#( golden boy doesn’t hurt my brain as much as it used to. he could’ve pulled it off but im attached to his black hair )

[endawn]

he could’ve been blonde

[messers-moony]

My Everything | S.B

Paring: Sirius Black X Wife!Reader

Summary: When five marauders goes to two within the instance of a day. Two children are left without fathers and a wife is left without a husband.

Request: Sirius Black x Wife!reader reuniting and she's Remus sister

A/N: My first Harry Potter request. I got so excited to see this in my inbox and I hope it isn’t the last :)

Perhaps it was the feeling of betrayal she felt when he was finally gone. The fact that everything he’d ever said was a lie. She couldn’t help but think maybe his vows were a lie too. The five Marauders were now two. Only two left. How did this even happen? 

The unbreakable group of five. James Potter, the so-called leader of them all. The mom friend who always made sure everyone was okay and cared for. Sirius Black, the second in command. The mischievous, charismatic troublemaker who was always in detention. Peter Pettigrew, the outcast of them all. The shy and naive boy who gave them all a sense of logic. Remus Lupin, the intelligent and solace of them all. The only boy smart enough not to get caught. Y/n Lupin, the creative and sneaky one. The only one who could sneak and out of the Potions cabinet without Slughorn noticing. 

Now it was just the Lupin twins who, as Sirius called them, the “Linking Lupins.” It was hard in the beginning. First-year was difficult. All they had was each other. Lyall hadn’t really been accepting in the first place, but Hope was always blissfully unaware of her son's problem. All she knew was that he had to go away once a month. Lyall cursed himself out every night that Remus went away, cursing himself for letting this happen to his son. 

The cries of his baby girl begging for her brother. The wails of Y/n pleading for Remus not to go away. Not wanting to let go of him, hearing Remus from inside the room in the basement begging to be let out. Sobbing, crying for his mum or his dad to let him out, praying that the wolf doesn’t take over. Whimpering at how much it hurts the way his bones dislocate and relocate back together in a new way. 

So yeah, first year was challenging. But Dumbledore had a safe place for him to go every evening of the full moon, and Y/n would be there when he woke up every time. Remus relished in the way her hands felt in his. They were so soft compared to his calloused ones. So gentle compared to his often rough movements. Small compared to big. She was everything he wasn’t, and he was happy about that. 

James Potter was the first to talk to them with his flamboyant nature. His eyes were the lightest of browns with spotted glittering green. His smile was perfect and straight. How could someone’s smile be that way at the ripe age of eleven? Despite his aura screaming, “I’m the popular kid, and you’re the loser,” he was actually quite nice. 

Upon looking at James, the Lupin twins both thought of trouble. They remembered the popular kids from their muggle school before this one, how they used to belittle Remus for his scars and how Y/n used to push them away. So, forgive them for being a little cautious around him. It didn’t help that James’ counterpart was the opposite of them both. 

Sirius Black, lanky and confident. This boy had no boundaries and absolutely no limits. If he wanted it, he was going to get it. His eyes were the purest iron, and his smile was white like quartz. Hair black as coal and personality as gregarious as the color wheel. His style was toned back, but his character could’ve put the color wheel to shame with how bright he was. Sirius Black could’ve been the antonym to Remus and Y/n Lupin. 

During second year they found another boy who was being beaten by Slytherins for his scarlet and golden robes. He was stocky, and it seems that he was pretty timid. His blond hair was disheveled, and his blue eyes full of fright. Y/n had stepped in front of him just like she had Remus from the bullies back in muggle school. Her wand was held tight in her grip as she stared at them. 

“What are you gonna do, Loony Lupin?” One of them snarled. 

“Aguamenti.” 

The Slytherins were now covered in water. Damp like they had all taken a shower with their clothes on. Their black robes turned a shade darker. The evergreen accents turned olive, and the silver turned into grey. The main Slytherin boy gritted his teeth, and his icy eyes stared into Y/n’s e/c ones. 

“You’ll pay for that.”

Y/n pocketed her wand in her robes, smiling sweetly, “I’m sure I will. Now, run along before I do something worse.”

They didn’t want to obey, but they also didn’t want to stay in that situation. The Slytherins scurried off like dogs following their owner's command. Y/n fixed her hair with her hand and turned around. She was offering her soft hand to the boy who was frozen, shocked, staring at her. Hesitantly he gripped her hand, allowing her to pull him up. She was only slightly shorter than him. 

“Y/n Lupin.” She introduced, “You are?”

“Pe- Peter Pettigrew.”

Y/n bowed playfully, “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Peter.” 

“Pleasure.” Peter muttered shyly as her group of friends approached. 

Remus swung an arm around her shoulders, “You’re bloody brilliant, you know?”

“Our star.” Sirius swooned jokingly as Y/n punched his shoulder, causing him to pout, “Who’s this?” James queried, looking at Peter, who cowered under the hazel-eyed gaze. 

“Boys,” Y/n smiled brightly, “This is our new member of the Marauders. Peter Pettigrew.”

Peter fiddled with his hands anxiously, “New- New member?”

“Mhm!” Y/n hummed, “You’re our new addition.”

James smiled, “Any friend of Y/n’s is a friend of ours. Welcome, Peter.”

From then it went from four to five. Peter never really stopped thanking them for letting him in. For the first time, Peter felt at home, and it was thanks to Y/n. He realized how kind she was, how creative she was. It was so strange. The group was so different, like extraordinarily diverse, yet they worked together so well. Y/n and Remus seemed to be the brains of things. James and Sirius seemed to be the trouble makers. Peter just did his own thing but always contributed. 

In fifth year Remus started to worry. Everyone was so secretive. They stopped hanging around as much, even his sister. It hurt. It really hurt to see them seeking around on the map that he and Y/n created together for the most part. It wasn’t until during the winter break did Y/n finally realize what they were doing affected them. 

Remus barely cried. Or at least that’s what people made it out to seem. Remus actually cried a decent amount. He was snuggled up in his room. His blanket encasing him, and his arms held around his pillow tightly, gripping it as if it’d leave him like he felt everyone else was. His heart felt broken. Y/n was outside his door, hearing his soft cries, and gently knocked on the door. 

“Rem. Can I come in, please?”

He didn’t say anything, so she just let herself in. The door closed behind her with a click, and she saw her tall brother curled up into the tightest ball with silver streams on his cheeks. Y/n sat in front of him and rubbed the side of his arm. Remus’ eyes continue to release water like a dam that had been broken. He couldn’t swallow it no matter how hard he tried. 

“What’s wrong, Rem?”

Remus didn’t say anything. He just dug his head deeper into the pillow he was holding. Y/n’s hand made its way to his sandy-colored hair. She was scratching at the scalp and smoothing his hair away from his face keeping the strands from getting wet. Her hand hesitantly reached his cheek and wiped away the tears that kept falling. 

She sighed, “Remus, please.”

“You’re- you’re gon’ leave me, aren’ you.” Remus choked. 

“Leave you?” Y/n questioned softly, afraid if she raised her voice any more, it’d make things worse, “I wouldn’t leave you if I was given a chance, Remmy.”

He sniffled, “You- you haven’ been a- around.”

“I know.” Y/n soothed, caressing his cheek, “But there’s an explanation for it. James, Sirius, Peter, and I have been distant. We know that. But there’s a reason for it. You’ll find out soon.”

Remus’ eyes met his sister's warm e/c ones, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Never.” 

He smiled gently. The corners of his lips barely curled, but she knew it was there. Remus had fallen asleep with his sister's hand in his hair. When she was sure he was sleeping, Y/n left the bedroom, allowing him to sleep peacefully. Then she wrote a letter to James where she knew Sirius was staying too. 

One more week, Y/n thought. One more week of this Mandrake leaf in their mouths until they could be done with this. 

It took another month before it was ready. Before they were ready. They were in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom when they started. James started first. When he turned into a stag, they all began laughing. James turned back, pouting. Sirius turned second into a huge black dog. Y/n smiled and petted his head. 

“Very fitting, Sirius.”

Sirius turned back, letting Peter turn next. He was so tiny that Sirius almost stepped on him. James and Y/n sniggered at their rat friend. Next was Y/n, who turned into a graceful cat. Her fur was black, and her eyes were a striking e/c. James smirked and nudged Sirius. 

“Matching animagus’, eh?”

Sirius scowled, “Cats and dogs don’t match.”

Y/n turned back, “Don’t they?”

“Ready for this full moon?” James asked them all. 

“‘Course!”

“Yep!”

“Can’t wait.”

That full moon was better than them all. Remus had people to join him. There was something that he noticed, though. Every time he’d get close to the cat, the dog would growl and stand in front of her. It was like the dog was protecting what was his. Y/n noticed it too. Every time Remus got close, Sirius stood in front of her, keeping him at a safe distance. 

It wasn’t until a quiet night in the Marauders dorm did Remus finally bring it up, “Sirius.”

“Remus.”

“How long?”

Sirius furrowed his eyebrows, “How long what?”

“You know,” Remus moved his hand in a circular motion for him to continue, “How long have you liked my sister?”

“Woah, Remus.” Sirius stated in shock, “That’s quite the accusation.”

Remus tilted his head, “Is it?”

“Yeah. It is.” Sirius replied, “Y/n is my friend. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“So, you not sleeping with any girls for the past year is just a coincidence?” Remus questioned knowingly, “You staring at her during class and parties is just on accident?”

Sirius’ cheeks went pink, “And it’s definitely a coincidence that you always hug her first after every Quidditch match.”

“Okay, fine, fine.” Sirius confessed, “I like Y/n. I have for a while.”

“So why haven’t you asked her out?”

“Excuse me?”

Remus shrugged, “Why haven’t you asked her out yet? You know she enjoys going to Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks.”

“Mate, have you forgotten we’re talking about your sister?” Sirius asked, “Like your twin sister?”

“I know.” Remus replied, “She likes you too, you know.”

Sirius’ eyes were practically bulging out of his skull. How in the name of Merlin was Remus so calm about this? He said it so casually as if they were talking about the weather. Sirius expected Remus to get angry or throw a book at him. 

“Are you- Are you giving me permission to date your sister?”

“As long as you don’t hurt her, sure.”

Sirius hesitated before asking his next question, “Can you help me do it?”

Remus smirked, “Casanova of Hogwarts can’t ask out Y/n?”

“Please, Remus.” Sirius begged, “I really like her, and I don’t want to fuck this up.”

Remus snorted, “You always fuck things up.”

“That’s why I need you!” 

Remus just smirked triumphantly. 

“Pleaaaseeeeeee.”

“Alright, fine.” Remus relented, “Just be cool about it, yeah? Take her to Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks. She’d enjoy that a lot. Maybe take her to Tomes and Scrolls.”

“You’re a lifesaver!” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Remus rolled his eyes, “Now shut up. ‘M tired.”

The following day Sirius and Y/n did go to Hogsmeade together. She was amazed when they went into Honeydukes together. She picked out some of her favorite sweets and some for Remus since the full moon was a week away. When she went to pay for it, Sirius pushed her hand away, paying for it himself. Y/n wouldn’t stop thanking him. 

Next, they went to Tomes and Scrolls. On any ordinary occasion, Sirius would’ve hated this. Truth be told, he wasn’t really a reader or a book person in general. But for her, he’d do absolutely anything. Y/n picked out some new books and began raving to Sirius about one in particular. So again, Sirius paid for them and told her to find a table in the Three Broomsticks. 

Sirius went to the area where the book she was raving about was found. He grabbed one for himself, planning to read and annotate it for her. Maybe he’d give it to her as a birthday gift or just a random gift. Nonetheless, he knew she’d love it, and Sirius would fall off a cliff if she asked him to. 

Inside he found her sitting with a hot chocolate and a butterbeer for himself. Sirius slid into the booth smiling at her. They talked about everything and anything. Sirius even went as far as to tell her some stuff about his family the other guys didn’t know about. He went on about how he envied Remus and her relationship wanting the same thing with Regulus. 

Sirius told her how he wanted his future to look. How many tattoos he wanted. Where he wanted to live. How many children he wanted. So on and so forth. He was so open and so honest it surprised her. Generally, if someone asked Sirius what he wanted his future to look at, he’d just shrug. Now he was spilling everything to her. 

It didn’t take long after that for them to become official. Remus smiled when she announced it. He was happy for her. Remus could see how happy Sirius made her, and for that, he was grateful that someone could take care of her in his absence. Y/n only wanted that for him too. One day she’d have a family, and Remus wouldn’t be her main priority. That scared her because, for all seventeen years of her life, it was just her and Remus. 

After graduating from Hogwarts, they got married. It wasn’t anything huge, especially with Voldemort on the rise, but it happened. James was Sirius’ best man, and Marlene was Y/n’s maid of honor. Remus walked Y/n down the aisle and gently kissed her cheek before letting her go. Seeing Sirius and Y/n get married made James overjoyed to marry Lily, but that would happen all in due time. 

So what was it that made her feel this way? Was it the betrayal? Was it the dishonesty? Was it the disloyalty? What was it in truth? The moment Sirius was locked away in Azkaban, everything changed. When Remus heard about it, she was his first stop. Inside he saw her with a baby on her lap. Their baby boy, just a year old. He was born only months before Harry. 

Little Perseus Sirius Black. Y/n’s pride and joy. He was everything to her. Remus had walked into the house seeing his broken sister holding her child close to her as he cried. Remus walked in and gently took the child from her arms, allowing her to lean on his shoulder as he held Perseus. The little boy smiled at the familiar face of his uncle. 

“Rem!” 

Remus smiled softly, “Hey, Perseus.”

It took a long time for Y/n to collect herself. Remus had taken a spot in the house since he couldn’t find a place by himself. Y/n worked at the ministry most days, and Remus would take care of her little troublemaker. As Perseus grew, he looked more and more like his mother. The same e/c eyes and h/c hair. The only thing that made him look like a Black was his defined body and facial structure. 

The sharp jawline, the defined nose, the straight cheekbones, the semi-hollow cheeks, and the pointed chin. His features were that of the Noble House of Black, yet he could’ve made his way to look like a Lupin even more. For a while, Y/n worked a lot. She was trying to keep her family afloat. But it wasn’t until Remus said he got a job offer at Hogwarts did she have to stop. Working for her felt like nothing. Every day she was worried about Perseus going to school. Especially with Sirius being out of Azkaban. 

The night that Remus saw Peter Pettigrew on the map, he knew something was wrong and sent Y/n and owl for her to come to Hogwarts. Without hesitation, she did. On the night of that full moon, she was also down in the Shrieking Shack, holding Harry close to her, not wanting him to get hurt. When everything got resolved, she cried. 

Y/n went home that night rethinking everything. A week later, Remus and Perseus returned home. She couldn’t remember holding Percy that tight ever. Y/n was just thankful that he was safe and he was home. That night that Y/n and Remus told Percy what really happened, why his father was never really in the picture. 

A year later is when Perseus finally met his father - well, that he can remember. He was fifteen now, going into his fifth year at Hogwarts when Y/n and Remus took him to Grimmauld Place 12. It felt foreign, and it felt evil. Needless to say, Percy didn’t like the place. Inside, Sirius was waiting for them along with many others. 

When the door opened and shut gently, he knew it was her. For the first time in over twelve years, he’d be allowed with his wife again. The woman he loved and the woman he felt the most solace with. He’d also see the boy that he used to know grown up into a young adult. The young gentleman Sirius always wanted. 

Perseus stood in front of her, Y/n’s hands on his shoulders. Sirius almost chuckled at it. Percy was protecting her even if she didn’t know it herself. He stood in front of her for a reason, to make sure she’d be safe. Sirius stood in front of them, swallowing harshly. 

“Remus, Y/n.” He choked on the last name.

“Good evening Sirius.” Remus greeted politely, “How have you been?”

Sirius shuffled, “I’ve been better.”

Remus hugged him, whispering in his ear, “Don’t fuck this up.”

“Hey, Siri.” Y/n smiled with tears in her eyes, “Hey, love.”

Gently she walked in front of Percy and hugged him tightly. Sirius’ arms went around her waist, and his nose dug into her hair. The scent of her perfume and shampoo calming his nerves slightly. Y/n dug her head into his neck and placed her arms around him. They pulled away and smiled. Gently he kissed her forehead. 

“I’m sorry for believing that you would ever,” She looked down, “You know.”

Sirius picked her chin back up gently, “You have nothing to be sorry for, love.”

Y/n kissed his lips softly. His lips were far from how she remembered. They were no longer soft and tasted of smoke. Instead, they were chapped and tasted of firewhiskey. Perhaps some things never change. Their lips melded together perfectly, just as they did so many years ago. They pulled apart, smiling brightly. She pulled from his embrace to stand by his side. 

“Sirius, this is-“

“Perseus, I know.” 

Perseus smiled nervously; they had the same smile, the same straight smile, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

It was silent for a while as Perseus shuffled, “Are you- are you staying this time?”

