince Emily and Sam that the Cannons are the best team!”

“But Emily and Sam, whoever they are, are right. The stats don’t lie,” You said with furrowed eyebrows.

“Oh, Emily is my friend in Slytherin and Sam‘s in Hufflepuff. I’ll introduce you later.” Lindsey said waving a hand in the air. “Anyway, the Magpies may have Messi, but the Cannons have heart! And isn’t that what really matters to make a good team great?”

You paused, pulling Lindsey to a stop beside you. “I know they don’t teach math here, but Statistics beat heart any day.”

Lindsey laughed and shoved you playfully to the side. “You haven’t even met them and already you’re ganging up on me.”

“I’m just stating facts. The hat almost put me in Ravenclaw cause I just love random factoids so much,” you smirked, tucking yourself back under her outstretched arm (it was just so warm and it made you feel… safe).

“Well, I’m glad you’re in Gryffindor. It's way better to have you as a teammate than competition Space captain. Now let’s go- if we hurry we can probably get to the library to work on that potions essay before curfew.”

#uswnt x reader #uswnt imagines #uswnt imagine #literalhedgehog #harry potter au #hogwarts au #quidditch au

156 notes · View notes

succubusphan · 2 years

Text

Just What I Ordered

Summary: Phil is a very rich businessman who sometimes forgets to close the door to his apartment when he's playing video games, Dan is a very unfortunate delivery boy.

Tags/warnings: Strangers to lovers, my intention was for this to be a Phil thirstrap in fic form, let me know if I got it right. Warning for food mentions in this: Phil is not against any types of food, he just gets an upset stomachs if he is not careful.

Rating: PG

Word count: 1.2k

A/n: This fic was written for the Valentine's Day Im-PROMPT-u hosted by the @phandomreversebang. The prompts I used were "Blush" and "At first sight."

Please like, kudo, reblog and all that good stuff if you enjoyed it!

Read on ao3

Phil loosened up his tie and walked into his penthouse, resisting the urge to remove all of his clothes in the foyer. His suit was just a bit too tight now that he had started going to the gym more regularly, it felt almost constricting. He would need to go shopping and find something nice that actually fit his new figure.

Walking into his bedroom, he removed his jacket and trousers, toed off his shoes and decided to settle on the couch for the time being. He unbuttoned his shirt but got distracted before finishing the task; his stomach was growling. Pizza sounded nice, but honestly, he knew his entire week had been filled with junk food and not enough time to get something that wouldn’t entirely destroy him after a few days. He sighed in melancholy thinking back to his 20s when eating shit had no repercussions on his poor digestive system, but alas, he was a man of a certain age and had a stressful job, so he needed to be more careful with what he ate unless he wanted to schedule a weeklong time off from the company.

It didn’t have to be something nasty either, he could get something good, right? Like, maybe some ceasar salad, or Thai food, like a nice sweet and spicy veggies stir fry with kimchi and a veggie burger. That surely had to count as a healthy option.

He opened his favourite Thai place’s app and placed the order. Fuck he was basic… he just had to hit the button to remake his last purchase and add a £100 tip. It was only fair since he loved their food so much and he could afford it. He briefly wondered if the owners would be offended if he wanted to become an investor in their restaurant.

Phil dropped his phone next to him on the couch and let his shoulders relax as he played Apex Legends and killed some people. Time must have run away from him because when he looked up there was a full man with a motorcycle helmet on, standing beside him in silence holding his order.

“Aaaah!” He screamed.

“Sorry!” Yelled the guy before swiftly removing the helmet. He - he was beautiful. Warm brown eyes, brown curly hair, probably as tall as Phil himself and he had dimples. And a tiny golden hoop on his ear! “I am so - so sorry. I - listen, the door was open…” The longer he spoke the more the blush rose on his face. It was absolutely adorable.

“Well, you could have knocked, but I guess you are not here to kill me so it’s ok,” then Phil looked at the bag he was holding. “Is that my order? It looks a bit massive for what it is.”

“It’s two veggie burgers, two stir-fries and two orders of kimchi. The two beers are on the house for being a long time customer.” The guy spoke in a rushed tone but he was trying to avoid eye contact at all costs, why?

“That’s double of what I ordered,” Phil stood and the guy took a step back, his eyes going doing his chest and to his crotch. That’s when he realised… “Oh, my god. Sorry, I’ll be right back, stay right here.” The man nodded but gave him one last look.

Phil removed his button-up and pulled on some grey sweats, he reached for an old t-shirt, but looking in the mirror with his new -nearly visible- muscles gave him a boost in confidence so he decided to go without. He walked back to the man in his living room and watched him choke on his spit when he saw him. “I apologise; you will get another tip for the inconvenience.”

“You already gave me £50, that’s enough, thank you.”

“No, I put £100 but I still want to give you something extra.”

The man frowned and looked at the ticket, confirming what Phil had said. “So they stole half of the tip.” he left the bag on the coffee table.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

“Dan, why?”

“Dan, maybe you should quit.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you live here and I’m a broke art student.”

“Hmm, do you have anything to do right now?”

“Yes, I’m working.”

“I’ll give you a new job. Just, stay and have dinner with me.”

“Is this some sort of scam? Do you receive all of your delivery boys like that?” He pointed at Phil’s naked torso.

“No, only the cute ones,” Phil laughed, but apparently Dan didn’t think it was funny. “Listen, I have my own company and I can just give you a job to match whatever skills you have, it would give you good hours and nice pay so that you can focus on your art. My name is Phil by the way.” Dan was still silent. “No, I have never opened my door in my pants but in my defence, nobody had ever just let themselves into my home either.”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s alright. Just give it a thought alright. I’ll give you my card and if you are interested, just text me and we’ll see what we can do. No pressure. You can also take the other half of the order since I won’t be eating that much.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You know it’s best to eat it while it’s hot than the next day.”

“Yeah, that’s true.”

Phil pulled a card from his wallet and gave it to Dan, who read it and ran his fingers through his curls. “Well…”

“Right, um…” he hurried to grab one of each container and put them in his jacket before closing the bag again. “Thank you.”

Phil tried to give him a £100 bill but Dan waved his hands and stepped back. “It’s too much. Good night, Phil.”

“Good night,” Phil said, shaking his hand and holding on but just a bit longer than normal before letting go. He watched as Dan walked out of the apartment and shut the door before dropping to the couch. He smiled just thinking about Dan’s dimples, his stomach was flipping over in a way it hadn’t since he was a teenager.

The doorbell rang again, startling him. He walked to the door and opened it. Before he could understand what was happening, Dan had pulled him into a deep kiss. He had no mercy for Phil, his hands exploring his chest and walking him back into his apartment. Phil pulled away with a smile. “I thought you couldn’t stay.”

“I changed my mind,” he said, grabbing Phil’s ass with both hands and kissing him again.

And that’s the story of how Phil met his husband; the real one, not the one they told at the wedding.

#phanfiction #phandom #succubusphan fics #valentine's impromptu #dnp

9 notes · View notes

himbowelsh · 4 years

Note

Would you be willing at all to do a similar thing to the BoB boys falling in love for the Pacific boys? Or if that’s too much maybe just Leckies crew? Please and thank you if you do! ✨✌🏻🥳🦖🍰🎉🤸🏼‍♀️🍺🍆🦷🦞🌈🗿

of course!! i love all of these boys, so getting to write any headcanons for them is a treat and privilege (and how could i say no to all those emojis?)

Robert Leckie

more confident than he has any right to be.

umm, excuse you sir, the wedding ring isn’t on their finger yet, hold your goddamn horse

bob is vocal about his affection. actually, he’s kind of a loudmouth about it; when he’s in love, all his friends get to hear about it. his diary gets to hear about it. his dog gets to hear about it, and he’s pretty sure hoosier jr couldn’t care less. if someone’s willing to listen, bob’s gonna wax poetic.

the louder he proclaims his love, the more real it feels to him... concrete, like the next torrential rainstorm or wicked nightmare isn’t going to wash it away. bob’s confidence isn’t a front --- he’s really just like that --- but there’s more underneath than meets the eye.

he likes to dedicate his writing to them. while he eventually grows out of the love poems phase (the smartest choice of his literary career) his love interest remains his muse. he’ll bounce his ideas off of them, seek out their opinions on the things he’s written... yes, he’s hungry for their attention, but knowing that they’ll be reading gives him the motivation to write better.

he’ll rarely admit his feelings outright, always dancing around it in smirks and sly double-entendres. is he talking about how great the filet mignon at this restaurant is, or that he wants to get married soon? knowing him, both, and that’s exactly what he wants to leave them wondering.

Runner Conley

runner in love is very earnest. he doesn’t feel the need to brag --- sure, his friends can tell just by looking at him, but how he feels for the person he cares about is their business alone.

still, he can’t help talking about them. they’re on his mind so much that he’ll just bring them up out of the blue --- his crush said this, his crush thinks that, this reminds him of the time he and his crush did blah-blah-blah... he completely gives himself away. his friends will take the piss out of him, but runner legit doesn’t even notice he’s doing it; he can’t stop.

he is right there with the favors. they need a ride somewhere? they need something picked up at the store? just tell him, and he’ll do it, no questions asked. he gets things done in record time. (meanwhile, leckie asked to borrow his can opener two weeks ago, and runner still hasn’t gotten around to it. the preference is clear.)

loves to just spend time with them. he’ll ask to hang out all the time, inventing excuses just to spend time together. being in their space, enjoying their presence, is the best part about being in love for him.

Hoosier Smith

hoosier’s love is measured in tolerance. if he’s willing to spend time around somebody, he likes 'em. if he’ll spend the whole day with 'em, he’s head-over-heels.

lowkey, no one would be able to tell hoosier’s falling in love. he plays his emotions close to his chest, and doesn’t analyze them too much. yeah, he’s caught feelings, but no sense making a big deal out of it. they’ll probably go away on their own.

except they don’t, and the more they grow, the easier hoosier finds it is to be around them. he’s not taxed by their presence, and hardly ever annoyed with them; it’s easy to banter with them, and when they laugh at his quips he feels all warm inside. it’s weird. he’s not sure he likes it. but damn him if he wants it to end.

the day he finds himself eager to hang out with them... he knows he’s done for.

hoosier is much more relaxed around the person he loves. all his blunt edges have softened; he’s a little gentler with them, a little fonder. he’s not loud about it at all, but as soon as his partner picks up on it, his love becomes obvious.

