Lando needed to stop thinking.
Lance's arms were wrapped around him loosely as they lounged together. The sun was beating down on them, warming their skin in a nice way. The water lapped at the edges of the yacht, and the staff were no where to be seen.
It was just the two of them, curled together on the large couch at the front of the yacht, and the waves.
Lando didn't think he'd ever been happier, but his mind was running wild despite his best attempts to quiet it.
This thing between him and Lance was still new in Lando's eyes.
They had been together a little over a year now, and he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Lance to look at him and decide his laugh was too loud or the way he favoured hoodies over more stylish clothes was annoying. He felt as if he was waiting for Lance to realise that he could do so much better than Lando when he knew that wasn't true.
Lance looked at Lando in a way that never failed to make him blush. It was soft and sweet, loving and filled with want at the same time. He looked at Lando like he wanted to keep him, and Lando wanted him too.
If only his brain would be quiet.
A hand grabbed his chin softly, pulling him from his spiral of thoughts and into a soft kiss that had him melting against the other. Lance was warm against him. His hand not on Lando's chin, soothed up his side, tickeling his ribs slightly.
"What was that for?", Lando muttered against his lips as Lance pulled away.
"I could hear you thinking", Lance teased, hand wrapping around his hip, "Thought I should distract you"
"Oh? You call that distracting?", Lando smirked, leaning in to kiss Lance's stubbled jaw.
"I can be more distracting", Lance promised, and what ever reply Lando could think of was lost to Lance's lips as he was pushed down into the couch.
With the sun and waves around them, and Lance kissing him, Lando's brain was finally quiet.
Every little touch set his skin alight. Martin's hands traced little sparks of lightening across his skin, making him gasp into the kiss they were locked in.
It was all consuming and perfect.
The way that Martin muttered his name into his mouth. The smell of the others cologne. The way his hands pulled his hips closer until Lando was moaning softly and tilting his head back.
Martin's lips attached to his jaw instantly. Warm and slightly wet. Teeth nipped at his skin, stopping to suck soft marks into his skin as Lando tried to catch his breath.
"Mijn liefje", Martin muttered, accent thick, against Lando's neck and Lando trembled.
He had never felt this way before. No one had ever made him feel this insane or this deeply.
"Martin", Lando gasped put, hands going to the others hair, tugging him back to his mouth.
Martin used an arm on the wall beside Lando's head to stop short of kissing him. He just smirked as Lando squirmed a little, looking at him wide eyed and desperate.
"Please", Lando whispered after a moment, stuttering over the words, "Kiss me"
"Pretty boy", Martin praised softly and then he was kissing him again.
The world could melt around them and Lando wouldn't notice. All he could do was grip Martin's hair and hold him close.
#29 is Dating Guide by Cross Gene! I was (still am) obsessed with this song it's peak kpop
The Revised Edition of Carmen's Flirting Guide
Her round, soft jawline is something Carmen wants to trace. Her freckles — Carmen would love to count them one by one. If Carmen was a stage, Julia would be the spotlight, her eyes something Carmen wants on her all the time.
The feelings are new, she thinks. Not new new, but the kind of new that is like a progression: the newness you realize once it has been integrated into your life already. The newness of change.
Because the thing is, Lei Ling can admit that she's a prideful person. She didn't get to where she is now laying down and allowing herself to get run over. There were multiple instances where she could have stood down and taken what the old rich men stuck in their ways gave her without complaint. But Lei Ling resisted. She resisted until they gave her a chance, then stole it from under them and knocked their empires to the ground. Given an inch, she took a mile.
What she can't do, apparently, is actually lay down this stupid pride of hers when it actually matters.
"A DRABBLE", LYNX SAID. "IT'LL BE A SHORTISH WARM UP", LYNX SAID.
... So have 1068 words of an unbeta'd angst/fluff University AU, plus an apology because I can't get the link to look smaller sdkljf. But aaaaa ;www; THANK YOU SO MUCH, seriously! I am NOT complaining ;DDD This was fun!
------------
The sky hadn't cleared past overcast in over a week, leaning hard into summer rains and dark clouds, heavy with water and ozone.
