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mastercucco · 3 months

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Play Stupid Games (NSFW) - Link x Reader

Link and Groose get into a friendly competition (in NoNutNovember fashion), and you have been tasked to be Link's "Dick Chaperone".

Fandom: The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword Pairing: Link x fem!Reader Raiting: Explicit Contains: unresolved sexual tension, friends-with-benefits type of situationship, you and Link are established fuck-buddies Word count: ~1,5k Read on Ao3 A/N: Reader inserts are my guilty pleasure and I wanted to try writing one myself! I rarely write anything in English (it's not my first language), so I'm a bit shy to post this – but too embarrassed to post it in my own language, so here we are :´) Please note that all characters in my writing are adults (we're not canon compliant in this house). For reference, I imagine Link and the Reader to be in their early/mid twenties in this one.

PLAY STUPID GAMES

It all started nine days ago with Groose being his usual snarky self, making his usual snarky remarks, and Link finally snapping and trying to knock Groose’s teeth out.

“Oh you’re such a pissbaby,” Groose mocked while Link, being held back by Cawlin and Strich, was flailing his fists with a furious expression and a hot-red face.

“Why so sensitive today?” Groose laughed. “Didn’t have enough time to give your tiny nub a rub? Is that it?”

From there, the argument somehow led into Link’s masturbation habits, and how Groose was “so much more of a man” because “he could hold a nut for weeks”, unlike “pissbaby-Link” who “can’t stop fidgeting with his cock for even one day”. And Link, who was so riled-up he couldn’t think straight anymore, didn’t say no when Groose suggested a “friendly competition” between the two of them.

Now it is nine days later, and you’re lying on a mattress on Link’s bedroom floor and listening to him toss and turn under his blanket, because somehow it is now your duty to inform Groose if Link busts a nut before he does. Groose has put a lot of faith in you, considering how little you care about Groose and how often Link and you like to mess around.

Link’s bed frame creaks in a steady, quiet rhythm. You listen to it only for a few moments before you huff, annoyed.

“Stop humping,” you snap. It’s already past midnight and you’re tired of this stupid game. It was exciting and even arousing the first few nights, trying to keep Link from touching himself; teasing him and making him so horny he had trouble standing straight. But not anymore. Not after nine poorly slept nights.

The creaking stops and Link’s bedclothes rustle when he turns to lie on his back.

“I feel hot,” he says.

“Drink some water.”

“The water’s warm.”

“Then get up and go get cold water,” you snap again. His bed frame keeps creaking when he sits up.

“I can’t,” Link says, “I have a tent up.”

And whose problem is that? you want to ask but hold your tongue. You turn around to give him an annoyed look instead. Link’s hair is a mess and even in the dim moonlight you can see his cheeks are burning red. He doesn’t wear a teasing smirk like on all the nights before; he fidgets with the hem of his nightshirt and looks uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.

“You’re being an idiot,” you huff. “Just go masturbate.”

“You’ll tell Groose.”

“So what? Groose is a dick and this ‘competition’ is dumb.”

“He won’t shut up about it if I lose!”

You groan. “You two are such idiots…”

“You could just… not tell him,” Link says, lowering his voice. The corner of his mouth is slowly rising. “Help me out a bit. I’ll make it worth your time. Please?”

And there it is. The smirk.

Your face flushes, not because you feel flustered but because Link thinks you would entertain this stupid game they’re playing any further than you already have. You give him a stern look and turn your back on him. The air is still for a while, and then you hear Link stand up. He paces around a few times before walking up to the window and opening it. The hinges screech. Loudly. Everything in Link’s room seems to make an awful lot of noise after midnight.

And then it suddenly gets quiet again. Suspiciously quiet. You stretch your neck and take a peak at Link. He’s leaning against the windowsill, legs apart, and slightly rocking back and forth. You’re about to tell him to stop humping again, but pause to think before you open your mouth. Why do you care if Link wins the competition or not? Why should it concern you if Link cannot keep his hands out of his pants?

At this point, do you even want Link to succeed in this stupid game any longer?

Your face flushes again. You’ve been an idiot. You’ve been such an idiot. If you wanted Link to quit the game, you should have just done something about it.

You push the blanket away and get up. Link is so absorbed in his rocking that he doesn’t even realize you've walked up to him until you press yourself against his back and sneak your hand between his legs. His hips buck when you gently grab his crotch. The cloth of his night pants is thin and leaves little to no room for imagination. You stroke him with your fingertips, your touch light as a feather, and only take a pause to feel the wet spot at the tip of his cock. Link whines your name and slaps your fingers, but he doesn’t push your hand away.

“Stop. I’m too worked-up already,” Link groans, but when you try to move your hand away, he grabs your wrist and presses your palm back against his erection.

“You’re giving me mixed signals,” you say.

“I am not,” Link insists. He slowly lets go of your wrist and braces himself back on the windowsill. You keep your hand in place, but stay still even when Link thrusts impatiently against your palm.

You’re already starting to question your decision to end the game for him. Knowing Link, he would only ask for another chance to beat Groose if he were to lose. And you don’t think you can handle another round of this.

Link thrusts his hips again. You do nothing. His cock twitches, and he lets out a frustrated groan.

“So you don’t mind losing to Groose?” you question – even though you already know the answer.

Link half-laughs, half-groans. “I’m not going to lose,” he says, “I’m not going to shoot a load.” He sounds way too confident for someone who’s been moaning about being desperate to “shoot a load” since night one. You give him a light squeeze, just to see how serious he’s being, and his knees immediately buckle. You’re certain he has no control over it.

“I know you well enough to know that you’re not going to be able to hold it,” you say.

“Oh c’mon!” he moans and pushes against your palm so hard your hand hits the wall. It gets wedged between the bricks and his cock, both rock hard. The wet spot on his crotch is very obvious now.

“I will tell Groose,” you warn him.

“Please don’t.”

“What even is the point in all of this? What are you trying to prove? That somehow you’re more of a man by keeping yourself uncomfortably horny all the time? How does that even make any sense!”

Link doesn’t answer. He wiggles his hips to find a comfortable spot in your palm to gently rub against.

“Link,” you warn again. You try to pull your hand away but it won’t budge.

“I’m not trying to prove anything,” he mumbles, his mind clearly more occupied by the satisfaction of hand humping than whatever you’re trying to scold him about. “Can you squeeze a bit more?”

“No,” you huff and let your fingers relax.

“Just squeeze it.”

“No, Link.”

“Oh come on!” he whines. “It’s been two weeks.”

“Nine days,” you correct.

“I need this so bad!”

“You play stupid games, you win stupid prizes.” You finally force your hand away from between him and the wall to give some weight to your words. Link turns around to face you faster than you are able to take a step back. He tightly grabs your wrists.

“Work with me here,” he pleads. “Just a quick handjob. It isn’t that big of a deal. I’m sure Groose is beating it every night anyway, he just says he doesn’t.”

“How would you know?”

“I wouldn’t! No one would, that’s the thing! For some reason I need a dick chaperone while he is allowed to sleep alone and jerk off as much as he wants without anyone finding out.”

“Well,” you say, smirking, “I could fuck Groose. Then we would know for sure.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Link as appalled as he is now.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you’re quick to add, “I wouldn’t touch him with a long stick and you know that.”

“You’re an ass,” Link huffs and lets go of your arms.

“But actually,” you say, “that wouldn’t be so bad of an idea…”

“Fucking Groose?!”

“No, you idiot! Ask someone else to fuck him!” You give his crotch a scolding squeeze, but it only makes Link's knees buckle once more. His surprised laugh is out of breath. He leans forward and pulls you in a little closer.

“Or you could just give me a quickie right now,” he murmurs in your ear, his words almost nothing but a warm breath on your skin. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

You think back at how your entire friend circle mysteriously found about the first time you and Link fucked, just a day later, and you shake your head. Keeping secrets definitely is not his strong suit.

“I’m not going to help you lose,” you say. “You would just want to have another go at it if – and when – Groose hears about it.”

Link lets out a miserable groan. “This suuucks. You suck. Hard.”

“Tonight?” You cock your eyebrow. “No. But after I find someone to fuck Groose…?” You lean into his ear, “I can suck as hard as you’d like me to.”

Link’s breath catches in his throat. “Is that a promise?” he barely manages to whisper.

You kiss his cheek. “It’s a prize.”

#the legend of zelda #skyward sword #skyward sword link #link x reader #link x (y/n)#link x you #reader insert #my writing #fics #spicy

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bisexualnathanyoung · 3 years

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Community Blowback

Fandom: Misfits, Nathan Young x Original Character

Summary: When Mel Albright, a low-life stoner with a heart of gold, ends up on community service, she assumes it’s just another thing in a line of mishaps that is her life. Will the aftermath of a freak storm and the help of a green eyed idiot show her that maybe things being fucked up aren’t always that bad after all?

Masterlist

- Follows the events of the e4 show, Misfits, with slight cannon divergence.

A/N: Completely different OC than the one from the piece I posted the other day. Mel is my main OC that I love, and I wanted to start writing some one-shots to post about her and Nathan, and I wasn’t sure how to introduce her, so I went ahead and posted my baby. Enjoy! (special thanks to @seanfalco for being my first reader and always supporting me 😭)

Chapter One: New Day, New Bullshit

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: none in addition to canon compliant ones such as blood, death, drug use, and offensive humor. all of my writing is probably going to have swearing in it.

Bullshit. Total Bullshit. My mum fucks up my entire childhood, and I’m the one with the criminal record for trying to protect her. Great. Just fantastic. I thought as I swung open the door to the community center. Fucking community service, taking up my time, that I could be doing literally anything other than this.

There was only one other person there, a boy with short brown hair and blue eyes, sitting by himself, motioning his phone around the room. I plopped down in a chair on the opposite side of the lobby near a vending machine. Another boy entered the room. He looked vaguely familiar. Maybe I'd gone to school with him or something. Two more girls showed up, and soon after a large man wearing a name badge left the office.

"I'm Tony, and I'll be-" the door swung open, "Sorry I'm late!" an Irish accent bounced against the walls of the community center and we all turned to look towards who it came from. Pretty Cute. was my first thought. Hair full of curls. Lanky build. Yeah, he was cute, but so was the other guy. After I'd decided I didn't know if I knew the other guy or not, I did decide he was pretty hot. Very nice muscles. None of them were ugly, not even the one sitting by himself. I knew what it was like to be a loner, so I figured if I had a chance with any of them it'd probably be him. Wait why am I thinking about this? Everyone here has a criminal record. Just stop. I cursed my dumb brain and it's stupid way of assessing people. I had no problem developing crushes, but I'd never do anything about them. Probably best in this situation. I didn't know what any of them had done.

"Anyway," Tony continued, "I'm going to b-" the door aggressively whipped open as another guy came in. Not near as chipper as the other one. Tony balled his fists, seeming like he didn't like being interrupted, "You know what, when I call your name just come get your jumpsuit. If it's too small, I'll try to find another one. If it's too big, deal with it!"

I made a mental note of their names: Gary, Kelly, Simon, Alisha, Curtis, and Nathan.

He told us where the locker room was and we all filed in. I wasn't crazy about the fact the room was unisex, but I had an undershirt on, it was fine. I had just about buttoned it as much as I wanted it when a weird squeaking sound came from behind me.

"What are you doing that for?" a particularly chavish, northern accent said.

"Just for a bit of a laugh," the Irish one, Nathan, responded. I turned and saw he scribbled the pay out of "community payback" and turned it into "community blowback" with a little smiley face in the o. I thought the smiley face was a nice touch. If they didn't want young offenders vandalizing their uniforms, they probably shouldn't have left magic markers lying around.