“I’d like to.” Sirius replied, “I’m not quite sure the extent of my living abilities, but I’ll be here.”

“I’m- I'm in Slytherin.”

“Okay.”

Perseus looked incredulously, “Okay? That’s all you have to say?” 

“There’s nothing wrong with being in Slytherin.” Sirius stated, “Your heart is in the right place.”

“How would you know?” Percy snapped, “You’ve been gone for most of my life. You don’t know anything about me.”

Sirius quirked an eyebrow, “So you standing in front of your Mather was just a happy accident? You weren’t planning on protecting her. Shall something go wrong?”

Percy looked at the ground, “Someone had to make sure she was safe while you were gone.” 

“That’s not fair.” 

“Life isn’t fair!” Percy yelled, “You left us. You don’t realize how badly you hurt her while you were gone.”

Remus walked back into the corridor to see Y/n frozen staring at her son. Sirius was standing in an argumentative stance. Percy’s eyes were filling with tears of frustration as he stared at the man who abandoned him from the start. 

“You left me. You left mum. You left Remus.” Percy cried, “How did you expect this to go, huh?”

Sirius didn’t say anything, “Did you expect me to be happy?! Did you expect me to hug you and fall into your arms?!” Percy shouted, “Because I’m not. I’m not happy, and I’m not going to fall into your arms and hug you like a naive little boy. My mum deserves better than this bullshit.”

“Enough!” Remus snapped, and Percy froze, “Your father is risking his life to be here right now. To meet you. I get it. I wouldn’t be happy either if my father did what Sirius did. But with things, the way they are right now is holding a grudge really that important?”

“N- No, sir.”

“Percy.” Y/n called, and he stared at her with watery eyes as she approached him, “I get it. You’re angry, you’re upset, but he’s still your father. He wants to be here now.”

“B- But he-“

“I know, my love. He’s going to try and make up for it. You don’t have to trust him right away. You don’t have to say ‘I love you’ right away. He isn’t expecting that.” Y/n wiped the tears from his cheeks, “All he’s expecting is his son. The little boy that he last saw.”

Percy looked down, “I know you aren’t that little boy, and I wish you still were. The little boy that used to make me smile and laugh. The little boy that used to cause mischief around the house driving Remus mad.” 

Sirius smiled, “You’re older now, and that will take some getting used to. I know you don’t remember, but Sirius used to be the only one who could get you to stop crying. He used to hold you all night, sleep with you in the rocking chair.”

“Sirius used to babble nonsense to you while I was at work. He used to take you to the park. Make you laugh by turning into a dog.” Percy sniffled, “Back then, Sirius was your everything, baby.”

Percy hugged his mom tight, “I- I’m scared.”

It was only loud enough for her to hear, “Why, baby?”

“What if- what if he leaves again?”

“He’s not going to.” Y/n moved the hair from his face, “Sirius wouldn’t leave us unless he had to.”

Percy knew what that meant. Sirius wouldn’t leave unless he got killed or died. Percy looked at Sirius’ eyes which were filled with tears from recalling the moments of his past. Y/n smiled reassuringly before Percy allowed himself to hug his father. He was wrapping his arms around his stomach, nuzzling his nose into his chest. 

When they pulled apart, Sirius smiled, “You’re my everything, kiddo.”

[sergeantxrogers]

| confused all the time |

Summary: Bucky’s back, and Steve doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader (post CA:TWS)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: Angst, violence, slight TW for physical abuse (but not really), just a shit ton of crying because apparently I can’t have a fic without some hurt/comfort

__________________________________

"It was him, I just know it. I would bet my life on it."

Steve ran his hands through his hair for the hundredth time, pacing the floor of your shared bedroom.

You sat in the middle of the bed, legs crossed and frowning. You were worried for him, you really were. Of course, you trusted Steve, with your life practically, and you believed him, but seeing him in this state made you upset.

Apparently, seeing his best friend after decades of thinking he was dead hadn't affected him very positively. There's also the small additional fact that he, the aforementioned best friend, had no idea who Steve was. After finding him on the river bank, last seeing him falling through the sky along with the rubble into the water, lids heavy and barely breathing, soaking wet and cold, it had taken you several days to bring him out of the state of shock he was in.

He had kept insisting it was Bucky who had dragged him out of the water; kept insisting that he saw the hesitation in his eyes before he threw the final punch; kept insisting he had recognized him. You pulled him through every claim with silent nods and the occasional "I know, babe".

Today was different though. It had been 8 days since the incident on the helicarrier, and Steve had been losing his mind bit by bit everyday trying to piece together the how, when and why of the whole situation. Which brought you to right now, watching him shut his eyes and let out deep breaths trying to calm himself down.

"How is it even..," he started quietly. You got up on your knees and moved over to the edge of the bed, leaning a bit to reach out to him.

"I saw him fall," he stated blankly, taking your outstretched hand mindlessly, interlacing your fingers. You bit the inside of your cheek and tilted your head at him.

"Stevie...," you began, and he pulled his hand from yours suddenly.

"I saw him, Y/N, I couldn't see anything else for months. I couldn't sleep because all I could see were his eyes losing hope and all I could hear was him screaming."

You nodded slightly, getting up off the bed and slowly making your way a couple steps over to him.

"So how? How? I know it's him, I just can't, for the life of me, understand how," he said desperately as his head shot up to make eye contact with you. You let out a deep sigh as you grabbed his hands in your own, trying to give him some sense of stability, if only for a split second. You admit, it was very hard to believe, and somewhere in the back of your mind you worried that Steve had lost his mind completely; it had only been a matter of time, honestly, considering everything he'd been through. You had no idea how to talk to him about this, but you knew you should approach the subject lightly.

"Steve, honey, I know you must miss him a lot, and I know it was a horrible thing for you to see him... go like that... but-"

His eyes that were previously burning holes into the floor shot up to meet yours, seemingly furious.

Okay, so maybe it could've been approached even lighter. Oops.

"But? But what?" he challenged, daring you to finish the sentence. In all honestly, you had no idea where you were planning on going with it, but now you were nervous. Very, very nervous.

Steve had this incredulous are you kidding me look he gave people when they said something stupid or rude. It was one of those looks where the disappointment was obvious and whoever it was directed at felt immediate regret. The look of God's Righteous Man and America's Golden Boy, and all that. And you were sure as hell feeling that regret right about now.

"Go on, finish your sentence, honey," he ended on a sarcastic note, pulling away from you to cross his arms. You felt your stomach clench as he leaned his head back to look down at you, raising a brow in waiting.

You swallowed, and shook your head slowly, not knowing what to say. You just wanted to help him, but seeing Bucky like that had made him act like a completely different person ever since. He was frustrated all the time, he tended to roll his eyes at people way more than appropriate, and he always got lost in his thoughts, not registering anything or anyone around him for hours at a time. Nobody knew what to expect from him at any given moment, which is what made your pulse pick up speed. You weren't necessarily afraid of him; Steve would kill himself before he ever deliberately hurt you, but you hated confrontation of any kind.

Steve took a step towards you, and in turn you took a step back. Your brows furrowed as you opened and closed your mouth repeatedly, racking through your brain for something to say to diffuse the situation before it got too out of hand.

"Steve, I'm just... worried about you," you let out honestly.

"You haven't been sleeping... you haven't been eating as much as you should, you've been snapping at people who are just trying to help you..."

You caught the way his nostrils flared slightly at the last part, before he took another wide step in your direction. You took another step back. He did it again, but this time when you stepped back, you were met with the cool surface of the wall against you.

"Baby...," he says lowly, lowering his head to meet your eyes at the same level, "... do you, by any chance, think I'm overreacting? Or do you maybe not believe me?"

Clenching your teeth, you wanted nothing more than to reach your arms out and have him fall into them, but you knew it wasn't the right situation for it. Instead, he placed his hands on either side of your head, trapping you. You sucked in a sharp breath through your nose before speaking.

"No, you know I believe you. You know I'll always be by your side, right or wrong, it's just... you've been so preoccupied with this that it's changing you."

Steve's jaw tensed and he closed his eyes, dropping his head.

"I'm just so confused all the time," he whispered, just barely.

"I know, baby, I know," you cooed, and you brought your hands up to hold his face.

The minute your fingers made contact with his skin, he snapped.

"Stop saying you fucking know, Y/N!" he yelled, slamming the wall to the left of your head with each word, and your heart jumped. You flinched, drawing your hands into yourself immediately, turning your head away from his hand.

"You don't fucking know anything I'm going through, nobody does and I just want some goddamn answers!" he continued furiously.

You felt tears in your eyes and heard Steve take deep breaths. You didn't know what had shocked you more, the fact that Steve swore, the close proximity of his hand to your head or the fact that he had finally cracked, nonetheless, at you.

Your hands shook ever so slightly at your sides as you refused to open your eyes. Steve's labored breaths slowed, and you heard his hands slide down and off the wall. Feeling him step away from you, you opened your eyes just a bit. It was enough to see him looking at you with regret in his eyes. You saw the clarity flood them as his bottom lip trembled; he was about to cry at what he just did.

Your body filled with worry as you surged forwards, arms reaching out to him, but he held his own up and quickly moved away from you. You stood there, both of you worried, eyes filled with tears, hands held up in surrender and hopelessness. It was quiet. Quieter than what you were used to with Steve, and you didn't like it.

Tears ran down his cheeks and he brought one hand up to his hair, pulling at it, a habit he had when he was frustrated with himself. Turning his head away from you, he went to sit on the bed and rested his head in his hands.

You followed him. You knew he didn't plan for that to play out the way it did, so you weren't mad. But you also knew he was mad at himself now, for letting himself go that far. Feeling you come closer, Steve's head shot up from his hands and he quickly shook his head.

"No-" he choked out, holding his hand out to stop you from coming any nearer, afraid of hurting you. The sight of him made your heart hurt, and you felt cool air on the wet streaks your tears left behind on your face as you walked to stand straight in front of him, pushing his hand away.

He kept pushing you back with his hand, and you kept pushing it away from you, determined to hold him even if it was the last thing you'd ever do.

He let out continuous whimpers: "stop", "please don't", "I'm so sorry", "I can't-".

Your hands trembled as you pushed his hand away harder than before.

"Steven, fucking stop it," you said through clenched teeth, pushing at his hands, hating the way the two of you must've looked, and hating the way he was retreating into himself, too scared to even look you in the eyes.

You finally managed to drop to your knees in front of him sitting on the edge of the bed, and you rested your hands on his knees.

"Stevie, it's oka-," you started.

Cutting you off, he took a deep, trembling breath and slid off the bed. His legs on either side of you, head hanging low, he timidly ran his hands up your thighs and over your hips, bringing them to rest loosely on your waist. Grabbing his head and lifting it so you could look at him better, he let out a deep, pained whine when his eyes met your own.

"Everything is just so much," he whispered and brought his head forward to rest against your chest, moving his arms to wrap around your waist. Another wave of tears washed over you and you brought your arms up to wrap around his neck, placing a soft kiss to his hair.

"I'm just so tired," he whined out into your chest, the words vibrating deep in your soul, and you pinched your eyes shut to keep anymore new tears from falling.

Nodding silently, you stroked the back of his head softly.

You placed another kiss on his head, humming through it, rocking side to side slowly. He was going to beat himself up about this for a long, long time, you just knew it. Your travelled down to his back, tracing patterns on it as his breath steadied.

"It's okay... it's okay," you mumbled into his hair, barely audible, but the kisses you felt him leaving on your chest showed you he heard.

You sat there for an hour, rocking him back and forth, until he fell asleep.

You sat there for another as he slept, until your back was sore and your legs were numb.

You didn't care though, Steve had done the same and more for you countless of times. He was always there, as were you.

No, you didn't understand what he was going through, he was right about that part. But, feeling his body relax into yours, feeling the grip he had on your waist loosen, feeling his breath go steady, feeling the wet spots on your shirt where his tears had soaked through, you were determined to try.

[suna-reversed]

HQ boys as Taylor Swift songs-folklore

characters- Oikawa (exile), Atsumu (my tears ricochet), Meian (illicit affairs)

tags/warnings- ANGST, breakup, heartbreak, cheating, mentions of alcohol, manipulative behaviour, fluff in Meian’s if you squint

suggestions for pt2 would be appreciated (currently thinking of cardigan with Bokuto and hoax with Tsukishima)

Oikawa

“I can see you standin', honey

With his arms around your body

Laughin' but the joke's not funny at all”

He had told himself over and over again to not look; in the flight, in the ride to the hotel, even as he passed the entrance gates of the exquisite banquet hall where the reunion was being held. All he had to do was keep his eyes away. 

But you were here, and he had never been good at withstanding the cosmic pull you always held. Even if you were in the arms of another, laughing like you always used to, with him. 

I think I've seen this film before

And I didn't like the ending

“What changed, Tooru?” Your eyes were red and puffy, you had exhausted all your tears while he simply stood in the corner and watched. 

“This isn’t going to work out y/n. We’re both miles away, with different lives, in different time zones, around different people; we can’t have a relationship built on nothi-” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose,  “...I’m saving both of us from the pain that would come with splitting a few years down the line.” 

“Do you still love me?”

Oikawa was familiar with the grief that came with loss; the grief of giving something every single bit of your soul, only to come out empty-handed and wounded. 

“Go back home, y/n.”

You're not my homeland anymore

So what am I defendin' now?

You were my town

Now I'm in exile seein' you out

Perhaps he had damned himself to ruination. Given up without a fight. But that didn’t matter now. 

You look ethereal, with stars in your eyes and glee in your smile. It doesn’t matter if he’s not the one behind it. You would have been a shell of who you are right now if you had stayed with him anyways. 

He turns around, heading for exit.

Just one last time. He promises himself. His lips curve upwards into a bittersweet smile as he turns around to get his last look. Instead, he finds himself staring into the expanse of an entire galaxy. A cosmic explosion coming his way as the floor shifts from beneath him. 

No, you definitely don’t sound the same.

How long has it been since he heard that voice?

“Not even gonna say goodbye before you leave Oikawa?”

What happened to your precious “Tooru”?

Atsumu

Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe

All the hell you gave me?

The clock reads 01:27 am. You’ve been sitting on the couch for the past 3 hours, the untouched dinner on the table gone cold long ago. You hear the sound of a door slamming shut, hushed footsteps making their way towards the center of the apartment, coming to a halt at the sight of you.

“Why are you still awake?” 

“You promised we’d have dinner together tonight.”

“Listen, it got late at practice, you could’ve just eaten without me.”

“You could’ve at least dropped a text.” You murmur, trying to keep your voice from breaking. This wasn’t the first time he had stood you up.

“It’s not that big of a deal y/n. You realise how important the upcoming match is to me, don’t you?” He sighs, shaking his head in disappointment, “Let’s just go to bed okay, I’m tired.” 

“Okay.” You mutter, loosening your grip on the 2 year anniversary gift hidden below the couch cushion. A platinum ring with yours and Atsumu’s initials carved on the inside.  

You wear the same jewels that I gave you

As you bury me

Atsumu’s vision is blurry, shirt drenched in sweat, his head pounding as he’s pushed against the wall. He doesn’t know whether it’s from the screaming match he just had with you, or from the two bottles he chugged at a shady bar right after he walked out. 

All that matters right now is the feeling of the hands of the girl that’s kissing his jaw. The same spot where you had pressed a chaste kiss not too long ago as you told him that you were going to leave- 

No, he’s not going to think about it. All that matters is the touch of skin against skin, filling in the void you caused as he kneads the supple flesh of her thigh with his hand. The same hand that bore a platinum ring, the letters engraved inside of it now fatuous and futile. 

You had to kill me, but it killed you just the same

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

You turned into your worst fears

No, no, no. 

Why are you here?

Why are you back?

“I had hoped we could talk-” You take a deep breath, feet stuck in place as you lay your eyes upon the marks littering his jaw, his neck, going much farther down-

A sob comes out from deep inside your chest. 

No, no, no. 

He’s looking at you, your crestfallen face, tears falling off of it like british showers. 

He’s acting before he can think, falling to his knees, grabbing onto your waist as you try to walk out. 

“No! Angel, please just let me explain. I thought you were never coming back- I would've never-”

“Never what Atsumu?!” Your voice is louder than you expected it to be. 

“Never what? A single fight is all it takes for you to discard everything we ever had? For you to step over everything I put into a relationship that has barely even existed for so long!” 

He’s never heard you shout before. But it's okay, it’s okay if you shout at him, if you break a few things, hell you can wreck his whole apartment if it means that you’re staying for even just a moment longer. 

But you’re not. You’re pushing him away, movements stern, as you try to make your way to the door. All he can do is cling onto you, crying your name over and over again as he racks his brain for a way to make you stay. 

Why was it always you who knew what to say when it came to fixing things?

Meian 

Make sure nobody sees you leave

Hood over your head

Keep your eyes down

Tell your friends you're out for a run

You'll be flushed when you return

You knew there were aspects of his life he had no control over. After all, he was watched by thousands of eyes everyday; the star player, the golden boy; the captain of MSBY. So how does it matter if you had to go a mile extra to hide what you had?