Morpheus didn't mind the weather. What he minded was the cliche, the way it fit with the electrified knot of fury, low in his windpipe. Heavy with sorrow, too.
He hadn't had a friend in a while, no. He wasn't the type, and loneliness suited him well. His sister was the one usually nudging him out of his ivory tower, arguing on the merits of actually living to gather stories instead of pulling them out from a thousand library visits, and a thousand and twenty Wikipedia tags.
("Not my words, but Palahniuk's. You need a cycle, reaping and then creating--"
"Borges wrote without wasting his time on parties."
"How will you know what kind of writer are you if you don't give it a try?")
Cajoling. Emotional blackmail. And Morpheus, he'd found himself standing by the wall with a frankly awful screwdriver that had to be three-fourths Eristoff, and watching other people dance. Only reason he'd ended up drinking the thing was so he could enjoy the music, heavy on the bass, and think the changing lights were pretty, instead of adding everything together into a resulting meltdown.
Nothing new. Nothing unexpected. And then his sister had introduced him to a bunch of theatre kids, and he'd gotten adopted by loud, bohemian, shameless extrovert Hob Gadling.
Who had dragged him out of his shell. Who messaged him, worried, whenever he went full-on radio silence, and adapted to his need for routines by agreeing to meeting with him once a month. Who had started actually going to him, too, for support - For he wasn't a stranger to emotional ups and downs, and just like his high points could get outright reckless... The lows were so visible he might as well been another person, barring his almost feverish, permanent life-wish.
It wasn't like falling for him had been difficult. It wasn't like it was Morpheus' first crush, or the first time he'd been aware he wasn't completely straight. Uni lent itself well to such discoveries, after all. He just--
He'd rather die than tell him, and it wasn't like dying had ever been such a far-fetched idea either. Burying it forever? Practiced and easy. It was only a crush. Just attraction.
Which was the reason he'd balked and ran away from their pub date the very second Hob had leaned closer over the table, all dilated pupils and flushed cheeks.
This kind of thing never, ever ended well. He'd learned well the most you could aspire after a breakup was a lack of bitterness between both parties, and he'd wanted to keep this man in his life.
Ghosting him had been, of course, the best possible course of action. Nothing counterproductive about it.
("I know how you feel. Please, let me... Just once?" And he'd gotten up, and... Walked away. Like that. Overwhelmed by having to confront his feelings, without even the benefit of messaging so the words came out right instead of fumbling them in real time.)
And then he'd gotten mugged in an alley.
And then, he'd realized there was nothing like a near-death experience to reassess how much he wanted to stay alive.
It was absolutely infuriating. Like Hob himself.
Hobnob.G: hey. I know you gotta be (still) damn angry at me but...
Hobnob.G: we're friends. pretty sure we're still friends at least. So... Take your time, ok
Going outside had been harder than usual, between the weather and the lingering ghosts brought by the mugging.
Hobnob.G: i'll be around, same place and all. Got a part-time at the Inn
Sometimes Hob sent pictures of the new dishes the pub was testing for a change of menu. Or the events they hosted, ranging from raffles to poetry readings.
Hobnob.G: i miss you
Goddammit.
More than once, Morpheus opened the messaging app with the express purpose of re-reading their chats, started typing, and found himself writer-blocked of all things. For texting. For everything else as well, like the blank screen of his phone had been only the beginning of a wordless epidemic, but... Seriously? Texting? And every single day going by made harder to even think about breaching the distance. When he realized the reason was shame, feeling shame about feeling shame compounded things worse.
So he promised himself he'd go when the weather cleared. A deadline. He wouldn't disrespect a deadline. Of course, it had been raining for a week since then, and the foreign impulse of actually wanting to go outside was wrecking him.
Hobnob.G: there's live music at 7 today
Hobnob.G: acoustic jazz? Kinda sad but, in a beautiful way
Hobnob.G: i think you'd like them
It was still raining when Morpheus went through the whole ritual of picking the right clothes, showering, putting eyeliner on, and getting dressed. Of staring at the door while he gathered his resolve. Still raining when he stepped out of his flat too, lured not by music but his own bloody choice, thank you very much. Thinking of Hob still tied his entrails into a Gordian Knot of want and stress and repression, but.