I followed the others outside and leaned up against the railing as the probation worker went on about making a difference and being worth something. Waste of my fucking time. I was staring off into space when a phone rang and brought my attention back to the group. The probation worker tried to continue as Alisha kept talking on her phone. Then chaos ensued as everyone talked over each other, and right after that a fight tried to break out as the probation worker separated Gary, who seriously had some anger management issues from Nathan, the cheeky one who kept taking the piss. Nathan was throwing his arms around like an idiot, while Gary looked like he could probably kill him. The probation worker, Tony, somehow got Gary to calm down and instructed us to grab some paint and cover up the ugly, vandalized benches.

I found my way to the middle bench with Kelly the one with the accent from earlier, and Nathan. At least he was nice to look at, and I wasn’t too keen on being too near Gary. I thought about joining Alisha and Curtis. Curtis made it vocal earlier that he didn't deserve to be here. I’d have that in common with him, but I saw the way she was looking at him. I hadn’t had her figured out yet, so I didn’t want to barge in on her territory.

Not five minutes in, Gary ended up kicking a paint can into the water and leaving the area after he kicked a shopping cart too. With him gone, I moved over to the bench with the only other person who wasn’t running their mouth earlier, Simon. If he kept it that way, we’d get along fine.

“Lemme guess, shoplifting,” Nathan began to bother Kelly, “no?”

“Don’t act like you know me cos you don’t,” she responded.

“I’m just making conversation,” he said, then going on some spiel about networking with young offenders, “C’mon what’d you do?” He asked her. I kept my eyes on the bench, but I couldn’t help but overhear. I was kind of curious of how everyone ended up here, but it wasn’t my business, so I wasn’t about to go around asking.

“A girl called me a slag so I got in a fight,” she said. Typical.

“Was this on the Jeremy Kyle show?” He asked and I snickered, hoping nobody noticed.

“No, it was at Argos.”

“Argos… You know what you should’ve done is get one of those little pens they have and jabbed it in her eye.” He responded.

“What about you, weird kid?” He said and I looked up. It took me a second to realize he wasn’t referring to me but the boy next to me.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like a panty-sniffer.” Jesus. I went back to focusing on the bench.

“I’m not a panty-sniffer. I’m not a pervert,” Simon said. Nathan starting making weird noises, so I looked to see him pretending to wank off the paint brush. Any sense of attraction I had from his looks disappeared.

“I tried to burn someone’s house down!” Simon responded to the teasing, and Nathan let out a high pitched ‘fuuu.’ I laughed.

“What?” He directed at me, “You burn someone’s house down too? I haven’t heard a peep out of you. Maybe you’re the panty-sniffer.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, “No… I kneed my mother’s husband in the bollocks because I didn’t like how he treated her. Don’t let yourself be next.” I rolled my eyes.

“Alright, alright, Jaysus.” He walked back over to his bench.

“What did you do?” Kelly asked.

“Me? I was done for eating some pick n mix,” he responded.

“Bollocks” she said. Yeah probably, but again, it really wasn’t anyone’s business.

I looked up at the sky as the thunder started to roll, a dark cloud approaching.

“What is going on with this weather?” Nathan asked. To who? I don't know. I was starting to believe he just liked to hear himself speak. The probation worker showed back up and started questioning how we screwed up painting benches.

“It wasn’t us,” I started, “It w-" I screamed as I got cut off by a giant piece of ice destroying the car behind him.

“That’s my car,” Tony said in disbelief.

“Ha classic,” Nathan said before another giant piece of hail flew into the water, not five feet from my head.

“SHIT,” I yelled.

“Alright, I’m a little bit freaked out!” A complete change in attitude out of Nathan.

“What is that?!” Alisha motioned towards the sky while Simon filmed it with his cellphone. I looked and the cloud from earlier had doubled or tripled in size and gotten much darker. Another piece of ice exploded a dumpster.

“What is going on here? Move!”

“Ruuuun”

And so we ran with great panic to get inside, many things being destroyed around us. Hail was pelting us as it poured down. When we finally got to the door, of course it was locked. We were all screaming at the probation worker to get it open, and then snapped when Alisha yelled, "Open the fucking door!”

“DON’T speak to me like that!”

And then everything went wonky. All of us flew into the air, screaming. I felt a zap through my body, and then we were on the ground again on our backs. Not dead. Surprisingly.

“I feel really weird,” Kelly said. I nodded in agreement.

“That’ll be the lightnin,” Curtis responded.

“A little reassurance might be nice, y’know, you’re fine, lookin good,” Nathan said. Yeah, he was never going to shut up I decided. Then the probation worker mumbled something that sounded vaguely like ‘wanker.’

“Did he just call me a wanker? Hey?! Hello!” Nathan continued, being his annoying self.

“Is everyone alright?” Tony said, seeming a little bit more normal than a second ago but not by much.

“We could’ve died you dick,” said Alisha.

“Are you alright?” Kelly said, “You’re actin like a freak.” She wasn’t wrong.

“Maybe we should call it a day,” he said. Gladly. I was more than ready to go home and nurse the headache that was beginning to form.

–––––

I rubbed my eyes, walking up to the community center. Agreeing to take closing at work because of community service may have been a bad idea, but it wasn’t like I had a ton of options. Opening my eyes back up, I noticed big red letters graffitied onto the community center. As I got closer they read clearer

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU” Oh great. What a lovely good morning message. I stood up against the wall while Alisha stared at her phone.

“This is a joke. Did one of you do this?” Curtis accused.

“Don’t look at me cos I didn’t do it,” Kelly answered. Nathan wandered up to the group, “I’ll tell you who did it. It’s that Banksy prick. It has a hidden meaning. It’s like that monkey policeman with the banana and a Tesco’s bag.” What?

“Maybe someone wants to kill us,” Simon added.

“And why would anyone want to kill us,” Kelly responded, pretty much voicing my thoughts.

The probation worker showed up, made a stupid joke, then Alisha’s phone rang.

“Right! That’s it! All of you give me your phones!” I was starting to believe Tony’s anger problems rivaled Gary’s, and then I noticed Gary wasn’t there. Whatever. Not my problem.

“Are you allowed to take our phones?” Alisha asked before he snatched them up. I was wondering the same thing. I was already in shit with work for having to cut my hours in half, what if they needed to ask me to come in that night? The last thing I needed was more shit from my coworkers. The anti-social behavior part wasn’t the problem, it was the fact that my mother took me to fucking court. I reluctantly gave him my phone anyway.

We walked back to the locker room to get changed.

“Is he allowed to take our phones?” Nathan started, “He’s probably using them to call one of them sex lines.”

“Those sex lines will eat your credit,” Curtis responded.

“Call those a lot, do you?” Alisha joked. I think.

“He’s out there filming himself, on our phones, naked, masturbatin,” Nathan said, coming up with another scenario.

“If he is, you figure I could upload it to one of those sites and get some money off it?” I said.

“Of course not. That’s the thing about girls, man,” he said, turning towards Curtis, “they don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna pay for porn when it’s just out there for free. ‘Specially not of some big ole probation worker working his cock outside a community center.”

Curtis shook his head, “You know people do get money for that stuff? Why do you think there’s adverts all over the site?”

“Whatever. I just know we’d never see any of it,” Nathan responded.

“At least I could get a lawsuit out of it,” I mumbled.

“Now you’re talking,” he said, raising his eyebrows and putting his hand on my arm. His bare chest was still out. Yeah, he’s still cute. Possibly. Maybe.

"What was your name again?" He asked.

"Mel," I responded.

"As in Brooks?" He joked. I rolled my eyes.

"As in Melanie, thanks," I squinted at him.

"Riiiight," he said, continuing to get dressed.

“D’ya want some of this?” Alisha asked Curtis, motioning the joint in between her fingers at him.

“No, I’m good,” he responded.

“You?” She gestured to me.

“Yeah,” I took it from her and took a good long drag and leaned up against the lockers with my eyes closed as I blew it out. I’d need more than this to get me through the day, but at least it was something.

I opened my eyes as I felt someone take it from my fingers and saw Nathan smoking it in front of me.

“Hey! I wasn’t done with that,” I sneered at him.

“If you want it, come and get it!” He said as he ran out of the locker room. What the hell? I chased him and he finished the joint and threw it over his shoulder.

Dickhead.

Alisha and Curtis shamelessly flirted as I tried to scrub the letters. I was kind of perturbed by the fact that Alisha wasn’t doing shit, but she had a point. This wasn’t coming off anytime soon, and the job felt kind of pointless.

“You know after the storm? Did any of you’s feel like dead weird?” Kelly asked the group. I mean yeah, I thought, looking back towards the letters while Nathan said some dumb bullshit. We all did, right? But then things were fine at work. I looked up to see Kelly looking at me. Why is she looking at me?

She quickly turned to Simon, “What did you feel weird?” She asked him.

“What you don’t want to hear about my anus?!” Nathan responded.

“Do you really need to ask a question?” Curtis snapped back at him. Nathan gave him a stupid little grin that was really cute. No, not cute. Kind of cute?

“Something happened,” Simon started.

“What’s that? Squeak up!” Nathan teased. Not cute. Wanker.

I went back to scrubbing and ignored the rest of them until Nathan fell into me after Kelly pushed him and the water from the bucket got all over my lower half. Yeah, he deserved a shove but not at my expense.

“What was that for?!” Nathan exclaimed as Kelly stormed off.

“You want me to help you dry off?” He said to me, glancing down my body, before I shoved him back the other way and went to sit on the other side of the table where Alisha was.

“What’s with all the pushin?! Jesus.”

We eventually went back inside after the unanimous decision that that shit wasn’t coming off. I went back into the locker room to find my box of cigarettes. Alisha took to the mirror. It seemed like she did that a lot. She reapplied her lip gloss, “Curtis is well fit, yeah?” She asked/told me.

I shrugged, “Yeah, I guess.” I mean he was, but I wasn’t totally thrilled to be having that conversation.

“You guess? What’s that supposed to mean?” She half laughed, “He totally wants to shag me,” she said. What am I supposed to say to that? I took a couple cigs out of the box and lit one and put the other in my pocket. I’m gonna have to smoke this whole box to get through the day... but I won’t, I thought as I put it back in my locker. I hesitated before putting them back up. I smoked both of the cigarettes before throwing my lighter in my pocket and leaving the locker room to see Nathan absolutely assaulting a vending machine.

“D’ya need 50p because I’ve got it if you want it?,” I told him sitting down on the weird blue seats on the other side of the little hallway.

“No, I’ve got it… got it, yeah!” He said. “Two for one,” he offered me the other one, and I took it. Peace offering for stealing that joint from me this morning. Even though it wasn’t mine to begin with.

Nathan and Alisha started ganging up on Curtis, and I laid down against the seat, trying to ignore them. I jumped as Curtis launched himself at Nathan. I sat up. Day two and he’s already almost got his arse kicked twice. Maybe I should keep count. Curtis backed off and I opened my cola.

“D’ya wanna know what I got done for?” Alisha asked.

“Not really,” Nathan responded. Alisha shot him a look and told us anyway.

She launched into some story about a party that I couldn’t care about.

“That’s when the police pull us over… I’m already banned from driving, so I am like fuuuck,” she continues. “This cop, yeah,” she raises her water bottle towards her mouth. I have no idea where she’s going with this, “he hands me the breathalyzer and I’m like ‘Do I suck… or blow?.” Never mind, I know exactly where she’s going with this. She immediately starts licking the bottle, mimicking felatio. Bringing it in her mouth, in and out around her lips. I put my head in my hands at her little show. I glance back up, and she’s still going. I turn to look at the guy’s faces, and it’s kind of hilarious with all of their jaws dropped. I bit my lip to not let out a laugh and then sipped my soda. Part of me wished I had her confidence.