Chuckler Juergens

he has absolutely no filter, and there is no way he can hold these emotions in. when chuckler is in love, it’s like a golden retriever with a crush.

everything they do is amazing in his eyes. he has to actively work to recognize their flaws; for a while, he definitely wears rose-tinted glasses when it comes to his love interest. he just loves so sincerely, with his whole body, that holding it in threatens to overwhelm him.

that said, he doesn’t rush into love. it builds up slowly in him. he can’t really say he loves someone until he’s known them for a while. by then, they’re pretty comfortable around each other, and on a level of intimacy that he doesn’t feel shy admitting it when he’s certain. (he also wouldn’t have luck hiding it if he tried; to all his friends, chuckler’s pretty transparent.)

he laughs at all their jokes, and would go miles out of his way for them if they just asked for it. his smile is always broader around them, painfully genuine. chuckler’s a social guy, so he loves being out in crowds, but around the person he loves he loves it when it’s just the two of them.

he needs his partner to say “i love you” first, but he’ll say everything but. “you look amazing today,”; “no one dance like as you,”; “i could spend every night like this with you”. he’s confessed his feelings a dozen times over before the word “love” ever passes between them.

Sid Phillips

sid genuinely enjoys falling in love. it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience, right? (for most people --- his aunt janine has fallen in love four times and counting, but if she were the gold standard for romance, she’d still be invited to the phillips family christmases.)

he kind of becomes... not oblivious to everything else, but his mind is very clearly in another place. he’s not as sensitive to his other friends’ feelings; he drops plans without much notice because he’d rather be with the person he loves. sid falling in love becomes self-absorbed without realizing it, and would have to be snapped out of it by a well intentioned (very annoyed) friend.

with his partner, however, he’s tender. sid is a very good listener, empathetic and kind; he’s open about his feelings from the start, valuing communication in a relationship, and nothing makes him grin harder than hearing his partner feels the same way.

sid is a gentleman --- he’s eager to help them out with anything they need. he’s very conscientious of his partner’s feelings, careful not to overstep boundaries. he wouldn’t do anything, even kiss, unless his partner gave him plenty of encouragement.

Eugene Sledge

eugene does not all in love easily. it takes him a long time to ease into it. he doesn’t tumble head-over-heels, so much as cautiously inch down the mountain, taking frequent breaks to have a snack and psyche himself up.

somehow, he’s quieter around the person he loves. it’s noticeable because he wasn’t always like this. eugene as a friend is quite different to eugene as a lover, more tentative and tender in all the ways that count. he gets... not shy, really, but more reserved around them. he doesn’t want to let his feelings show, so the casual banter and easy dynamic they used to have grows stiff and uncomfortable. he’ll jump through hoops to avoid hanging out alone with them.

why is he doing this? god help him, even he’s not sure.

if anyone confronts him about it, he’ll get mad. of course he’s not treating them any differently! this is how he’s always been, he’s fine --- but just as quickly as he flares up for his own sake, he’ll get even more riled over any slight to his loved one. being in love awakes a defensiveness eugene never realized he had. suddenly, he’d do anything for his partner’s sake.

it takes a while for eugene to come to terms with his feelings, and trust himself enough to love. hopefully his partner’s patient --- and straightforward about their feelings, because eugene’s probably going to need a push.

Snafu Shelton

his crush starts finding weird gifts hidden around their house, and no, they have no clue how they got there.

merriell’s not a romantic, okay? he doesn’t know how all that wooing-and-courting works, but he gets the general idea. nothing romantic about coming up to someone and saying outright ‘your hair looks like it’d be cozy to wear as a sweater, when you smile i want to touch your teeth, this feels like love’. like. it’s all true, but that doesn’t mean he can say it.

frankly, he’s still cursing himself for falling in love in the first place, because merriell did not sign up for all this mushy-gushy feeling stuff.

some people just... aren’t meant to fall in love, and he’s one of them. not love that feels like this, that feels... so real. it scares him. he doesn’t know what to do about it.

he’s a weak man, though. it’s not like he can just stay away. merriell can’t help but want to be around them constantly, looking over their shoulder and watching out for them; he’s fascinated by them, and it only grows more obvious as the feelings continue to swell in his chest.

so, he sneaks tiny gifts --- things he finds or things he likes, things that make him think of them --- in their stuff, and watches raptly when they find it. no, he’s not gonna confess to leaving them there. it’s just... nice to watch.

he stares at them for a long time --- not unusual for him, to be fair --- but when they look up, he looks away immediately. very out of character, and honestly more unnerving than if he just kept staring.

able to carry on like normal, unless the topic of romance is brought up at all. then he gets ornery and annoyed, especially if his love interest talks about any past romantic relationships. he’s possessive in love, especially because he’s not sure where he stands in the other person’s affections. merriell hates the idea of them with anyone else, but can’t really believe they’d want to be with him.

RV Burgin

well, next to the hot messes that are sledge and snafu, burgie’s a disney prince.

literally, he goes so far out of his way to not make the person he loves uncomfortable. he’s a gentleman to his core. the idea of caring for someone who doesn’t feel the same way stings --- but even worse is the idea that he could be forcing affection on someone who doesn’t want it.

because of this, he might keep it all a bit too much to himself. he won’t come out and say it, and will be notably more hesitant around them. no casual touches --- if he accidentally does, he’ll draw back like he’s been burned. if his friends (re: snafu and leyden) say anything perverted around them, he’ll quickly steer the conversation away.

still, it would be impossible to think he isn’t interested. sometimes he can’t help staring at his love interest, eyes warm in admiration... and when they catch him, he holds their gaze for a moment, the ghost of a smile flickering across his face, before looking away.

oh yeah, he’s a goner.

when he does let his feelings slip out, it’s always quick and sincere. “you’re the strongest person i know,” he says once, while trying to encourage them in his typical burgie way; “i admire you very much.” he gives compliments without meaning to, or even realizing how he’s selling himself out. he’s just so besotted that he can’t help it.

Jay De L'Eau

he gets nervous, he gets clumsy, and he gets giggly. this is a horrible combination.

he once knocked over an entire candle, set a curtain on fire, and was desperately trying to laugh it off while stomping the flames out... all because he crush complimented him.

jay wants to look cool in front of his love interest, but he’s decidedly not. poor boy hasn’t got a chance. there isn’t a suave bone in his body, and no one knows this as well as jay.

so, he becomes earnest instead. he’s always on hand to do favors for them, always willing to help out whenever he needs it --- jay could be corralled into doing couple’s yoga with little resistance, just because his love interest wants to.

this extreme generosity can get exhausting after a while --- he really has to figure out how to rein it in --- but if it shows how much he appreciates them? and if it means he gets to spend extra time with them? yeah, jay doesn’t regret a thing.

Bill Leyden

he’s being??? nice?? leyden’s being nice??

his friends check him for a fever. they worry he’s been lobotomized. clearly he’s been abducted by aliens and replaced with a pod person!

leyden is a prickly bastard in general... but when he’s falling in love, the entire world is puppydogs and rainbows, and he’ll sing showtunes to the heavens.

he’s just so much happier when he’s falling in love. it’s hard not to spread that happiness around. he has way more patience for his friends’ bullshit, and is eager to listen to their problems and offer his (still very leyden-esque) advice.

god forbid when his love interest’s actually present. leyden doesn’t have eyes for anyone else; it’s all about them, and he’s a goddamn prince to them. peeling fruit for them, laughing at all their jokes, making cow-eyes... he turns into the person he’d be disgusted by in any other circumstance.

Andrew Haldane

it’s all about the emotional intimacy, boys.

andy could never truly fall in love with someone until he already knows them very well; he has to be comfortable with them, to have an easy rapport. understanding each other is the first step to winning his heart.

he definitely gets a sparkle around them, though. he just looks brighter, younger, less burdened by his many responsibilities. maybe it’s because he knows he can share them with his partner... but andy feels so much lighter when he’s with them.

he’s very generous with his praise. when they do something well, he lets them know it; the last thing he’d want is for them not to understand how much he appreciates them, how valuable they are to him, how glad he is to have them close...

absolutely overthinks it. he’ll turn his feelings over and over in his head for ages, trying to process them before admitting anything out loud? is this real? is this plausible? are they both in the right place in life to be in love? do they really love him back? he’s not an indecisive man, but he puts so much thought into this that eventually, a friend like hillbilly would need to shake him a bit, and tell him to just go for it.

Hillbilly Jones

he’s not going to say it outright. he’d rather eat a live squid than do something that dumb. when hillbilly feels himself falling for someone, he grips a railing all the way down.

anything they need, he’s there to do. his affection reveals itself through how quick he is to help the person he likes. loyalty drives his urge to make their life easier. if they need some repairs done around the house, or some errands taken care of, he’ll offer to do them without a second thought. “not a problem,” he replies with a tiny smile when they worry he’s going to too much trouble. after all, he wouldn’t do it for just anyone.

master of wordless communication. his love interest doesn’t need to hear things outright from him, because they become well-acquainted with all of hillbilly’s various (extremely sarcastic) faces. he loves this easy communication.

he’ll talk them up to anyone who needs to hear it. hillbilly does not take kindly to his partner being disparaged, under any circumstances. it’s not overprotectiveness, he’ll insist to himself --- the protection is completely warranted, and he’s not ashamed to punch someone if his partner’s good name is on the line.

John Basilone

he gets all the points for persistence.

john’s greatest virtue is his determination. no matter what the world throws at him, or how many ways it tries to kill him, he’s going to keep going until he physically cannot anymore.

and... not gonna lie, there are moments when he sees his love interest smile, and it feels like he’s been shot through the chest. he’s got to stop, just to catch his breath, because they sweep the ground out from under his feet.

the first time it happens, he knows he’s in love. yeah, he knew he liked them already, but... like and love are different things. he likes his mama’s panna cotta, but he’s not going to marry it.

when john’s falling for someone, it’s important to him that they know it. no beating around the bush for him; if they don’t feel the same way, they can respond however they like, but they’ve at least got to know.

he misses no opportunity to make his admiration clear. if they do something impressive, he’s the loudest voice on the sidelines cheering them on; if it’s their birthday or a holiday, he hands his gift to them personally, with that irrepressible charming grin.

john is very confident in love, but he’s also very optimistic. it’s not that he’s never been rejected before, or can’t take it... he just genuinely doesn’t believe his heart can break.

#sledgefu: battle of 'i dont know how to be in love' vs 'i dont know if im SUPPOSED to love'#the pacific #headcanons

58 notes · View notes

charlieweasleyxmc · 5 years

Text

Getting Hit

(Y/N) tapped at her face paint, trying desperately not to wipe it away, though her nose itched fiercely.

Her friends parted as they walked to the stands, each of them going to the entrance to their house’s stands. When she and Rowan reached the top of the (Y/H) stands, they could hear shouts of “Go! Go! Gryffindor!” and “Go Ravenclaw!” echoing across the stadium.

“Wow!” Rowan gaped around, “I don’t think it’s ever even this packed.”

The horns called and the Ravenclaw team whipped out into the pitch, spinning around the stands.

Another horn called.

“Gryffindor!” someone yelled.

The Gryffindor team sprang out of nowhere, darting past the stands. A ginger haired boy rushed so close to the (Y/H) stands that the wind from his pass picked up (Y/N)’s hair and sent it flying around. She brushed it away from her face quickly to see Charlie fly back towards the center of the pitch where all the players were gathering around Hooch.