You loved who he was as a person and how he made you feel. Good-morning and goodnight texts, warm cuddles after matches, dancing in the kitchen to songs you don’t know the name of, late night drives to get takeout or go stargazing, laughing till you were on the floor crying. You loved him so much.

And that's the thing about illicit affairs

And clandestine meetings

And stolen stares

They show their truth one single time

But they lie, and they lie, and they lie

A billion little times

“Volleyball player Meian Shugo spotted with a blonde beauty at the MSBY vs Adlers afterparty. Could she be his rumoured girlfriend that we’ve been kept in the dark about all along? Read more for exclusive deta-”

You can’t shed a single tear staring at the cover of the magazine. Not because your heart hasn't just been ripped out of your chest, but because you’re in public, standing in line at the grocery store picking up snacks for you and...Meian. 

Why did you not see this coming? What hurt more was that you knew the girl. Meian had introduced you to her as a friend, and her as his social media manager. So this was clearly a misunderstanding right? It had to be. Despite telling yourself that over and over again, you still couldn’t get the picture of his arm wrapped around her waist and the smile etched onto his face out of your mind as you drove home, tears blurring your vision.

Don't call me kid

Don't call me baby

Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me

“Baby please listen to me-”

You’re sitting on the edge of the couch. You don’t know how long ago you stopped screaming, how long ago the anger dissipated and the rage turned into silent sobs, leaving behind a gaping hollow feeling in your chest. 

You feel him shift closer to you but you don’t at him, still sniffing, your head buried in your arms. 

“She was at the party because she’s our manager, you know Jessi-”

“Don’t say her name.” you hiss out. 

“I wish I never met you, I wish I never got into this stupid arrangement. I wish-” You’re rambling now, sobs escaping between every few words as you try to comprehend the situation, “I hate this. I hate you.” 

Heavy silence hangs in the room. 

And you know damn well

For you I would ruin myself

A million little times

You find arms being wrapped around you and your head being pulled into a warm chest. You try to fight at first, but you’re tired; your throat hurts, your eyes burn and everything feels so cold, so you let yourself guiltily fall into his comfort, pathetically sobbing into his neck.

He patiently waits for your sobs to quiet down, one hand rubbing gentle circles onto your back while the other cradles the back of your head.

“She was at the party with the whole team and the publicist used it as a way to create gossip. That’s all there is to it. I had not given my consent for them to go ahead with this, but they refused to make our relationship public. Apparently, they didn’t think that the age gap between us would reflect well on my reputation.” 

Meian’s heart breaks at the sound that leaves you as he says that, your hand gripping onto the fabric of his shirt as you start sniffing once more. 

“I don’t care about what they say princess, you know that.” He kisses the top of your head, pulling you even closer to himself as if he could absorb the pain from you. 

“I’m so sorry, give me another chance please. I didn’t tell you because I knew it’d hurt you. I promise I’ll make it up to you, please?” 

You look up at him. His eyes are filled with tender love and pure adoration, it makes your heart melt. You nod, burying your face into the crook of his neck. Of course you would, he's your precious Meian, you’d always forgive him. Why did you ever think he’d do anything to hurt you?

Meian smiles into your hair, ignoring the sound of the notification popping up on the phone kept on the table, 

Jessica: hey, we're still on for tonight right ? ;)

[captainsjack]

ok so i haven’t slept in almost 36 hours and i’m running on like 4 cups of tea rn, so i’m sorry if this makes absolutely no sense, but !

listen to me when i say psych the musical: 2

-

so shawn and gus get this case about a murder that occurred during this musical and they go investigate it. maybe the lead was killed or something, and everyone’s shook but also freaking out even more because the show’s supposed to premier in like a week and the lead was killed. so shawn obviously goes undercover and he gets hired and now he’s the lead in the musical. and gus is like “are you kidding me, how are you supposed to perform in a play you’re learning in less than a week, as the lead, and fucking solve a murder !?” and shawn just rolls his eyes and does that Shawn thing where he acts like everything will turn out okay.

anyway so they investigate the murder while shawn rehearses and you know gus is there for every single rehearsal (he says it’s just to make sure shawn stays on track and gets some investigating done, because we all know he’s the sensible one. but, really, he just wants to hear shawn sing because damn this boy is really fucking good okay?)

and so the thing is, is that this takes place when shawn and juliet are either dating or married. but it’s also fucking obvious to everyone besides shawn and gus (and okay maybe juliet but only in the very back of her mind that she never listens to because she doesn’t want to because she’s happy with shawn and ignorance is bliss) that shawn and gus are completely and totally, utterly, ardently, in love with each other and they’re both in fucking denial about it.

so what i’m saying is that this musical is a love story. about soul mates. the musical is about this guy who meets this girl when they’re kids and they’re best friends (you see where i’m going with this right?). and eventually, they fall in love. but they’re both so fucking scared of losing one another that they never ever say anything to each other about how they feel. and so they grow up and they’re best friends and they’re in love but they don’t know the other feels the same way. and then the main guy goes and marries this other girl. and so the musical is about how they’re still fucking soul mates but aren’t doing anything about it and are both pining over each other and the lead is married to someone else. and so it’s about their love affair that’s not really a love affair because they never act on it because they’re in denial and can’t ever lose their best friend. except that it is a love affair because of the longing and yearning and heartbreak that they both experience even if it’s not really an affair.

and so. shawn rehearses and investigates and gus watches and investigates and you bet like hell there’s pining and yearning and angst because that’s what happens every day because it’s shawn and gus.

and then the opening night comes and they still haven’t solved the murder. shawn just needs this one thing to piece it all together but he can’t find it. he can’t solve it. and he’s racking his brain to try and solve it because he goes on in like 5 minutes and well, too late, guess he’ll have to think about the case while he’s fucking acting in this play. and so jules and lassie and henry and the chief are all in the audience because they’re waiting for shawn to nab the guy but also they want to see the play, because, really, they heard it was supposed to be quite good.

so it’s 5 minutes before they go on. and shawn’s at his place on stage, and gus is backstage, but then oh no, the woman who was supposed to play the best friend/soulmate/love interest gets sick or in a car crash or something, it doesn’t matter, the point is that she’s not there and they go on in 5 minutes. (and her understudy is out too or something). and so the director and folks are freaking out because what the hell are they going to do? and gus is back stage playing pokemon go or something, and they just look at him because this guy has been to every single rehearsal and knows the songs and lyrics and lines by heart, and they’d heard him singing along before and he’s got a really fucking good voice.

and so the play has started, and the first scene is about shawn and his wife or whatever. and the directors tell gus what he has to do and he (of course) protests, because “you must be out of your damn mind, i’m not going out there” but the thing is, he doesn’t have a choice. and so now gus is forced to play the part of Shawn Spencer’s best friend/soulmate/love interest. (the universe is really killing it with the irony this time - gus plans on having a word with god about this one).

and the thing is, is that the very first scene between shawn and gus’s characters is a fucking love song. a love song about how they both wish the other could have been the one. how they both wish they’d ended up together, but fate pulled them apart. (except it wasn’t really fate was it? it was both of them being idiots).

and shawn has no idea about the switch. he’s just on stage doing his Thing, playing his part and trying to solve the case. he expects the actress he’s been rehearsing with for the past week to come out and play her part. and so he starts singing the duet and then all of the sudden, gus (not even in costume) stumbles out on stage and now shawn’s singing - to him. and they share a look, a “what the hell is going on?” look, and gus glares back because how the hell is he supposed to explain this right now, they’re in the middle of a play, and oh look now gus is singing.

and so they stand there singing to each other about how they wished the other could be the one. and it’s awkward for a second because they’re both Shook, but then they snap back into it, because this is just a play right? they can totally do this. and oh, look, time for the romantic and heartbreaking choreographed dance moves (that yes, of course, gus knows flawlessly).

and it’s tender and flirty and a bit angsty (and lowkey kind of awkward but only at first and then it just feels natural, but wow okay that makes it really fucking awkward) and there’s romantic lights and flowing fabrics and whatever else makes the set too damn much.

and then the lights shut off and the scene ends. and shawn and gus whisper-bicker about what the hell is going on? and do you even know who the murderer is yet? and then they’re rushed off stage because the next scene is about to take place.

-

so the play alternates between scenes from shawn & gus’s characters’ childhood, present day scenes between shawn’s character & wife, and present day scenes between shawn & gus’s characters.

and i’m thinking it’s more along the lines of hamilton where it’s just mostly songs and not a lot of dialogue.

and almost every damn time, shawn and gus have some angsty duet.

either that or a really fun and loving one that they both enjoy way too much. (and during the light, fun songs, one of them will whisper something while they’re dancing and not singing, and they’ll share soft giggles and continue their usual antics (that no one else can hear, but can definitely see) while fucking on stage).

and this is the kind of dancing i’m talking about !!

-

their second song is about them as kids and wanting to run away together because they’re best friends and shawn’s family life isn’t all too great and gus wants to protect him (wow the money really hit the jackpot on this one). and it’s about little kid love and mixing your normal “i love my best friend” feelings with your “you’re my favourite person let’s live together forever” feelings and growing up not knowing the difference. and when gus sings the part about shawn’s character’s dad, he accidentally glances over at henry in the audience and then back at shawn, and henry just quirks an eyebrow up and lassie and jules glance at him, and then shawn, kinda stunned.

and this song is light and fun and shawn and gus can’t help but have huge grins on their faces and can’t help but revel in the happiness and the light, swinging dances and the feeling of each other around them. (like i’m talking shawn’s reaction to hearing gus sing - aka the gay cinema we were so rightfully given - in 4x07).

-

so their next scene together is a duet about them as teenagers and about losing each other after high school because they went separate ways, except they didn’t really lose each other because they weren’t each other’s to lose. and it’s got a bit more angst than the previous song, and at times it’s heart wrenching, but mostly it’s them thinking back to their summer after graduation and how they spent everyday together and it was just them forever and always. and this one is warm, fuzzy, and golden, and bit slower, but with that twinge of pain so carefully embedded in. and the song is about how they’re both pining over each other but won’t ever say anything and will only hope. but that hope isn’t enough and in the end they lose each other for a bit.

-

and the next song, well it’s the most angst filled song anyone could ever imagine. because guess what? we jump forward 10, maybe 15 years, and now shawn’s character is married. and so this song starts from gus’s point of view. about him watching shawn marry someone else. and he sings softly and full of hurt as he watches shawn and his wife dance slowly at their wedding. and as the verse ends and the music softens, shawn spins his wife during the dance and she floats off stage. and now shawn comes over to gus and he starts singing the next verse. about how he’d given gus thousands of chances to say something, and how he could’ve stopped the wedding and they could’ve been together. and they dance back and forth, out of reach of one another, until they both sing the chorus, and desperately cling to each other. because this song is about how they used to be each other’s homes until shawn got married. and now they’re not, so what is there worth fighting for? it’s about miscommunication and the missed chances between them. and during the song, they’re slipping in and out of each other’s grasp, reaching for arms and shoulders and cheeks.

and maybe once when one of them is backing away, the other accidentally whispers their real name as they slip out of reach. and they weren’t aware they were going to say it, and the other isn’t supposed to hear it but they did.

-

the next scene between them is a song about their teen and young adult years. it’s about some source of fate pulling them back into each other’s lives repeatedly. it’s light and happy and fun and (again) we get big cheesy grins as they sing about a friendship that lasted throughout the ages. about how they are cosmically tied to one another no matter what.

-

and then we have a song about the both of them still being in love with each other despite the fact that shawn’s married. it’s about how they carry on an affair that isn’t really an affair. it’s about yearning and pining from afar, and not being able to do anything about it. it’s about spending more time with your best friend than with your wife. about stolen glances and longing stares. staying together until late at night and then being forced apart. about being a mess from the angst and confusion. it’s about shawn and gus knowing things about one another that no one else knows. secret languages and rose coloured glasses. and this dance parallels the previous one about not being each other’s home anymore. it’s them yelling at each other look what you’ve done to me, i’m a fucking mess around you now. and i always will be.

-

their second to last scene together is shawn’s explanation to gus about why he chose his wife instead of him. it’s because shawn knows he’ll never be good enough for gus and so this is best for the both of them. it’s tender and delicate, and mostly just them sitting there, gently touching each other and maybe cradling cheeks and pressing foreheads together. and gus sings back about how shawn’s wrong and how he’s perfect for him and how gus will do anything for him. and shawn keeps responding that he’ll never be good enough but he’ll still do anything for his best friend.

and the thing is, with each song, the characters fade more and more. at some point the play stopped and it was just shawn singing to gus and gus singing to shawn, and no one else was around them and there was no murder to solve.

and maybe at the end of that last song, when the music fades out and shawn sings “i could never give you peace” or “i’m not what you need” or “you deserve the best, and that’s not me,” gus chokes out a whispered “yes you can” or “yes you are” or “yes it is.”

and shawn stills and opens his eyes and looks at him, but the lights are off so he can’t really see, but he can feel gus’s breath ghosting across his lips because their foreheads are pressed together, and gus’s hands have tightened against his neck and cheek and shawn can’t fucking breathe because that wasn’t scripted, and he wasn’t even sure if he was supposed to hear it.

and, really, gus was barely aware he even said it. it took him a second to register what happened. but then they’re pulled apart again because the next scene is about to take place.

-

so, after some more scenes with shawn and his wife, then there’s the finale.

and, wow, what a heartbreaking number you guys. so the play ends with a song about how shawn was gus’s one and only heartbreak. how he wouldn’t want anyone else to break his heart but him. because it’s shawn. and the thing is, the finale was just supposed to be gus singing this song while watching shawn and his wife walk away and move on with life.

but then.

when gus is singing, shawn’s only looking at him and not his wife, and soon he begins to sing the words softly with gus. and as gus is in the middle of the song - something about how shawn broke his heart but he’d always be there because it’s shawn, about how he was his one and only love, how gus knows he messed up in the past, but when shawn married someone else, that was the worst thing that could’ve ever been done - shawn breaks away from his wife.

and gus kind of stumbles in the song a little, because what’s shawn doing, this isn’t scripted. but then shawn’s singing with him. and he’s so close to him, and now they’re both singing about how they would never be whole without one another. about how they are both each other’s one and only love and one and only heartbreak. and they’re gently clutching each other and their noses brush and they’re smiling against each other but their lips aren’t touching, and they finish the song together.

-

and that’s how the play ends. the curtains close, the crowd rises and claps, and the crew is Shook, because what the hell guys, that’s now how the play was supposed to end.

but shawn and gus are still looking at each other, and maybe they’re resting against one another and clinging to each other.

and then shawn blinks. because oh. wait. he solved the case. the pieces clicked. it all makes sense. shawn stumbles out in front of the curtains again, and gus frowns and follows him, and then shawn does his whole extravagant This is How the Murder Went Down thing and the You’re the Guy Going to Jail thing.

and so the case is solved and the guy is arrested and shawn and gus are definitely not looking at each other, because wow, that just happened. and they go outside and meet everyone and everyone congratulates them on the performance.

and they’re overwhelmed with strangers saying “that was such a moving performance” and “you guys have such chemistry” and “that felt so real” and “wow it really felt like you both meant those songs.”

so, of course, shawn and gus are Shook, but they can’t show it so they just stiffly thank everyone and try like hell to ignore henry’s looks.

henry was going to say something, poke fun at them to make things less tense, but shawn is uncharacteristically quiet, which is never a good sign, so he just purses his lips and glances between them and says goodnight.

and jules, lassie, & the chief had all left earlier to bring the murderer to the station, so they’re not there and it’s just shawn and gus.

but when shawn had made his Solving the Case declaration, juliet had met his eyes and they had been filled with heartbreak and understanding and just a bit of regret. and it had made shawn’s stomach twist inside him and his heart feel heavy.

but then he’d looked back at gus standing next to him, automatically by his side again despite everything, and he’d known he’d made the right choice. that this is really how the play should have ended.

and so the walk back to the blueberry is silent, partly because both of their voices are so sore and they’re so tired, but also because neither of them really know what to say.

and it’s not until they’ve driven for a while, not until they’re outside the police department, having just pulled into a parking space, does gus say softly, “the play wasn’t supposed to end like that.”

and shawn looks at him, his face open and honest and showing every emotion, and he says, “but it should’ve.”

and then gus crashes his lips against shawn’s and shawn sighs into him, and he doesn’t know when it happened but his face is wet with tears and so is gus’s.

the kiss is desperate and loving and broken-hearted, but it’s the kind of heartbreak that starts to heal once it begins.

[theadorablespderman]

Hola. Can you do '6. Forget it, you are a fucking asshole' (frm the angst one) for spideychelle pleease and thank you!!!