“Now I don’t know if this cop is gay or what,” she continues her story, after taking the bottle out of her mouth, “but he tells me I’m four times over the limit. It’s bullshit. I didn’t even wanna go to the party.”

The door swung open, and I sat up on my knees to look over the top of the seat. I saw Kelly scramble to get onto her feet, “He’s gonna kill us!” She said, closing and locking the door. Nathan started laughing, "nice entrance, very dramatic." I didn't think it was the time for jokes. There was definitely something going on with her.

"The probation worker's gone mental. He's just attacked me. Somethin' really weird is hapenin.' I'm hearin' these voices in me head. It's like I can hear what people are thinkin!" she said, clearly in distress. She was talking fast, her makeup was running. I wasn't sure what to make of it, but I didn't think it was funny.

"Have you been sniffing glue?" Alisha added. Not taking it seriously.

"The storm! The lightning! I dunno; it's just done somethin to us!" Kelly continued. It did seem like bullshit. Maybe she was just having a bad trip.

"Okay if you can hear our thoughts. What am I thinkin' now?" Nathan said and pointed towards his head.

"You think it's bullshit?!"

"Course I think it's bullshit, you don't need to be a mind-reader to know that."

I sipped my coke, still not knowing what to make of the scene.

"Why are you in a wheelchair?!" Kelly continued.

"It was the storm," Nathan started, "the strange tingling sensation in my anus, it's spread through my body, and now I can't feel my legs," he lied. He was definitely the dramatic one.

"I'm serious!" she kicked him.

"Ow, Jesus!"

Curtis began to speak, walking towards Kelly, "What do you mean the probation worker attacked you?"

"This does sound like complete shit," Alisha added.

"He's out there and he chased me!" I couldn't help but believe her. The voices might be something of a bad trip, but the probation worker sure as hell wasn't with us. Who knew where he was?

"Something's happened to me too," Simon spoke up.

"Did you pop your cherry?" Nathan joked, "Oh, we're all very happy for you." I kicked him in the back.

"Hey!" he responded, turning back at me. If he didn't leave Simon alone, I might be next in line at an attempt to kick his arse.

"Earlier on when we were in the locker room, I was invisible," he continued, "I turned invisible." Things were getting weirder by the minute. Nathan took the piss at Simon's expense again, but he was too far away for me to kick him again. Nathan rolled towards the door. Kelly stopped him.

"Don't! Don't go out there! He will kill you!" she pleaded him.

"Course he will because he's such a badass," Nathan responded.

"I really don't think that's a great idea," I finally spoke up.

"Oh, great, not you too," he rolled his eyes and tried to wheel past Kelly.

"Don't!" she cried.

"She's telling the truth!" Curtis blurted out of nowhere, "all this it already happened once. I opened the door. The probation worker he killed you," he told Kelly, "you were right there. Everything froze. Time went backwards."

"Oh, this keeps getting better by the second," Nathan said, getting up. He went towards the door.

"I'm telling you don't open that door!" Curtis warned.

"Stop!" I yelled before he started to open it.

"No!" Curtis yelled as it opened.

Nathan immediately closed it. Idiot.

"Ah, he's right! Probation worker's gone mental!" The probation worker slammed up against the glass of the door. We all backed up away from the door.

"Maybe he's on crystal meth, that stuff makes you crazy," Alisha suggested.

"Y-yeah," I continued, "a bad trip. Everything's going to be fine." I couldn't convince myself.

"The grafiti, "I'm going to kill you," he wrote it," Simon said. I tried to control my breathing as I slowly backed up. I wasn't going to sit around and be murdered.

"It's stopped," Curtis said. Kelly and Alisha started fighting like we weren't in danger for our lives while I chewed on my nails and couldn't figure out what to do.

"We don't have time for this!" I yelled over their little cat fight, "I'm getting the fuck out of here!"

"Yeah, the back way," Nathan agreed. We ran towards the back of the community center until Nathan slipped and fell. I kept going until I heard Kelly exclaim, "Is that blood?!" I turned back around and sure enough blood was pouring out a locker and all over the ground.

"Ah, get it off me!" Nathan struggled. I felt my hands shaking as Curtis approached the locker. Please be a dead animal and not a person. I thought. He opened the locker and there was Gary. Very dead. Very stabbed. Very blood. We all jumped back and yelled and screamed. I felt my anxiety build up in my throat.

"I'm gonna throw up," I said. I felt panic set in. I'm sure we all did.

"He's gonna kill us," Alisha said, teary-eyed. We couldn't stop staring. It was like a car crash, but much much worse.

"C'mon don't look at it," Curtis said, trying to comfort Alisha before gasping, "I need to have sex with you right now! Let's do it raw!" Alisha screamed.

"Get off me, you freak!" I tried to pull him off of her, and he eventually let go.

"What did I do?" Curtis panicked. I let go of him.

"Uh, you said you was gonna shag her," Kelly started.

"And you were getting your chap out!" Nathan told him.

"It wasn't good," I shook my head.

"It's when you were touching her…" Simon concluded. I started to think he was the only one of us with brain cells. Alisha touched his neck, getting a very similar reaction out of him.

"What is happening to me?!" she exclaimed before Tony flew through the glass, shards going everywhere. I screamed and jumped back as lightning shot out of my fingers and into his body. His body lay still.

"Did… did I just kill him?" I asked, tears filling my eyes. Self defense. Accident. Didn't matter. I still killed someone. The rest of them got closer.

"Looks pretty dead to me," Nathan said, looking down at the body and up at me. His tone much more serious than usual. Probably because I just killed someone.

He spoke too soon because Tony's body jerked and grabbed Kelly's leg.

She kicked the absolute shit out of him, "I! AM! NOT! A! CHAV!" she yelled as she kicked him.

"That should do it," Nathan said, his hands in his hair. Everyone threw out ideas on what to do. I stayed silent. At least, technically I didn’t kill him, but I don’t think electrocuting him helped him stay alive.

“We’ll go to the police. We’ll tell them the truth,” Curtis suggested.

“What?! Tell them that lightnin shot out of her fingers?! They’ll never believe us! Not anymore; They’ll say we killed them both,” Kelly responded to him. I slid down the wall on the opposite side of the room. I tried to steady my breathing. It didn’t work.

“If there’s no body, there’s no crime,” Simon said, “We should bury them under the fly over.” And that’s what we did.

––––

“We don’t tell anyone about this, yeah?” Kelly said as we buried the bodies, “About the storm or what it did to us.”

“I don’t want anyone to know. I cannot be a freak,” Alisha said. That rubbed me the wrong way for some reason.

“A freak?!,” I raised my voice, “I can handle being a freak,” I lowered my voice back down, “I’m more worried about going to prison or the lasting emotional damage of having murdered someone.” She looked away from me and we continued to bury them.

“So hold on,” Nathan started. I really wasn’t in the mood for his bullshit, “All of have some sort of special power,” he said putting special power in air quotes, “everyone can do something except me. He can do something,” he gestured toward Simon, “He can do something, and I can’t. That’s ridiculous, look at him.” That’s it.

“Just, leave him the fuck alone, twat!” I shouted at Nathan.

“What? You starting a little weirdo gang over there? Fine, whatever. Have fun.” He finally shut up for once. Simon smirked, and I felt pretty accomplished.

––––

After all this disaster, I still had to go to work. Still had to make rent. Still had to pay bills. It didn’t matter what I had experienced. The world moved on.

“You alright?” One of my coworkers asked, “because you look like shit.”

“Thanks,” I responded, “I’m fine.” I lied. I couldn’t stop seeing Tony lying there, limp. Practically dead. My fault. Maybe I saved us. Maybe we would’ve survived anyway. There was no way to know. I flipped the chips in the grease without paying attention. Shit. Boiling hot grease went onto my hand.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” I said, shaking my hand, running to the sink to run cold water over it. My boss got me a bandage and let me go home early.

I rolled a joint, smoked it, and tried to get to sleep to prepare me for another exciting day of community service in the morning.

When I got to the community center the next morning I was exhausted. I’d gotten maybe two hours of sleep, and my burn still hurt like a son of a bitch. I ignored the others as I suited up. I went back into the main area and sat on the floor. Nathan approached me and sat down next to me.

“What happened to your hand?” He asked.

“Do you care?” I responded. I didn’t feel like being made fun of for my second degree burn.

“Maybe I do,” he said.

“Grease burn,” I told him.

“How’d that happen?” He asked, looking at the bandage. He seemed genuinely curious. Could Nathan Young act like a normal human being?

“I work at a chip shop. Had a lot on my mind. Wasn’t paying attention,” I answered honestly.

“Oh,” he said simply. We sat in silence. Maybe he was a little cute.

We lined up for questioning. Nobody said anything just like we discussed.

Until Nathan felt the need to make up a story about Gary and Tony’s illicit, homosexual affair. I was too tired to monitor my thoughts. Somewhere between “what the fuck” and “why the hell did I think that? That’s so out of left field I can’t fucking believe this", I thought something dumb.

Somewhere in the perverted minefields of my brain, I think “I wouldn’t mind if he was doing that to me,” as Nathan mimics the motion of Tony fucking Gary. I was fucking ashamed as it was without a mind reader standing right beside me. I backpedaled so fast. I had to keep a poker face, so Sally didn’t know something was up. Jesus what was wrong with me? Not only did I have to live with being an accessory to murder, now I had to deal with sexual thoughts about someone who was comparable to the people who bullied me in secondary school. God, I hate my life.

And then on top of everything else, Sally pulled me aside as she let everyone else go.

“What happened to your hand?” She asked. You get one burn and all of a sudden everyone needs to know your life story.

“Grease burn, do you want to see it?!” I snapped.

“No, that’s alright,” she said, walking away.

“Well, I think we got away with it,” Nathan said as the group of us gathered on the roof.

“Do you actually believe that or are you just really dumb?” Curtis said, looking at him. He’s just really dumb. His dumb stupid face with his pretty green eyes and cute curly hair and- STOP. Stop. Stop. Stop. What the fuck is going on?

“I actually believe that,” he answered, “how come I can’t do something? I was there; I should have one of these bullshit powers.”

“You can have mine. You wanna know what people are thinking about you?” Kelly responded, shooting me a look. Great. She knows. This is bullshit. Again, I hate my fucking life.

“No, not so much, I want something from the A-list,” Nathan said to her. After Nathan made a fool of himself once again, Curtis brought up a good point.

“So what happens now? Are we gonna be like this forever?” He asked.

“What if we’re meant to be like superheroes?” Simon said, looking around at us.

“You lot, superheroes. No offense, but in what kind of fucked up world would that be allowed to happen?” Nathan said. I kind of agreed. I had an ASBO for fighting and threatening my mother’s husband and worked in a chip shop. It wasn’t necessarily your average backstory.

“This will fade away, by this time next week, it’ll be back to the same old, boring shit,” Nathan continued. God I sure hope so.

_____

Next Chapter

#oh goodness what do i even tag this as #oc; melanie albright #Nathan Young #nathan young fanfiction #misfits fanfic #idk #this is like my first project i've actually been passionate about in years so uh #lemme know what you think #my writing #fic; community blowback

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Maybe You're My Enemy (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

a/n: hey, hi, hello! welcome to the first canon compliant thing i have written since 2017, i am *~ petrified! ~* . i had to write something to fix these two though after the events of episode 8 because i just love them dearly (and the fact in the subsequent episode Lawrence just dropped in the fact they’d shared a bed didn’t help this at all). thank you so much to @purecamp for reading it over and reassuring me it’s not a heap of shit (so if it turns out that it is then just blame her xo). also the song it’s set to is enemy by Charli XCX in case u want to get the immersive vibes!

fic summary: On one side of Scotland, Lawrence disappears from social media. On the other, Ellie reflects.