It seemed the whole audience held their breath.

The gong rang and the players darted into the air.

“The seekers already look like they have sights set on the snitch!” the commentator, Murphy shouted from his box. “Wow! The game could be over in…oh, it looks like it was just a Honeyduke’s golden sweet paper dropped from the teachers’ stands.”

(Y/N) glanced across the stands and almost started giggling when she saw Professor Dumbledore looking very embarrassed in the front, patting at his robes.

Rowan laughed with her, but then they both tore their attention away from Dumbledore back to the game, (Y/N) searching the players frantically for Charlie.

And there he was, his orange hair helping her to see him despite his fast pace.

What was he doing? She thought. Had he seen the snitch?

A bludger streaked through the air and (Y/N)’s heart skipped a beat before Charlie dodged it easily.

The second year beater wasn’t so lucky.

The crowd gasped as the ball hit him across the shoulder, sending him flying from his broom.

(Y/N) jumped, standing up and reaching for her wand, but Professor Dumbledore got to him first, his spell resting him gently on the ground.

“Wood’s down!” Murphy called, “We can’t even be two minutes in and Gryffindor team has already lost one of its beaters.”

(Y/N) glanced at the ground, where a group of adults and students were huddled around the place where Oliver had fallen.

She shuddered. That wouldn’t be an easy injury to recover from.

She turned her attention back up to the players and noticed Charlie hovering on his brooms above Wood, looking concerned.

Cheers that roared across the stadium broke her attention and shocked Charlie back into the game.

“What an amazing shot! The Ravenclaw team scores ten points! That girl is ridiculously impressive! Does anyone think she’d go out with me?” The crowd roared with laughter and (Y/N) glanced up to the commentator’s box to see Professor McGonagall scolding Murphy.

She turned, looking around, and she could see Penny from where she was at, looking grim.

The Ravenclaw team passed the quaffle around, the chaser’s moving like dancers until an interception from the Gryffindor team stopped their advance towards the goalposts.

“And it’s Gryffindor with the quaffle! They shoot! They—”

(Y/N) couldn’t help a cheer escape her as she saw Andre dart across the hoops, blocking the score. Pride welled up in her for her friend.

“What tight broom work!” Murphy called, “Egwu is the most agile keeper I’ve ever seen in all my years of watching quidditch! Which is a lot, in case anyone was wondering,” Murphy added.

(Y/N) giggled.

“Ravenclaw is up by twenty points! Will Gryffindor make up the difference before Charlie Weasley catches the snitch?”

“Murphy, you can’t predict who is going to catch the snitch,” they all heard McGonagall growl, her voice getting picked up by the microphone.

“What’s the matter with that, Professor? We all know it.”

Laughter erupted through the audience and the Gryffindors cheered the loudest.

(Y/N) watched with her house as the players darted to and fro, chasers zig-zagging back and forth as they passed the quaffle or blocked the throws. The single remaining Gryffindor beater struggled to keep up against the two Ravenclaw beaters as he tried to block the bludgers from hitting his teammates.

“And we’ve got Gryffindor and Ravenclaw head to head, both have scored forty points. Oh wait!” Murphy chirped and the crowd gasped, “Charlie Weasley’s spotted the snitch!”

(Y/N) darted her gaze up.

Charlie was tearing past the (Y/H) stands, his red clothing whipping out behind him.

“He’s got it…he’s got it…” Murphy was chanting.

The Ravenclaw seeker was charging across the pitch, trying to reach the snitch before Charlie did.

If he doesn’t pull up soon, he’ll—

Crash!

Charlie zipped out of his way just as the seeker nearly crashed into him, he went wheeling around, flying towards the ground when a bludger went careening toward him.

The only remaining Gryffindor beater had been too bogged down on his own. In an uncontrollable spin, Charlie couldn’t dodge the bludger and (Y/N) gasped as it went through the front of his broom, shattering the wood to pieces.

Charlie fell out of his spin, falling towards the ground at an uncontrolled pace, trying to remain in control of the remaining half of his broom.

He finally managed to slow it, his broom coming out from under him ten feet above the ground, and sending him rolling across the grass.

“Charlie!” (Y/N) dashed from her spot, running past people as she darted towards the stands’ stairs, charging down them.

She could hear Murphy’s voice and the audience’s cheers.

“Incredible! After all that, Charlie Weasley held onto the snitch! He’s caught the snitch! Gryffindor wins!”

She sprinted the last few steps and onto the field.

She could see a figure lying on the ground in the middle of the pitch. Nobody having reached him yet.

She fell down beside him. He was on his stomach, face in the dirt holding the snitch over his head.

Charlie, she growled inwardly, turning him over with a gentle shove so he was belly up.

“Are you alright?” she cried, wiping at his dirty cheeks with her hands.

He was grinning at her, “I am now.”

“And (Y/N) (Y/LN) comes to our wounded hero’s rescue! What a great day of quidditch everybody!”

“I caught it,” he said smugly, lifting the snitch.

“Oh, honestly,” she growled.

The crowds cheered, many of the Gryffindors coming down from the stands to surround Charlie. It took a while to fend them off until (Y/N) finally yelled loud enough that their star seeker needed to be taken to the infirmary or he might never play again.

That got everyone to back off.

Except for his captain, the older boy that (Y/N) had seen shirtless in the changing rooms the week before insisted on helping her support Charlie up to the hospital wing.

“I hope Wood’s, alright,” Charlie murmured.

She accepted the captain’s help gratefully and, together, they got Charlie into the castle and to Madam Pomfrey’s domain.

“Oh, dear, Mr. Weasley! Didn’t I just see you in here last week?” Charlie didn’t have time to answer before Madam Pomfrey continued, “Honestly, between you and William getting cursed every other weekend, one would think the Weasley boys had a death wish! I hope your younger siblings aren’t so reckless!”

Charlie grimaced.

He pulled out of (Y/N)’s and his captain’s grips to stumble towards one of the already occupied beds.

“How’s Wood?”

“He’s asleep now,” Madam Pomfrey whistled, sidling up beside him. “I gave him a tonic to keep him from feeling. It’ll keep him asleep for a few days at least, until I’m sure his head won’t be spinning from the pain.”

Charlie nodded, solemnly.

“Come now, Mr. Weasley,” Madam Pomfrey said, resting a hand gently on Charlie’s shoulder, “let me give you something for your recovery as well.”

“He’s a little banged up,” (Y/N) said, following Charlie’s captain to Charlie’s bedside as Madam Pomfrey instructed him to get on it, “fell off his broom and rolled from ten feet in the air.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded, examining him.

“Well?” (Y/N) asked as the woman straightened, lifting her wand in the air as a yellow light faded from above his bed.

“No broken bones,” Madam Pomfrey said, “I believe you should be able to handle this one, Miss (Y/LN).” She gave (Y/N) a curt nod before she bustled over to check on Oliver and her other patients again.

(Y/N) shivered, moving forward to perch on the chair beside Charlie’s bedside.

“You can go,” Charlie said, looking at the Gryffindor captain, “I’m in good hands,” he smiled at her then.

She gulped.

The older boy nodded and (Y/N) didn’t watch him go.

“Sooo,” Charlie said, once they were mostly alone, “what medicinal magic are you going to be doing on me?”

She only shrugged, trying to be nonchalant. She had done this loads of times; she should be able to do it now.

Reaching down, she pulled open the cupboard that was by every patient’s bed, pulling out two tiny glass bottles. She sent them on the counter and turned back to Charlie.

He was grinning at her.

She scowled at him, which only made him chuckle.

Reaching into her robes, she pulled out her wand, hovering it above him, she whispered the words Madam Pomfrey had taught her quickly.

Charlie immediately looked calmer.

“What are those?” he said, tipping his head lazily to look back at the potions on her cupboard.

“One’s for the pain, one’s for sleep,” she said.

He nodded as if she completely understood.

“So,” she said, unstoppering one of the potions, “how do they mend brooms?”

Charlie’s face darkened and she immediately wished she hadn’t asked the question.

“They don’t.”

She cursed herself, silently, of course. She was in a hospital wing. First rule of medicine. Don’t ask the patient anything that will give them anxiety.

She was already botching this up.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sadly, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

He smiled slightly, and she could tell it was hard for him to do, but he did it anyway, just to try to reassure her.

It hit her like a ton of bricks and she felt her insides go all gooey. She almost immediately banished those emotions from her mind. She was a healer right now; she had to remain impassive.

She did her best to ignore his smiles, or the way his eyes brightened as he watched her about her work, but her mind befuddled twice more before she got him to take both potions.

“That’s it,” she hummed, “you should be out in less than a minute if you’re any bit normal.”

He grinned, a tired, dragged grin, “you should know better, (Y/LN),” he said. “I’ve never been any bit normal.”

She smiled and his eyes closed slowly, his breathing growing calmer.

Just as she was about to rise, his hand reached out and grabbed hers, not hard, but urgent, and she stayed where she was.

“Charlie?” she asked.

But there was no answer, and yet the hand wouldn’t move.

She could have pulled herself from his grasp easily enough, she knew, but she didn’t.

It was done. Her work was done. And he wasn’t awake, so maybe it would be okay, just this once.

Moving slowly, she crossed both her arms on the bed beside him, his hand and lower arm folded into them, and then she rested her head on the entire bundle, turning her head just so so that she could see his chest and his face as if she were looking up at him.

He breathed and she let herself do it. Just this once.

She melted.

...

This incredible Bill and Fleur artwork reminded me of this scene.

https://weheartit.com/entry/131925337

#charlie weasley x jacob's sibling #charlie weasley x mc #hogwarts mystery charlie #charlie weasley x you #charlie weasley x reader #charlie weasley fanfiction #charlie weasley #hogwarts mystery #harry potter fanfic rec #harry potter fanfiction

249 notes · View notes

corabelle-serafin-blog · 5 years

Photo

CORA BELLE SERAFIN

{ KAYA SCODELARIO, 26, FEMALE } ☾ - CORA BELLE SERAFIN has been seen walking around town. Hazelgrove is familiar of the TWENTY-SIX year old TIMBERWOOD PACK WEREWOLF as SHE is IN FAVOR OF restoring the town’s Glamour spell. The people of Hazelgrove can agree that the BAKER can be COMPASSIONATE yet still be SELF DESTRUCTIVE. Let’s just hope something can be settled before the town is turned upside town. + blueberry pie cooling on a windowsill, the bitter taste of betrayal, a heart overflowing with too much love and too much hate. { dez, 23, she/her, est }

HISTORY

Cora is born in a small southern town. She has one older sibling and one younger one, and her parents are strict, overbearing, and religious.

Her parents demand nothing less than their idea of perfection. She’s expected to ace all of her classes, to never speak out of turn, to dress in a very precise way, to never even consider doing anything even remotely sinful or inappropriate or unbefitting. Cora spends her entire childhood struggling to live up to their expectations, and for years she’s the whole town’s Golden Child - The Pristine.