The pub was laughably close - His racing heart, nesting somewhere in his throat, was no excuse to avoid the walk. And as he made his way there, cliche of cliches... The sky started to clear. Would've groaned, closing his umbrella and all. Instead it felt like a good omen. Like a small push to this terrifying, unknown something awaiting for him in the shape of Hob Gadling, sitting close to the stage and lighting up at the sight of him.
Morpheus smiled back at him, pulling his cellphone out of his pocket to press a single key.
Dream.on: Hello, Hob. I'm sorry I've kept you waiting.
They were the only possible right words. His proof was Hob laughing in utter delight, and gesturing for him to come close. Getting up to offer him a hug, the kind he'd learned to like from him and him only.
Buried in his arms, Morpheus discovered he could've ran towards him. Kissing him was an impulse.
Hob kissing him back was sheer forgiveness, and at last… At last, he started to unwind.
Here’s the thing. It’s been a rough couple of years for everyone, and I’m in a writing slump. I want to write, but man am I always exhausted. Then, an idea hit me on the way home from work tonight. I’ll post 10 songs from Fynta’s playlist on spotify as prompts. Send me a song and a version (or dealer’s choice) of my disaster girl. I’ll pick a few lines from the song and attach it to a story.
Above are the various iterations of Fynta Wolfe that have popped into existence over the years. Some have well founded backgrounds, others have plot bunnies; at least two live solely in my head (for now).
OG Havoc Girl
Sith Fynta
Final Fynta
Spy Fynta (complete with wrongly accused ex boyfriend)
The Timber Wolf (also ffxiv, post fantasia potion shenanigans)
hell yeah, back at it with the uni au except it's the prequel and a 5+1 :)) there is a very light/brief mature scene on the ao3 version. Please be warned if you're averse to that!
0.5 better off (with me)
1.
Felicia has never heard a more awkward silence. She's listening in to, well, nothing really. This car ride is completely silent.
Cindy and Peter are in the backseat of the taxi together. Felicia had been expecting small talk, at the very least, some light jabs being exchanged. They're dating, of course they have a lot to say to each other.
Well, apparently not this couple.
Felicia knows silence can be companionable, but this is suffocating. She off-handedly checks if they muted themselves, they haven't. She didn't really expect otherwise, muting is an action both Peter and Cindy frequently forget to do. Felicia makes sure she's muted before leaning back on her chair, monitoring the computer screen.
"Look," Cindy's voice crackles to life in her ear. Felicia smiles, despite herself. "A pho place."
"Pho King," Peter notes with a laugh. "We have to go there sometime."
Cindy laughs softly and it's clear tension's leaving her body. Felicia wasn't the only one who felt the silence drag. "Next date?"
An awkward exchange of huffs and chuckles, Felicia rolls her eyes. Peter's practically radiating affection. Overcompensating. "Sure, Cin."
And the moment's saved. There's ruffling as someone, Felicia guesses Cindy, moves closer. In a lowered, almost murmured, tone that makes Felicia's heart rate tick up, Cindy's mic catches the scratch of fabric. "Speaking of Pho King..."
"Yeah?" Peter's suddenly breathless.
It's obvious what's about to happen, and it's also obvious that Felicia does not want to hear whatever she'll end up hearing if this goes on any longer. She can see it now: Cindy's hand splayed across Peter's chest, the other on his arm. Peter turning his head to meet hers, hands rising to cup Cindy's face. Something dark and heavy rolls in her stomach at the thought, Felicia doesn't know why.
"Excuse me," she says loudly, relishing the noise and following curses as they jump apart. "If you're gonna kiss on the mission, please do use the very convenient mute option these very high tech earpieces have. I do not want to hear kissing with surround sound, as hot as it might sound."
"Sorry," Cindy apologizes sheepishly. She's embarrassed, Felicia deduces easily. Felicia does not deduce that the murmur she heard on Cin's end could be how she sounds when she's trying to seduce someone. And how it would probably work on anyone, even Felicia. Not at all.