***

They say, “Keep your friends close”

But you’re closer, I love when you’re here

I’m so far away sometimes, I’m distant, yeah

The sky is grey. The clouds are grey. The stagnant water of the quay is grey, and so’s the metal rail that Ellie’s holding on to as he narrows his eyes, tries to stop the wind from hitting them and making him tear up.

As if the wind would be the only reason.

He brings his gaze into focus on the HMS Unicorn, sat in the water in front of him like some massive whale that’s been planted in a bathtub. It’s a fucking ugly ship; a glorified tugboat on steroids with a big bowsprit sticking out at the front all out of place, but he likes the little bust of the once-white unicorn that sticks out from under it. Ellie remembers getting brought here for a school trip in Primary 3, pointing to the unicorn all excited and getting laughed at by the boys in his class that he knew were going to grow up to be the ones that gave the teachers lip and got suspended in high school.

He remembers that Bryce made up the fact that one of the boys had “said the f word” in the gift shop later that day, just so Ellie could have the satisfaction of watching them get screamed at by their teacher. Ellie still fucking loves him for that.

Ellie thinks the unicorn is out of place in all this grey. He remembers the time he did his unicorn mix when he opened for Willam, how nervous he’d been and messaging Lawrence about it and getting a “this you coming out to me as a furry?” in return which made him laugh and forget why he’d even been nervous in the first place. He can’t help the smile the memory brings to his face even if he wants to.

And he wants to.

Lawrence always could make him smile, get a laugh from him even when he didn’t feel like it. He remembers with a blow to his heart what Lawrence had said on the show- “you’re not terribly funny? Like you don’t have…zinger-y punchlines?” - and how Tia had laughed and Ellie had wanted so much to bite back but didn’t.

Because he always could draw a laugh out of Lawrence. Granted he was usually laughing at him rather than with him, but Ellie could still put a smile on his face by acting dumb, saying things that Lawrence would subsequently repeat in a screech of disbelief that would always make Ellie laugh harder anyway. He’d always self-impose ridiculous dares on himself in front of him: in Hive, “here, what if I did the entire shot rainbow?”, in Nandos, “d’you think I could do the wing roulette by myself?”, in Glasgow on the Subway on the way to a gig, “dare me to get off at Ibrox and I’ll go to the Louden Tavern dressed like this?”. Ellie had been used to being the class clown for Lawrence, the jester for the queen.

Or maybe just a fool.

Ellie’s always hated the colour grey.

You might help me, intimacy

I’ll admit, I’m scared

Maybe, maybe you can reach me, yeah

His surroundings turn to silver as he shoves his hands in his pockets, heads towards the V&A museum that’s still glinting despite the lack of sunlight. He’s stopped by two teenage girls that are polite and shy and squeaky-voiced as they ask for a photo- he supposes that’s what he gets when he goes out wearing the pink and purple fur coat with the hearts on it. Ellie forces a smile and thanks them for supporting him and they tell him he’s their favourite in return.

After they walk away he thinks they must have been lying, but then he feels the frown etch itself onto his face as he shakes his head. The self-doubt is a hangover from filming that he needs to shake off.

He squints at the museum as he walks past, fleetingly thinks about going in and looking at some of the old fashion to cheer him up. A’whora’s promised to go with him when he’s eventually allowed to come up to visit, and Ellie snorts at the idea of the fashion queen of the London scene in Dundee. The thought of A’whora’s reaction to the Wellgate shopping centre- the Credit Union, the B&M, the Jobcentre Plus- puts the first smile on his face he’s had in days.

Lawrence had gone round the museum with him too, when Ellie had dropped him off at the train station the day after a gig and they’d been killing time. It had been weird to just dick about like that together the first few times. Weird the fact there was no makeup, glue and wigs, no alcohol or gay anthems to yell over. Just two boys walking around a museum together. Like a date.

Ellie makes a face before he even realises. Not this.

The first time they did all of it together was weird. Just like everything Lawrence had written. Nandos, cinema, staying at his. That last one especially. Ellie can still remember the way he’d stared up at the bumpy ceiling from his position on Lawrence’s couch in the pitch dark, street lamps from outside casting shadows through the blinds. The room was too cold and the blanket was too small and he hadn’t slept a wink but he’d still do it all over again.

The first time they’d both lain on Lawrence’s bed the morning after the night before, cracking up at Scottish You Laugh You Lose compilations on Youtube and Ellie being unable to help the tears that streamed down his face at Lawrence imitating “big shoe, big shoeeee!”. The way they’d been close and the way their arms had touched and the way Ellie had felt ridiculous for the way his heart was hammering. Just a friend.

The first time they’d found each other under the dark lights of CCs when they’d both been through in Edinburgh to support Alice by chance. The way Ellie’s heart had lit up like a firework when he saw him. The way they’d laced their fingers together without even having to ask permission first, the way everything just seemed to be as simple as tequila rose shots and pink lights and leaning against the wall as they smoked outside.

The way everything else had just happened so easily.

Ellie squeezes his eyes shut before he can realise what he’s doing. The memories have forced their way in, kicked down a door in his head that he’d been sure he’d bolted shut.

He needs to change the locks.

Maybe you’re my enemy

Now I’ve finally let you come a little close to me,

Maybe you’re my enemy

You’re the only one who knows the way I’m really feelin’

Ellie is in the same Stitch onesie he’s been shrugging on since the last episode aired. It stinks. He’s joked to A'whora that he can probably smell him through the phone, and A'whora’s asked if he just sweats out Mango Loco Monster. Ellie makes some joke about wringing out his clothes into a pint glass if he did, which makes A'whora retch on camera.

He’s glad they made up at least. They didn’t have too much of a choice, to be fair. Apart from the way they get on so well, their bond and their friendship, A'whora’s the only other one who knows what it’s like to be in Ellie’s situation.

Except A'whora never stabbed Tayce in the back.

“You should talk to him,” A'whora insists, bringing the whole sorry situation up in a pause where Ellie must have looked as if he was about to make a vodka bleach mixer.

Ellie looks pointedly back at him through the screen. “I’ve been telling you to talk to Tayce for months.”

He watches A'whora pull an awkward face and he’s satisfied he’s hit a nerve. “That’s different though. You and Lawrence don’t live together.”

“Yeah. Least I wasn’t stupid enough to move in with someone I fancied, how’s that going for you?”

A'whora splutters a laugh that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Ellie feels guilty all over again. He feels like that’s his default these days. “Sorry, chick, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, I mean. It’s fine. Just have to act as if I’m not in love with the bitch every time I’m around her, it’s not hard,” A'whora deadpans.

Ellie frowns. “You know Tayce feels the same. Everyone knows it.”

“No I don’t,” A'whora says instantly back to him, shaking his head and dissolving momentarily into pixels. “Besides, even if she did, like…it’s easier if she didn’t, y'know? All this…publicity, every move getting analysed. It’s easier to just…not.”

Ellie narrows his eyes. “You’re doing a smashing job making the case for me and Lawrence.”

“You know what I mean! You don’t get people asking where Lawrence is in every live you do. You don’t get people going through the show fucking…frame by frame and then editing every time you breathe around each other together and setting it to a bloody Little Mix song.”

Ellie bursts out laughing and starts singing Black Magic down the phone to him, which makes A'whora look pointedly at him before clearly being unable to hold it for long and instead laughing with him.

Both their laughter dies down and Ellie watches as A'whora smiles sadly, sincerely. “He’s worth the risk, Els.”

“Oh my God, prison. Who the fuck are you, Nicholas Sparks?”

The reference flies over A'whora's head and Ellie starts explaining the plot of the A Walk to Remember, steering the conversation out of the waters it had become marooned in, the captain of his very own HMS Unicorn.

He feels more like he’s aboard the Titanic with every message that goes unread.

Now it’s really clear to me

You could do a little damage, you could cut me deeper

“It didn’t get you a badge though, was it worth it?”

Ellie’s asked himself that every day since the episode aired. Since he made the decision, pretty much. Financially? Yes it was. It’s pretty well-known at this point in the grand scheme of Drag Race that with each week you’re on the likelihood of securing more bookings is increased, and now with his slot at Drag Fest he feels as if he’s hit the jackpot.

Everything else? Not so much.

Ellie still feels his stomach drop if he thinks enough about that untucked, which he does all the time. Too much, in fact. The aggression in Lawrence’s voice which Ellie knew all too well was a manifestation of hurt on so many levels. The way Lawrence chose the conflict that Ellie wished he could have avoided. The way Lawrence left his feelings bare while Ellie couldn’t trust himself to do the same in case he said something he might regret.

The fact Lawrence had thought Ellie had set him up to fail was maybe what hurt the most, though. Ellie had wanted to ask him how he thought he’d be able to do that after everything they’d been through together. He’d tried to tell him he didn’t think it was possible for him to fail at something he shines at. He’d wanted to grab Lawrence’s pink fucking headpiece and bash him over the head with it until he realised that he’s Lawrence fucking Chaney, he is the Scottish drag queen. Lawrence is the one who will say something at a gig one week and it’ll be common drag parlance across the country by the next. Lawrence is the one getting booked by the BBC Social to make educational videos. Lawrence is the one on posters across Glasgow, for fuck’s sake.

Ellie might not have been thinking about the worst case scenario in that moment, but only because he genuinely didn’t think there could be one.

After all, he’d had his opportunity to sabotage Lawrence. Ellie remembers the first day when the producers had wanted to set up the Scottish queen rivalry, asked for something shady they could use as a soundbite. The way he’d sought out Lawrence on a smoke break and told him about the situation and reassured him that he hadn’t given them anything, and the way Lawrence had just smiled back at him, softly and genuinely, and told Ellie he’d done the same. The way they’d minutely linked pinkies together before breaking them and walking back inside as if they’d barely shared so much as a glance, neither of them wanting to draw any suspicion their way.

And he could’ve been harsher in that untucked if he’d wanted. Could’ve said how for someone that was meant to care so much about friendship and sisterhood, Lawrence had been doing a great job shitting on him from a great height about his lack of challenge wins and his run on the show.

But he didn’t, because…well. He knows why.

Because the knowledge that he’d hurt Lawrence and lost his trust had done more damage than any joke Lawrence made at his expense could ever do.

Ellie goes live on the Tuesday afternoon. A comment on the chat reads, “are u A’whora and Lawrence still friends???”

“Yeah, me and A’whora are still friends!” Ellie bats the comment away with a fake smile.

He’ll blame his lack of comprehension skills if he’s asked about it.

I feel guilty, I feel nervous, I feel certain now

Maybe, maybe you can reach me

He doesn’t know what possesses him to do it.

Maybe it’s when he wakes up on Friday and Lawrence’s Twitter isn’t loading. Maybe it’s when he reads the other Scottish girls condemning the fans, the word fatphobia leaping out, grabbing Ellie’s heart and wrenching it tight.

Surely not this?

Ellie searches Twitter and what he finds makes him feel ill. He doesn’t know what he had expected- he’d known the frantic tweet urging the fans to be kind that he’d typed out before he went to sleep hadn’t exactly been going to create world peace overnight- but he hadn’t expected any of this. Everyone loves Lawrence, surely.

Although perhaps he’s just talking from experience.