The cracks start to appear when she’s fifteen; the pressure is only growing, and she’s starting to buckle. Every tiny mistake feels like the world is ending and she doesn’t think she can keep living this way. By sixteen, she’s become the local Fallen Angel. Her grades have dropped and her cheerful nature has given way to depression. The adults look at her in disappointment; they never think to offer her a helping hand. Her parents are absolutely horrified to find their perfect little doll acting less than perfect.

She meets him the summer she turns seventeen. He’s a little older than she is, and she’s everything she’s been taught to avoid - just some low class bad boy who blew into town - but he treats her like a person instead of a doll, and he finds her flaws endearing, and she feels the weight lift off her shoulders whenever he’s around. Her parents hate him, but that only make him more enticing.

She’s a little frightened when he first tells her he’s a werewolf, but he sweeps her up into the romanticism of it all. She knows as soon as she’s been turned that she’d probably made a mistake. She confides in her family, and react with horror and disgust - she’s told she’s never welcome home again.

With nowhere else to go, Cora leave town with her boyfriend. They move into a tiny apartment in a big city, and Cora starts working as a waitress in a greasy diner, and later takes up a second job in a greasier strip club. It’s a struggle adjusting to so much - her life has, in the blink of an eye, changed completely. But she’s still very much in love, and the pair are doing the best they can, and she can honestly say she’s happe at least some of the time. And then one day, he disappears. Her boyfriend is simply gone - and he’s taken his half of the rent money with him.

Cora is gutted. She sells everything they own and spends the next year wandering the country and living out of her car, just trying to figure out who and what she is now. She’s spent her whole life living by someone else’s script and to be so completely alone now is terrifying, but there’s a sense of freedom to it, too. She has no one’s opinion to listen to but her own, and she learns things about herself she hadn’t known. She learns that she’s resourceful, and strong, and brave - and has a serious weakness for cheap whiskey and pretty faces. ( and not just men’s faces, either, which comes as a bit of a surprise - but what’s the harm in adding one more thing her parents would hate her for to the pile when she’s already been excommunicated? )

Her self-destructive self-discovery journey comes to an end when she gets a little in over her head and gets caught up in a pretty rough bar fight. Another supernatural takes pity on the young wolf, pulling her from the fight and giving her a place to sleep and lick her wounds for the night, before sending her towards Hazelgrove. Cora is a little skeptical of it all at first. She hasn’t been given much reason to trust other werewolves, and the idea of a pack is entirely foreign to her, but she finds support and understanding and community among the Timberwood pack, and they quickly win her loyalty.

Cora has been a member of the Timberwood Pack and a resident of Hazelgrove for about five years now.

BULLET POINTS

Cora has always loved to bake - probably because she’s always had a serious sweet tooth. Her sweets are pretty excellent, if she does say so herself. ( and she does, all the time ) She works at Ginger’s Snap Bakery, but can also persuaded to deliver tins of homemade cookies or pastries for a few extra bucks. Perfect for satisfying late night sugar cravings, or getting your hands on a delicious donut without having to ditch work.

Anyone who knew a young Cora wouldn’t really recognize her today. Gone is the quiet, obedient, gentle youth - Cora is bold, impulsive, loud, and proud. She doesn’t hold her tongue, and she doesn’t hold back. If she wants to do something, she does it, no questions asked. She’s sick and tired of being what others want to be. The big exception to this is, of course, the Timberwood Alpha. She’s a little wild, but she’s loyal to the core, and the alpha’s word is law.

Though she’s changed a lot, one thing she never lost was is her kindness. She’s a compassionate person; she feels for people. She’s the kind of person you can ask for favors, without worrying she’ll make you jump through hoops. The kind of friend who’ll show up at your front door with a box of freshly baked cookies and a bottle of booze when you’re having a bad day. She never hesitates to lend a hand to a stranger. Cora knows this has, can, and will get her into trouble sometimes. A lot of people can’t be trusted, and a lot of them are willing to take advantage of kindness, but she doesn’t see why she should change who she is just because there are assholes in the world. She knows she’s strong enough to survive being hurt, so why worry so much about it?

Cora is also ... still very much weak for both whiskey and pretty faces. Especially for anyone with a bad boy vibe. She likes to visit Satin Lounge or hang out at the Ink Addicts’ bar during her free time. Get a little drunk, flirt with a few regulars, have a little fun. She just enjoys a harmless good time. Every now and then, she lets someone take her home.

Cora’s really understanding and accepting. Probably too much so. She should honestly probably question things and people more, but most things just slide right off her back. She’s also really easy to befriend. Just don’t fuck her over specifically, and you’re probably good.

Cora is definitely still lowkey struggling with depression and the effects of a shitty childhood but she’s hardcore repressing that shit.

Almost definitely gets herself into trouble by hanging out with the wrong people.

She’s a disaster but like, in a fun way, so it’s cool, right?

Pinterest! Probably like at least a third of it is baking related because baking is pretty.

Cora has a couple of wanted connections up over here. The person who sent her to Hazelgrove could be an open connection too. She’s open for pretty much any kinda connection. Friends, frienemies, enemies, flings, ex-flings, baby daddies, frequent customers. Whatever floats your boat. Just hit me up if you wanna plot or just ramble about you character’s opinion about mine or whatever; I am all ears and up for all.

#mystichq:intro #☾ ┈ ♥ ABOUT ♥ ┈ ☽ ☾ ┈ ♥ ᵉᵛᵉʳʸ ᵈᵃʸˢ ᵃ ᵇᵃᵗᵗˡᵉ ᵃᶰᵈ ᶤᵗ ᵗᵉᵃʳˢ ʰᵉʳ ᵃᵖᵃʳᵗ ♥ ┈ ☽

7 notes · View notes

yeshawrites · 5 years

Text

AGENCY, CHAPTER 2. You can find all other works of mine here. NOTES: This story is not always friendly. It contains some graphic content, brief mentions of non-sexual nudity, murder, death, and plenty of language. Please be advised before you read it.

February. Fifteen years later.

He didn’t have much to load into the passenger van. Honestly, the transport felt like a waste. Someone could have picked him up in a sedan and no doubt the trunk would have room to spare after his meager duffle bag was packed in. All he had to his name were his clothes. They’d assured him that the Agency would set him up with firearms of his own, and just the idea of getting his stash through TSA gave him hives, so he’d just liquidated them.

For a fleeting moment Anthony reconsidered his choices. He wasn’t there yet. He didn’t have to do this. Once he saw the Agency itself, he knew it was too little, too late, but until then… He clenched tight on the bag strap and wondered if he could just sling it over his shoulder and jog back into the airport, hitch the next flight back to Oklahoma and forget this whole death sentence.

The Watcher in the front seat stared back at him.

“Sorry.” He tossed the bag into the van a little too hard. It echoed hollowly. “Coming.”

Their ride was long and silent. His companion didn’t even turn on the radio. Instead Anthony busied himself by watching the curving ridges of Virginia roll past the window, every slope and dip the new stage of an uncertain world.

Forty minutes later they rolled into a large, sprawling shopping center. WESTCHESTER COMMONS read a bright sign at the entrance. Commons to what? He looked further down the road and saw it disappear into a country lane, the all other exits dipping off onto the highway. A large movie theatre, a few craft stores, a dance studio, and a few fast food restaurants (Taco Bell, Chik-Fil-A, Five Guys) surrounded a pretty grass lawn that was meant to be a gathering place.

But the rest of it? The whole southern half of the complex was nigh on empty. Only a ski store (in Virginia?), a gym, and a Buffalo Wild Wings occupied the vast swath of blank storefronts. An entire section had boards stacked over the front windows, a Christmas mural two months overdue for a change painted cheerily over its warped surface. Just as he was wondering who in their right mind thought that was a good idea, the passenger van idled along the back of it.

Oh.

The Watcher punched a button on the dash and part of the building shuddered. A garage door cleverly concealed by siding and a few crates rolled up. Was this it? Anthony checked his expectations. A secretive government group called the Agency--and it lived in a strip mall that couldn’t quite fill its vendor slots?

They rolled inside and he adjusted his opinion again. The garage was clean, with a few black SUVs, sedans, and equipment vans lined up by model. A black Tesla perched in the far corner by a charging station, a tidy mechanic’s workspace not far from there. The Watcher parked, so Anthony hopped out and grabbed his stuff from the back.

“This way,” his escort said.

“You can talk,” Anthony said aloud, realizing in the same breath how rude that sounded. “Sorry. Just wasn’t sure for a bit here, y’know?”

The Watcher looked bemused and said nothing once more. Before they could make any headway, a door out of the garage swung open.

“Smith!”

“Chief Piotrowsky.” The Watcher--Smith, apparently--delved his hand into his pockets and produced a phone. “Just sign, would you?”

Chief Piotrowsky was a handsome man with shoulder-length dark hair, narrow, dark eyes, and black nails. Anthony watched them shine as he signed with his finger on the screen. “Feels like I’m signing for a package. This is a bit inappropriate for people, isn’t it? When you all sent me Barry, he had a good laugh about that one later.”

“They are packages in a way.”

Piotrowsky frowned uncomfortably and shook his head. “I’ll take it from here. Thanks, Smith. Tell them back at the Rock I said ‘Hi’.”

Anthony lingered in the shadows, uncertain of what to do. At long last, the Chief turned his dark gaze on him.

“Hey there. Nice to meet you. Antonio Martin?”

“Just Anthony, Sir,” he managed, offering his hand. “Nice to put a face to the voice.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s been a bit since we talked. I was almost worried you wouldn’t take my offer.” The Chief smiled and appraised him up and down. “Sorry, I almost didn’t believe the dossier. Looks like they were right about you.”

“Thanks for not saying ‘how’s the weather up there?’ or something like that.” Anthony managed a nervous grin. “But I can tell you it’s hell to find pants that fit quite right.”

“Well, that’s true. I’ll have to get our guys to source for your uniform. You’ll have to give me your inseam later. Six-foot-six, yeah?”

“Yessir.”

“Please, it’s Xi. Just Xi. Want the tour?”

It wasn’t like he could refuse. “That’d be awful kind of you.”

The hallways were narrow and labyrinthine. Somehow he’d expected cubicles and halogen lighting, tired interns and forever-empty coffee pots--at least from his experience with the county lockup and courthouses. The walls were a soft copper-brown, white baseboards and chair railing running throughout.

“Welcome to your new home.” Xi rapped his knuckles against the doorframe. “It’s not much, but I hope you like it alright. I wish I could say you’d get to spend more time outside than you will, but we mostly don’t, given the nature of the job. It’s imperative that people don’t locate us too easily, so there isn’t a lot of coming and going from the base unless it’s for patrol or missions. Fortunately, mostly everything we need is inside here. I’ll take you to your room first. Besides, I’m sure the others will want to meet you.”