Sorry it took so long to answer this! But I wanted to make sure I had the story posted in the answer! I hope you like it. It’s super angsty so be warned! Thank you for requesting this prompt! It brought out a interesting side of Spideychelle I wasn’t expecting 

Turncoat

“Forget it. You’re a fucking asshole.”

“Excuse me?” Michelle recoiled from him, her hair cascading over her shoulder. One hand clutched the champagne flute tighter.  

Peter pulled the mask back over his head, finding comfort behind the fabric. It took a lot to cause such a volatile, churning anger to control him. It was now coursing, white hot, through his veins. “Don’t play dumb, Michelle, we both know you’re not.”

She dropped the arm barred up around her torso as a shield. Now she stood vulnerable to him. The sparkling evening gown framing her figure was betrayal. Peter knew why it hung from her shoulders. She’d given him up for a journalism award and a few glasses of fancy champagne.

For so long she was his MJ. His trusted friend. The love of His life. All the heat in his veins gave way to ice coursing through his heart. His brain turned over, trying to fathom why she’d done such an unspeakable thing. “I told you no. I asked you not to do it. And you still did it. Why?”

Michelle didn’t say anything, her eyes flickering away, quick as the city lights would flash along her dress. Her face only kissed half the light. One half there, one half dissolving into darkness. Half of her mouth opened. Then it closed. The gloss slathered over her lips wasn’t natural. It only made her lips look slimy. Villainous.

Still no words escaped past those lips.

Peter shook his head. “Just fucking forget it. Go and pretend that what you did wasn’t a total violation of my trust.” Peter stepped up to the ledge of the terrace, ready to swing off. “I’m not doing this anymore. Not now.”

“Wait! No! Peter, you’re being unfair!”

His head snapped back to look at her. The eyes of his mask narrowed; his scowl obvious. Peter thought he saw a flash of fear in Michelle’s eyes.

Even with her hair perfectly styled and her makeup and gown flawless, she looked disheveled. Her eyes held a panicked mayhem, and her fists grasped the fabric of her skirt so tight it left wrinkles. She took a jolting step forward, her entire face now washed in the light streaming out of the windows. The gala was still raging inside the fourteenth floor of the Daily Bugle. Michelle glanced at it before locking eyes with him.

“Publishing the story may have been an asshole move, but you have to understand. The city was rioting. They needed to know who was under the mask or it would’ve fallen apart! After what happened at Grand Central Station, they needed to see your face. They were coming after you with pitchforks, Peter. The entire city thought you were working with the Hoods.” Michelle took another step. He could see the colors of her eye shadow, the flecks of gold hiding in her irises when the light hit them. He hated how it still made his breath catch.

Michelle took another measured step, beseeching Peter to understand. “They wanted your head. Jameson was right on your tail. If I didn’t publish then Jameson would’ve. And he would keep searching until he found you and everything you loved and destroyed all of it in one article. He was this close to finding out your identity. Do you really think a flame thrower like Jameson wouldn’t have twisted the story? Made you into some terrible villain.” Peter glared at her words. A glare which Michelle returned. “If I didn’t write that article you could’ve been killed, Peter. How many civilians have tried to kill you since Grand Central? Do you think Jameson would’ve put their minds to ease? No. He would’ve made sure the citizens kept pulling knives on you. That the police kept the bounty on Spider-Man’s head. You’ve been living a lie for nine goddamn years and the people are getting tired of wondering who’s behind the mask. They don’t trust the guy swinging around in spandex, who doesn’t take responsibility after the fight. Maybe there was a reason that almost every superhero to date hasn’t bothered with a secret identity. Maybe it’s easier to fight crime as one person instead of some split personality. She stepped closer, the entirety of her shoulder shining in the yellow light. “You can still keep May, Ned, and–” She held her breath. Maybe she was going to reference herself before thinking better of it.

“What? Keep everyone safe? There’s a good reason why I kept that mask on, and it was solely to protect everyone I love. So, don’t go telling me I can still protect you, or Ned, or May, because you don’t have the faintest idea what it’s like. It’s been hard enough without the whole world knowing I’m Spider-Man. Look what happened to Tony. Look what the world–the universe–knowing who he was did. He was attacked, his friends, family, everyone he cared for was attacked. Did you know Pepper still gets death threats? That Morgan can’t go out without a security detail. And that’s just one example.” Peter replied, ironic laughter almost cresting in his throat. Reality was cracking under the heat. Michelle’s figure shattered behind the tears in his eyes. Peter let the anger evaporate the moisture. He felt the tears adhere to his mask. “The city never needed me, they needed Spider-Man. I told you that. I begged you to understand. I trusted you to understand. But I guess I put my trust in a traitor.”

Michelle’s eyes blew wide. “Wow, that’s rich, Parker! Don’t try and push all of this at me because you’re too much of a coward to face the world without a mask on!” Michelle took in a deep breath through her nose, releasing a shaky sigh. “Look you can be mad at me, but please understand. I did my job as a journalist, and I did what I knew was best for the city. I did what I thought was best for you.”

“Well as long as you did your job. That’s what’s important.” Peter snarled. He shot a web to the adjacent building and Michelle rushed towards him.

“Please! Please, Peter. Don’t. I’m sorry, okay? I was just trying to do what I thought was best. Please you must understand that if I didn’t publish that story. The story where you’re the hero, the boy next door, the kid who’s done everything in his life to be the hero. If I didn’t publish that story which has changed the hearts of nearly every New Yorker, Jameson would’ve made you into a villain. He was so close to finding your identity, Peter, and if he’d published first you wouldn’t have been able to step foot in New York again. As Peter or Spider-Man. Please just try and understand that I did what was best for you. I even thought you might be happy you don’t have to live the lie anymore.”

Standing, Peter shook his head. Two twinkling tears rolled down Michelle’s face. “See that’s the point. It’s my life you screwed around with. It’s a secret I’ve trusted to you for nine years. I told you I didn’t want you to publish after you asked me. I told you I wasn’t ready. I told you I’d find another way to clean up the mess I made. But no, that’s not good enough for Michelle Jones. You just have to shove your nose into everyone else’s problems. You just have to know best, don’t you? Always has to be the smartest in the goddamn room.”

Her nose wrinkled and her cheeks boiled. “I did do the right thing you bastard! I’m sorry if you’re too big of a dick to notice I did you a favor!”

“You’re my fucking fiancé, Michelle! For God’s sake! I don’t care if it was the right thing! I told you no! I told you I wasn’t ready, but you made the decision for me anyway! You should know better than to dick around in someone’s life like that! You betrayed me. You just …” He shook his head, trying to hide the tremor in his voice. They were two different people. Michelle with her golden gown and accessories, her face painted in makeup. She was someone else now. A writer grasping for the next story. The journalist with all the answers. She was the one who revealed Spider-Man’s secret identity. She was the savior that kept the city from falling to ruins. The one who brought the citizens back together under Spider-Man’s mantle.

In that moment MJ vanished. The girl who made wisecrack jokes. The girl who complained that Peter smelled like pavement and exhaust. The girl who read fifty books in two weeks and snuggled against Peter’s ribs like she was one of them.

Somewhere behind the glamour and sparkling champagne Michelle Jones emerged, cold and guarded. They were back at the beginning and Peter couldn’t fathom how she’d changed. Changed from the girl who he could trust with anything, into the greatest betrayer in his life.

This new persona eclipsed MJ.

Peter assumed he must look the same to her, however. That somehow, he changed. Somehow now he must be different, or too much the same.

Peter felt the mask over his lips. The fabric mopping up tears he vaguely knew were falling. With the anger scalding his vision, tainting his sight with blurring fire, Peter tore the mask from his head. He hurled it at her. Spitting the mask at her feet as retribution for her watery eyes. It landed with a smack on the pavement roof. “I have no use for it now, thanks to you.”

“Peter…” Michelle bent to pick the mask up. “Please…don’t,” She sobbed. Peter could feel an explosive sob in his own throat. “Please don’t go. Let’s talk about it. I never wanted to hurt you; you have to understand that.  Please.”  The tears in her eyes echoed in Peter.

“Goodbye.”

Without his mask the wind felt different on his face. He felt a sense of doom, yet up against the skyscrapers, open to the views, he found freedom. Something felt empty still.

The memory of Michelle standing against the building backdrop, her eyes begging him to stay. To talk. It burned deep into his soul.

He couldn’t talk now without burning every inch of his body. If he stayed with her, they would have imploded. Pain sliced him deep, past his skin and muscles, reaching into the place he’d saved for her.

Another sob wrenched from his chest, causing Peter’s hold to slip on the web. He slammed into a skyscraper, his head snapping against the slick panes of glass. Peter sunk against the side of the building, allowing his legs to curl under him. He let his back curve against the glass and his head drop heavy to his hands.

The clenching sobs ricocheting around in his chest burst from him in angry spurts. Bowing his head, Peter wept for the third time in his life.

In his misery, Peter felt rain fall along the helix of his exposed neck.

________________________________________________________________

Somewhere above him, on the rooftop terrace Peter evacuated, Michelle still stood. Her hands clutching Peter’s mask, the ivory eyes starting, unblinking up at her. He’d thrown the mask back at her. The anger all too real on his face.

Rain began to pour, enticing her to slip down the banister Peter had perched on. She clutched the mask to her chest, hoping to close the fissure expanding there. In the deceivingly warm light emitting from the building, she caught the twinkle of her ring. He’d thrown the mask back at her, but never requested the ring.

Michelle curled into herself, ever tighter, praying that the ring on her finger was still a good sign.

[tellthosewithpowersafeintower]

This is Davey, By The Way

Summary: Davey writes Jack a letter from the Refuge. So maybe he's a little in love with him and maybe he wants more than anything to know they're all going to be okay and maybe, maybe he's a little bit gone over Crutchie too and doesn't know what to do- but he'll be fine.

He will.

...And if he isn't, Davey has a few things he would like to know he said to the boys he loves one last time.

Trigger Warnings: The Refuge. Violence, references to blood/injuries, child abuse, very very brief allusions to period-typical homophobia

Notes: Holy heck it's finally here! Hi friends, and... welcome to my newest AU becoming a series. I was originally nervous about whether I should post this for Strike Day, but here we go. A huge shoutout to @all-the-lovely-newsies because I LOVE THEM and they were the first person to listen to me talk about this when I sent them like a couple paragraphs rambling about my ideas

Go take a look at @jackie-think-about-it. They made me art for this fic (an art writing combo pair)! I am so happy right now, it's so beautiful, please go give them love they're just... the sweetest and I love their work so much. Thank you so much!

A quick note: this is a Davey in the Refuge/his Letter From The Refuge AU, and in it his father had his accident at work a few months sooner and thereby Davey knew Jack, Crutchie, and the rest of the boys better by the time the story starts. I've really loved writing this and I look forward to sharing it with you all

(read it on ao3, I like... really prefer the formatting on there asdfghjkl;)

Dear Jack,

The harsh scribble of a pen on paper was as subdued as he could make it. The lanky, dark-haired boy was hunched over, perched on the edge of the top bunk. He was curled up, taking up as little space as he could manage and a mix of sweat and blood stuck his faintly damp hair to his forehead. His eye was beginning to bruise, colors pressing deeper near to the side of his nose, and two large blots of bruises were visible stretching both sides of his jawline. Davey Jacobs inhaled, a shuddery, ragged and stared down at the first words he'd managed.

The room was cold, and dark, and any sense of light seemed blotted out in an almost starless night distanced by solid stone walls, cell bars, and an island walled off from the rest of the city. The shame of New York City. Davey hesitated, tapping his pen to his chin, once, then twice. He sighed and scribbled it out.

Jack,

No. Davey groaned quietly and after rapidly removing his second attempt furiously scrubbed at the paper. His wrists were marked with neat white lines from too-tight cuffs and he wondered idly if they'd look worse in a few hours time. Had it really only been a few hours since he'd stood in the Square, side-by-side with the others? Had it really only been hours since he last heard Crutchie laugh, watched him help Les tear a pape with his crutch, or felt his heart stall in his chest in terror when the bulls showed?

His sleeves were rolled up past his forearms and his vest was strewn awkwardly and torn around the edges. Some of his buttons were torn off and most every sense of the prim, neatly done school clothes and decorum had been entirely abandoned. Davey had no idea where his tie might even be.

He rolled the pen between his fingers, hands trembling faintly before he huffed and pressed the tip and started to write again.

Dear Jack, Greetings from the Refuge.

Better. Davey sighed, ribs seizing painfully in protest. Dirt and soot smudged along his cheeks and face, and when he glanced down and around the tightly packed bunks and hunched, gaunt bodies he heard someone cough. Davey grimaced. He supposed it was a fitting intro.

How are you?

He paused and bit his lip. He pulled his leg up to his chest to brace himself and he hissed sharply. Davey's breathing went ragged and he tried to purse his lips to quiet it, his ribs twinging and vision swimming dangerously. This... Davey was more bruised than he'd ever been before. He ached in more ways than one. A thought struck him and he lurched forwards, pen shaking in his hand as he ignored the sudden spasm of pain in his chest.

Is Les okay? I suppose I wasn't much help yesterday.

Davey ground his teeth and breathed in sharply through his nose. This wasn't- this wasn't working the way he wanted it to. He reached up to scrub furiously at his eyes.

He really hoped Les had gotten out before the worst of it. The other boys had been in the midst of chaos, full out panic and screaming, and Crutchie...

Crutchie.

Maybe if he'd moved sooner they could've-

No. He couldn't go there. Davey dropped his gaze and felt his fingers twitch before he picked up the pen and tried to press on.

Les needed to be okay. He had to be okay because if he wasn't Davey- a harsh choked sound tore its way from his throat and he clamped a hand over his mouth, breathing in sharply. He went rigid, body going taught at this fierce shushing from the boys below him. He opened and closed his mouth, something twisting in his chest and he wanted to apologize. His mouth was dry and when he opened his mouth no sound came out.

He didn't think the kids here or the guards would talk too kindly to stammered apologies anyway.

(He didn't think they would take too kindly to the way sound and light burned too much too much too much and some days for all his smarts he couldn't make a noise. He didn't think the guards would like the way he blurted things out without realizing it was not supposed to be spoken and send senseless things casually and didn't like lifting his head to met someone's gaze.)

Snyder soaked us real good and went for Crutch.

Davey blinked, eyes flicking wider and he chewed at his lip nervously. Oh! Oh, right.

Oh, uh, Jack? This is David

He faltered and swallowed hard. "No," the word was a murmur but his voice was cracked and rougher than he expected. The tall boy pressed closer to the scrap of parchment and traced out in neat script.

This is Davey, by the way.

Davey breathed his name and found the faintest hints of a smile on his features. Davey. Something about the way it fell from Jack's lips made something flutter inside his chest. He didn't think he'd be anything but harsh inflections of 'David' in days to come. He flinched at the thought and made a noise of pain at the way his ribs shifted unpleasantly. He wouldn't be all that surprised to find if they were badly bruised.

He wanted to hold on to being Davey as long as he could.

All these guards, they're just rude. They say jump, boy, you jump or you're screwed.

Davey winced back. He shouldn't- he shouldn't say that. The words in his head sounded suspiciously like the newsboys' voices swelling in his head. Voices he wanted to cling to.

Jack knew that.

He'd been here before- he'd gotten out.

He didn't need to worry about Davey. He and Crutchie, the boys, they shouldn't- they didn't need to worry about kids like him.

But hands faintly trembling and something swelling in his throat, Davey couldn't bring himself to erase the words glaring up at him.

The food isn't so bad, not so far Since so far they've brought us no food!

That... there was at least one positive, right? He made a noise and deadpanned in a murmur as he wrote:

Ha. Ha.

Davey had never been much good at humor. He'd never really understood it, and he wasn't really sure anyone would find it all that funny. He raised a hand to swipe the hair out of his eyes and felt his lips quirk into a sad, bitter half-smile.

I miss the newsies Sellin papers in the evening, And a partner at your side.

He bit his lip and tried very hard not to cry. Being draped under the arm of Jack Kelly, hearing the echoing cries of "strike" when all there was was bright laughter and friendly pats and being yanked into lingering embraces, all the echoes of vibrant unending life. Maybe he was poor at hawking headlines, but he'd loved it. He'd loved the-

The next words came without thought, scratching themselves out before his brain could catch up. The pen was shakier and moved faster in his hand than he expected.

No strike or blood to pay to just get by. Any way, you know what? The square took a fair bit of thought: Coax the bulls and get goons to the window. They were scared so they took the first shot!

An army of cops and goons- that couldn't be coincidence. It couldn't be coincidence that they'd taken brutal force against kids. They'd been ready to arrest whoever they could get their hands on first, to hit kids and cart them away with cold iron cuffs pinched against too soft skin. It couldn't be a coincidence they were lying in wait to pounce on the kids the moment they took a stand for themselves.

Crutchie had gotten out. Davey could only hope he was okay. The Delancey's had shoved him pretty hard but- but Crutchie was tough as nails and had landed a few good hits of his own and the boys had him. Crutchie had gotten out and, grasping for his crutch, had made it out of the Square with Race's help long before Davey finally let himself scream.