Maybe it’s when he shoots Lawrence a message that goes unopened. In all honesty Ellie doesn’t blame him. A flimsy sentiment about hoping he’s okay that clocks in at under 250 characters isn’t going to cut it, and he’s grateful when Bimini, with all their empathy and ability to read a situation as clear as day, texts him and tells him that Lawrence has replied to them and he’s…well, he’s managing.

Maybe it’s when Ellie goes live with A’whora and he manages to mention Lawrence entirely too many times. A cry for attention or an old habit that’s dying hard? He can’t tell. Perhaps it’s both.

It’s definitely got something to do with the Facebook post.

Whatever it is, Ellie finds himself stuffing any old random items of clothing in a backpack and hoping it makes an outfit, shoving the spare key into the soil of the plant pot outside his front door and texting Anne to tell her where it is in case…fuck knows, the flat goes on fire while he’s away or something. He looks up the train times as he’s on his way to the station; a terrible decision, really, as when he’s still fifteen minutes away he discovers there’s one in ten. Somehow he manages to make it to the station with just a minute to spare and his heart lifts to find that the ticket barriers are open, so he dashes through them and hurtles onto the train that’s waiting at the platform. He catches his breath as he slumps into a table seat, having to take his mask off for a couple of seconds just so he can breathe properly. The way his heart is going at the rate the train’s about to isn’t helping.

The chimes of the train announcement cut through his attempts at slowing his heart down, and the little robotic woman’s voice confirms that his ridiculous, spur-of-the-moment decision is actually happening.

“This is Dundee. This train is for Glasgow Queen Street.”

Because this is all so last minute, but he needs to see Lawrence. He’s apologised probably ten times by now but he knows he needs to make it eleven. He knows (he hopes) that Lawrence needs that eleventh time too. He knows that Lawrence needs Ellie’s persistence, knows that it’s all just an attempt at self-preservation. Lawrence’s attempts at shutting Ellie out are just inviting him to bring a battering ram. At least, he hopes. But like A’whora had said…he’s worth the risk.

The train starts moving, and even if he wanted to back out now he couldn’t.

So cold at the surface, I’m scared of nothin’

Underneath, I’m nervous

Can you reach me?

Ellie waits for the subway at Buchanan Street and his glazed-over eyes focus on a massive poster of Lawrence on the platform opposite. He briefly considers throwing himself under the next train.

The journey down had passed somehow in the blink of an eye and also agonisingly slowly. Too much time to sit and stare out of the window but not enough time to figure out what he’s going to say. He still doesn’t know. He’d said it all those months ago, he’s said it through texts and DMs. This time feels different, though. This time is different. This time there’s no cameras or runners or pink tables, or distance between them or tension at the fact nothing had aired yet.

It’s going to be the pair of them and Lawrence’s flat. Just like it’s been so many times before.

Ellie thinks he’ll probably just open his mouth, say whatever gets there first and hope it hits the right notes; a terrible decision arrived upon as a result of the lack of any other option. His mind is a messed up ball of television static, a knotted yarn of white noise that he can’t find the end of. He feels as if it’s made of the noise the train makes as it screams into the station, metal on metal and the low whoosh of the wind through the tunnel and the rickety shaking of the doors as they slide open and people stream off.

He picks up his bag and sinks down into the horrifically patterned upholstery of the seats, settling himself in for the journey. The little metal tin can of a train doesn’t take long to fire through the seven stops before Govan and with each one that passes Ellie can feel his nerves spiking and his mouth growing dry.

What if Lawrence isn’t even in? What if it’s all got too much and he’s gone back to Helensburgh for the foreseeable? Ellie could get a train up there, he supposes; he’s already on this side of the country, although he doesn’t know if Lawrence would appreciate the gesture or call the police on him.

Ellie concludes it would be worth it anyway.

He emerges from the Subway and the grey seems to hit him all over again, seeping into his clothes and forcing him to fight through the sadness that hits him like a wave. There’s a little beam of sunshine fighting to escape the clouds though, and Ellie hopes it’s some form of pathetic fallacy. Or whatever that one about the weather matching your feelings was. Fucked if he ever paid attention in Nat 5 English.

The streets of red brick tenements feel like pens of hostility as he passes windows that serve as frames for Union Jacks and Red Hand of Ulster flags. Even being raised in a Christian household doesn’t equip him to identify with this form of religion; where the disciples are football players and the gods are flags and the hymns are about killing Catholics. Ellie has always worried about Lawrence living here, told him as much, but he’s always been met with a bark of a laugh back and some comment about how he’s only saying that because he’s lived such a sheltered little life in Dundee and wouldn’t last five minutes trying to inhabit Glasgow and all its cheerful sectarianism. Lawrence has always had a very blythe attitude to the whole thing, and Ellie remembers when he’d held his hand on the way back from the Subway in full drag after a gig like it was nothing, the way some dick in an orange and blue scarf had shouted at them from across the street and Lawrence had just yelled back with an “awrite, babes?” as if he had a death wish.

Which is what makes this whole thing so grim. The Lawrence who drunkenly and sarcastically greets bigots at three in the morning from across the street doesn’t marry up with the Lawrence that’s holed up in his flat in the face of negativity. Ellie supposes that one homophobic Rangers fan is one homophobic Rangers fan, but Twitter can seem like the whole world’s population, and if Lawrence thinks the world hates him just because he’s reacted to something that was Ellie’s fault…

He feels his gut wrench.

Ellie turns into Lawrence’s street and feels ill. He could always go home. Turn and walk back to the Subway, train back to Queen Street, back to Dundee, back to the flat. Like nothing had ever happened. Like he hadn’t even consciously made the decision, like it was all a dream.

He sleepwalks to Lawrence’s close door anyway, just like he knew he would.

His hand shakes as he presses the buzzer too hard, and the panic rises in his throat as the seconds pass agonisingly slowly. When there’s a crackle from the intercom, he freezes in fear.

“Hello?”

It’s Kiko’s voice. Of course his flatmate had to be the one to answer, drag out the humiliation of the whole thing. Ellie can hear the shake to his voice as he replies.

“Hey, it’s Ellie.”

“…Ellie?”

He chooses to ignore the disbelief, acts as if it’s normal for him to have travelled across the country to turn up on Lawrence’s doorstep in the middle of a pandemic when there’s a travel ban in place. He’s considering this essential travel anyway.

“Is Lawrence in at all?”

Kiko, for her part, seems to pick up on the way the whole visit is masquerading as routine. In the split second before she replies, Ellie finds himself holding his breath. He steels himself, prepares for a “no, he’s actually…”, to send him back to Dundee like a crumpled sheet of paper tossed into a bin.

So Ellie feels like his throat’s going to close up when Kiko replies down the intercom. “Yeah, two secs. I’ll buzz you up.”

The dread settles in his gut like a weight as the buzzer rings out into the street, harsh and loud and doing nothing for Ellie’s derailed train of thought. He pushes on the door, takes his first step into the close and the echo seems to hit him deep in his chest. He finds himself wishing Lawrence lives four up but he’s only on the first floor, and as Ellie puts his foot on the first step of the staircase he keeps his eyes trained on the stairs because he knows the moment he looks up he’s going to see somebody standing there holding the door open and even though he’s had hours to prepare himself, weeks even, he’s not ready for that in the slightest.

And when he finally brings his gaze onto the front door with four steps to go, he’s not ready for the way the sight of Lawrence almost knocks him straight back down again. He’s slumped against the doorframe and has very clearly not slept- since when, Ellie couldn’t guess. A black hoodie is swamping him and a pair of navy sweatpants are doing the same, making him seem smaller than he already is. The sight of his hair up in that tiny bun hurts Ellie’s heart because it makes him want to smile, reminds him of the Lawrence he’d dick about in the workroom and the smoking area and the hotel corridors with before it all went so wrong. His arms are folded and he’s looking at the tiles on the landing floor until Ellie reaches the doorway, shifts awkwardly.

“Hi.”

Lawrence doesn’t quite meet his eyes. It’s a minute detail that hurts Ellie more than he would have expected. He doesn’t reply for a second, then seems to relent. “Hey.”

Another pause. The atmosphere makes Ellie wish he’d worn a thicker jacket.

“You’re not meant to be here, you know. Wee Nicky’s probably had snipers trained on you since you got off the train,” Lawrence says, delivering the quip with a bitter, barbed edge that makes Ellie think it’s less of a joke and more wishful thinking.

“Wouldn’t be any less than I deserve, I’m sure,” Ellie smiles sadly, unable to make it meet his eyes. Lawrence’s expression remains unimpressed.

“So why are you here, then,” he not so much as demands an answer but disinterestedly inquires. Ellie bites his bottom lip before he replies, as if he’s forcing himself to make sure his words are perfect.

“I just came down because…well, I wanted to see how you were. I know the past week must have been shit for you.”

Lawrence raises his eyebrows, his eyes growing wide as if to really drive home to Ellie how much of an understatement he already knows he’s made. “Yeah.”

Ellie sighs, wanting desperately to get the next part right. “And I felt like I needed to say I’m sorry. Y’know, in front of you.”

“You said sorry back when we filmed. We’re over it, it’s fine,” Lawrence says flatly, conveying that everything is not fine.

“It’s not fine, though. I wouldn’t have come down if it was fine. Things haven’t been fine since that day, and like…I miss you, Lawrence, I don’t want to lose you as a friend, or as a sister, or as…” Ellie stumbles, looking to the floor as he tries to articulate the other facet of their relationship. “…whatever else we are. Whatever else we were. I’m sorry for fucking everything up.”

There’s a silence in which the pair of them freeze and hold their breath. Time could very well be standing still for all Ellie knows. He immediately regrets bringing up all of…that. He should’ve kept it to friendship, shouldn’t have added anything on. Before he can overthink any more or begin to backtrack, a small sigh from Lawrence makes him look up.

“I thought you hated me,” he says. His voice is small and the words are unexpected. There’s so much Ellie could say in response. He settles on a joke.

“No, I think you’re a cunt. There’s a difference,” Ellie smiles tightly, the joke tentative. The snort it gets from Lawrence makes his smile grow without him being able to help it. “Was that a good one? Thought I was the unfunniest person on the planet?”

“We weren’t talking about your Bake Off improv,” Lawrence raises his eyebrows as he smirks, and Ellie fakes a wounded laugh.

“Shady cow.”

“I’m sorry,” Lawrence says out of nowhere, his smile gone all of a sudden.

Ellie tries to drag the joke out a little longer, hold onto the sparks they’ve just created. “Nah, it was shit, you’re right.”

“No, Ellie…” Lawrence shakes his head, worrying his lip between his teeth a little. “I am sorry.”

Ellie feels the panic wash over him when he clocks the glisten in his eyes. “It’s fine, girl.”

“It’s not fine. I was a dick to you so many times, no fuckin’ wonder I thought you’d set me up. I would too if I had somebody talking down to me like I did to you,” Lawrence says gravely. His gaze is fixed on his floor and just as Ellie is about to speak he catches sight of two tears that fall onto the red carpet, the darkness akin to blood. His horror grows as Lawrence finally snaps his head up, tears shining in his eyes as he sighs helplessly in a shaky voice. “You’re amazing, Ellie, you’re such a talent, and…fuck, I missed you.”

His words mean more to him that Ellie had expected them to. He doesn’t want to let that show, though, because that’s too much, that means too much for the situation just now and he can deal with that realisation at a later date. For now, Ellie points at him in mock-accusation. “Hey listen, I’m the one that got the train down to come and make a big speech to you and say sorry. Buy your own damn train ticket for that.”

Lawrence’s voice is thick with tears as he lets out a short laugh. “Sorry.”

