lost in my bedroom

there  were  plenty  of  times  where  bash  should  simply  shut  the  fuck  up.  for  a  guy  who  typically  gave  so  few  syllables,  when  he  did  choose  to  speak  more  than  a  couple  of  words  he  made  a  point  to  make  the  other  half  of  the  conversation  regret  it.  more  times  than  not,  it  worked.  and  maybe  the  harshness  should  be  saved  for  those  who  truly  deserved  it.  but  ava  being  percy's  right  hand  made  it  painfully  tempting  to  get  on  her  bad  side.  hell,  if  she  hated  him  perhaps  the  other  could  convince  percy  to  give  up  on  him.  bash  could  only  push  away  for  so  long,  after  all.  he  treated  those  who  were  inheritedly  good  like  poison  and  yet  would  drink  of  toxicity  as  if  it  was  water.  〝     i'm  just  saying,  if  we  need  to  go  old  school  and  put  a  sock  on  the  door.  i'd  prefer  that  than  walking  on  shit  i  don't  wanna  see.      〞it  was  a  fair  observation  –  they  both  had  particular  times  of  leaving  the  suite.  and  let  alone  returning.  perhaps  percy  was  right  on  the  pair  having  more  than  one  thing  in  common.  〝     or  hearing.        〞  he  remarked,  taking  a  sip  of  the  freshly  brewed  coffee  warming  up  his  hands.  〝     don't  you  think  communication  is  better  than  russian  roulette  of  walkin'  in  on  nightmare  fuel?       〞

her cruel namesake had never rung true quite like right now – poor little ava ophelia, trapped in the moss green walls of a faded suite, a latent desire to take to water and do away with a lifetime’s worth of suffering ever so thrumming. she’d argue she’s already submerged, bash’s voice a low, warbled sound she couldn’t for the life of her pay attention to – his puzzling plea for boundaries that she’d be baffled by if she wasn’t faced with a current threat in her sweat slick palms. an impending rift of her own doing. a poem of callous and cold palms parting paths to unveil a star shaped freckle. far too descriptive, intimate and anatomically correct. the shame it would've enticed would've been tantalizing if it wasn't for the source and what that revealed – percy knows, worse that percy doesn’t understand. how could that have happened? she couldn't blame them either way, especially when she manages to catch bash’s question. sheer irony and guilt-driven defensiveness reels her back and out of the mucky waters of her mind and with that, her head lifts with a bored stare. pauses to ponder before a final, “no,” withholding, and sparing nothing else.  

laid out on top of an old blanket usually kept shoved in a basket beneath one of the hedges, subin was catching the last dredges of sun, eyes blinking open only as ava drew near. despite the show of nonchalance made at either end, both of them knew that they’d always come back to this point – the ocean’s tide always called to the moon’s pull, something beyond conscious choice. he had told magdalena that the break this time was because of palladian and the newness that it offered, so they weren’t held back by anything or anyone, to expand horizons. another line of bullshit, although it partially rang true for subin in some sense. that first night, though, it was him and ava — nothing new but a desperate want that always lurked. the corner of his lips quirk, and he pushes up onto his forearms. “then you should’ve told me to wait,” he challenges, a line that was always straddled but never crossed. subin was careful with ava until he was not and allowed himself more than he secretly thought he deserved. they often found each other in the dark, but sometimes, like this time, he wanted the light, even as it waned. it allowed him to see her fully. he wondered if she thought the same, although the thought of her truly seeing him was less tempting. he sat up straighter to allow a hand to wrap around her bare leg, thumb pressing ever-so-lightly into the bitten-plum-colored splotch that remained present on her inner thigh from before. ava was more cautious than this, neck covered with foundation, meeting up only hidden away from view. he took pleasure in seeing the bruise as if it was a somewhat open declaration of what they had, a wish smothered as soon as it came, knowing that the secret was kept more so for her sake. as hypocritical as subin was, he didn’t want to see ava hurt. as if in apology – for everything, he leaned in to press a kiss onto the spot, spare hand reaching to find hers to pull her to him. “tell me more about this show. if you’d like, i can take you back.” 