"See you at the venue, Felicia," Peter mumbles before he and Cindy promptly cut off. Muted.
Felicia lets out a long sigh and continues staring at her blinking computer, watching as the dots that mark Peter and Cindy get closer to the target.
2.
"He just!" Cindy flops onto the couch. "Doesn’t. Trust me!"
Felicia looks up from her study guide. "Who, Peter?" She already knows, but she asks anyway.
They're in Felicia's apartment, holding a study session between the two of them. Cindy's wearing a giant grey hoodie she's stolen from Peter, the one she wore in Peter's Instagram profile picture. She's spread boneless across the couch, her outstretched arm a centimeter from brushing Felicia's thigh. Surprisingly cute despite looking so discontent.
"Who else?" Cindy sighs. "He keeps not letting me go on solo patrol."
"Mmhmm."
"It's sooooo annoying," Cindy's arm lands closer and suddenly her hand is on Felicia's thigh. "Like, I know the city now! Give me a break!"
Cindy has adapted far quicker than any of them had expected, with the whole years-spent-in-a-bunker thing. She knows the map of the campus inside out, thanks to her stupid good memory, and she's found a way to weave herself a suit. Felicia would like to see Peter try doing that. Cindy came from the bunker running and raving to go when Felicia knew that if it had been her, she would've needed three-to-five business years. At least. Add that to the list of things Felicia respects about Cindy Moon.
Felicia can't blame Peter for being overprotective, but she also gets Cindy's perspective. Cindy may be the most amateur of them all, but she can handle herself. Peter needs to trust her more.
"Peter wants to protect everyone." Felicia tries to maneuver her thoughts as eloquently as she can when Cindy's hand is flopping like a dead fish on her thigh and several pages of notes are boring into her brain. "He's just really stupid about it."
"Dummy," Cindy grumbles. "He's lucky he's cute."
Felicia chooses not to comment. "I'll make sure next time you get some solo activities." She is, after all, in charge of the scheduling with MJ.
"You will?!" The hand is removed and Felicia feels its absence sharply. Cindy scrambles to a sit and scoots closer to Felicia. The loss of the hand on her leg is quickly replaced by how close Cindy is. "Felicia, you're the best!"
"Please, keep the compliments coming." The door opens and MJ walks in. Felicia and Cindy both wave, continuing their conversation.
"You have nice hair," Cindy adds enthusiastically as she bends down for her backpack on the floor. She pulls out a notebook as Felicia cranes her neck to the side, heat warming her face. "Like, very shiny and all that."
"Aren't you a journalism major?" Felicia asks dryly. MJ sits on the rug and opens her sketchbook.
Cindy rolls her eyes and adjusts her position so that her head now rests on Felicia's thigh. And, yeah, that's so much better than a hand. She rests the notebook on her chest before reaching up and dislodging a lock of hair from Felicia's bun. Her hand lingers near Felicia's cheek. "What should I say?" She murmurs in fake-reverie. "That it belongs among the delicate Graces? And the Muses with beautiful hair?"
Felicia scoffs, praying to whoever's out there that the rush of flames licking at her neck don't show. In her periphery, she can see MJ looking up with sudden interest. "What?"
"Sappho's fragments." Cindy grins and picks up her notebook, oblivious to the way Felicia and MJ both freeze up at the name. "She's apparently, like, super popular."
That might be an understatement. "You read Sappho?"
"We had a poetry unit." Cindy opens to a random page, flips around before showing Felicia her messy notes. "I liked her fragments on the Muses." She peeks over the journal, mischievously wiggling her eyebrows. "The poems remind me of you."
"Huh, interesting." Either Cindy's way too dense or Felicia's even denser. MJ scoffs quietly to herself and continues drawing Peter in her sketchbook.
3.
Felicia really wasn't expecting things to go this way. She and Peter are hanging out at Jerry's, the diner across their campus. They're digging into some burgers and fries, complete with milkshakes, and complaining about their shared economics professor. After this they'll meet up with the rest of the group to watch that movie Peter's been really excited about, the other two are stuck in classes right now.