“Wee bitch. Always have to make everything about you,” Ellie rolls his eyes, getting another teary laugh out of Lawrence and raising his hopes that maybe they’ll be okay.

And then the banks break and Lawrence makes a little choked-up noise, a sob that’s not fully a sob. His eyes meet Ellie’s and they’re full of so much sadness and regret that just looking at them creates a crack in Ellie’s heart, one that matches the crack in Lawrence’s voice as he speaks again.

“This has all been shit to do without you.”

Ellie doesn’t think before opening his arms out, shaking his head affectionately. “Don’t be silly. C’mere.”

When Lawrence immediately opens out his own and they meet each other in the middle and hug tightly, Ellie feels like a balloon that’s been let go and is floating up to the sky.

The clouds aren’t grey.

The way they’re holding each other brings back too many memories. Seeing each other at gigs and feeling butterflies take hold of his stomach. Coming off stage after a number and conveying his pride in him without even having to say a word. Saying goodbye at train stations with disappointment lodging itself in his heart. All the nostalgia makes Ellie want to cry, but he can’t start now. Instead, he breaths a shaky sigh, shakes his head before he speaks.

“You’ve always had me, okay? You’ve always got me. We’ve said sorry now, that’s the end of it. Periodt,” Ellie murmurs against his shoulder, adding on his trademark at the end. The laugh he gets muffled against his chest in return makes him feel lighter.

“I’ve not showered. I definitely stink. You don’t have to keep hugging me, you know.”

“You don’t. I want to,” Ellie says back. He means it.

It’s Lawrence that slides out of the hug first but he’s still standing close as he quickly wipes away his tears, looks Ellie up and down with a smirk on his face. “So where’s your Travelodge, hen?”

Ellie’s sheepish when he makes eye contact with him again, shrugs one strap of the rucksack off before replying. “You know damn well I’ve not booked anywhere.”

“Fuckin’ hell. Right, come on,” Lawrence shakes his head affectionately, stepping back into his hallway and letting Ellie finally cross the threshold to drop his bag like an anchor in the flat. It’s the physical manifestation of the burden finally being lifted off of him, the guilt and the regret melting away in favour of the flutter of his heart and a few small sparks that he wants to put in resin. “I get to choose the film later as reparations. Don’t trust you since you made us watch Cat In The Hat.”

Ellie gives a shocked gasp, genuinely offended. “It’s good!”

“Is it fuck. In fact, just for that I’m going to make you sit through something sci-fi and geeky and you’re gonna hate it,” Lawrence smiles with genuine glee, and Ellie can’t even bring himself to be mad about it. As the pair of them walk through to the living room, Lawrence jumps onto the sofa and fixes Ellie with a look that is clearly meant to be serious but that simultaneously Lawrence can’t commit to and Ellie can’t believe. “You’re sleeping here tonight, by the way.”

Ellie raises his eyebrows as he fakes his agreement, going along with the charade Lawrence is beginning. They both know they’ll end up curled up together on the sofa with neither of them having an explanation for how it’s happened, but at the same time knowing they don’t have to explain themselves. They know that Ellie will end up falling asleep slumped against Lawrence and that he’ll have to gently shake him awake, that he’ll wordlessly offer Ellie a hand to drag him off the couch with and that they’ll go through to Lawrence’s room like always. They know that they’ll wake up tangled together like the sheets and that Ellie will be there for him, that he’ll help Lawrence piece himself back together and they’ll go back to the start. Well, maybe not the start. Perhaps somewhere better.

Ellie keeps his friends close, but Lawrence is something a little bit more. Something a little bit closer.

Baby, you’re my enemy.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #ellie diamond #lawrence chaney #ellie x lawrence #a'whora #uk2 #canon compliant #angst #hurt/comfort #song fic #maybe you're my enemy #ortega

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cavalierious-whim · 3 years

Text

Two’s a Crowd (FE3H)

Felannie | Canon-Compliant | War Phase | Teen | Complete There’s only one horse. Felix will take on one hundred crest beasts alone if it means avoiding this.

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A/N: This was a Secret Santa give and I was asked to write ‘There was only one Horse’. Read here on AO3 for better quality! Also, I’m on Twitter!

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While Felix has never been one to follow the rules, he now understands why Byleth is so reluctant to let them roam outside the gates of Garreg Mach freely.

Sure, they’re adults and they can make their own dumb decisions. Still, it’s wartime; there are crest beasts and ample opportunity to be stupid enough to get yourself into a pickle.

Felix frowns. Annette’s colorful words, not his.

Byleth often turns a blind eye to the odd training session outside the Monastery, especially when it comes to Felix. Byleth knows that Felix can handle himself when it comes down to it, and while the Professor’s expression is prone to permanent frowning, he’s never said no. Not outright.

It’s more like carefully placed and unasked advice that he knows Felix won’t ever listen to but can claim to have given all the same.

“Just in case you find yourself gored,” said Byleth one dreary afternoon. “I’ll have the chance to say ‘I told you so’.”

So far, Byleth has been denied the pleasure because Felix is a slippery bastard; far too stubborn to die. And, as it turns out, he’s not the only stubborn person in the world, which brings him to his current problem:

Annette crashes through the underbrush alongside him, sagging with weariness and covered head to toe in mud and Goddess knows what else. It’s exactly Felix’s luck that she’s the one to sneak out after him because her curious little nose got the best of her.

At least it’s a cute nose.

“It just had to be a crest beast,” says Annette, mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. That’s cute on her too.

“It had to be two,” amends Felix. He’s never had any luck with anything, least of all women, so he doesn’t know why he insists on longing for Annette. Then, he suddenly remembers something else, smacking his hand against his forehead. “Ingrid is going to kill us.”

A long moment stretches between the two of them as they stand there in the woods looking at each other.

“We’ve lost horses before,” says Annette. Sure, they’ve lost horses, but never a Fraldairan Marsh Tucky. And its accompanying mare because, naturally, that was the horse Annette picked. Ingrid’s captious about her thoroughbreds and she’d brought those from Galatea personally. Felix pauses in his step, leveling Annette with a tired stare, to which she sighs in response. “Okay, yeah, she’s going to kill us.”

Annette is lucky that Felix likes her. More than likes her. Kind-of maybe loves her, not that he’s the confessing kind. But, all her goofy songs and eternal optimism in the world won’t save him from Ingrid’s wrath, Mercedes’s clipped threats for endangering Annie, or Byleth’s contempt for attracting her attention by merely existing.

Byleth’s a bit of a stick in the mud when it comes to intra-army romance.

Annette’s mouth then tips into a tiny little smile and Felix wonders if it’s a bad thing that he likes the idea she’d followed him. She’d said that it was dumb of him to go it alone and that she’d been worried. The only person that worries about him nowadays is Sylvain, and it’s entirely unwarranted, unwanted, and suffocating in every way possible. The change is, admittedly, nice.

“There’s a village this direction,” says Felix, pointing to the west. “They’ve got a decent inn with tolerable food, and a stable with likely a few horses for sale.”

“Do we have the coin?” asks Annette.

“We’ll manage,” says Felix, thankful that he’d brought his purse with him that day. He doesn’t always, so maybe he’s luckier than he’d thought. His gaze slides back to Annette who watches him with interest, her eyebrows drawn up. “What?” he snaps, testily.

“Nothing,” says Annette, but judging by the sly little smirk on her face, it’s anything but. Felix doesn’t have the time to think about it anything further.

“We’re losing daylight,” says Felix. “We should get walking, otherwise Byleth will close the gates for the night.”

“He’d let us in,” says Annette.

“He won’t,” says Felix. He’d know, he’s camped outside the entrance before, punishment for making it back late. There’s a pause and then Annette laughs, causing Felix to scowl. Even if he likes the sound of it.

“He’d let me in, then,” says Annette.

Felix grumbles at that. “He probably would.” Annette smirks at him again and Felix rolls his eyes, but he’s only mildly irritated. Truly, Annette is lucky that she doesn’t incite his ire much. Felix wonders how this entire thing would go if it was literally anyone else stuck out here with him.

They’d probably have a sword through their neck already, or at least, be slightly maimed. Felix is in a maiming sort of mood. He and Annette head westward, slogging through the slick mud leftover from earlier rain.

“Hopefully, there won’t be any more beasts out here,” says Annette, and Felix whirls on her, pressing a finger against her lips. She blinks, surprised. But she doesn’t move away, if anything, she leans into the touch.

“Don’t!” hisses Felix.

“Don’t what?” she says against his finger, her breath warm against his skin.

“Say something like that. Don’t you know that’s exactly how it works?”

“What works?” asks Annette.

Felix groans, almost certain that she’s being obtuse on purpose because Annette’s the teasing sort. “It’s bad luck,” he says. “The moment you say something like that, it--”

There’s a deafening roar behind them that echoes through the trees. And then the woods fall deathly quiet. Annette swallows thickly, but to her credit, doesn’t pale or look scared. She’s a plucky little thing and that’s in part what Felix loves about her most. Annette isn’t one to back down, she seeks danger out. Case in point, trailing after him on her own.

Felix pulls his hand away from her.

“We’ve no choice,” says Annette. It’s not a question.

Felix draws his sword and readies a bolt of Thoron. “Might as well make it quick,” is all he says in return.

Annette answers with a resigned sigh.

Turns out, their luck is worse than anticipated, not that Felix is surprised. This entire trip has been working against him since before he left the Monastery.

“I have a bad feeling,” Byleth told him as he saddled up.

“Nonsense,” Felix said, annoyed at the Professor’s incessant mothering.

Felix is eating that word now, laying on his belly in the underbrush, slick with muck and worms. Annette shifts beside him, leaning closer.

“How long do we wait?” she asks.

“Until the damn beast is gone, obviously,” says Felix.

Annette’s eyes narrow at his tone. “This isn’t my fault.”

“You said the words,” says Felix. “You should never say the words.”

She huffs at that. “You’re the one that forgot a spare blade. Since when do you strap only one sword to your hip?” Then she pauses. “Also, what are the chances that it would just crack right down the middle--”

“The entire point of laying in this filth is to be quiet, Annette, and let the beast leave.”

Annette’s mouth snaps shut, but it’s not without an annoyed scowl shot in his direction. “You’re evil,” murmurs Annette, just loud enough for him to hear. Felix knows it’s absolutely on purpose. She’s got a mean streak in her at times, he’s just never been on the end of it.

The mud and foliage hide their smell, and eventually, the crest beast determines them to be a lost cause and saunters away. Felix reaches out to grab Annette’s wrist before she can get up. “Wait, just a little bit longer. It might come back.”

They lay there for longer than she wants, Felix can tell by her squirming, but Byleth’s words have been prophetic: it’s just one of those days. Finally, they rise. Annette looks down at her dress and cringes at the sight.

“I’ll have to burn this and get Mercie to make me a new one.”

“Mercedes has more important things to do than sew garments,” says Felix with an annoyed huff.

Annette narrows her eyes at him. “I’ll remind you that this is your fault.”

“I didn’t ask for you to sneak out after me.”

“You brought that upon yourself when you decided to go out on your own.”

Felix glowers. “Which I do, often.”

Annette shoots him a rival glare. “Because you have no sense of self-preservation. Honestly, Felix, I should have come with you sooner. How often are you so ill-prepared? How unlike you.”

Felix can’t deny that one; how unlike him indeed. “I’ve been distracted lately,” he finally says, and Annette’s face softens slightly. She thinks that he’s talking about the war, but that isn’t it actually, it’s more so the tight feeling in his chest that he gets when he looks at her. He’s taken to marking up trees in frustration, away from prying eyes in the training ground.

The dramatic irony of her blaming Felix isn’t lost on him.