Anthony craned his neck to look as they passed open door after open door. A small doctor’s office and what looked like a forensics table, a kitchen, a gym--Xi walked quickly, so he only caught glimpses. A woman hunched over a row of computers in another. Somewhere down the hall came the soft sound of laughter.

“Oh no.” Xi huffed a chuckle. “What in God’s name is she up to?”

They reached the end of the hall, a final door awaiting them. Xi rapped several times with his knuckles and pushed it open, revealing a small common room. A few couches cluttered around a tiny coffee table, all facing a TV with a couple of old gaming consoles. Around the perimeter were other, smaller doors to what looked like bedrooms. Light streamed down through a skylight, augmented by the chunky white Christmas lights strung around the ceiling.

And a short woman was shirtless on the table.

A woman with a brown mohawk whooped and flung jolly ranchers at the other woman’s chest. At the table, a dark skinned man with tight-cut ringlets of hair tried to hide his smile and just buried his face in his hands, another very unenthused older man staring up at her.

“Come on, Desch!” The woman on the table shimmied and got another peal of laughter from the other two. “Give a lady a smile or something!”

“Aishe,” Xi snapped. “God, please get off the table.”

Mercifully she was wearing a bra, because she spun around to face the newcomer with a shameless grin on her lips. Out of respect, Anthony lowered his gaze to the floor.

“Oop, Bossman here to take us down.” The dark man shot up to his feet. “I swear this was a legitimate operation, Sir. We’ve got permits.”

“Yeah!” Aishe laughed aloud before tempering her smirk. “We have permits. I’m a professional. I was just trying to get a smile out of Desch. Thought I might just, you know, do a little dance…”

“Aishe?” Xi groaned. “Your shirt. Please.”

She flung on a tank top and finally Anthony felt free to look her over. She was very short--maybe not even five feet tall--with long, bleached blonde hair and black, thick eyebrows framing golden eyes. Her lips were full and her body--well, he tried not to notice that too much. She had curves to rival the state. Her nose was the only straight thing on her; a sharp, angular line that only served to make every other swirl and dip of her more fascinating in contrast. A tiger’s eye stud glimmered from her eyebrow and a gold one from her nose and a third just under her lip, her ears rimmed with hoops and studs in a thousand patterns.

Anthony wondered if love at first sight was really as far fetched as he’d thought.

“We’ve got a newcomer.” Xi seemed to age a thousand years in the fifteen seconds they’d all been together. “Anthony is going to take the new slot.”

“Oh?” And Aishe flashed him a grin. “Charmed. I’m Aishe. Can you give good piggyback rides, or is all that height just for looks?”

“Aishe,” Xi groaned.

“Err, I haven’t done that in a bit, but I expect I’ll be put through my paces then, ma’am.”

“That wasn’t a no.” She looked triumphantly back at the others. “It’s possible.”

Xi pushed onward, motioning back at the others one at a time. “That’s Barry back there. Desch is the most senior Agent, so he’s an excellent resource. And Verna--”

If Aishe was a handful, it looked like Verna--the woman with the mohawk--might be too. She practically appeared in his face, poking and prodding at him. “Hey, you ain’t a slab of nothin’ and sinew like I got Barry in.”

Barry--the darker man in the back--stared off into the distance like he was seeing a battlefield. “Lucky him. You don’t have to go through the notorious Verna Welcome Warmup then.”

“I’d hope a big boy like him has a little swing in his fists.” Aishe grinned brightly, running her tongue over the ridge of her lip. “Where are you from?”

“Oklahoma. The Agency poached me from Colorado, though.”

“Well damn. You’re good, one hundred percent pure American beef, huh?”

Barry snorted so hard he doubled over, hiding his face even as Aishe grinned at her own joke. Xi sighed and adjusted her shirt to hide her bra straps.

“Will you please show him the run of the place and not scare him off?”

“Yeah, Dad. Don’t worry.” She swatted off his hands and stuck out her tongue at him. “I’ll get him set up nice. You got an appointment with the Rock or something?”

“No. Joshua.”

Every face in the room either grimaced, groaned, or rolled their eyes. Aishe pinned her mouth together to suppress what Anthony now suspected was a trademark grin. “Well you have fun with that! Let me know what else we’re doing wrong now. Figures we got the worst Watcher in the whole damn Agency.”

Xi didn’t answer that, but his face told a story of its own. “Behave. I’ll be back later.”

“Gotcha, gotcha.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving him alone with the others. Desch returned to whatever he was reading, but three pairs of eyes zeroed in on him.

“So.” Aishe grinned cheekily. “Why’re you in?”

“Huh?” Anthony almost laughed. The flashback to the county lockup was uncanny.

“What’d you do? What almost got you?” Verna bent over a chair, stretching out her hamstrings. “You’ve gotta tangle with something supernatural to get recruited into the Agency. What was yours? I punched out someone that was stalking a friend of mine.”

“Said ‘someone’ was a vampire.” Aishe laughed. “The Rock said they’d never heard of anyone doing that and living before.”

Barry grimaced. “Mine was a doppelganger.”

Anthony nodded and pointed back at the other man. “Same here.”

“Oh shit.” Verna pumped her fist enthusiastically. “These stories are always the trippiest. How’d yours go?”

“Err…” Anthony shuffled the bag off his shoulder and let it onto the ground. “Short version? It jumped my brothers and me. Got the best of them, didn’t manage to get me. Got charged with their deaths.”

“Yeah.” Barry nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, that’s how that one works usually. Usually it’s the Agency that gets people cleared from those ones.”

“Yeah, if Mr. Xi hadn’t gone and gotten me sprung, I’m pretty sure the prosecutor would’a hung me out to dry for murder.”

Aishe said nothing. She just tilted back her head and appraised him with those golden eyes, a half-smile on her face that concealed her every thought. For a moment Anthony wondered if she could see straight through him, through the layers of the button-up shirt and to his tattoos, straight down onto the pores of his skin where all the worst of him lived so close to the surface. But almost as soon as he saw it, her eyes brightened and crinkled again, that permanent laugh bubbling up to her throat.

“Well,” she said, offering him a hand. “I can show you your room. Then I can show you where you’re gonna get the weapons to take some doppelgangers out again. Sound good?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

---

Joshua had never really cared for camping. The only time he’d ever really gone was probably thirty years ago; as best as he could recall it had rained the whole time. His older brother swore they’d all gotten terribly feverish and sick from a combination of the weather and his father’s poor attempts at cooking, a story his father had gone to his grave insisting wasn’t true. Joshua had to admit it sounded very plausible, considering their father. He sighed and pulled his black coat tighter around him, muffling the jostle of bullets. All misgivings about camping aside, the Shenandoah was still pretty. The trees were just now recovering from the winter and tiny buds of green poked their hopeful heads from long branches. The water was clear and the current strong in the river he kept meeting; it glowed crystalline and threw sparkles across the stripped trees, flecks of color across white and grey bark. Sunlight pooled in the flat rocks, and if you sat still for long enough schools of tiny white fish would scurry around the shallows in search of food. The deer were bold here. Already he’d come within arm’s reach of a doe. In his mind he’d named it Eighty-Three, after the bright yellow tags in her ears. It was magical enough to make him not hate camping as much. But he hated long drives, too, and the drive had been nearly four hours of blistering silence and intermittent arguing between Desch and Christiane in the way only those two could argue, and he crossed a trip back out in his mental ledger of potential family vacations. A stick scraped Joshua’s bald head. He swerved and scowled at it, taking another step down the hill. The trail was very steep and only growing steeper. He wondered just how long it would take until he caught up with his quarry. He fiddled with the earpiece he wore. “Any sight?” “Negateef.” Christiane’s French accent was too strong for his taste. She was good at her job, but Joshua wished her partner would talk instead. “Not’ing yet.” “This trail is getting steep. I might need help bringing it back up.” “We will assist, mais w--” Christiane fell silent. Joshua halted, an instinct born of ages of special training. “Feefty yards.” That was all Joshua needed to hear. He delved into his fleece pocket for the Beretta and peered cautiously down the hillside thick with bramble and dead leaves. Sure enough, a lone figure in what looked like a grey flannel, shaggy blonde hair, and hiking gear moseyed his lonely way toward the falls. Joshua crouched out of sight. “You guys his set up?”

Christiane opened the link; he heard the beginning of a derisive snort and it went dead again. Probably Desch. At long last she replied. “Yes. Eyes on you.” Joshua clicked off the mic and peered over the ledge again. The hiker had nearly reached the falls; the roar of the water would be enough. He seized the opportunity and launched himself down the path, hurtling through brush and trees and barely keeping his balance over logs supposed to serve as stepsohSHIT. His foot caught the edge of a fallen stick. He felt the fall before it even began and threw his whole body into it, rolling across his shoulder and back onto his feet, but it was too late. The hiker turned, blue eyes wide, staring at the middle aged black man picking himself back up from the leafy path. “Freeze!” Joshua yelled, training the Beretta on the hiker. Naturally, the target ran. Joshua squeezed off three shots before running after his quarry, chilly air whipping across his bald head. Christiane was yelling something in his ear, but the damn accent made it near impossible to understand her and he just kept going. Down, down the path they ran, across stumbling blocks of rocks and leaves. The hiker was fast, but Joshua had training and a couple years of college track under his belt. He lowered his shoulders and launched himself from the high ground, catching the kid around his waist and dragging him down; as one they rolled down the path, their descent stopped only by slamming into a boulder. Pain. There were fingers around his neck now, wild blue eyes like cold fire, a hateful sneer born of desperation and rage boring into his; Joshua tried to put his feet between himself and his attacker but the hands stayed, far too long and strong to be normal, the air throttled in his throat and his lungs burning and stars sparking in his vision. Joshua gathered up the last of his strength and bellowed in the hiker’s face. He flinched just enough and Joshua grabbed a handful of the blonde hair, wrenching him down onto the pathway-- BANG The shot rang clear and true into the hiker’s back; Joshua covered his face just in time to shield himself from the shower of blood. “Zere. Are you okay?” “Just fine,” Joshua grunted, gasping for breath. He worked his way down towards the body and flipped it over with his foot just in time to see the pale face ripple and shift. He’d heard of this before, but never seen it in practice. He watched with sick fascination as the clothes shuddered and grew loose, the backpack straps sliding from its shoulders, boots falling off feet that no longer existed. The kid’s expression warped like the ocean tide, morphing and twisting until an eerie gray blank took its place, eyes sinking into nothing, the nose flattening, cheekbones dissolving until the only thing staring back at him was mirrored reflection of his own face. It was a grisly reminder that it could have been him, lying dead in a ditch, this thing masquerading to his wife, to his sons, slipping into his clothes as easily as he did-- “Ees eet ze doppelganger?” Hands shaking, Joshua touched his mic. “Yeah. This is it.”

“Well, more zan zat.” Christiane paused. “Our sensors are glowing purple.”