He couldn't go there (and maybe it hurt a little that it was hard to think of Crutchie without seeing horror and tasting fear fear bitter, biting terror and lungs burning but unable to scream).

He didn't want his last memories of Crutchie to be the way he saw him last so he tried to grasp- a witty comment, the way a proud half-smile curled on his features after perfectly Crutchie snark

Crutchie who made Davey's heart do stupid flips and feelings he had no idea how to decipher because what even were feelings and why didn't they make sense- Crutchie who smiled and laughed like pure sunshine and yellow, beautiful, beautiful golden rays and Davey didn't know where to start but Crutchie was nice.

He missed them so much he ached in ways he didn't know people could ache and he didn't like it.

The cops appearance at the Square couldn't be a coincidence, the adults lying in wait to stop and smother any light or spark of life. It was too well-planned for that, Davey knew behind narrowed analytical eyes, and he thought the boys would be smart enough to realize that too.

He took a deep, steadying breath and shoved his other thoughts as far back to his mind as he could muster (he didn't want to remember) before scrawling out his next words.

It was hell for a night.

Davey felt his finger twitch, a compulsive jerk when he realized the curse had just escaped him, inked neatly onto paper. He could imagine his parent's disapproval- but all Davey managed was a tired smile.

It seemed silly and a thousand miles away by now.

That doesn't mean we've lost our fight! Pulitzer's regime's coming down, And then Jack I was thinking

Davey's words crashed to a stop, and he felt as though the atmosphere around him had shifted. He froze. His breath was heavy and he blinked furiously against the burning of his eyes.

We might just go, If you were staying? We could run away an evening To the theater, or away And if Crutchie'd come

The words spilled away, faster and faster, and that book-smart, smart-mouthed boy who'd fumbled into the streets with a slew of words echoed in his eyes. A lifetime of too many thoughts held away aching to be let out one last time.

Maybe Davey had spent too much time with Jack and his dreams of Santa Fe, but when he closed his eyes for a moment he wondered what it would be like. Beyond the cold damp walls and shuddering concrete, Jack and Crutchie's laughter filling the back of the theater. Just the three of them, together, somewhere beautiful and perfect.

His eyes flicked open and he remembered a too similar cry- was it only a day ago?

And if Crutchie'd come we'd seize our day

He let out a shuddery breath. It sounded perfect. It sounded like a date, the ones stolen for boys and pretty girls and maybe Davey wasn't supposed to want a stolen night of kisses with a boy, let alone two, but he didn't care.

He could do it. One night of stolen moments with three friends, and maybe, maybe they wouldn't think the same and all it would be is friendship but he would take anything if it came from them. Anything at all.

When he curled his fists, he wondered if the same need to cling to that dream of just a night of Jack and Crutchie and him was the reason Jack had never given up on Santa Fe.

Santa Fe.

The seeds of a dream, not a plan. But there was something so comforting, achingly perfect about that. If a place was Jack's, and Jack's want for home, somewhere to love and breathe and belong then Davey knew his was Jack and Crutchie. Without a doubt. Maybe he was a little too late for that.

Maybe Jack and Crutchie deserved better than a kid who was street stupid and stuttered eagerly through long explanations about whatever oddity fascinated him the most, oblivious to the fact no one else seemed to care, and shied under attention and burning eyes and fumbled with words when um's and uh's and uncertain odd syllables twisted on his tongue.

Once the strike makes-

The door skidded open and the reaction was like a gunshot. Boys jolted upright, leaping into position. His pen jerked hard, dragging an ugly line but Davey didn't have time to think about that. He desperately shoved the materials out of sight, hands trembling as he flung a mess of whatever cloth was nearest over his lifeline. He swung around, eyes wide, watching the looming figure who'd entered, held his breath and silently prayed.

When he stumbled back to his space in the bunk, Davey was bleeding. Badly. He was still shaking, feeling freshly forming bruises and aches he wasn't sure how to start to describe and he had to shut his eyes tightly to try and still his swaying his vision. With shaky hands, he fumbled in the dark and felt a weight of relief drop as he exhaled when his hands found the crinkling parchment of the letter. He drew it close and let his eyes rove down it and tried to smile.

Leaning into the candlelight, Davey ran a thumb along the dent and harsh scribbled line off the page at the end of his earlier phrase and winced.

Swiping blood to try to keep it from getting in his eyes, he coughed, or sobbed, some short painful noise that was gone as quickly as it came.

Damn this place.

The garbled curse was all he could muster. He didn't know what else to say. Shakily, he flicked a hand and tried to scrub the scarlet scattered drops off onto his pants and Davey somehow manage to keep blood off the paper. He swallowed a choked cry.

I'll be fine

He bit his lip hard and pushed on, hoping he could get himself to believe it.

Good as new

He didn't think he would be okay.

Look there's one thing I need you to do Newsies taught me what it all means to look after each other

I've never had friends, Jack, he wanted to whisper with that faint twinge of awe he felt hours earlier. I've never had no one like Crutch and you.

Eyes setting with determination, he scribbled out his next message.

Please tell all the fellas for me to protect one another The end

What was this, a novel?

When he heard a rattling cough and the bed creaked dangerously, Davey had to force himself to breathe. He didn't think he would be able to come out of here.

The strike had to go on.

Davey wasn't going to be there to see it.

So he set the pen to paper and hoped his smarts might be enough to give the boys one last push.

Your friend Your close friend

Davey swiped away a few shaky tears, breath hitching. And, selfishly, he decided on something he needed for himself. He breathed out and scrawled out with every ounce of care he had left.

My love, Davey

[70swonderpoisonstark]

Wait, you survived? ( II )

// You and Steve survive the plane wreck and end up seventy years in the future. Everything’s different and the only person that understands the confusion and pain of losing your entire world is your now dead husband’s best friend. When the two of you are forced to adapt to the world around you, things can get complicated. //

———————————————————————————————————

~  Sinful and forbidden pleasures are like poisoned bread; 

         they may satisfy appetite for the moment,

                but there is death in them at the end.  ~

  The two of you settled into modern life as best as you could. Certain aspects of night life were too intense for you both, so you spent a majority of time at home watching movies and catching up on everything you missed. The nights always started the same, you'd finally decide to go to a local bar, get a couple drinks, and slowly mold into society. However, the men were much less polite than they used to be. It was on more than one occasion that Steve had to pull your bar stool closer to his to send a subtle message to the very loud people you've come into contact with.

This night was no different, you'd found a kickin new bar within walking distance of the apartment and agreed to try it out. Six o'clock was when the two of you normally decided to go, people were normally still at home after getting off work, and the crazies usually didn't come out till much later. You'd tucked in your black silk tank into your black ripped jeans, securing the outfit with a "designer" belt. Dressing nice every time you went out was one habit Steve and you couldn't shake. You'd see people everywhere wearing all sorts of interesting outfits, tried to go out in something similar, and never made it out the door. Old habits die hard, huh?

Steve opened the door for you as you walked into the bar, smiling down at you with his sweet smile, you'd get him a date one of these days, you just knew it. The two of you chatted, talking about inventions, medical discoveries, and how great modern cars were. You were admiring a 68' shelby cobra mustang with Steve as you heard a loud 'THUD' in the seat closest to yours. You continued to talk about how innovative it was to put such a powerful motor in such a light car when you heard somebody clear their throat very loud, and too close to your ear. Your eyes dart towards the seat next to you, checking your surroundings before engaging was second nature at this point, noticing a tall, large man staring holes into the side of your head. He was slouched over a dark beer, clumsily wiping foam from his lips as he cleared his throat again, clearly trying to get your attention.

"Can I help you?" You said, annoyance filling your words as you spoke. Even in the 40's, you'd always been very, aggressive when it came to unwanted attention. Watching his pupils dilate slowly as he attempted to take all of you in.

"IIIIIII've gotta say miss, you are tooooo pretty to be here. Waddya say we get outta here, get you somehwere nicer, easier on your back?" He winked, or at least tried to, what he actually did looked more like the beginning of a stroke than anything else. You opened your mouth, ready to tell him off when another booming voice came from behind you.

"I think the lady is fine just where she is, pal." Steve didn't understand why men always had to talk to you. If they were making actual conversation he'd leave you alone, but they always tried terrible one liners that always referenced sexual encounters. Steve pulled you and your seat close enough to his that your thigh was gently resting against his.

"Hey buddy," the drunk man started, swaying as he spoke. "If the lady didn't wanna be tawked to, she wouldn't have worn such a sexy outfit, ain't that right, sugar?" Steve jumped out of his chair, getting in between you and the now very startled man.

"The lady can wear whatever she wants too, and creeps like you get to leave her the hell alone." Steve was tense, his shoulders and back puffed and flexed, bowing him out and making him looked twice as intimidating as usual.

"I don't have to listen to you golden boy, she wants me to feel her up, I can tell just by lookin at the bitch." Steve's eyes widened at the blatant disrespect, insulting a woman because she wasn't interested? What happened to flirting, courting, dates? He expected you to hear one sentence and sleep with him? It rattled Steve's brain. He pulled back immediately, ready to use his strength to knock the fat loser on his ass when you stepped in front of him. Chest to chest, he lowered his fist to look down at you.

"Steve, love. That won't be necessary." You said, ruby red lips turned up in an innocent smile.

"See tough guy, little lady can't wait to get a chance at me." He winked, or maybe had a second stroke, you'd probably never know actually.

"Oh you're right, I can't wait to get a chance at you." You enunciated the 'T' roughly, smiling up at the drunk man who felt entitled to your attention, winked, and uppercutted him straight on his ass. You shook your hand, surprised that the impact didn't hurt more. "Softy." You chuckled and tossed back the rest of your tequila shot. The other patrons at the bar, who were already watching the scene unfold, laughed as the man laid unconscious on the ground after a single punch. Steve huffed, rolling his eyes at the fact that he didn't see that coming. You were always ready to fight, so it shouldn't have come as a surprise that you'd stop him from knocking somebody out, only so YOU could do it.

"You know what (Y/N), I could've done that for you." Steve said, half hurt he didn't get to fight somebody. It had been seventy YEARS. The dumbass in Steve was itching for a bad decision.

"Yes, but what fun would that have been for me?" You say slyly, lightly punching him on the shoulder as you both sit back down at your seats. Steve orders another round, shaking his head and laughing, if Bucky could see the two of you he'd be racking his brain as to how the two of you always caused so much trouble when you were together. The pure mention of you two being left alone together made Bucky's dumbass alarm go off.

"This round's on the house, enjoy your double ma'am." The bartender slid your drinks towards you.

"Miss!" You half yelled as she walked away, "Miss! I only ordered a single."

"Oh I know, the first one's for hitting the dude, the second shot's because you looked so good doing it." She batted her dark eyelashes after she spoke, a deep blush creeping into your cheeks.

"W-well thank you." You squeaked out, men complimenting you was boring, but when a also pretty women compliments you, it hits differently.

"You cold?" Steve glanced over, noticing your slight shiver.

"Only a little." You were always cold, constantly, which is probably why Steve looked at you so indignantly. He shook of his leather jacket, draping it gently along your shoulders.

"Better?"

"Yes, thanks." The two of you continued to talk until eight, both of you knowing it was time to leave before you ran into more crazies. The walk home was quiet, you walked along the streets, in awe of how much New York has changed, it still felt the same, but everywhere you looked were tall glass buildings, skyscrapers that went beyond the clouds, and cars that appeared to be straight out of a sci-fy movie.

Once you were back home you plopped onto the couch.

"Steeeeve, please?" You held your foot up revealing the four inch heeled boots you'd been wearing the whole night, begging for Steve to take them off.

"Is this all I am to you? A glorified shoe remover?" He said as he crouched down and unzipped your left boot.

"No, you're also my jacket provider." You giggled as you wrapped the oversized leather jacket over your entire torso.

"You know I'll get it back." Steve was thankful you hadn't been too affected by the ice. You were still the fun, carefree, badass you'd always been and continued to lift his spirits with little moments like this. He couldn't help but smile looking at you wrap your arms protectively around his jacket, further burrowing yourself into the couch.

"Never!" You yelled as you covered yourself with a pillow, giggling as he attempted to get it from you. You and Steve moved quickly, wiggling free from the others grasp over and over again, each of you attempting to keep the jacket. You flipped behind the couch, landing lightly on your feet.

"Try as you may, we both know who's quicker on their feet, Stevie." You threw a blanket at his face and ran to your room, avoiding his blind grab.

"You really are a child, you know that!." Steve yelled out as he followed you to your room, quietly looking for a sign of where you hid.

You stifled a laugh from behind the door, watching him stalk about your room, quickly turning corners and checking under the bed.

"Oh no, I guess you're nowhere to be found. Guess I'l just have to wait in the living room for your- SURRENDER!" He screamed as he aggressively opened the door you'd had hidden behind.

"Gotcha." He lifted you up over his shoulder and ran to the living room, ducking under the doorframe as he went from room to room. He threw you on the couch, already bent over in laughter as you looked up shocked at him, you forgot he was actually strong underneath that dorky demeanor.

"Wow, those german steroids really did work, huh?" Another smile, and a head shake from Steve before he plopped down next to you on the couch.

"I thought me throwing a car at the Polish Hydra base would've made that obvious." He quipped back.

"Nah, that car barely weighed anything. It was a very light car, doesn't count."

"A light car? you're kidding right, you did hear the words that came out of your mouth?" More laughter erupted as the two of you talked and joked, a sense of ease overcoming the room. You were happy you had Steve to help you with all this. The being frozen in one time and thawed out in another, it was a lot, but having Steve with you made it less lonely.

"Yeah yeah okay Steven." You yawned, glancing at the time. "Steve! We almost forgot about our movie!" You jumped up for the remote, turning it on with a surprising quickness as you browsed the Netflix for a movie. "AGH! There's too many, you pick, I'm gonna get out of these clothes." You tossed him the remote and turned towards your room, suddenly remembering what you'd found at target earlier that day.

"Oh, and I've got a surprise for you, you're gonna LOVE it." You suppress a laugh, trying not to make it obvious about what you'd found.

Steve eyed you curiously, knowing you were up to something, and he was definitely NOT going to love it. You pranced away before he could say anything.

You ripped the clothes out of your bag, laughing to yourself as you pulled out the tank top and shorts, looking them over with pure glee as you thought about Steve's reaction. It was a blue tank top with a shield on the front reading 'My shield is no match for your heart' a weirdly accurate image of Steve and his shield, and grey shorts with red, white, and blue stars. You threw them on, and pulled up the matching knee high socks covered in the shield and stars. You walked through the long hallway.

"I found a movie, Austin Powers? It might be informational about the 60's, and the 90's. Looks good, don't know how much it will really-" Steve's words were forgotten as you strutted into the living room. You had to be kidding.

"What the hell is that?!" He asked, half annoyed, half flattered. You looked good, and were covered in, well, him. That doesn't sound right, but he knew what he meant.

"Oh, this? I'm embracing my country with open arms Stevie, get with the program!" You laughed as you sat down next to THE Captain America.

"He's a living legend, you know. Captain America, the heart and soul of this country. What every American should aspire to be. He saved us from the Nazi's and Hydra single handedly, never resting until he knew we were safe." You clutched your heart dramatically, fake fainting into his lap as you spoke.

"What would this country ever do without him?!" You tossed theatrically, clutching your imaginary pearls, trying to keep a straight face.

Steve didn't know whether to laugh, or fake throw up. He had been the talk of the town since he unfroze, thankfully SHIELD didn't give out your address, or you'd be swarmed with reporters just like they were every morning. Everything was Captain America now, cups, dog collars, car stickers. There wasn't a single thing he could think of that they hadn't added his face too. NOw they had this, Steve wouldn't be surprised if they Captain America themed lingerie.

"Haha, very funny (Y/N)." He looked down at your smiling face, thanking God he had somebody from the past.

"I know right?" You turned towards the TV, being too comfortable to actually change positions now. "What did you decide on again?" You said, yawning halfway throughout your question.

"Austin Powers. Let's see if you actually stay awake for this one." Steve chuckled, remembering how easily you fell asleep when the two of you watched movies.

Steve pressed play and started the movie. It was very confusing. He was sure the bad guy and the good guy were the same person, but somehow nobody said anything? And why was freezing and coming back apart of this movie? Did it just come out? Was this because of the two of you? The time changed too, and were they in London, was that really what London was like in the 60's? By the time Steve got any answers you were softly snoring in his lap, hands on top of the other under your head. He watched your chest rise and fall, admiring how peaceful you looked as you slept. He curled your hair behind your ear, eyes lighting up as you smiled in your sleep. Steve spent the rest of the movie half watching you, barely understanding the movie even though you would definitely be asking about it tomorrow morning. He couldn't help but think how tiring this must be for you. You had always been the caretaker, even out on mission you were constantly tending to the team, emotionally and physically. Some wounds never healed, but you always did your best, and the guys loved you like family for it. Steve knew this was no different, even if you hadn't been frozen, life after the war, losing Bucky, life would've taken a toll on you eventually, and though you were skilled in having others open up, talking about your emotions was not your strong suit. He knew this was weighing on you, having to adjust to such a different world. You were burying yourself in learning the new ways of the world and helping Steve adjust, that you never took time to grieve your old life.