her breath hitches when his lips close in, tender as a bruise to her bruise, just a touch above her knee-high sock on her right leg. somatic deja vu; wishes he’d draw at the blood beneath and darker again but he only manages a corner of her lips in a bitten, coy smirk. “would you now?” – take her back, subin? ava hums and teases as she allowed herself to fall onto the careworn blanket, knees first. softer than she’d like to sound, an implication unsaid. not at all interested in returning but felt playful and momentarily curious, sitting up to toy at collar of his shirt. “more kids from school showed up. might still be back there.” someone might see. percy would know. she might even show up: tinny thoughts she speaks rare of but he’d know anyway. what she liked and flinched from most about him. her mind reader – always privy to the unspoken. priest-like to the silent confessional she holds within. ava sighs, not waiting for him to answer, maybe to spare herself even the tiniest twinge of disappointment. “it was a projection show. a one-woman act. she was imprisoned, singing away her sentence in french. it was fine.” she remembers the projected bars onto the performer’s face, all in harsh black and white the whole stage transformed, the woman’s voice cracking here and there and little laughter sounding from the crowd. she felt embarrassed for her then, leaning back into her chair, swallowing grimaces and turning away to distract herself with the monty’s neck, thick and indelicate. they couldn’t even spare her make-believe sympathy. ava chooses to now, at least, as she leans over halfway and pulling subin in to brush a kiss on his lips, all as slow as a dream. “we’re better where we are now.” 

bambi wishes she could say shopping came as a comfort to her. really, it was a competitive sport – well, not always but trust: she takes it entirely too seriously, that one. zipping and zapping about aisles and although calm to discerning eyes, she’s a maniac (maniac!) at heart and mind. too analytic, an absolutist; either entirely too thrilled for a find with a cheeks-splitting grin or shudderingly disgusted by the shoddy work of it all. its why she finds comfort in thrift stores like these and really, her father’s closet. maybe her favorite place to score her next cherished item to wear. the little expectations but always smelled like her home or belonged to someone’s home once, ugly or not. lived-in fabric that breathed. would smile at the thought of it alone if she wasn’t faced with a skirt that may haunt her dreams tonight but she in a sweet enough mood to gently tuck it back in for someone else who would appreciate it. her own name pulls her out of her judging trance, brows quirk at corvina? “oh, my god, shut up.” bambi mutters with a laugh and shoves her playfully, embarrassed enough to flush although she grins at the attention and encounter. “if anything, it should be me who’s completely gagged by your queenly presence. was startin' to think you’re full-on avoiding me all this time.” half-teases, half-interrogates. “is this where you’ve been all this time? hot. miss solis shops ethically.”

if there’s one person bambi was willing to share a space with – let alone a studio where she’s meant to wring out every bit of ingenuity out of herself and fling it all out onto surround pin-pricked mannequins and tacked white sheets, it was tabi swallows. quiet as a kept mouse, entirely too sweet-faced with those waa waa eyes (affectionate) and stays out of her way at all times? matter of fact, adored so chest-achingly much that bambi wouldn’t even mind her intruding when they’d come to think of it? what’s not to be fond of. especially when both of them all but larped as each other’s assistants when the other needed on occasion and bambi could borderline hear the ideas stewing about in her little head, imagines steam cartoonishly emitting from her head and she’d just caught a whiff of her thoughts — deep inhale, old; another inhale; dust, carpentry that magically stood the test of time and secondhand, time-toughened carpets that could be washed a hundredth time in those instagram reels – it almost turns her away from her own frankenstein; jeremy hindle and his set production work on severance; golf course greens, shades of whites and blues and random pictures of goats she'd taken in a cotswolds farm are taped before her. even a photo of her bias, harmony cobel. no, she’s not pulled away from it all yet but she does attempt to chuck a complaint over her shoulder at tabi until little chaos turns her all the way around, eyes already pulled downwards to the pins fallen over and, ‘fuck,’ she curses, too, and then really curses when her gaze is pulled towards tabi’s, split lip first. “fuckin’ hell, tabs.” she instantly softens, though not without reproach, as she nears her in two quick steps. already cradling her face in just-then stress lotioned hands. “oh, sweet baby. didn’t I tell ya’ to stop puttin’ them fuckin’ pins in your mouth? look at the state of you. a full-on yellowjacket, alright. jesus.” bambi coos, only fussing and a touch upset, bambi brushes a thumb across tabi’s cheek before stepping aside and guiding her towards a stool chair facing a giant sketch board not of current use. “c’mere – sit down there before you do worse. fuckin’ – flailing little doe.” scans the table near for whatever could resemble a tissue but only comes away with a clean sheet of paper she frowns at but still dabs softly over her lip. “you’d never last the winter. shauna’s having an absolute field day with ya’. pit girl if she can help it, she's makin' shish kebabs out of ya'.” concerned, then. her frown deepened. “does it hurt?” 