#Agency #my writing #original work #writeblr #2.#Christiane #Anthony #Verna #Joshua #Xi #Aishe #Barry #Desch

5 notes · View notes

pretty-perdita · 7 years

Text

Cold War |*| [Fate]

In which Paul reveals a secret he’s been keeping...

@paul-patts

[tw--uhh talk of self-hate, thoughts of suicide, talk of thoughts of suicide, confrontation, thoughts of violence, etc etc nothing super triggering but just be cautious friends]

PAUL: Paul had a plan.

It was a good plan, a brilliant, foolproof plan, which was Roger-approved and guaranteed to get Paul what he wanted, i.e.-- Perdy-slash-his-kids meeting Attina and no big blow-up fight in the way of that goal. In retrospect, Paul would realize that it wouldn’t have mattered how he did it, that a big blow-up fight was gonna happen eventually. In retrospect, Paul would realize he was deluding himself.

Maybe that’s why he sabotaged himself before actually going through with said brilliant, foolproof, Roger-approved plan. Because he’d known deep down and he was a coward and he wanted the buffer time.

That’s why Attina had come up when Paul was on the phone with Perdy, discussing the schedule for the twins’ over the next week.

In Paul’s defense, the window appeared to open. It seemed like-- it made sense to say it then, on the phone, rather than to wait for later that afternoon when picking up the twins. He had his cell pinched between his ear and his shoulder as he and Perdy talked and Paul did some of his dishes after several days not doing them, and the conversation steered toward the weekend, and Paul reached forward and shut off the faucet.

“Oh, I was uh-- hoping I could take them for all Saturday for the carnival-”

And see, here it was. Here was the opportunity. It’d be weird not to say it.

“Because um. I was actually gonna…” he cleared his throat and grabbed at the phone with his free hand now, looking toward the balcony where he and Attina had had their dinner together a week ago. His other hand perched on the counter. “I’ve been seeing someone,” he said. “And I was hoping that she could meet them. The twins, I mean. If you’re comfortable with that. ‘Course you could meet her too, first, she’s uh-- she’s up for that, we talked about it and she’d like to meet you…” rambled Paul, then trailed off.

PERDITA: This had become routine. At this point, it usually went rather smoothly. Perdita’s schedule was flexible, and if worse came to worse, Duchess didn’t mind if Perdita brought the babies with her to her house, so long as Perdita didn’t have a million errands to run that morning. Which was--well, honestly, Perdita didn’t know how she had lucked out with this whole gig. But, Duchess was a great boss (if not a little flighty, Perdita had insurance on that though, and she would take her to court if it happened again.)

It normally went: Paul told her his schedule for the Deer, Perdita checked that against her calendar of Duchess’ various events and they decided who had the twins on what night and what days. Sometimes, it would get awkward if things didn’t overlap properly, but there was always Anita and Roger and Stanley and the Grants to pick up the slack (and Sarabi, who was a very last resort if absolutely no one else was available.)

It worked for them and there had yet to be an argument about who got them when. (Though, with the holidays coming up...they were civil enough to...spend them together...weren’t they? With Roger and Anita as a buffer, perhaps.)

Anyways,

It was going perfectly fine, as usual, until Paul’s voice got nervous out of the blue. If he’d just said “I’d like to have the kids Saturday to take them to the Carnival” Perdita would’ve said “sure, fine, that sounds nice”. But, she got suspicious immediately, suspicions confirmed in the next second.

There was silence on the line. Perdita felt a storm brewing in her chest--it’s intensity terrifying, especially considering that her anti-depressants made her feel like there was a fog inside of her most days, dampening any emotion--sad, tired, hungry, happy, furious.

Her hand gripped the phone tight and the silence extended and extended--she almost wanted Paul to say something else, to continue to babble and just make all of this worse.

She didn’t know what to say.

Perdita hated that. She could say no or she could say fuck you or she could say fine, whatever or what the fuck?

But, she--couldn’t.

The phone line crackled in the silence.

PAUL: The line went dead and for a second, Paul really did think that Perdy had hung up. But he could hear what he thought was one exhaled breath-- a sign that she was alive, and yes, Paul had really said that, and maybe that made him an idiot and he should have waited to do all of this in person, because at least then Perdy couldn’t hang up on him. Was she going to hang up on him?

Why would she hang up with him? What was there to be angry about, really? That he-- that he hadn’t told her at the beginning? Was that it is? And Paul got battered over the head with guilt, the feeling twisting his stomach and ducking his head there in the kitchen as though he could feel Perdy’s eyes from here.

But why did he feel guilty? He did nothing wrong. He swallowed roughly on the phone, trying to remember that his crime wasn’t a crime at all.

He and Perdy-- they weren’t a thing. He wasn’t cheating. He’d just found someone who made him, god forbid, happy, or happy-ish at least, and if that wasn’t a goddamn miracle after everything in his goddamn life, then--

But if he squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them, he could imagine Perdy on the other side of the counter, staring at him, just staring at him.

The line was still eerily silent. He knew it was a battle tactic. To force him to speak.

So fine, he’d speak, and he’d try even if Perdy didn’t because unlike her, Paul didn’t want to go to battle today.

“Perdy,” said Paul. “I know-- look. The only reason I didn’t tell you before this was I-- I didn’t even know if it was gonna turn into anything. I was gonna mention it this afternoon when I came to pick up the kids, but it just seemed-- better to do it now, I mean-- we can, we can talk, if you want.” Still nothing on the other line. The guilt rankled and crawled up his spine-- he blurted, “Perdy, jesus christ, say something.”

PERDITA: I didn’t even know if it was gonna turn into anything.

He said this like somehow that made it better. It didn’t. If anything—it made it worse, because all the opportunities flashed before her eyes. All the opportunities for them. Times that they could’ve clung to each other and apologized or screamed at each other until they were hoarse (which yes, was a good thing, which meant all the ugly was out in the open), flitted behind her eyelids as she closed them for a beat. For one, steady breath. The anger was pushed back then, for just a moment, as the guilt and the sadness swelled.

Perdy, Jesus Christ, say something.

And just like that, that moment of—regret?—swept out again and the anger replaced it.

How dare he try to tell her what to do.

She didn’t even think, just removed the phone from her and clicked it off. The line went dead and she threw it in her purse, grabbing her sunglasses off the counter.

“Anita? Anita, dear? Will you watch the babies? Something has come up and I need to go take care of it. I’ll be back in an hour.” Her voice was a bit shriller than normal, but as she peeked out of her room where Anita was already sitting with the babies taking their afternoon nap in the pack-n-play, she smiled. Once she got confirmation, she zipped out the door without another word.

She was in a pair of sneakers, which she was grateful for. As excellent as she was maneuvering in heels, even she couldn’t walk with the proper fury and urgency in every step that she needed to. Part of her was hoping that she would walk all that energy off, so by the time she got to Paul’s door, it would be gone and she’d stare at the golden number on his apartment and then turn and leave and he’d have no idea she was even there.

That didn’t work.

When she arrived at Paul’s door, she didn’t even hesitate, her fist raising to pound on the door. She pictured that it was Paul’s chest, her lips twisted in a snarl.

“Paul! Open the door. I know you’re in there.”

PAUL: She hung up on him. Soon as Paul said what he said, there was a split second, and then a tiny click, and the line went dead. Paul pulled the phone from his ear at once and he stared down at it, at Perdita’s name looking right back at him and he thought--

For a second, he thought of calling back, starting over. He could say he was sorry.

But what the fuck would he be apologizing for?

What the fuck did he need to apologize for? For holding her hand in the hospital, for showing up, for staying beside her? For taking the babies for weeks while Perdita started therapy and got a handle on her medication for her post-partum? For waiting, for being patient, until she was ready again? For-- jumping through hoops for her schedule, for accommodating her new job? For telling the bloody truth?! For going out of his way-- AGAIN-- to be honest and fair and to give Perdita a chance--

A chance. Always another chance. Oh, she thought he was some cad for finding someone who actually made him happy for once, she probably thought he had gone behind her back or something. She was going to snark about him to Anita and this afternoon, when he saw her, she’d look at Paul with her cold eyes and try to make him feel small and insignificant. Like he had never mattered. Like he never would.

Attina made him feel the opposite of that and she wondered why he would want to keep that-- her-- all to himself?

Paul clicked off his phone and tossed the fucking sponge back in the fucking sink. His phone clattered onto the counter too. He turned to the fridge and yanked it open, snagging one of his beers out. He got the top off and paced all the way cross his flat, all the way to the balcony, flinging the doors open and letting in all that September air. He slumped over the railing and took a swig of his drink. And oh yes, this was familiar. Last September was just like this, wasn’t it? Paul calling Perdita, rambling to Perdita, waiting, desperately, for something in return. And time and time again, the line would go dead. And Paul would get himself a drink.

He should probably go back inside and text Roger, tell him to get his arse down to the Deer. Or maybe see where Stan was, or ask Jim if he was available or -- no, he couldn’t text Attina. He wanted to. He wanted her to be here so she could smile at him. Listen to him. But it wasn’t fair.

Paul was nearly done with his entire drink when the pounding started, making Paul jump outta his skin. He turned around, brow furrowed, and heard Perdita barking at him. A scoff left his lips. Now this was new.

He stalked back the other way, leaving his bottle on his kitchen counter and yanking open the door.

“Forget how to use a phone, Perdita?” he sneered at her.

PERDITA: There was Paul looking as angry as she felt and Perdita’s heart twisted in her chest. Which only served to make her angrier. How dare he look at her like that? Talk to her like that? She was the mother of his children. Where did he get off thinking that he could—he could—

Move on.

Didn’t their talk in the hospital mean anything? Didn’t all those practice kisses for Romeo and Juliet mean anything? He must’ve felt what she felt. When their lips touched their circuitry had jumped back into place. They made sense again. Everything made sense again. Because the world didn’t make sense without Paul. Perdita had always found the world a big, terrifying place. Which was why she did her best to be bigger and more terrifying than it. That was her only defense. But with Paul, the world got softer and smaller.

Until it was just them.

It was just them now. It was just them and this girl that Paul had been seeing, right under Perdita’s nose. The thought spiked sharp in her brain, stabbed at her heart and her lip curled up as she pushed at Paul’s chest.

“How dare you tell me over the phone!” she snapped at him. “When did you turn into such a coward?”

PAUL: “Me?! A coward-- me?!” snapped Paul at once, though he actually moved out of the way so Perdy could storm in-- though why, he didn’t know--

Well, he wasn’t thinking, honestly. He wasn’t thinking and this felt familiar. Like just another blow-up argument from a long time ago, when there had been a them. A reason to argue.

There was no reason to argue now. It was simple: he was dating Attina. Perdita had to get over herself.

“You’re a bloody hypocrite, Perdita, calling me a coward when you’re the one who picked up everything and took our kids and ran away! And noooooooooow you’re mad at me because I was trying to be honest with you?” He said, whirling on her as he slammed the door shut. “And that makes me a coward?”