Somehow, the topic goes onto their love lives. Felicia doesn't have any, just a string of hook-ups and parties, but Peter's unusually quiet on his end too. Felicia remembers that post of his -- the one of Cindy sleeping in his bed, burrowed in blankets, and a small smile gracing her lips -- and feels something inside her start to simmer.
Because she, apparently, is too nosy for her own good, she sips on her milkshake and cocks her head. "So, how's Cindy?"
Peter takes his time eating a fry, his forehead wrinkling as he thinks. It's like he's stalling when he takes a long drink of his chocolate milkshake. "Cindy's... nice," he says finally.
Felicia fixes him with a judgemental stare. "You spent all that time thinking about words for your girlfriend and all you could think of was... nice?"
Peter flushes. Felicia's internally furious, debating whether to claw him up and leave him stranded on some skyscraper, or to kill him now. To condense Cindy down into one word when Felicia didn't even ask for one word! She left him room to elaborate on how amazing his girlfriend is! And to use the word "nice" of all things... Men ain't shit.
Truly, it's amazing that he's the one with a girlfriend, not Felicia.
"I mean," Peter stutters, trying to defend himself. "She's cool? I should get her flowers; I'll get her flowers."
At that, Felicia arches an eyebrow. "What kind of flowers?"
"Uh." Peter fumbles for a lifeline. "Roses?"
"Too cliche. What are her favorites?"
"The purple ones?"
Felicia rolls her eyes. "She likes tulips, Peter. Purple isn't even her favorite color." It's red.
"Oh." Peter deflates. "I'm a terrible boyfriend, aren't I."
Maybe some pity is deserved. "Maybe, but, somehow, Cindy stills seems to like you." More than like, actually. The simmering in her stomach reaches a boil.
Peter perks up at that admission. He polishes off the last of his fries and whips out his phone. "Lets stop by a florist before meeting the others." Felicia doesn't stop him.
Later, MJ is already waiting for them in front of the theater. This is after Peter incessantly asking Felicia questions about why girls all seem to have favorite flowers and why are there so many different flowers out there. Felicia didn't miss the fact that he got two tulips instead of one.
"Do you have a favorite flower?" He asks MJ as soon as they reach her.
MJ frowns. "No?"
"Oh. Cindy does."
The frown grows even larger. "So?"
Peter turns. "Nevermind."
Felicia rolls her eyes. Of course it's up to her to fix this. "Peter was complaining about why girls all have favorite flowers."
"Not all girls, though?" MJ questions, clearly lost.
"That's what I told him." Felicia nudges Peter and that's when Cindy rushes over.
Peter doesn't miss his chance to brandish his two peach tulips for Cindy. She laughs, and thanks him by knocking him over in a hug. Felicia and MJ both take a step back, exchanging a roll of eyes.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Felicia knows that if MJ had said she had a favorite flower, Peter would've given her the other tulip without hesitation.
4.
"Okay so Cindy can go backstage and look for the stars," MJ directs. "Peter, you're with me on crown control. Felicia, you're gonna take care of the lights."
"Cindy should be with me," Peter argues. Felicia glances over at Cindy, who looks annoyed. She's bouncing on the balls of her feet, ready to protect the celebrities trapped in the dressing room.
"Cin, go," Felicia orders and she pulls Peter back from following as Cindy rushes off. "Oh my fucking god, Peter, just trust her."
"I do!"
"Then trust her to do this by herself." Felicia glares. "She's fine on her own."
Peter's eyes widen, finally realizing the implication behind his constant protectiveness. He nods mutely, and him and MJ are off. Felicia grumbles about stupid people and she's off to climb her way up to the tech room.
There's a crash behind her as Felicia's hot wiring the spotlights. It's barely been half an hour since the four of them have split off. She whips around, claws already out, as she searches for the source of the sound. There's a growl as a wolf-cat mutant thing draws closer, and Felicia curses. All the mutants were supposed to be where Peter and MJ was.
She lowers into a fighting stance, ready to go out fighting, when a familiar silhouette swings into the mutant and throws them off-kilter. Silk cobwebs them up to a pole and bashes their head unconscious with a heavy kick.