“It’s going to get dark,” says Annette. Felix frowns. How astute and glaringly obvious. “And, according to you, Byleth will abandon you outside the gates.”

“Wouldn’t be a first,” gripes Felix.

“So,” starts Annette, rolling back on her heels slightly. Her hands are tucked neatly behind her, all manners despite looking like she crawled out of a sewer. “To the village then. We’ll get a room.”

Felix, who’d already turned around to head west, stops dead in his tracks. Then he closes his eyes. Then he pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. Two rooms, he thinks. He can afford two rooms, he’s got enough gold for at least that.

When he looks back to Annette, she’s already beaming at him like she always does. Felix wants to roll his eyes, but he can’t. Instead, he wants to do something a little more drastic, like pull her in for a hug.

Which is ridiculous, because Felix doesn’t hug people.

“Felix?” asks Annette. “You’re staring.”

It takes everything in him not to wince. “Mud,” he says, dumbly. “And sticks. In your hair.”

Eloquent, Felix is not. Despite this, Annette takes the explanation in stride and their walk to the village isn’t so terrible considering.

“Say that again, but the answer better be different.”

The innkeeper swallows, his thick neck turning a little bit red. Felix threatens people often enough that he’s got it down to a science. Arms crossed over the chest, his foot tapping in annoyance. The worst scowl he can manage followed by a flash of steel.

He’s having to make do without that last one.

“We’ve only one room left,” says the Innkeeper.

It takes everything for Felix not to jump the desk and choke the man out.

“Felix,” says Annette, resting her hand against his arm. He doesn’t pull away and neither does she, her fingers curling into his quilted sleeve. “It isn’t his fault. The men out in the bar must be the reinforcements we’re waiting on.”

Felix massages his temple. Right, reinforcements; Byleth had told them all they were expecting another Magic Corps to show up. Just their luck. Or lack thereof. He looks to Annette, who looks back at him, large eyes framed attractively by delicate eyelashes.

Goddess above, he can’t do this.

“You’ll take the room,” says Felix, finally tugging his arm away from her grasp. “I’ll stay in the stable.”

“Absolutely not,” says Annette.

“There’s no room there, either,” says the innkeeper unwisely. Upon Felix’s dangerous glare, the man immediately adds: “I’ve got two stable boys who bunk there.” They would find the one inn that employs by way of food and shelter, and not coin.

The innkeeper takes a deep breath and then bravely says, “There are two beds. If that makes a difference.”

It does, but only barely. Felix eyes the man warily, but slaps down a handful of gold.

That’s when Annette does the unthinkable and says, “And a bath, please. And fresh clothes.”

Felix is going to sleep in a stall with a horse if that’s what it takes, because he cannot, cannot share a room with Annette if she’s intent on bathing. Annette doesn’t think about these kinds of things. She’s not a healer like Mercedes, but she does her share in the medical tents. She sees a body like she sees everything else; just as it is and nothing more.

When he finally meets her gaze, she’s looking at him expectantly. Her eyes flash to his coin purse and then back to the pile he’s left on the counter. Felix lets out a long-suffering sigh and slaps down a few more coins.

“For the bath. And the clothes,” he says tersely. All Annette does is smile widely, happiness practically beaming off of her and she looks utterly ridiculous, covered in the mess that she is.

The room isn’t large, but there are two beds as promised. The stableboys haul a bath inside and Annette has the forethought to direct them to place it behind the changing screen. Felix lets loose a breath. Small blessings and some actual luck, finally.

Annette sings as she bathes. Felix washes his face in the basin by the door and changes into the clothes they’ve been provided, before settling into one of the beds. The moment he hits the mattress, he realizes how weary he is. It’s been a long day of dodging crest beasts and avoiding pesky feelings.

“Felix,” calls Annette from behind the screen, “has Byleth actually left you outside the gate after coming back late.”

Felix snorts a laugh. “Once. The lesson was learned.”

Annette chuckles and then goes back to her made-up tune. “Oh, how I love to bathe. Wash away the icky bits, ‘cause being dirty is just the pits.”

It isn’t so much that her voice is good, it’s just nice. Calming. Sweet. Felix closes his eyes and listens, drifting off to the soft tune on her lips. Comforting when you think about it because Annette sings about the things that she loves.

He falls asleep before her song shifts, singing about a dark, handsome swordsman instead.

There’s only one horse.

It’s a curse, straight from one of those ridiculous romance novels that Sylvain pretends he doesn’t like to read. Felix will take on one hundred crest beasts alone if it means avoiding this.

Annette has the gall to look amused. “It’ll be fine, Felix,” is what she says.

It will be the exact opposite of fine because while Felix has been very good at keeping her an arm’s length away, that isn’t an option here.

Felix glares at the stablemaster who regards him with an apologetic look. The only reason Felix doesn’t gut him right then and there is because it isn’t his fault. The man isn’t responsible for the delay in new livestock, the rain had done that. Regrettably, because Felix very much wants to stab something. Anything.

His head falls back, cheeks to the sky, eyes slipping closed as he lets out a long, drawn-out groan. This is divine punishment, Felix thinks, because he’s too much of a coward to just tell the damn girl that he likes her.

Or loves her. But really, at this point, what difference does it matter?

Annette pulls herself up first, settling into the saddle with ease. Felix turns to drop gold into the stablemaster’s hand, who offers a small smile in return.

“If it’s any consolation--”

“It’s not,” Felix cuts in.

“-- I think that she likes you back.”

At that moment, Felix wishes that murder for entirely inane reasons is legal. But alas, it isn’t, and Byleth would be quite irate if Felix were to remove the head of this man. The Professor loathes cleaning up messes and Felix makes a lot of them. So, the stablemaster keeps his life.

Only because Felix is too lazy to think of a valid excuse, or cook up a proper plan.

He pulls himself up behind Annette and settles in easier than he thought possible. Annette’s tiny enough that it’s not as awkward as it could be. Felix slips his arms around her waist and she hands him the reins, and then they’re off at a small trot.

The horse is calm and moves along the road well. Annette leans back against Felix’s chest, humming a tune. Felix is relatively relaxed. The Goddess hasn’t set the world on fire just yet. Small blessings.

“This is nice,” says Annette.

Not how Felix would phrase it. He’s caught somewhere between ‘this is divine’ and ‘this is absolute hell’. He allows himself the former though, arms settling around her closer than he’d normally allow. His nose close enough to the crown of her head that he can smell the fresh soap she’d bathed with. He enjoys the way she fits against him.

Felix would say that Sylvain’s a saint for putting up with this on the regular, but it’d be a lie. Worse, Felix gets why it’s a lie because Annette in his arms feels nice, even if it’s on the back of a horse, and only because there isn’t another choice.

“Nice,” agrees Felix halfheartedly, when he remembers to reply.

“You know, one could even say romantic.”

“There’s nothing romantic about being forced to share a horse because the Magic Corps didn’t think to bring their own.”

Annette turns her head slightly to look back at him, lips quirked into an amused smile. “Not one bit?” she asks.

Felix looks down at her, frowning slightly. What on earth does that mean? And why is she so amused? “I said that it was nice.”

“Felix, you look like you ate some of Flayn’s cooking.”

“This is definitely preferable to that,” says Felix, meaning it.

Annette sits there, twisted awkwardly in front of him for a moment longer, watching him. Felix squirms slightly, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. Finally, she says, “I must admit, I’m at a loss.”

“For what?” asks Felix.

“Nothing,” says Annette. Felix frowns again because now she just isn't making sense. But then again, Annette often doesn’t make sense, it’s part of her charm.

The Monastery isn’t far from the village, barely an hour by horse. The rest of their ride passes without any issue. No crest beasts, no bandits, and miraculously, Felix doesn’t entirely combust after enduring close contact with Annette.

He’s decided to treasure the moment because it’s never happening again.

It’s no surprise that Byleth is waiting for them at the gate, their arrival having been spotted by a lookout and announced. The Professor looks calmly collected and not at all worried. Felix’s eyes narrow, instantly suspicious.

Felix drops from the horse first before reaching up and helping Annette down. She lands gracefully, her hands grasping Felix’s forearms. She doesn’t let go. Felix tries to pull away, but she holds tight, and damn, she has an impressively strong grip. She just looks at him, a soft little smile on her face.

“Annette,” says Felix, unsure how to continue.

“Felix,” replies Annette. “Thank you for taking care of me. You’re such a gentleman.”

Felix is anything but, and he’s about to tell her that when she finally let's go. Only to reach up and grab him by the face, fingers curling around his jaw. She yanks him down, none too gently.

And then, Annette’s kissing him, pressing her lips against his with careful precision. Felix is surprised but he doesn’t go entirely rigid. His hands slide up to grasp her cheeks and he kisses her back. It’s not sweet in its touch, but it’s not scorching either, somewhere middling of the two. Her hand snakes around the back of his neck to grip him possessively, pulling him closer.

Felix responds eagerly, his fingers slipping into her hair, tugging her face into a different angle to slot their mouths against each other better. Then, he parts his lips, intent on licking into her mouth--

There’s a cough from next to them and they break apart. Felix doesn’t look away from Annette whose cheeks are tinged pink. Annette looks to the side. “Byleth,” she greets coolly.

“Um,” starts Felix, but can’t think of words past that.

“I’m pleased to see that the two of you are okay,” Byleth deadpans.

Annette is looking at Felix again, and his gaze is still glued to hers, unsure what’s just happened, still trying to process the kiss. That she’d started. That she’d enthusiastically responded too. That she seemed annoyed to have been interrupted in the midst of. The stuff of dreams, really, specifically his dreams, and more often than he’d like to admit.

Felix’s brain is having a hard time comprehending.

“As I said, Felix took fantastic care of me,” says Annette kindly. Then, she reaches up and brushes Felix’s bangs away from his forehead.

“I’d prefer it if the two of you would continue taking care of yourselves within the gate.” Byleth pauses. “And after the meeting. We have things to discuss.”

The mention of a war council breaks the spell that’d fallen over Felix. He can feel his skin burning bright red in embarrassment, and worst of all, Annette looks like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

And she’s holding his hand. He hadn’t noticed her grabbing it.

“When I was singing about the dark, handsome swordsman, who’d you think I was imagining?” asks Annette, words quiet enough for only Felix to hear.

“When you were singing about what?”

Annette pouts. “Oh darn, so you were asleep then. I’d hoped you weren’t.”

“Annette, what on earth--”

“Later,” says Annette. “Mostly because Byleth is giving you the stink eye, and I think it’s because we’ve delayed his carefully planned schedule.”

One look at the Professor proves her right. Felix clears his throat and takes several steps away, before grabbing the reins of the horse. “Right, then. I’ll just handle this. The horse, I mean.”

“I’ll see you in the war room,” says Annette, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet.

Felix decides that he doesn’t hate the light-hearted, flabbergasted feeling that’s floating through him. He also knows that the moment he regains his wits abashment will hit him full force because he’d practically eaten Annette’s face off in front of half the Monastery guard.

And Byleth.

So, Felix properly excuses himself in favor of stabling their new horse and perhaps locking himself away forever out of embarrassment.

If he’d stayed just a moment longer, he’d have seen Annette flash Byleth a conspiratorial wink as she passes him by. And how Byleth smiles slyly in return, tapping at his nose like he’s keeping a secret.

#felannie #felix x annette #felix hugo fraldarius #annette fantine dominic #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem fanfiction

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dekudynamight · 6 years

Note

This is dense but oh well. Top 5 favorite character qualities for Bucky, Steve, and Loki

…. Jesus okay lemme get comfy here cause this gon b awhile 😂I’ll start with Loki.