PERDITA: Perdita stormed in without even thinking as soon as Paul took one step to the side. She’d never actually spent an extended amount of time in Paul’s apartment. Usually she just handed the babies over, turned on her heel, and left. And this was because looking around—all she could think of was their apartment. Their home.

Which she ruined.

Which Paul was bringing up now. That made the fire inside her chest roar brighter, and she had to let it out, or it’d burn her alive.

“That wasn’t my fault! How could you throw that in my face?!” she barked at him, her arms crossed over her chest, her face slowly growing redder.

“I’m not mad at you for being honest—which by the way, how long has this been going on for? How long have you be lying for about it? Keeping this bitch from me because you were scared? I’m mad at you for—that. For doing it in the first place. You don’t see me dating anyone!”

PAUL: Ah yes, that was right. Wasn’t Perdita’s fault. How could anything be Perdita’s fault?

It was Paul’s fault. It was Paul’s fault for probably forcing her to have their kids in the first place, it was Paul’s fault for getting a different job to try to make more money and therefore not being around enough, it was his fault for not realizing that something was wrong, and then it was his fault, his fault, that when Perdy ran away--

He hadn’t figured out the right string of words to convince her to come back.

And he’d tried. Phone call after phone call, he’d tried. He yelled at her, he begged her, he cried on the phone to her. He bargained, he bribed, he threatened-- he called at least once a day for over a month and sent her texts and didn’t go to the police because, stupid Paul Patts, he thought there was no way that Perdita wasn’t gonna come back to him. She deserved a chance.

So yeah, it was his fault, it was Paul’s fault for not going straight to the station and getting the police to drag her home.

And it was Paul’s fault now for trying to be happy while the mother of his kids struggled with her mental health, yeah, he knew what it looked like and he was tired of hating himself for his mistakes-- or his not-mistakes! Because Attina wasn’t one of them.

“I’m allowed to date whoever the fuck I want and I don’t have to tell you about it, and you wanna know why-- YOU LEFT ME!” The words thundered from the chest and he jabbed his finger in the air at her, taking a threatening step forward. “YOU. LEFT ME. I-- “ and the anger broke into some mad half-laugh as he ran his hand through his hair. “I have been so careful not to piss you off, Perdita, I’ve done everything you asked me to. I didn’t push you with the kids, I gave you time, I gave you space, but no, Perdy, I’m-- you don’t get final say over my love life anymore because YOU TOOK YOURSELF OUT OF IT.”

PERDITA: Perdita jumped.

It was just the volume of his voice more than anything, because Perdita wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t afraid of Paul, especially. Well, none of that was true. There were a great many things that Perdita was afraid of. Paul was one of the biggest. But, not in this way. Not in a way where she was afraid he’d—hit her or anything like that. She was afraid of him because of what he could do to her heart. Around Paul it was a fragile, vulnerable thing. Paul was the only person who could do any real damage to it.

Her mother had done enough already. When it came to her mother, Perdita’s heart was as tough as scar tissue. And Perdita’s siblings would never hurt her. Anita would never hurt her. Her father would never hurt her.

But, Paul—Paul was the only one.

She hated him for it and she loved him for it. She wanted to spill her heart back into his hands. It was all she wanted since he’d shown up at her doorstep. Take it! she wanted to say. But Paul was right, she was a coward.

So, she flinched from the words, her eyes darting about the room before she looked back at Paul’s laugh. Her brow furrowed as she looked at him and—

She felt the dissonance. They’d always been on the same page, her and Paul. From that first moment when she’d whistled at him and he’d snapped his head up like a hunting dog waiting for a command. Now—they weren’t because didn’t he—didn’t he realize?

Perdita let out a huffy-laugh herself, in disbelief, shaking her head. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes but she didn’t let them fall as she looked back at him.

“I left for YOU, Paul. Don’t you—don’t you get it? I-I left because I was—I was broken. And I was broke. My mother drained all of my accounts. I had NOTHING. I had NOTHING to give you. I-I had the babies, I went through ALL OF THIS because I-I wanted to, but also because we could. With my money, w-we could. But it was GONE and I wasn’t going to do that to you. Don’t you—didn’t you—it was for you,” she told him, taking a step forward, her hand reaching out for just a moment before she dropped it down to her side.

She was wasn’t angry anymore. She was—confused and—desperate for him to understand. For so long, Perdita hadn’t even understood herself. That time was like—some kind of fog. But at least she knew that that was true, in her sick, twisted, fucked up head, she’d been trying to help him.

PAUL: Paul laughed. It was a higher pitch than normal-- just one laugh, like the air was exploding from his chest, like it had to get out. And oh, it was hilarious, what Perdy was saying. It was hilarious and just so like Perdita Faye, who could never be in the wrong, who knew how to twist things up so she could get off scot-free. That was her superpower. Patch must get it from her, that shield of his-- everything always bouncing off.

Hitting Paul though. It always hit Paul.

He had tears in his eyes too, and his whole chest was burning hot and he wanted to just take a seat and let out a giant sob. Because he’d wanted an explanation for months and months. That was part of the phone calls and the texts: the unknowable why. Why would she leave him? Why wouldn’t she just tell him?

After a while, those answerless questions, they destroy you. You have to move on.

But Paul was pretty bad at moving on. And now he was finally getting his answers.

They took him right back to day zero, and he felt doused in gasoline, Perdy holding the match that threatened to ignite. Her words didn’t do much to comfort him because he couldn’t believe them. Perdy might mean it. She could have convinced herself of that. But that didn’t make it true. All it did was make Paul feel like a fool who was still not good enough. If he’d had the money, if he’d had a better job, if she’d trusted him--

So not the point.

“No, you don’t get it, you can’t genuinely believe that you leaving and taking our babies away from me was something I was supposed to THANK YOU for--” his voice was twisted and hoarse now, tears blurring in his eyes.

“Because if you really believed that Perdy, that means you didn’t hear alllll those phone calls where I was begging you, so drunk I could barely walk, to come back to me. You would have called me back or left a fucking note or broken up with me like a normal person, instead of leaving me to ROT. That means when I showed up here, you would have told me the goddamn truth and apologized, but it took you-- it took you four months and a nervous breakdown to say those words and oh I know, I’m the asshole here for throwing that in your face, I’m the asshole who is pissed at my ex-girlfriend with post-partum, and you’re-- you’re right, it’s not your fault--!” he said, laughing again. “How could anything be your fault when you were just doing it all for me!”

PERDITA: Perdita hadn’t listened to a single one of Paul’s voicemails. She saw each and every one of them pop up on her phone screen and she’d deleted them all. She knew it was the only way to stay strong enough. To keep Paul away, so he could move on with his life—do something better than be a factory worker from the East End, from the “bad” part of London. He deserved so much more than that. Perdita had just been trying to give him a chance.

That’s what she’d told herself as her thumb had pressed delete, delete, delete, over and over, until she was numb from it, until it didn’t hunt anymore. Until it just—felt like a routine. Change the babies’ diapers. Cry. Feed them. Cry. Delete Paul’s voicemails from the night before. Cry.

And honestly, she hadn’t thought about what she might’ve done to him. Oh, yeah, sure—that sounded selfish, it did. But, her alternative was better. The one where Paul was sad for a while but then he pulled himself up by the bootstraps and made something of himself, just to spite her.

That was what her broken brain had wanted. So that was what it saw.

And she knew—part of it was her. Though, if she hadn’t been sick, Perdita would have let all the money drain, watching every dime slip away, in secret, before she told Paul. Because she was a coward.

Either way, it would have ended like this.

For a moment, there was silence. Both of them were breathing harshly and part of Perdita wanted to claw at Paul’s face, rip him open like he’d just ripped her open, because she hated the way he was making her feel. Like she was—like she was—

“What? What did you want to hear from me? Sorry? Was SORRY going to fix any of this? It wasn’t. It’s not like you would’ve believed me. I didn’t know what was WRONG WITH ME. My whole brain was a—a FUCKING MESS, Paul. I wanted to die. You know how many times—”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“I knew the second I walked out that door sorry wasn’t going to do anything, no matter how sorry I was—how sorry I am. But it was my only option. It was the only thing I could see. I-I’d rather you hate me than take you down with me.”

She sucked in another breath and two tears fell from her eyes. She gritted her jaw hard so her teeth ground together and wiped the tears away.

“I’d rather I love you all alone than condemn you to a life you hated.”

PAUL: There was an alternate version of this story. Paul could see it like one of those choose-an-adventure books he so loved as a little boy. He poured over those books, navigating his way through ending after ending, trying to find the best one where he was the hero with all the chips, all the glory.

He could see that ending now. He could see himself closing the divide between he and Perdita like it had never cracked open. Taking her hands, touching her cheek.

In that ending, he wasn’t angry or out-of-control. He told Perdita that she should have just told him. That she was so, so wrong in so many ways--

That yes, an apology would have meant something to Paul because he loved her. And he knew her-- he knew Perdita would never actually say those words unless she meant it.

And yes, if she’d just come back-- if she’d come back, that would have meant everything.

Paul was not like Perdy. He didn’t have ice in his soul, he had fire. It could burn and bite, yeah, but it melted him quick when it came to the people he loved. Paul wished, right now, that he could lean into it and be melted down into that kind, soft, forgiving version of himself, that he’d be all polished and handsome and brave and true. He wanted to choose that ending.

But this fire was just gonna burn him to ash. Perdita hadn’t apologized. Perdita would never have come back.

Even now-- she was more concerned with defending herself. She cared more about her pride than him, than-- than just--

He had tears in his eyes, thinking of that big, incomprehensible just and what came after it. All the things he wanted and couldn’t want, even now.

His whole chest was so heavy, his stomach felt mangled, he stared at Perdita through a veil of his tears, hot in his eyes, and he wanted to hurt her all over again. His brow creased as he struggled to hold them back, even though she had been the first-- for once-- to cry.

“Then you-- you should be happy,” he forced the words out of his throat. “You should be happy because I hate you. I do, Perdy, I hate you. You broke me, and I hate you--”

And then before he could stop himself, he reached out to her, pulled her toward him, and kissed her on the mouth.

PERDITA: I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.

Perdita prided herself on being someone who didn’t care when someone said they hated them. She kept her head up and she iced her heart over so she could chip the part of it that housed her affection for that person out. Crack, it was gone and she didn’t think twice about it. It was what she’d done with so many people in the past. It was what she’d done with her own mother in a lot of ways. Her mother—who she blamed for all of this.

But, Paul. He was her whole heart. If she tried to cut it out of her chest, she’d stop breathing. Instead, the words just cut through the ice, chipped it away until the red muscle beneath was exposed, and then it pierced there too.