Steve turned the tv off, he wasn't really paying any attention to it anyways. He wrapped an arm around your legs and your neck, carrying you down the  dark hall to your room. Smiling softly as you curled up into him, barely protesting the sudden change of position. He pushes your already open door wide enough for him to slip through. He bent down slightly, pulling your perfectly made sheets down low enough to slip you into them. He tucked you into bed, making sure you had an extra pillow for your arm, and made you comfortable. Steve turned to leave, but was quickly stopped by a sudden pressure on his arm. He was alarmed at first, but as he looked down, he saw your small hand on his forearm. He turned back, finding you groggy, but awake.

"Don't go, please." You pleaded, half awake you was braver than fully awake you. "I- The nightmares, I don't wanna deal with 'em tonight." You were always so happy during the day, so it pissed you off that at night you were kept up with terrifying nightmares, PTSD from the war, Bucky dying right in front of your eyes, freezing and being woken up seventy years later. You dreams were always a horrid mix of all the trauma you've endured, recently at least.

Steve couldn't say no to you, who knows the next time you'd actually ask for help. He placed his hand on top of yours, trying not to make it weird by overreacting. With his eyes crinkling at the corners, he motioned for you to scoot over. He pulled the covers back once again, sliding himself into bed next to you. To Steve's surprise you curled up right next to him, head on his chest and hand over his stomach, and began snoring almost immediately after he laid down. He closed his eyes, slowly drifting of to sleep too, he couldn't quite name the emotion he was feeling, but it sure was lovely.

Steve didn't wake until you started shaking. You were jerking in your sleep, body and head twitching in opposite sides as you mumbled various words to low for Steve to make out. He watched as your entire body tensed, convulsing as you attempted to fight an imaginary enemy, arms reeling. You're expressions bordering on being in pain, Steve wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into him. He dodged a couple of rouge punches and a very concerning headbut, but eventually he had entangled himself enough in you that you weren't able to fight him. He kissed the top of your head and rubbed your shoulder.

"Shhh (Y/N), you're safe. You're okay. Nothing's gonna happen to you while I'm around I promise." He repeated himself a number of times, trying to console your sleeping mind as best he could. He knew how to help, he knew what to say, he knew you wouldn't remember his help unless you woke up. You had them more often than you realized and Steve was always there for each and every one.

"Everything's okay (Y/N), you're safe, it's just us, I promise." Love exuded out of every word he said, you were his lifeline, and he was going to make damn well sure you'd be okay.

You woke up in the middle of your nightmare. Mind still racing from the horrific scene you'd dreamt, bombs, screams, explosions, the team crying for help, you fought like hell trying to save them, but failed every time. You could still hear the sounds, even wake you could hear them in the background as you fought an already defeated enemy. You froze, feeling strong arms around you, you tried to fight, you tried to free your arms, use your feet, anything you could think of until you heard his voice.

Steve.

"S-Steve?" Your voice was barely a whisper, low and frightened, you were sure Steve wouldn't even hear it.

"Yes (Y/N), I'm here, it's okay, you're okay." He squeezed you harder, giving your paranoid mind a rest as you buried your head into his shoulder. You cried, practically soaking his shirt with your terrified sobs. The dreams were always so real, and never the same. You never knew if it was going to be torture, or Bucky screaming that he never loved you. Regardless, they were always terrible and never came with a happy ending. You were relieved to have Steve there, he was warm, which is always a plus, and comforting. The two of you laid there until you ran out of tears.

"S-sorry." You wiped your nose, sniffling as you apologized for being so emotional. You tried so hard to keep everything to yourself, that when it slipped a little, everything comes tumbling down all at once.

"Nothing to be sorry for, just won't be wearing this shirt for the rest of the night." You felt Steve chest shake as he chuckled, warming you up from the inside out. You moved off of him so he could change, but he ended up just taking the shirt off and laying back down.

"You should be thanking me for not keeping that in your bed much longer." He teased. "Pretty sure I heard it dripping." You wiped the remaining tears away, grinning as his stupid words created a small amount of joy in your heart.

"Shut up." Was all you could manage to say. Thinking ill thoughts about Steve was difficult in general, but with his arms wrapped around you, holding you while you cried, playing with your hair, it seemed damn near impossible.

// I’m having so much fun with this concept and have so many ideas on where to take this, you’re gonna love it! Shoutout again to @lunathepettuna for being an awesome human being and inspiring me to write this, love you!!

Let me know what you guys think, what you’d like to see, and some crazy vocab words and I’ll write accordingly, thanks for the read, and may Odin bless you in all your endeavors! //

[captainkurosolaire]

Prompt #11 : Checkmate

Black Sun vs White Moon

         The Eclipse                      

(Flashback) The night before the storm begun his mind thought wandering looking up at the clouds. While he laid prone on his backside allowing the Sun to warm his flesh. He tried using his linkpearl to ring up Ayla trying to establish a connection. “Mo--..--<Static>” Would reverberate back he started checking everything, including his pockets to see if there was something jamming that wasn’t noticed or placed on him. He tried another linkpearl and continued, getting the same results. But something was intercepting every time. Hearing the same thing in return when others tried responding. Checking instead on A’yi but finding her still not home he decided to take a airship to The Dravanian Hinterlands and go mourn with her assuming she wasn’t taking it well. Getting to the sight there was a gravestone and a already buried A’gomine. He sighed kneeling down and instead of doing his usual traditional bad boy persona paid the respect. Lifting up his head and opening a hue the constellation of Cygnus was twinkling and vibrant flashing back a memory of her. Something felt ominously off. Baby Bat constantly hid inside his hat against the Sun only peaking out during the hour of Nocturnal. Then showed his usual signs of snickering away at the Captain though with his presence came, hers. Meeting inside the Cave was Pogo. One of the Oracles, that led A’yi to her dying Shaman before leaving that had a connection with her. -Poro- “Captain, you’re here seeking A’yi? I am glad you’ve come, much to tell, come inside for a moment.”

He hops into the cave. Giving a box addressed to him from A’gomine. Opening it a White/Golden Ship encrusted with Diamonds, Black Onyx and Rubies and the waves were made of the finest sapphires in a form of a replica with all of his own ship down to the flag. With it a note. -A’gomine- “Please take care of my A’yi, She loves you very much. I have bestowed her much power see too it she is seeking growth and the abilities to use it. Captain Solaire, I am sorry unfortunately the fates did not allow us to meet, there is a secret panel in the bottom of the boat with three small vials they are labeled should they come in handy for your journey. - All my love, A’gomine.” -Poro- “A’yi was drugged and taken from here, I should haven’t let her alone. Male Keeper from smell, with magical prowess who is very exceptionally skilled. He opened a portal and whisked her away to another dimension from my knowledge. My visions granted me that sight, she isn’t hurt currently and allowing her no freedom. The darkness she was put in is eating away at her own will. She has offered options to select her for death instead. Though he hasn’t budged with a single one, only adamant to destroy you. I haven’t a faint way to locate her maybe another here of my kind can assist you. The ward protecting you and Ayla was found and destroyed on your ship. Keep your strength, Captain.” He offered to hand him some food and drink along with A’yi’s room to stay and rest from the trip. -Kuro- “Thanks Froglet but I am off, No time to waste. If A’yi is set free, or you sense her get her to safety.” He’d bottle his emotion knowing that It was -him-   His runic tattoo on his forearm staying asleep in the process still jet-black. Kuro would then do what Poro suggested and spoke with one of the elder oracles called Popo.

-Popo-“You follow, I lead you to what you seek.”

Was said in confrontation and he didn’t have a reason not to believe one of them yet.

Arriving at a cavern in the heart of The Dravanian Hinterlands in the section of the Ruling Quarter. He’d look around with a spyglass as they entered further in the darkness began steering away from the light.  (The Dravanian Hinterlands ( 15.9  , 38.0 ) Z: 0.9)

The water was about ankle volume in height.

-Kuro-“You brought me to an empty cavern? This doesn’t sound like an ambush at all.” Said with sarcasm.

He’d start scanning around looking at the enticing aetherial crystals that were shoved like gems into the earthly surface stalactites of these same turquoise crystals hung above a big opening was left that peered outside. The outer area covered with glowing mushrooms alongside the pool.

Popo halted and turned.

Applause rang through out the cave in echos with hands clapping together delicately.

-Mysterious- “Excellent work Popo. You led exactly what you’ve preached fate. Now you can whither in peace.” (Battle starts gets more graphic)

Suddenly Popo combusted from the inside after full becoming a cryogenically frozen. The blood splattered all across Kuro’s attire.

Stepping out of the shadows was white.

-Kuro- “YOU, bastard… Using pawns and disposing of them, where the hell is A’yi?”

-Shiro- “Oh she’s in company of sorts more like misery, I could always answer your question with another… Why do you choose to still live rat? It’s because of your survival you mucked up everything, I thought Ul’dah was starting to do better with cleaning up filth but suppose that was to hard to believe.”

-Kuro- “I’ve lived because you’re what everyone claims you to be a failure. Your little extermination of all the Goldbrand and what was it? <Quote> “Thus ends the Goldbrand.” Seems you really fucked up with that one. Now we could spend hours quoting why the other one is going kill the other yadda, yadda, frankly. I’d rather cut to the action this is a parley to finally end things.”

-Shiro- “Fool, you’ve truly not changed. Remember what I did last time to your crew? I could’ve done that exactly 1054 in alternative plays currently, Only ten of those were narrowed down to let your crewmates not be buried in the depths of the ocean and vanquished, slaughtering everything you possess gets dull the second time around.

You’re supposed to be a Captain but not a single one of them can grasp team-work. Half of them can’t protect themselves, you know why? Because of your idea. Letting them be free like they aren’t pawns? Giving them options to fully develop and grow on their own terms in independence how absurd. Without telling them how to rule their lives or cutting down their weaknesses you allowed it to grow in your ranks. It’s because your own weakness rubs off on them.”

-Shiro- “You wanted to know where A’yi is?”

Shiro would pull out half of the clothed material of a dress and let it fall below Kuro’s feet. Letting him think she was slain.

Cold starring straightly in a deathly grin appeared ear to ear signaling the challenge

Kuro’s one eye up widely and his fist clenched to the point his nails dug into his palm flesh and blood droplets letting them ripple and bounce in the small pool. His forearm runic flashed brightly once showing signs of something steering from all the built up fury being suppressed. Kuro then drew his swords out of each scabbard and said not another word.

-Shiro- “Come show me, Is the Goldbrand really destined to survive or does it die like it was meant to? Channel that anger and use it show me what kept you alive. With your death, everyone will be better off I assure you.”

Shiro pulled out a scepter simply and took position his powerful icy blue eyes stared into Kuro’s one. Aetherial energy started forming faintly and started guiding towards Shiro ever enticingly. With his other hand he pulled out a rapier holstered.

The battle clashed begun as Kuro disappeared before Shiro and came down with an aerial strike after using a Ghost Step(Shukuchi) He’d be blocked by spikes of ice that formed from the pooled water that was frozen almost instantly breaking them instead. The ice then converted into a hand and reached out to grab Kuro attempting to freeze him solid Kuro quickly stepped outside of his boot. He then flipped and landed back into the soils of the cave. Kuro turned his back against Shiro in one fluid motion and pulled off his last leather boot off included and pulled something inside that -Clicked- Then threw his boot towards Shiro.

Shiro amused laughed at the desperation underestimating before an explosion from his boot combusted forth in point blank proximity. Kuro had a grenade prior to learning the fight was taking place.

-Shiro- “You mongrel just, WITHER AWAY!”

Some of the fabric sleeves of Shiro had been damaged of his pure white suit but he put up a fully fledged ice barrier in a solitary second.

Kuro remembering the words given to him by Ayla to not allow his brashness to override his brain, smarter, calculating, thoughtful and hold every card. He didn’t hold up on the advantage and threw down a smoke grenade right in front of him pulling the pin and fading inside it.

Shiro not laughing anymore realizing now that Kuro has actually grown and is a challenge took a duffel bag that was strapped around his waist and stuck the scepter in between his teeth. He poured out hundreds of bones and let them all scatter everywhere around becoming a yard. Then starting to speak a fast chant and holding three fingers forward, biting his own lip with his Keeper fangs to the point he bled then begun channeling a strange and potent dark aetherial source of energy that struck down in the skulls laid all around three skeletons started assembling from the necromancy art.

Speaking with a different dialect. <Kill him>

Shiro pointed the Skeletons that constantly cackled their jaws and teeth together and saw right through the smoke of Kuro who was seen. Shiro conjured three different ice shaped weapons for each resurrected crewmate one a spear, sword, axe. The swordsman skeleton struck at the known position of ‘Kuro’ In the midst of the slice through the wind the fog of smoke cleared and Kuro had successfully been cut in half.

Shiro saw Kuro’s aetherial energy dip down. Right before the skeleton could bask crackle in glory his skull was stepped in by another Kuro who jumped over the one cut in half and then turned into a puddle of water since it was a clone. With the leverage given by the skeleton he charged straight towards Shiro and had no way to block it this time one. The Skeleton Crew Mate with the Spear through his weapon and pierced Kuro in the gut again. Only for another clone to dissolve. Shiro starting to get frustrated looked around not having any luck before a falling Kuro came in from above in a swan another at the same time from behind.

Shiro quickly froze one of the clone puddles of water and created a ice controlling wall to close the one from behind in a curved wall formation . This allowed Shiro’s last Skeleton to attend with it. While focusing the one coming in with velocity from the swan dive removed the bottom hilt and brought out the chains and threw his sword before it left his hand fully grabbing the end of the chain and with it cut the scepter carried by Shiro which was brought back to his hand after summoning the skeletons. With the broke half of the scepter Shiro just simply forced ice to form and turn it into a custom weapon made of ice and impaled Kuro in the shoulder having him land right on the created weapon deeply.

Kuro was trapped and on his knees from the sudden impact scraping them against the soils of the ground. His trademarked hat flew off on it’s own in the form of baby bat eventually the bat freed itself flying to the ceiling of the roof and watching in distance.

Meanwhile the Skeleton with the clone dealt with a clone of Kuro who had an extra grenade and removed the pin of it with his tongue after being sliced disintegrating that Skeleton into bone dust and damaging the Ice curved wall.  

<Narrator> While Shiro threw the duffel bags of skeletons bones and casted a Necromancy resurrection spell. Kuro had begun casting his jitsu <Ten-Jin-Chi-Sen-Bon> inside the layered smoke left behind his grenade. And created four clones that all lined up so they would come off as one image. He knew Ayla was expert at seeing aetherial energy he didn’t doubt Shiro could do it and which is why he needed to create a method to ensure a blow could land. The first one slain was a diversion while the second one also was. The other two spent time in the beginning helping the original Kuro climb to the top on the stalactites with his nimble Miqo’te capabilities. While the fourth one after finished being a footstep used a Ghost Step to get behind.

-Shiro- “Least you’re finally indulging my time.”

Shiro’s ice shattered before he could destroy it himself with Kuro striking it with his sword. Removing the shard of ice that was stuck in his shoulder and spewing blood risking the chance of blood loss. Kuro threw one sword straight towards Shiro and it was simply parried and kicked to the side from insane reactions it seemed like with just his rapier. The other katana being exchanged for Kuro’s good conditioned arm and shoulder with the chain still released he staggered to his feet but manage to stand openly.

His other side wasn’t too healthy but his other arm managed to make it to his eye-patch and ripped it off releasing a bundle of concentrated and stored aetherial energy with golden glimmers.

Shiro’s eyes looked away for a second from the exposure and stunned.

-Shiro- “Detestable, but yet you’ve developed far beyond my estimations.”

With Kuro simply chuckling manically followed by the slightest of a confident smirk felt a surge of his energy back. He saw clearly and was active in <Truesight> watching all the aetherial and disturbances. He tapped into <Echo> and dodged a flooding off harmful aetherial that had been forming. Which had been slowing down all the actions and flow of Kuro’s movements in the atmosphere it was dwindling towards stopping time.

Luckily from the Skeletons and knowing that Shiro could manipulate time only cause of A’yi's previous foresight Kuro had an extra chance.