"Are you okay?" Silk asks, panting. Her hands are on her knees as the creature's head lolls.
"Fine. Why are you here?" Cindy's supposed to be with the celebrities.
"I got them out. Wanted to check on you."
"Peter and MJ?"
"Fighting. We should join them."
Felicia curses and returns back to the task of hotwiring the lights. Stupid technicians not leaving their keys around, making Felicia have to hack into their systems. Good practice but horrible timing, really. She shoves back the thought of Cindy coming to check up on her first, before Peter, for another time.
5.
The car ride is suffocating again, even without sound. Felicia and MJ are watching the camera with barely concealed anticipation. Cindy and Peter are in frame, in the limo while Felicia and MJ are hidden in the storage room of the hotel.
It's another stakeout, another job to expose some baddie. Investigative journalism, as Cindy put it with barely concealed glee. Peter's in a tuxedo without his jacket while Cindy keeps fiddling with her dangling ruby earrings. He's on his phone, looking anxious, while Cindy peers out the window. Her other hand is tapping at her legs, at Peter's jacket spread over them. A clear sign of her nerves.
"Are we sure they're dating?" Felicia tries in a deadpan. MJ hits her on the shoulder and Felicia gets the hint.
It's not really fair how good they look together, even with the clear discomfort. Cindy's white, cream dress matches Peter's white shirt and they both accent each other with Peter's red tie and Cindy's red jewelry. They look important, just like their fake identities. It's hard to believe all four of them are college students during the day. Half of them, MJ and Cindy, have papers due tomorrow at midnight. Felicia's anticipating a panicked study session complete with Mario Kart music to finish them.
Peter glances up from his phone, at Cindy, and says something. Felicia doesn't know, but Cindy turns to him to answer. Then, they go back to what they were doing beforehand, which is: not much at all.
"Five minutes," MJ calls from her monitoring of the maps.
Felicia presses the unmute button on her earpiece and recites the message to the two spiders. She watches as Peter jumps from the surprise, and Cindy flashes a thumbs up at the hidden camera. Peter takes the hidden camera from behind the driver's seat and attaches it to his tie. Cindy gives back his tuxedo jacket.
Whatever they're going through, Felicia hopes they figure it out. Or don't. It's clear the relationship isn't going well. It might be better to call things off.
+ 1.
"You shouldn't have," Cindy scolds gently.
Felicia winces at the ointment sinking into her shoulder wound. She won't be able to hold her bags for a while. Not all of them are blessed with superhuman healing like their squad's power couple.
"I definitely should've."
"I'm the one with the healing abilities, I could've taken it."
No, the arrows had been directed straight at Cindy's heart. If Felicia hadn't gotten her shoulder there at the right second, Cindy would've been dead. That would've been much worse.
She finds herself drinking in Cindy's face, again and again. The moonlight they're using as light softens her features, but her expression is drawn in concentration. Felicia's eyes drop to pursed lips, remembering that mouth parting so beautifully for her all those nights ago. Something's been stirring inside her since then, but it's never felt so tremendous as now.
Cindy's pretty, Felicia has known this, but she's never been prettier than now. Silver glances off her dark hair, her lashes flutter as she blinks. Careful, strong hands move delicately along Felicia's wound.
Maybe Felicia's drunk on pain, or something, thinking those thoughts. Because Cindy is Peter's girl and Felicia has been so good at controlling her want till now, she can't stop now.
Cindy draws in a sharp breath when Felicia winces at the stab of pain. "Sorry, Fel."
Fel.
"It's alright," Felicia manages through gritted teeth. "You're doing great."
"I should call MJ," Cindy frets. "She's better at this than me."
Somehow, her hand finds Cindy's lap. Cindy stills, actually looks at her instead of at the ugly scratches. It's so silent they can hear the traffic outside; neither of them looks away.
The moment passes. Cindy continues dabbing at the wound. Felicia hisses slowly, but doesn't say anything.
"Thanks for saving me," Cindy says quietly.
Felicia pats her lap in response. "You owe me two milkshakes at Jerry's."