If Paul thought Perdita used love as a weapon, she had nothing on Paul. Paul who loved with his whole soul, who hated with it too. It always astounded her how warm he was. How he could smile and charm even with everything he’d been through. If Perdita was Paul, if their fortunes had been reversed, she couldn’t imagine how twisted she’d be, if having a relatively cushy and happy life had made her the way that she was now. But Paul—he stayed warm, he stayed good. And most importantly, he loved with everything and wasn’t afraid of it when it happened to him. Not like Perdita. Not like Perdita who acted like it was a plague infecting her body that she had to get rid of.

And here Paul was, infecting her with it again as he grabbed her bicep and jerked her towards him.

Their lips, teeth, collided sharply, Perdita sucking in a breath of surprise through her nose. She stood for just a moment, shocked but then—

Her nails were raking through his hair and she’d pressed her body right up against his, mouth hungry, body quaking with anger. She bit his lip. He bit hers. The whole time, she wanted to hit him. Slap him. Bang on his chest like a drum. She wanted to wiggle away from him, because he was dangerous. He was a pyre she was going to burn herself up on. But, she also didn’t care, because she was kissing Paul and he was kissing her and both of their mouths tasted like tears, but she could taste him too.

They weren’t Romeo and Juliet. They were just Paul and Perdita. Except Paul and Perdita were so much more than just Paul and Perdita, weren’t they?

PAUL: His lips moved roughly over hers, even while she stayed still. And Paul could taste her shock and feel it in the way Perdy swayed, like a tree bending in the wind. And Perdy, she didn’t bend. She snapped. Like him, she snapped, she broke, and then with her edges sharp, she cut whoever broke her in the first place.

Paul knew that was coming, but for a moment, he held her and she was soft for him and it was all he wanted.

For a moment, she didn’t fight, snarl, bite, claw, or hurt him. For a moment, he moved his lips over her own, his eyes squeezed shut so he could pretend. Smell her hair and realize it was the same shampoo as before. Taste her, and it was the same too. For a moment, time twisted back on itself like Paul was opening a rift and stepping back before all this bullshit had started. It was a long and beautiful and wretched moment, in which Paul was selfish and he loved her again. He kissed her like he loved her.

He never stopped-- he didn’t know how.

Then time snapped back into place like a rubber band, and Perdy’s hands raked in his hair. Her lips opened, and he could taste her breath, right before she bit down into his lip. It was all electricity and dynamite, both at once-- an explosion in his gut, a shockwave down his spine. Paul moved back, shoving Perdy against the door. Hard. It rattled in its frame and Paul bit down on her bottom lip too, hard enough to make her gasp for him. His own body shuddered, remembering all the time she’d made those noises before. He knew each one intimately. He knew Perdita.

Through the kiss, he could taste salt-- and he didn’t know which one of them was crying. Did it matter? No.

He didn’t care. His hand moved down her body, grasping at her waist. He gripped her like he wanted to press his thumbprints into her as he kissed her hard and sloppy, wanty and needy and dirty and angry. All those things, one kiss. Their other ones really had been make-believe-- two people following a script. But this was real.

PERDITA: Paul pushed Perdita against the door and she felt the explosion in her gut, it spread through all her limbs with an intense heat that made her toes curl and her heart skip a beat. He bit her lip, hard enough to make her suck in a breath and her fingers tangled tighter in his hair in response. Her leg came up, pressing her heel into his calf, trapping his hip with her thigh. She didn’t want him to go anywhere, she wanted to stay right here.

He grabbed her hard, Perdita felt her flesh press against her hipbones and she just moved her pelvis forwards, wanting him to press harder—to mark her up, so she’d feel it afterwards. She’d feel his hands on her no matter what, but she wanted the marks too. She wanted to see it—so that she would know that she wasn’t just making this up, which there was a danger of.

Perdita did this thing, apparently, called “disassociating” and she needed these details to ground her. To remind her that her body existed in this place. In this time. With Paul. And later, she’d be able to prove to herself that it happened, that it wasn’t just in her head. Because Perdita had thought about this exact scenario so many times. Every time she had looked at Paul. She’d thought about it every day that they’d been apart. She’d thought about Paul, angry, punishing her, but loving her, in the messy way they’d always loved each other.

Her heart was pounding hard and she had to break the kiss to draw in a sharp breath. Her lips were trembling from the emotion. She loved him, she loved him, she missed him. Her hand stroked once through his hair and she kissed him again—softer this time, but still pushing her lips rough against his, the kiss mostly breath, mostly lips, her tongue brushing his lightly.

“I-I’m sorry,” she said against his lips, like she could push the words into his lungs. “I’m sorry, sorry, sorry.” She kissed him again and again, her leg notching higher on his hip, drawing him closer to her, like she could press him right against her heart and he would know just how sorry she really was.

PAUL: First, there was only the frenzied heat between their bodies. He felt it in the points where they met, where they smashed into each other: the weight of Perdy’s heel on his calf, the soft curve of her thigh, her hip bone jutting against his own. It had been so long since he was this close to her, so close he felt like he could melt into her. And he did want to melt into her-- to be inside her. His body burned for it, from his fevered lips as they sucked on her own to the heat boiling in his stomach and in all the places where she touched.

He wanted to fuck her. Hard. Maybe against this door, with his fingers between her own, hand pressed up against the wood. He’d sink into her and make this whole place rattle. He’d make her shout, he’d pull her hair, he’d bite her neck and suck bruises into her skin.

He wanted to make love to her.

He knew it was less than a minute between himself and his bedroom and he could pull Perdita in there and have her on his bed in seconds. He had the comforter from their old room together, the sheets, too. She’d picked out those stupid sheets. He should have burned them, but he brought them here to Swynlake, almost like he craved this--

Like he wanted the ellipsis of their relationship to end and a new sentence to begin and he wanted it to be like she never left and she’d hold him with her legs and arms and sigh tenderly…

He wanted to do a lot of things, but it didn’t matter what he thought, not at first, because at first, it was just about that heat.

That heat ballooned around them when the kiss broke, like it was released from Paul’s lungs. He felt his body more concretely-- his tight jeans,his hand bunching up Perdy’s shirt. Perdita kissed him again, and again, and again, and now Paul was thinking about those two very different scenarios. He wanted both and couldn’t have either. His desire felt like it was going to bury him. His broken, bleeding heart in his chest was the heaviest thing of all. He felt the urge to break down-- to slip onto his knees and press his face against Perdita’s stomach, and hold her, and cry.

He still had tears on his cheeks.

Perdita was kissing him, did she even notice? Did she notice that he’d stopped kissing her back?

And then there was Attina-- she slipped in through the pain. Really, it was the pain in his chest that had stopped Paul first, see, but it also opened the door that let her back in. Attina kissed differently than Perdy. She was all soft, she liked to wrap her arms around his neck and giggled when he dipped her, like they was movie stars on a poster. He liked that about her, you know, he really did.

Paul panted and his hand moved from Perdita’s waist up to grasp at her shoulder and Paul pulled away.

“No,” he whispered it into the shared air between them. “No, Perdy--”

And he stepped away from her, stepped two, three, four steps back to return the safe distance. “No-- I shouldn’t have done that. You’re too late, you can’t-- you can’t wait until the second I dare to be happy again to decide you want me again. You had months. She’s my girlfriend, I asked her to be my girlfriend-- I can’t do this.”

And Paul had no idea if he was telling Perdita or telling himself.

PERDITA: Perdita knew. She knew that he’d stopped kissing. Perdita knew what Paul kisses felt like—how gentle and soft, how playful, how naughty, how hard. She knew all of them, in a way she didn’t know anyone else’s kisses. There was no one else she’d let kiss her as much and in all different ways. Only Paul. The language of his lips was the only one she allowed herself to learn.

She knew, but it didn’t stop her. It just made her more desperate. If she just kissed him enough, he wouldn’t pull away, even as she felt his muscles begin to tense. Her fingers curled, latching into his shoulder blade, but it was nothing in the end.

Paul stepped away from her as if it was easy. Stood there talking about his girlfriend and how she made Paul happy.

That was a load of shit and Perdita knew it. See, people like her and Paul—they used band-aids like they were prescription drugs. They popped kisses like Vicodin. They didn’t acknowledge pain, they covered it up with frivolous things. Perdita turned her words sharp and used the laughter at other people cowering around her. Paul used smiles—not his own, oh no. He collected them from others, like a sorcerer, he pocketed them for rainy days.

Someone like Attina, she was just like Vicodin—her sugar smiles numb Paul right up.

Perdita knew better, though. Because Perdita knew Paul. They were cut from the same cloth.

Does she know? Perdita wanted to say. Does she know about Lucas? About your mother? It’s not real, she doesn’t know you. Doesn’t know you like I know you.

She didn’t say that. Because Perdita and Paul were people who used band-aids. And Perdita’s shield was laughter.

With a scoff, she crossed her arms over her chest, pressing her back up against the door, staring hard at Paul. She’d just ripped herself open in front of him, but the second he’d stepped away, she’d stitched herself back up. Armor donned again.

“Well, you already did,” she reminded him, a wicked glint in her eye. This war wasn’t over. This had just been another battle. One which Perdita had won, and they both knew it.

“But, fine, play with your little chew toy.” She shrugged, flicking her hair over her shoulder. She sucked one of her plump, red lips into her mouth for a second. “We both know that you want this. And I do too, so—“ she shrugged again, smirking at him, feeling much better than when she’d first come by.

There was a beat and her face softened, just the smallest fraction.

“I do love you, Paul. And I am sorry.”

PAUL: The anger came back, though it was different this time, not a deep and twisted thing at all, but something bright and new. He’d carried all those other words he’d just shouted at Perdita-- tried to push into her skin and bite into her lips-- around inside him for a whole year. Those things had ripped out of his chest like some monster rising from the depths. Like-- like the bloody sarlacc from Return of the Jedi.

Yeah, Paul was comparing his year-long angst to a Star Wars monster. So?

Point was: this new anger was nothing like that. It didn’t make him want to break things with his hands. It made him want to pull on Perdita’s hair like a six-year-old. Push her down on the playground. Stick his tongue out at her. Call her a mean name.

That’s what Perdita was doing to him. They weren’t playing with fire, but with sticks and stones, Perdita sneering out insults like chewtoy at Attina. He should slap her for that. He wasn’t going to. No, he was keeping back. He was keeping back, and curling his fists and staring her down.

Perdita was going to be wrong about them. She was going to be wrong about him.

Paul decided, then and there, that he wasn’t going to love her again. Yeah, he was gonna make it that easy. All hot and angry like this, even with his blood still churning and his lips freshly bruised from Perdita’s kiss, it was easy to stare at her and hate her again. Even when Perdita’s face changed for that nanosecond. Even then, his heart was burning, and he knew it was all a trap that he wasn’t gonna fall into.

“Well I don’t believe you. Someone who loved me, someone who was sorry-- they’d never act like you do,” he said in a cutting, cold tone (he learned that one from her). “So get out of my apartment. Attina and I will pick up the kids on Saturday.”

#bdrppongo #fate #cold war #alsdkjflaskjdf

1 note · View note