1. His love for his brother. They’ve been to hell and back and they’ve fought more than they’ve made up but heck if they’re not brothers before anything else and the most important person in each other’s life and their reconciliation in Ragnarok cleared my skin and watered my crops and cured the plague in my house

2. His love and devotion to his mother. They had such a special and sweet bond and he was such a little douche to her in TDW and I absolutely H A T E that his last words to her were that she’s not his mother like 😵😵😵stabbing me in the face would hurt less, not to mention I’ll forever be salty that he wasn’t allowed to go to her funeral and he found out she died from some stupid useless guard but ANYWAY he loved her so much and she loved him and believed in him and never stopped and I just have a lot of feelings about this 😭😭

3. His magic abilities/combat skills. I desperately wish we’d gotten to see more of both skill sets since primarily we got a lot of illusions and stabby-stabs, which, I mean, he’s dang good with both, but… I really wish we’d gotten to see the full extent of his abilities.

4. His wit. Dat silvertongue is no joke, and his sharp sense of humor and iconic quotes will always be my fave. Yes Mr. Loki, I was made to be ruled. You got me there 🤷🏻‍♀️

5. His slutty, slutty, slUTTY sluttiness. Yes, MCU Loki never got a love interest and the closest we got to any kind of canon romantic/sexual interaction was those hilariously uncomfortable few seconds of eye contact with the Grandmaster but it doesn’t even matter. He’s gloriously, beautifully, amazingly, unabashedly slutty and we all know it.

ALL RIGHT NOW ON TO STEEB.

1. His selflessness 😭😭he’s a self-sacrificing idiot and never puts himself first (unless you count CW and throwing the entire planet in the trash for Bucky’s sake and I guess we can but… that’s literally the o n l y situation he’s ever acted selfishly in so 🤷🏻‍♀️) and I both love him and want to relentlessly shake him for it

2. His good heart. He’s just… he’s so good, to his core. He could never be anything else, I don’t think. He’s as incorruptible as a human being can get. He deserves so much more than what the MCU will ever give him 😭😭😭

3. His loyalty. Is your BFF really your BFF if they’re not willing to dump their team of superhero friends in the trash, renounce their own super identity, and go on the run as an international fugitive just so you can be free? Prob not honestly

4. His capacity for love. I think he and Loki share this, actually, in that when it comes to who he loves he loves them with his whole heart and will do anything in the world for them. Peggy, Bucky, Wanda… sigh. (And on that note, we all know he’d never flirt with Peggy’s niece AT PEGGY’S FUNERAL so let’s just ignore that under the Stupid-Ass-Decision precedent)

5. His depression/PTSD/anxiety. Sounds like an odd thing to choose as a favorite trait but honestly I don’t think it is because he embodies so many issues that we RL people deal with every day and his character is all the more inspirational for it. He can do it all day, and we can too. We just, ya know, shouldn’t jump out of planes without parachutes like he does 😬

AND FINALLY… BUCKO

1. His inherent goodness. He had his humanity and autonomy and complete sense of self systematically ripped out over and over again and yet Hydra had to tell him the work he was doing was good to keep him compliant. And even then he showed doubts and didn’t believe them. They literally could not kill the goodness in him and I love him so much 😭😭😭

2. His independence. While some folks think he relies completely on Steve and lacks agency, instead I see a character who lived fully on his own for two years preCW, getting by and slowly rediscovering himself, and then later on in Wakanda, chose to back into cryo to protect both himself and others and then upon waking up and being healed, thrived on his own with only sporadic visits from Steve. He’s his own man, his own character, and every time he’s followed Steve into battle it’s been his own choice.

3. His overall personality. He’s flirty, he’s funny, he’s charming and incredibly human. He’s my favorite character to write hands down and I may never be sick of him 😂

4. His loyalty. If his and Steve’s roles were reversed he’d do the same for him and Steve’s said as much. I love them 😭😭😭

5. His hair. Does hair count?? Because… God I love that hair. I don’t even care that it was a wig in IW. ITS MY CURRENT MOOD, SEXUALITY, TEA, AND EVERY OTHER DUMB CLICHE ALL ROLLED INTO ONE 😂

#god that was so long I'm sorry #asks #top 5 ask meme

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yellowocaballero · 6 years

Text

how to live forever (as you are now)

I’m experimenting with posting some very short flash fiction or fic on here, so have some three page nonsense. Canon compliant BMC, written because I respect adult swim. Featuring the Homestuck zodiac, Jeremy unable to do captchas and the SQUIP updating its privacy policy. Read more for length.

You’ve just won a free iPad! Click to find out more!

Jeremy perked up, looking up from his homework on the desk. “Wait, really?”

No, I just said that to get your attention. Aw, man. The SQUIP tapped Jeremy on the head, making him scowl and duck away. It was still a little weird how the pill could do some funky robot magic and make Jeremy see and feel as if it was really there. Sorry, funky robot science. All magic is just sufficiently advanced technology, right? If you knew Newton as well as you knew Asimov you would be answering number three correctly.

Whoops. Jeremy bent over his paper again to erase his answer, but he was unable to keep the smile from his face. No more Googling questions. No more begging the equally clueless Michael for answers tomorrow morning. It was a supercomputer. It was made of math. And physics. Jeremy looked it up.

But when Jeremy picked up his pencil again to valiantly pretend to solve the question, he found the page blank. Completely blank, without even eraser marks or dust. More magic. “Does this mean I don’t have to do anymore homework?”

Now that your Super Quantum Unit Intel Processor has been operational for...the SQUIP mimed checking a watch. Jeremy was beginning to discover it was a little extra. Fifty four hours, I have determined that it is a suitable time for you to partake in a short questionnaire and sign our Terms and Agreements.

“You have a Terms and Agreements?” Jeremy tried to push himself away from the desk, but it was as if there were two fifty pound shackles weighing down his legs. He couldn’t even budge them. “Hey, I have to go to the bathroom!”

Focus. This will be quick and painless. Yeah, if by painless you meant taking away all sensation in his legs. It felt like he had sat on them too long and they had fallen asleep. Just sign your name at the bottom of the page.

“This is my physics homework,” Jeremy said stupidly. He looked down at the page again, and tried crossing his eyes to see if it would magically turn back into his homework again. No dice. “Mom always said never to sign anything before reading it…”

Yes, and your mother left you. Now sign. Don’t forget the captcha.

Before he could think too hard about it, so he wouldn’t think too hard about it, Jeremy quickly scribbled ‘Jeremiah Heere’ discreetly in the margins of the page. He blinked, and in the center of the page four images manifested. He silently circled the images that held stop signs.

Then he blinked again, and the image started swimming. His eyes hurt looking at the paper, and Jeremy groaned a little as he rubbed his eyes. For some reason, he couldn’t tell how many stop signs were in the pictures anymore. Stoplights? What had he been looking at?

Excellent. Your value has a person has risen .5%. The SQUIP waved a hand and the images disappeared, until the paper was blank again. Jeremy had no idea what just happened, or why he had to wait a whole two days after very enthusiastic activation before signing the terms and agreements. Or why he wasn’t allowed to get up. Now that you’ve agreed to data mining your brain - hey! - I have some quick questions for you. Answer these to the best of your limited ability. There are no wrong answers.

“Is this a test?” Jeremy sunk lower in his seat the best he could. He had just been trying to do his physics homework. “I thought you said that you were going to take my tests for me from now on.”

Relax. It’s just a personality test. I’m getting a baseline of your personality in case it changes later. It’s like a concussion baseline impact test.

“Oh.” Jeremy paused. “Are you going to tell me the right answers?”

You’ve caught the hang of this, the SQUIP said approvingly. It clasped its hands behind its back, looking just like a stern punk rock schoolteacher. Don’t worry. It’s relatively painless.

“Relative to what?”

Spinal nerve stimulation. Most things were painless in comparison to that. Now. What kind of thing do you like?

This was going to be easy. “Video games!”

Wait for me to finish the question. This is multiple choice. Oh. What? A. Milk. B. Soy Milk. C. Water. D. Empty cup.

“I like lots of other things…”

Write down your answer on your paper.

“This is still just my physics homework. “

It is now your personality test examination. If you are capable, stop being annoying.

“Sorry.” Jeremy bent down and fastidiously numbered one on his paper. He was lactose intolerant, so he put down B. Was that what it was asking? Didn’t it already know he was lactose intolerant? “What’s the next one?”

You are in a dark room. Do you A. find the door. B. find the window. C. go to the window. D. go to the door.

“Wait, that doesn’t -”

If you’re incapable of not being annoying we can fix that.

Jeremy put down D, since just finding the door or window didn’t seem like enough.

Do you like A. Music.

Jeremy waited, but it didn’t say anything else. He silently put down A.

How would you react to seeing a human suffer? A. Strong. B. Calm. C. No change.

“What kind of test is this?” Jeremy cried. “I don’t like seeing people suffer!”

Then put down A. I’m not going to help you.

He put down A, wondering what this was supposed to be saying about him.

On a scale of one to two how many times a month do you lose it? A. Just once a month? B. Two or three times a month?

More than two or three times. Jeremy put down a ten.

Do your best bird call.

“I thought this was multiple choice.”

This one’s free response. Write it down.

Jeremy wrote down, ‘tweet’.

Do you do a prank call? Y or N.

Definitely N, except for that one time.

My SQUIP is an A. Home. B. Prison. C. Pyramid. D. House.

For reasons he didn’t consciously understand Jeremy began putting down B, before he hastily scratched out his answer and wrote A. Home was nice. Home sounded good.

My motivations are A. Good. B. Bad. C. Truly terrifying on a fundamental level.

“Okay, I think I’m done with this test.” Jeremy put his pencil down. “Just score me as-is. I don’t want to do this anymore.”

His breath caught in his throat, expecting the SQUIP to argue with him or call him names again, but it just shrugged. It snapped its fingers and Jeremy’s writing disappeared, and his boring old physics homework came back. He had never been so happy to see physics before.

Really, it felt like it hadn’t been asking him any questions at all. There were no questions written on the paper, and no answers that made sense. Without looking at it, and without any other cue from the SQUIP besides a mysterious smile, it was as if nothing had happened at all.

Jeremy liked that, so he continued thinking it. The homework was half-completed, worked incorrectly but always answered right, and he looked back up at the SQUIP with an uncertain smile, trying to see if it was mad at him. Its face was blank, eyebrow barely quirked upright, and it felt like an unpleasable teacher who marked every question wrong. It felt a little like his mother, endlessly criticizing, until the two swam together in his mind and Jeremy found himself with a desperate wish for it to display any sort of affection at all.

“Back to physics?” He asked hopefully. He had signed the paper and taken the test and everything. “And letting go of my legs?”

You couldn’t finish the test, so I can see you don’t need me for the rest of today. I’ll shut down now. It snapped its fingers, expression placid. See you tomorrow, slugger.

“Wait - what about my legs - !”

By the time you finish you’ll have regained feeling. Probably. The circulatory system is adaptable at your age. We can talk about keeping to commitments tomorrow. Bye!

Then it blinked out, with his legs still unmoving and his homework still half-done, and Jeremy wanted to call it back. He wanted to finish the stupid test because he wanted help with his dumb math homework, and he didn’t know why cheating was so hard. It was supposed to make everything easy. That was the point of cheating.

Oh, well. Jeremy could apologize in the morning. And do better, so it would help him with his homework again. Maybe he could get a question right next time. He bent down over the paper, ignoring the ache in his legs, thinking absentmindedly about stop signs without understanding why.

#writing #my writing #bmc #technically compliant with #gc #msi #ap!#but also with canon #jeremy is desperate for any sort of authority figure at all

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