“exactly. a woman right after me own heart.” bambi lifts her drink as a cheeky cheers with a wink, cheeks dimpling at robin, who may or may not actually do her heart in under these bar lights; yellow as a gentle sunrise, freeze dried yolk, ripened canistels, smashed florets, the mask's suit yellow - for the unpretentious and cultured - close to unbearable yet not quite. a challenging color, some would say, if not balanced by the pungent blue's of the stage and the red above all else, but bambi would counter that notion in their willingness to take it on its lonesome – always up for a challenge. bambi files away the way it pulls shadows over robin’s profile for later muse and pouts sympathetically, crossing her legs in between robin’s, her knee touching the seam of her pants just so in a way not unfamiliar to them both. she almost scoffs to herself, a light smirk bitten into his straw thinking she's just the hottest shit, born top-by-default until robin mirrors her, barging so casually into her own personal space and bambi stills briefly, reminded of her switch status between them two most instantly. fortunately unrelenting, she flicks her hair back and sits up not to pull away but rather pull focus to the few buttons in her dress shirt she'd flung open on her way over, sui and westwood peek out to say hello with a soft jiggle. “blergh, the actual cheek of twinks these days. like, as if you wouldn’t lash him on as a strap and give a real woman a proper go – or take him under your wing, i suppose. where’s baby blue off to, anyway?” 

frown etched its mark on her face as she turned his words over and over around her head . already , she felt a dull headache coming on . the implication of his words pounding against her skull . against her brain as she tried to determine wether or not she needed to be jealous . as if that was even her choice to make seeing as they weren't together . holding onto his arm for support , she leaned down , reaching for the underwear on the floor and gently placed it in his lap . an offering , a thank you for the information . a cat dropping a dead rat in the lap of its master . a news outlet rewarding a whistleblower . " oh . " rare that words left her , but she didn't know what to say . he had told her this — that he wanted this place to be a fresh start . a part of her never believed him . expecting him to come running back , telling her that no one else compared . already , he moved on while she was stuck haunting a place that was once theirs . the desire to know more settled in the pit of her stomach , but desmond said he couldn't remember much , and she wouldn't push it . a small , shaky smile handed to him , and she rested her head on his shoulder . " well , " she started trying to form a sentence and not scare him away . " that's no good . the first day of class is like the most important one . that's when you need to make a good first impression . if you get behind , i'll tutor you . " they both knew it wasn't true . she'd never be able to tutor him , but the words were a promise to spend more time together . still , her voice was weak as she nuzzled closer to his neck while one hand moved to her free temple . like the pressure of her fingers could erase the made up images of desmond and subin's night and the drag queen he ran off with .

fuck. regret couldn’t come quicker at the sight of her frown, even her underwear feels like nothing precious between his open arms now – what’d he expect? for her to sigh, become burdenless and make like a blanket all over him to weather the fucked heating of this castle, the lit furnace demoted to a secondary source of heat? cock kicks sadly at the thought, so he’s somewhat fine. not too devastated but still, his heart breaks in tandem. always did; desmond couldn’t get over her not getting over it. always hurt for her to hurt, he just wishes she’d get over it already but then an old fear comes alive again – of losing her. to someone else that isn’t included. someone whose mind isn’t a video game that desmond is yet to clear but thinks he’s close to before a new level ambushes him and throws him all the way off in just how twisted it can truly be. “yeah, you’ll get me together, alright.” desmond forces a laugh, relieved she’s bearing it; for him, at least. hears a wobble in her voice and his throat clears itself; a lump forming but he’d tell you it isn’t. forever yearns still to make it all go away and closes his eye when she nestles into him. his cheek perches on her head. “we have fun, right?” he asks unprompted. checking in on their side of that equation. he leans away to take a good look at her, her freckles countable this close. “you and me?”

three months and some change ago, percy remembers a ladybug landing on her arm, unusual for the midst of winter, its legs tickling her skin, settling in against the warmth as she counted the black spots against red. there were three spots, an unusually small amount, but she made a wish per the folklore she held so dear. it was three months to the date on the day of the tour when she felt someone’s sleeve brush against that same arm, hairs prickling in response. there, july stood, catching her eye, reminding her of the ladybug. she wonders what he’d think if she told him right there – that maybe he was her wish. of course, percy wouldn’t, although her hands always threatened to mar whatever clean slate she was presented with. “i remember, too. jules,” she says instead, settling into a smile, loosening her grip. “no, it was all very helpful. you explain things well. brought me here….” each word was carefully chosen as a response to his, trying not to be too much too soon. “i was writing. for class. it’s been hard to think with all the commotion. black mold and all. i was beginning to think spores were sprouting in the ridges.” she raps her knuckles against her head. “this place has helped.” another few steps down, closer to him, she turns so they’re side by side instead of face-to-face, and she glances upward at the large expanse of the space. “makes things feel big and small at the same time, if that makes sense. kind of like –,” percy reaches into her bag, pulling out a pamphlet that had been once crumpled, that she worked hard to smooth over. on its front was a palladian feature from last year, and she flips to the inside to the part where a photo of him is credited and holds it up to compare. “big and small.” the sheepish realization that this was maybe not something to share comes after. she pulls back.  “um, i found this behind some seats. the colors caught my eye — looked dark. different from what i heard you all talking about below. there were lots of laughs. felt light. what is it this year? the play? if you don’t mind me asking. it’s okay if you do.”