Shiro had miraculously not even broken a sweat or hardly even left from his position since starting his impeccable defenses were fearful. One handed strikes were traded back and forth with Kuro’s one Katana(Death) competing against the Rapier(Mol’usa) of Shiro’s. Constantly deflecting and evenly matching one another but it seemed Kuro had the edge and actually made Shiro take a step back. They each took a different stance between while Kuro had used mixtures of kicks and dirty style fighting along with throwing needles from behind him. Shiro had place one hand behind his back and took on the stance of Noble fighting and began perfecting his parry rate he couldn’t actively slow down Kuro but was able to do the projections instead. Kuro would continue to show his unrelenting barrage of a real pirate by lobbing spit directly at Shiro face which had caught him directly in the cross hair and felt the need to mess up his stance during that Kuro took the opportunity to disarm Shiro’s Rapier and having it fly across the room finally it had seemed Kuro had the leverage as soon as the Rapier left the arm another fluid slash of the wind came towards Shiro’s face but Kuro’s blade broke in pieces.

-Kuro- “No way…”

Shiro simply smirked with sinister intent an entire barrier almost like sphere surrounded him of -Diamond Ice- Now Kuro was holding a half broken blade and was close in range Kuro had backed up as quickly as he could but during their engaging battle Shiro had begun taking the pools left by Kuro’s clones scattered all over and started making them connect all together in a gate behind. Cornering Kuro.

-Shiro- “CHECKMATE!”

He’d destroy the diamond ice barrier and send forth a perfect sweep of hundred, no, thousands of ice shards that all cut into the flesh of Kuro he blocked his face by using his arms to cover it up. Standing up with only adrenaline and willpower.

Shiro was left puzzled by the endurance displayed.

-Shiro- “You will die with your dignity intact. You may have one last word, this time, it’s in my nobility to offer you that.”

Kuro in the distance mumbled something under his breath…

-Shiro- “Speak up!” He begun to form one last miniature ball of diamond ice to pierce a hole straight through the entire torso including the heart of Kuro he would be hollowed if it connected.

-Kuro- “Ma” … “Maa” “MAAHES!”

Shiro knew what that name meant he threw the projectile anyway thinking there was no time to react.

Kuro’s forceful situation bursted and brimmed his growth and aetherial pressure sky rocketed to new levels to the point it was boiling temperatures, his fangs extending and growling viciously having the stalactites starting to fall inside them. Baby Bat fled to go fetch and warn Ayla. Kuro’s forearm was engulfed and at the level of -Orange- Instantly. His hair grown out slightly up to his shoulders length and wildly messy.

He extended his hand and sharp claws included and caught the miniature ball of diamond ice like a professional catcher and insanely fast threw it back during that one throw he ran behind in speed not even Shiro was accounting for his Diamond Ice Barrier managed to absorb the orb but was cracked.

Maahes began burning clenching his fist and infused with his own aetherial anger striking in well traded blows of incarnate and unkempt rage furiously he was breaking his own knuckles and cracking them but was getting through the diamond ice with his infusion and mixture the more pain his aetherial pressure increased. His forearm reached -Red Orange- levels to the point all those who were bonded with him were sent a distress call the now flashing and glowing runic tattoo started covering his arm above the elbow.

He broke through Shiro’s almost invulnerable defenses and grasped his throat in one fluid motion and slammed down Shiro to the ground and started sliding his back against the soiled ground leaving a trail of his corpse being dragged and Shiro’s back being scraped peeling off the flesh, Maahes keeping his knees bent in the process and using his almost otherworldly strength to start cracking Shiro’s neck threatening to break the bones and slamming him against the caves, again and again, again…

More rubble begun to drop from the top of the caves and land into the pool splashing against everywhere. Maahes let constant roars out and began striking the ribs breaking a few of them with his hot fist. Then grabbing Shiro’s arm painfully and throwing him far having him slide across the pools filled of now obstacles barely clinging on.

The psyche of Maahes was visited with Kuro who was on the side.

-Maahes- “KILL.. I’LL DEVOUR HIM, HURT AYLA, MAKE PHELI DARK, HURT VESSEL, MURDER STAR GLITTER!?!”

Kuro would step behind the enraged Maahes who had been waken up and placed a firm hand on his supportive shoulder blade.

-Kuro- “Let me end this. It’s my responsibility he slaughtered my original crewmates, threaten to do the same again, Underestimating my crew and me as a Captain, Kept A’yi from me, along with everyone because I couldn’t be certain who he intoxicated with his darkness, distanced me from Ayla, preventing me from having my eternal ceremony. THIS ONE TIME I COMMAND YOU MAAHES!”

Kuro had forced himself to overpower Maahes for the first time ever the seal started retracting and Maahes in the psyche went to his chains and started being pulled back and laying down for his rest letting for once.

Meanwhile Moli’s heart-shaped pendant cracked.

Kuro gaining back control he felt the impact of the blood loss and all the injuries rushed and he collapsed before even taking another step.

Shiro had struggled but managed to endure the brutal assault one hand was entirely broken including the bones. His tail twitching entirely soaked from the water and starting to make it to his knee with his body feeling so intensely he only thought of one person.

-Shiro- “Moli..”

Shiro with his telepathy linked from Sha he tried giving a warning message to tell him the location so he could finish what was required.

Kuro’s hands were torn to the brim knuckles all broken his shoulder was bleeding worse. His feet included his own aetherial pressure from accessing Maahes had burned the flesh off his arms his fingernails were all bleeding some broken.

Shiro managed to stand and started waddling weakly towards Kuro’s prone body and started conjuring the last muster of his aether energy he managed to survive Maahes only by slowing down his movements and guiding basic ice to cushion him but it wasn’t enough. He coughed up blood and started turning the pool crimson waterworks.

Kuro fought to stand up too even though he looked terrible.

-Kuro- “One last blow decides this.” He forced one hand to roll up into a curled fist and started concentrating his focus into it to allow it enough energy to move freely.

They stepped in working and grunting and both trading growls and howls. Their thoughts wandering. Shiro had constantly thought about A’yi’s words it was distracting him about they might be able to manage to work together and defeat the Sea Lurkers.

Shiro with a diamond covered sword compared to Kuro’s one fist seemed like enough to beat the odds. He started gathering in the old ice around to try to recover and cover up wounds mainly on his back. Both shirtless practically and tattered bodies, battered clothes breathing and exhaling weakly.

Confronting one another the final discussion happened almost in range.

-Shiro- “You’ve got to be killed! I can’t afford to lose, Moli, Sha. I’ll set us free from slavery from the Sea Lurkers... Just who the hell do you think you are?”

-Kuro- “Allow myself to introduce you thoroughly, The name is Captain Kuro Solaire! residential ass-kicker at your service. I don’t give a damn about your reasons, I’m taking you down.”

-Shiro- “Killing me you’ll just end up becoming what you’ve spent your life trying to destroy. Maybe I should let Maahes have a bargaining deal by releasing him out of that seal just would take a touch of the aether…”

-Kuro-”Acting like I haven’t struggled with what’s inside me fighting for ownership? The only reasoning I am standing is because of the crew to this day. I don’t care how strong, cunning, or danger I fall into. I’ll STAND for them. Was only when I lost everything… When I gained it all. You my matie are about to learn what it means to be a real pirate.”

-Shiro- “So naive…”

Deep down Shiro was learning the true aptitude behind Kuro it wasn’t anything basic. Even though his powerful gaze could see aetherial fluxes.

He couldn’t have possibly predicted the full essence and the treasure buried inside the soul.

They each sized up one another and Shiro had the advantage slicing against the wind but doing it forcefully with his diminished supply of energy and wounds slowed down the pace he applied the pressure on Kuro’s end.

Kuro stepped in and with <Echo> saw seconds ahead and saw how he was ready to end things and was planning on stopping time with his buried emotions the fate of his life depended on it.

Only moving forward he looked with determination and each step of the torn up soles of his feet with blisters moved. He stared right into the range of the blade and while Shiro looked back.

He saw a man with no fear. The full result of training for years on end of being tortured and healed and repeated of walking into things in order to win. His presence was as if a skeleton with a scythe was prepared to behead Kuro and held it against his neck the same edge of that blade against the scar that Shiro had placed upon him all those years ago…

Shiro in this thought swiped and missed. Kuro had saw the angle of it where it landed and in that mix kicked the ankle of Shiro which had him tilt an opposite way allowing another blow to slice through the air but miss its target. Now out of Echo’s Kuro took the opportunity pull his feet upward and got a picture perfect shot to Shiro in a low blow, dirty and a foul play but a testament to the pirate code.

Kuro: This is for A’yi and my Moon Ayla along with anyone else who wanted to do this!”

When the blow landed.

-Kuro- “This is for my crew!”

Kneeing Shiro in the face and forcing the ice melded aetherial blade to shatter from loss of concentration.

-Kuro- “This last one…. Well... Is, just because, YOU PISSED ME OFF!”

With all the rest of the built adrenaline Kuro released a quick fired punch to the side of Shiro’s cheek and alongside his jaw breaking it and making it slam directly hard right into the smack of the ground thunderously with a full force of pow. Instantly knocking him out and rolling his eyes above Shiro’s head.

-Shiro’s Thought- “You were right foolish, A’yi…”  

-Shiro’s Whispered Breath-“ I’m Sorr-eey, M-o-li...”

Another crack in the diamond heart that was forged with life energy for Moli formed.

Before Kuro collapsed he looked over Shiro’s prone and defeated body and raised his middle finger in the air with class before landing on his back with his own powerful thud barely hanging on with his wounds, debatable even worse than those given to Shiro.

The battle had concluded. (Since was a free writing day, I felt like shizz and need to recharge. I decided to just roll back something old, so excuse me for that. But still relates and pushes forward towards current drive even if this was 2 Sagas / 2 Years ago. Also didn’t copy the images over >< I might fix that later if possible)

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Watford Cove

Chapter 11: fingers walk your thigh

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/angst

Word count: 1963

Chapter: 11/13 [All chapters]

Summary: It's the night before exam marks are posted. Possibly their last night, so Simon invites Baz over.

Read on AO3

AN: Two chapters in two days?! What?!?!?! Well, school for me starts tomorrow, and this chapter is quite short, so I'm updating super early. And oooooooh spicy summary! But this is still a T rated fic, so don't get too excited lol. Enjoy!

Tagging: @wayward-son-61​ @jeansjeansjeansjeans​

———————————————-

My hand hurts. I skipped a lot of exams last year and forgot about that part. My muscles are all cramped from being wrapped around a pencil for hours for days on end. I keep stretching it out in hopes the pain goes away. No such luck. My brain hurts too. It feels like I puked all knowledge onto those pages and now my thoughts are empty. I just feel so exhausted. I can't even force myself to get off my bed to change out of my jeans and jacket.

Exam marks are posted tomorrow. I’ll know if I get to stay tomorrow. Stay in Watford Cove, with my friends, with Simon. If I was the dramatic sort of person, which I’m not of course, I’d say tomorrow is judgement day.

I can only hope I’m worthy.

My phone buzzes next to me. With far more effort than usually needed, I reach over and hold it over my face.

Pretty Moron [7:25] heyyyyy <3 <3

Pretty Moron [7:25] how’s it going?

Baz [7:26] My hand fucking hurts.

Pretty Moron [7:27] lol well exams will do that

Pretty Moron [7:27] what r u doing rn?

Baz [7:28] Texting you, idiot.

Pretty Moron [7:29] fuck off dick

Pretty Moron [7:30] i meant if ur busy

Baz [7:31] No, not really. Just tired.

Pretty Moron [7:32] okay

Pretty Moron [7:33] my gran’s out playing cards all night

Pretty Moron [7:35] wanna come over?

Pretty Moron [7:36] only if ur not 2 tired tho

Pretty Moron [7:36] but u could come over

Pretty Moron [7:38] and stay the night

Pretty Moron [7:38] if u want

I nearly drop my phone many times reading that. Okay, this may be crazy, but I cannot be misinterpreting what he means. It's pretty obvious, right? But he's also Simon, so he's sometimes quite oblivious. If this were some TV show, I’d know exactly what that meant. There'd be zero doubt in my mind. But this is real life. Do people really do this? Would Simon? He is very bold sometimes, that's for sure. Is he this bold? Fucking hell, am I?

Tomorrow is judgement day after all. So...tonight could be my last chance for a long while. Our last chance.

Baz [7:43] I’ll be over there in half an hour

———————————————-

This time, it takes only two pebbles to get Simon to open the window. I wonder if he was waiting for me this time. He gives me a tired, exasperated smile.

“I told you,” he semi-shouts down, “my Gran’s not home. You could’ve just rung the bell.”

I shrug. “This is more fun.”

Simon rolls his eyes as I run up to the trellis. It’s much harder climbing up it with the plastic shopping bag. I manage though, swinging my legs up onto the porch roof and crawling to Simon’s window. He gives me a hand getting in, then wraps his arms around my neck, smiling all the way to his ears as he gazes at me.

“You came,” he sighs.

“I said I would, didn’t I?” I reply, holding his torso close.

“Still, I’m glad you did. I-I wasn’t sure you would, really.”

I sigh, running my fingers over his back. “Well, I debated it a bit. But this may be our last night, Simon. And...I really don’t want to leave without doing this, with you that is.”

His face goes bright red instantly, eyes incredibly wide. Shit, I’ve fucked up. That’s not what he meant. I'm just a horny idiot. I’m going to leave and die from embarrassment.

“Sorry,” I murmur, pulling away. “I’ll just go.”

“No no!” Simon shakes his head rapidly, arms tightening on my neck. “No, don’t go, Baz. I-I want to as well. You just caught me off guard for a sec, sorry.”

I chuckle at that, I can’t help it. Simon looks at me funny. I just pull him closer. “You get all blushy and nervous when I flirt with you, but also snog me like it’s the end the world in a gym closet. You are just, a living contradiction, Simon Salisbury.” He still looks at me confused. “And I like that, a lot.”

Now he grins again, bright and brilliant. “Okay, good to know.”

We giggle like stupid school boys, pressing our foreheads together. He kisses me once, then twice, then a third time for good measure I suppose. But suddenly, he pulls back and lifts up my arm, the one holding the shopping bag, with a furrowed brow.

“What’s this?”

I chuckle. “Well, I assumed that you wouldn’t have supplies, so I picked some up.”

That makes his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Supplies?”

“Yes, Simon, supplies. I wasn't sure what we'd end up doing but I wanted to be prepared for anything. You would not believe the looks I got from the old lady cashier though, my god.”

Simon laughs loudly, throwing his head back. “Oh man, I can believe that. Sorry you had to do that, love.”

I shrug with a smirk. “It was worth it.”

His face softens. “Thank you, darling.”

We fall into silence and just stare at each other. Fuck, where do we go from here? I’ve never thought about this. Well, I’ve thought about after this, what happens when we start doing "it", but not how we get there. From Simon’s lip chewing and nervous twiddling, he has no idea either.

“You sure you want to do this, Simon?” I whisper.

He nods slowly. “Yeah, yeah I do. I’m just...”

“Nervous?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

“Hey.” I tilt his chin up so we’re eye to eye. I need him to be reassured, and I love looking in his eyes anyway. “It’s alright. I am too.”

He's surprisingly shocked at that. “Really?”

“Yes, of course. I’ve never done anything like this before. You’re my first boyfriend, first kiss, first anything, Simon.”

His jaw falls open. I can’t believe how shocked he is. “Seriously? I was your first kiss?”

I roll my eyes, trying to offset my nerves. “Yes, I just said that.”

“Wow.”

“What, do I seem like someone who’s super experienced?”

“Oh, uh, well, I um, I...” He chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “I guess, I uh, you’re really smart and confident and I just assumed you knew more about this shit than me. Since you know more about most things.”

I snort out a laugh. Simon turns more red, so I put down the shopping bag on his bed then grab his wrist and tug him closer. He lets himself fall against me.

“Well,” I sigh, “I guess we’ll just have figure it out together.”

He gives me a lopsided smile. It's relaxed and happy, and just fucking perfect. “Yeah, I guess so.” He chuckles slightly and shakes his head. “Oh man, having sex the night before you might leave forever. What is this, a teen romance novel?”

I chuckle. “It honestly feels like it sometimes.”

Simon and I both laugh, but it’s quickly followed by silence. We just stare at each other for awhile. Bright blue gazing into grey and vice versa. I sure as shit don’t know where to go, and neither does he obviously. Simon leans up to kiss me. But fucking Hell, I’m still not relaxed, and neither is he. I can feel the nervousness in both of us. His shaking hands, his tense face, the stiff movement of his mouth. Everything about him spells ‘uneasy.’ I’m about to pull away to ask him, but he does so first.

“Wait,” he says breathlessly. “Let’s do something.”

He pulls me over to his nightstand and picks up his mobile. A few taps later, a soft tune starts playing. It’s all violins and piano chords. I recognize the singer as that Sivan bloke Simon loves.

“What’s this?” I ask.

Simon walks back over to me and drapes his arms lazily over my shoulders. They're a comfortable weight on my tense muscles. “Dance with me.”

I give him a confused, curious look, but he doesn’t say anything to further justify it. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. We’re both about to jump out of our skins, Baz. So let’s not think for a bit and just dance.”

“Not thinking? That’s your solution?”