"I can do more than that," Cindy promises earnestly. "Dessert's on me too."
"Spectacular, I'm holding you to that."
"Got it, boss."
It's easy to get into conversation with Cindy, to chatter away about life and patrols and missions. Felicia winces as the bandages go on, but Cindy lets her tightly clutch her hand even if it makes it harder for her.
"You're gonna be okay?" Felicia asks as Cindy starts to get ready to swing back to the dorms. "It's getting late."
"Patricia's gonna get worried if I don't get back soon."
"Text her that you're staying over at my place" Felicia offers. "I have the better bed anyways."
Cindy laughs. "Since when was it a competition?"
"Since you said it yourself."
"Fair," Cindy acquiesces. "I did say that."
She falls backwards till her back hits the couch, stretching out her limbs. "You still have my clothes from the last sleepover?"
"Back of the closet." Felicia can't believe that worked. She studies Cindy's half closed eyes, her bushy eyebrows, before following the line of her nose bridge and landing on her lips, then chin. Cindy's arm folds over her eyes and she starts groaning about having to get up to brush her teeth and get ready for bed.
Felicia grunts in agreement, finding solace on her rug. At least the rug can't comment about her current emotional and/or her physical state. Peter doesn't know how lucky he has it, Felicia thinks almost bitterly. How he can't appreciate a girl like Cindy is beyond Felicia's comprehension. If Cindy was her girl, Felicia wouldn't ever let go.
It's not till much later, when Cindy's deep in sleep next to her and Felicia's staring up at the ceiling, when the realization hits.
Fuck.
She reaches for her phone. MJ picks up on the second ring. "What is it?"
Send me a pairing and a number between 1-100 and I’ll write a short scene based on my Spotify Top 100 playlist
Thank you for sending me this @nataliehsewell 💜 sorry it took me so long!
and there’s nothing I can do, except bury my love for you
43. Moondust-Stripped; EP Version by Jaymes Young
This is pretty angsty. Discussion of death and grief
There was no grave to visit, no place to lay flowers, no headstone to hear her regrets. How could there be when there was no body, only a mass cremation? Would Cynthia be happy with the anonymity she was granted in death, ending up as just another nameless faceless victim?
People knew Sidestep was gone, but they were used to masks disappearing. There were always others eager to try their hand at the hero game. There was talk of a park, a memorial, a plaque. If Ortega was still with the Rangers she would know more, but that was Chen’s headache now.
Los Diablos may commemorate Sidestep’s name and accomplishments, even if few outside of the Ranger’s knew how essential she had been to stopping the Nanosurge. She would be written into the bloody and chaotic history of the city. Another name in the long list of lives sacrifices for the “greater good.”
But Cynthia? Cynthia was gone. It was as if she never existed. There was no family, no friends, no one outside of the Ranger’s who seem to know or care. Ortega didn’t even know where she had been living, just another of Cynthia’s many secrets that she took to her grave. There was no opportunity to claim a memento. What Ortega wouldn’t give for an old hoodie or maybe even the blanket Mama had crocheted as a gift a few years ago. If she knew Cynthia at all (had she?) they would probably reek of cigarettes. She never thought she’d miss the acrid smell of smoke.
There aren’t any photos of her face. Ortega had never regretted the times she’s burned out a pap’s equipment before they could get a shot of them together until now.
She is left with nothing but her memories and time. Time she always thought she would have more of time. Time to come to terms with the depth of her own feelings. Time to work through Cynthia’s walls. Time to make her believe.
Maybe it was better there was no headstone. No unfeeling stone for Ortega to break herself against in a too late confession.
Without the usual mourning rituals Ortega learns to bury other things. Instead she buries the guilt and loss under the bravado and charm that everyone expects of Charge, expects of her. If her flirtations never come to fruition, then no one comments. At least Mama has stopped harassing her about settling down.
She keeps her hair short. Even years later when her memory of Cynthia’s face is fuzzy and she can’t recall the sound of her laugh she still misses the weight of the braid down her back. Even after her memories have lost their sharpness, she can still feel the empty space at her side.
tagging: @lilyoffandoms, @lord-king-saint, and @morexgan