helplessly, july turns sweet at her compliment, freckles speckle and flush into beached sand across his nose. he does explain things well, thank you very much - tips his bunny hat to ye here and ye there - shows things even better, too. he’d like to know what she’d think of his actual favorite spot at the cloister on the main building in st. cuthbert's. another comfort of a spot, under a tree that covers most of that area in his mind’s moony eye, leaves above in a constat stream of whispers he attempts to decipher with closed eyes and an open heart. one day, he thinks. one day soon, he wishes. “yes!  moldgate. sorry that happened,” a quiet laugh that he regrets instantly by coughing and standing upright, voice embarrassingly deepened before settling back to its default timbre. “it, uh  - must’ve been quite traumatic but i’m happy this place’d become a sanctuary for you.” he nods with his happiest smile. ”it’d be nice to have company that isn’t concerned with our typical going ons here.” his journal opens again in his head at the sight of her smile upclose, prunes scribbled down fiercely with not the fixed grimace figs had come with, accompanying vocabulary-wise. a dried fruit's wrinkles now dimples by the sweetness within - old and new, familiar and curiously not. a magnetic field unveils itself in the most instinctual of senses when she steps nearer, pushes an almost crazed grin into his lips when he feels that desire mirror her steps to bring them ever closer but he settles with her by his side. rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet playfully. it worsens, of course, when she hands over the pamphlet and he regards her with a quirked brow until his gaze befell the paper in hand, a hundred moons and a production away of the bacchae, all cast stood proud and some bloody with exhausted smiles. “oh, my god...” moved over the memory and how profound and kept in her hand it was, his heart swells. close to a relic when time lapses as fae courts do in his mind. not at all alarmed when he decides he now knows her heart, confirmed then when she speaks. “yeah, we did the bacchae last year. godawful production if you ask me, i’m surprised you found one of these at all. we like to burn each pamphlet we find in a bonfire after shows...” of course, he keeps his tucked away and out of reach where he can’t find it, he’d almost forgotten by now. july sighs with a fond smile. “we had so much fun.. thank you. that was a great memory.” her question perks him up and he’s out of his wistful trance; mischievous, himself again. turning over to face her, july hums inquisitively. “depends — are you good at keeping secrets, percy?”

✍️ WRITING HAND — what is one thing you wish you were better at? this can be a tactical skill, social skill, hobby, etc.

𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄. 😊 SMILING FACE WITH SMILING EYES — what are your oc's career/general life desires? what do they want to get the most out of life? 😖 CONFOUNDED FACE — is your oc an introvert, an extrovert, or an ambivert? do they let people in easily, or are they more reserved? 🤔 THINKING FACE — what are some of your oc's quirks/mannerisms? 🧐 FACE WITH MONOCLE — is your oc more logical or emotional? 🤓 SMILING FACE WITH GLASSES — is your oc chatty or quiet? are they at ease in social situations, or are they more shy? 🤩 FACE WITH STARRY EYES — is your oc a planner, or are they more spontaneous in their actions? 😥 SAD BUT RELIEVED FACE — is your oc prone to getting stressed out, or is it easy for them to keep their cool? 😓 DOWNCAST FACE WITH SWEAT — is your oc open-minded or stubborn? are they inquisitive or do they prefer to keep to their bubble of knowledge? 😞 DISAPPOINTED FACE — does your oc attract others, or do they tend to be left alone? 🤒 FACE WITH THERMOMETER — does your oc get sick easily? 👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 FAMILY WITH MOTHER, FATHER, SON AND DAUGHTER — how many people are in your oc's immediate family? how many people are in your oc's extended family? do they have aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, etc? who in their family are they closest with? are they close with their birth family, or do they have a found family?

“no.” – incredulous. offended, even. tonally slips out like duh? what the fuck? when she presses a smile not even covertly forced at champ’s direction. “they should earn it, robs. you’ll spoil them.” half-serious although bambi wouldn’t mind giving constructive criticism; never shied from offering free advice when she felt it dire for whoever needed it. they feel less giving or forgiving as of right now, however - only happy to have found robin who seemingly has slipped away from her tour, as well. “so, wait -” she pauses again, taking a sip of her drink before continuing to push on her originally proposed question before only-slightly-better-rupi-kaur had taken stage hostage. “you didn’t tell me about your tour! c’mon,” whining as she scoots her stool closer to robin, practically invading her personal space which psht, what is that anyway. squints with an inquisitive smirk despite with a tint of her cheeks that always came being this close to robin, for reasons she liked reminiscing about. a rare success. “that bad? who was it? our losers or theirs?”