He shrugs. “Helps me. And it’s only for a bit. Just turn off that big brain for a sec and dance with me, Baz. Alright?”

I twist my mouth for a moment, but then I just sigh and hold his waist. “Alright, let’s dance.”

Simon smiles. He lets his head fall into the crook of my neck. I rest my cheek on his temple. We sway incredibly slowly back and forth, like waves calmly lapping at the shore. The only sounds that fill the room are our soft breathing and Troye’s melodious voice. I listen to the lyrics.

I want you I'll colour me blue Anything it takes to make you stay Only seeing myself When I'm looking up at you

“This song is depressing as shit, Simon,” I whisper right into his ear.

“Shut up, Basil,” he grumbles. I chuckle and hold him tighter.

The song keeps going, we keep swaying, and bit by bit, I can feel the tension seeping out of me. Like a weight slowly being lifted off my shoulders. This isn’t scary. This is just Simon. Who wears pink sweaters and flower crowns, who painted my nails, who knows me better than anyone by now, who makes me happy, who I’m most certainly falling in love with. Yes, I can do this. At least I can do this with him.

Troye ends and the playlist moves on to something else. Simon pulls back to face me. His eyes are half lidded, his lips slightly open, all while bathed in his golden lamplight. Christ on a cross, I want to kiss him so badly. Well, I want to kiss him all the time, but especially right now, when he looks like something out of a dream. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches over and turns off the phone. All that’s left is our breathing, slow and steady.

“Okay now?” he speaks softly.

I take a deep breath and nod once. “Yeah, okay.”

He nods too, then reaches over to turn off the lamp. Silver moonlight bleeds in through his window. He looks ethereal in it, a glowing silver halo around his gold tones. Stretching up a bit, Simon kisses me softly, but it’s not tentative anymore. It’s languid, relaxed, like we have all the time in the world. I kiss him back in the same way. I feel Simon’s hands move across my neck, callused fingers scratching against my skin, then over my shoulders and under my jacket. Slowly, like a question, he starts pushing it down. I straighten my arms in answer, and it falls to the ground.

Being a total control freak, I rarely let anyone “do” anything to me, really. I always initiate. I’m always in command. I accept no less.

But not with Simon.

I let Simon do so much to me. Let him kiss me, let him undress me, let him pull me apart and put me back together in the strangest, most beautiful ways possible. There are some awkward moments, of course. They're unavoidable with our lack of knowledge. But we simply laugh them off or quickly apologize. Those moments are brief though. And all of it is overshadowed by sheer wonder of it all. That this is really happening. That we’re doing this. And it's incredible. I allow Simon to see every last part of me, and he lets me see every last part of him.

No guarding, no nerves. Just us.

———————————————-

AN: As it has already been established, I'm a cheesy motherfucker. And this practically is a teen romance book so I'm just embracing how tropey it is. Hope you guys liked it. Next time: judgement day, and the morning after :D

Chapter title is from "Too Good" by Troye Sivan

[spring-emerald]

commit to memory (2)

This fic is a direct continuation of commit to memory, so I strongly suggest reading that one first before proceeding with this, for context.

Also for @kurodai-week‘s KuroDai Weekend 2018 Round 1 Day 1: Getting sick / injured

Warnings: Violence, Angst, Implied torture, mentions of blood, death and destruction. 

Kuroo is instantly awake and immediately moves before his mind can wake and catch up, the fighting instincts he had honed for years serving him well as he narrowly avoids the sharp weapon aimed at his neck. He rolls over and is quickly up on his feet, focus sharp as he’s crouched down, arms held strongly and stiffly in front of him.

His attacker takes another swing, more forceful than the previous one.

Kuroo manages to avoid it again, but had miscalculated the distance of the attacker’s reach, and so he was nicked on his cheek. He registers the stinging pain, but doesn’t let it bother him, never lets his focus waver.

He intercepts the next attack, just as his attacker turns, feeling satisfaction at the way his attacker screamed at the contact and tight grip that Kuroo dealt his arms. The weapon dropped from his offenders hand and Kuroo’s quick to kick it away, before kicking the man behind his knees, making him fall on the cave’s damp soil.

He roughly manhandles the man and turns him around, large hands wrapping around his throat. But instead of a stranger, he comes face to face with Daichi.

“Do it!” Daichi demands under him, straining against Kuroo’s hold.

Kuroo’s brain catches up to the current situation and his actions. He looks at his hands wrapped around Daichi’s neck, at his face contorted in anger and his brown eyes swimming with tears in pain.

It’s a more effective wake-up call than any alarm in existence or buckets of ice water.

Kuroo’s eyes widen, hands flying away from Daichi’s neck as if he’d been burned. He hastily backs away from Daichi, looking down on his hands, horrified at how he hurt, how he had been so close to killing the love of his life, the man he vowed to keep safe and protect.

Daichi yells from his position on the ground and it grated on Kuroo’s being. Never mind that he too had almost been killed by Daichi just a few moments ago. Never mind that he’s got a steadily bleeding wound on his cheek to prove it.

“D-Daichi… I’m so sorry,” he whispers, raking his hands through his hair harshly.

“WHY?!” Daichi cries out, hands coming down on his face.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t- I thought you were an enemy. My instincts-” Kuroo rushes to explain to pacify Daichi, his being aching to hold him, but he’s still terrified of what he has done and so he keeps his distance away.

“But I AM an enemy!” Daichi growls, sitting up wildly, hitting his injured leg in the process. Kuroo wince at this, knows that while it’s steadily getting better, it’s still far from being completely healed.

Daichi doesn’t mind this as he angrily pounds on his chest as he screams and continues to cry.

“I am the enemy! Why can’t you see that? Why are you keeping me here? Why are you being kind to me?” He pounds on the ground and Kuroo notice then that he’s still wearing the power-limiting bracelet. It’s also only then that he realizes that Daichi’s not wearing one around his ankles.

Kuroo looks over to where he kicked the weapon and sees the familiar device- broken, it edges jagged and sharp, but recognizable under the fire light.

If Daichi had truly wanted to escape, if Daichi truly had wanted to hurt him, he could’ve taken all his cuffs and zapped Kuroo away with his powers. But he didn’t.

Kuroo looks back at him. Daichi’s slumped on himself, shoulders shaking in a sob, a steady chanting of why’s echoing around the cave.

His hands are gripping the side of his head. He’s been doing that a lot these past few days.

After he’d re-dressed Daichi’s wound a few weeks ago, they had been fine. They’ve reached the base level of communication, with even some of his quips answered by Daichi in his own brand of sarcasm. But since his headache started, he’d become irritable. He always look like he’s in so much pain whenever he does so and Kuroo is beside himself with worry.

Last night had been so bad that Daichi fitfully tossed and turned in his sleep, that Kuroo decided to sleep beside him and cuddled him, wrapping his arms around Daichi’s body, hoping to provide him some comfort.

In his sleep, he’s honest. Daichi doesn’t wake at Kuroo’s presence but he stops squirming, and the crease on his forehead clears after Kuroo’s laid a gentle kiss on top of it.

But Daichi awake is stubborn as he remembers, more so than before much to his frustration. He just brushes off Kuroo’s concern with anger. Or worse, he ignores Kuroo, which is something that this Daichi is good at, and something that Kuroo can’t take after getting some glimpses of past Daichi.

He can’t take it now that he sees that he’s getting through whatever is blocking Daichi’s memories. He’s holding unto hope now and he won’t let it go.

And he won’t let Daichi break on him.

“You are not the enemy, Daichi.” Kuroo says steadily. He takes courage and moves closer, slowly, in case Daichi lashes out again. “You will never be the enemy.”

“Stop it.”

“You’re a victim as much as the rest of us are,” Kuroo continues, gradually getting nearer.

“Stop it. I’m not.”

“And even if you were the enemy, that won’t make me stop protecting you.”

Daichi shakes his head, swatting the idea away as harshly as he could.

“That won’t make me stop trying to get you to remember your life before all this happened.” Kuroo’s in front of him now, and with gentle hands, he takes both of Daichi’s wrist. He’s shaking but he lets Kuroo pull his hands away.

Kuroo laces their fingers together and bumps his forehead on Daichi’s. “That won’t make me stop loving you,” he says softly, tearfully. The hitch of his voice; his sincerity got to Daichi.

He sobs. He doesn’t know this man. At least that’s what his brain is telling him. But the ache in his chest, the one threatening to break down his ribcage the longer he’s with Kuroo, is saying otherwise.

When he woke up and found himself wrapped around his arms, his first thought was peace. The emotion that bloomed on his chest was familiarity and something he would call love. It’s why he closed his eyes again, ready to fall back to sleep. Because despite what how he’s been acting, being near Kuroo seems to take the growing guilt and pain away.

But disjointed images, a quick montage of sepia-tinted memories assaulted his mind.

Two children. A boy and a girl, running around. Two men, a tall bulky one and a pretty one, looking over them. They’re laughing, they’re happy.

They’re family.

An old thin man, but with a face so stern, joined by another old man, but shorter, sly.

A dojo. A mat. A fight… or not. Not when he’s lying on his back, and a man over him. Heated kissing, playful nips.

Whispered promises and tearful goodbyes.

Then fire. Large looming fire, eating up the houses in the village, leaving charred bodies of men, women, old and young at its wake.

Blood, splattered across the ground. Splattered on himself.

Yelling. He can’t let any more blood spill. Running. Hasty goodbyes.

Fighting. And losing.

Needles, tubes, wires… winding around a vast room, winding around his body. Lake of sweat on cold steel bed. Fried nerve endings, firing laser eyes.

Screaming.

Pain.

More pain.

Endless screaming.

Deep breath.

Golden eyes.

Kuroo.

Tetsurou.

When he opens his eyes, he’s expecting it to shoot lasers and level the cave, but instead, the power, the adrenaline turned inward, the warring identities fought in confusion.

Sawamura.

Daichi.

The Crow.

Sawamura. Daichi.

In confusion, it lashed out.

In pain, it cries.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” he sobs, helplessly.

Kuroo gathers him in his arms and embraces him tightly. “I’m here,” he whispers in Daichi’s ear. “I’m here, Daichi. And I know you.”

And somehow, those words are enough. Inside a dim, damp cave, he feels he’s regained a part of himself. 

Inside Kuroo’s arms, against his warm body, under his gentle kiss, Daichi regained a part of home.

[suallenparker]

Philinda Fanfic: Behind the Scenes, Chapter 11

RATING: T

SPOILER: This is set in a Universe where Phil quit his Tony Stark babysitting duties after the first gig and returned to active field work. So, basically their backstories stay the same until after the first Iron Man Movie.

SUMMARY: After her former partner Phil Coulson almost got killed in action, the traumatized SHIELD agent Melinda May returns to duty. She and Phil  go undercover as contestants of the celebrated TV show “Forever Love” to catch a stalker and to trip a traitor.

NOTES: See Chapter 1. This took forever because a) Life is still nuts and I’m usually too tired after work to do much of anything and b) this chapter is a monster! Thank you all for your support! I had fun writing this (we’re finally getting to the more juicy bits!)  and I hope you still enjoy it too! Please let me know what you think. :)

PREVIOUS | NEXT

o0o

Chapter 11: One on One in which Diane finally gets her date.

She hadn’t noticed anything. Nothing.

How the hell could she’ve missed the connection between the Rebecca and Anisa?

And why?

Because of Phil Coulson and acting powers and her stupid heart. This was a job and she was better than this.

She should’ve noticed something!

Melinda wiped away some sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand as she ran.

Sure, Phil usually was better at that relationship stuff and he didn’t pick up on it neither, but he hadn’t been living with Anisa for almost two months!

God, this was bad.

Rebecca may not have been the stalker they had been looking for, but she easily could’ve been!

Melinda switched up the gears on the treadmill and speeded up. She would’ve preferred to go on an actual run to work off some energy, but the work out room of the Forever Love mansion.

Next to her, Audrey worked on a cross-trainer.

Lorelei was on a one on one with Eric right now, which hurt, which was stupid and another reason why she needed to step up her game. She needed to be more focused, more observant.

She was here to protect Maggie and these wonderful women, who deserved so much better than this.

Rebecca wasn’t a threat. She was out of the show to keep everything going, but she wasn’t a threat. Which meant the real threat was still out there so she couldn’t allow herself to mindlessly flirt with Coulson.

Just because she had lost her heart didn’t mean she had to lose her brains too.

“Could I talk to you all for a moment?” Anisa asked from the door way.

Melinda almost stumbled on the treadmill. How the hell could she’ve missed Anisa opening the door?

Audrey gracefully stepped off the cross trainer. “Of course!”

Melinda switched off the treadmill and grabbed a towel.

“I just …” Anisa pulled up her shoulders while she hid her hands behind her back.

“I didn’t know Rebecca would do something like that. If I would’ve thought she’d ever be a threat to Eric I would’ve told them about us, I swear!”

Of course everybody had found out once Garrett had escorted Rebecca off the premise two nights ago. Anisa had been hiding ever since. She looked exhausted.

Audrey crossed her arms.

Melinda just waited.

Anisa sighed. “I never wanted any of this to happen … God, you must hate me.”

“We don’t hate you,” Audrey said.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Melinda asked. Keeping that sort of information a secret was just stupid.

“We broke up so long ago, at first I didn’t even recognize her, with that camera in her face all the time and …” Anisa shrugged. Were there tears welling up in her eyes? “We didn’t end things badly, I have no idea why she’s doing this.”

A tear rolled down Anisa’s cheek. “I’m so so sorry,” she said.

God, this was wrong! Rebecca and Anisa had done nothing except for not revealing their former relationship.

“You couldn’t know this would happen,” Melinda said quickly.

Audrey nodded and rubbed Anisa’s arm.

“I feel so foolish. I should’ve just said something, I should’ve -” She stopped talking when they heart a group of people coming towards them.

That could only mean one thing in this house.

Anisa quickly wiped away her tears, just in time before Peter, Javier and a film crew appeared in the door way.

“There you are, ladies!” Peter said and spread his arms in a grand gesture as he smiled at them. As always, he looked perfect in grey suit and blue shirt. No tie this time.

That man was ridiculously handsome.

“Did we miss something?” Javier asked.  Could you guys go back for -”

That man just pissed Melinda off.

“Nothing happened,” Audrey said quickly. “We just finished our training, right girls?”

Anisa and Melinda nodded sternly. The crew didn’t have to film everything!

“Fantastic, we’ve got a little surprise.” Javier said but he looked at them skeptically. “Could you all maybe freshen up a bit and come to the lounge room in fifteen minutes?” he asked.

An hour later, they were finally ready to start shooting. All of the five women currently not on a date with Eric sat around on one of the big plushy sofas. At least this time they got to wear jeans and t shirts instead of cocktail dresses.

Peter stepped in front of them as the camera behind them probably captured his perfectly lid face right now.

“Ladies,” he said, “you all look fantastic but unfortunately I only bring a letter for one of you.” He made a dramatic pause.

It took Melinda all her self control to keep her from rolling her eyes.

“Diane,” he said. “Tonight I’ve got a special letter for you.”

It felt like her heart stopped! Next to her, Katherine and Audrey gasped when Peter took out a golden envelope from his jacket.

“Oh my god!” Melinda shouldn’t feel as nervously excited about a fake letter from a fake person, but …

She quickly opened the envelope and pulled out a handwritten note from Phil. God, if that note could just be from Phil, she would be happy.

As she read his words, a smile crept on her face.

“What does it say?” Audrey asked.

“Dear Diane, please dance with me into the night. Yours, Eric.” Kind of cheesy. It was ridiculous to get this happy about a date with a fake person. But finally there it was. Diane would get her one on one with Eric.

“That sounds so romantic!” Anisa said.

“There is more.” Peter said.

All the women looked at him. “More?”

Peter smiled. “Eric had a little present delivered to your room, Diane.”

o0o

Phil clenched his hands just to keep them from tapping against the sides of his legs.

He and Hand stood in front of a beautifully renovated hotel from the twenties with stone walls and golden applications around all the wooden doors and window frames.

The sun was still shining as it was early morning, so the crew had forgone to put up candles on the drive way, but the obligatory flower arrangements were still there.

Such a shame to waste flowers like that, but Phil had to admit, everything looked stunning.

Hopefully Melinda would like it.

For some reason he thought it would be a good idea to kick it old school with Melinda so that was why he stood here in a black tux and fancy oxfords in black and white as Hand powdered his shiny forehead.

Melinda'd probably roll her eyes as soon as she would see him. And this.

Because this wasn't really her style. - Which was exactly why he had planned this date for them. A date for Diane and Eric.

If he would ever get the chance to take Melinda somewhere he would choose something low key, maybe a small restaurant or just a walk somewhere and after food off a food truck.

Or he would cook for her at his place. Maybe she would like that.

He swallowed hard.

No, she wouldn't. Because she didn't have feelings for him. Not like that. And he was a fool.

“Breathe,” Hand mumbled, “and keep your hands still. Shaking doesn't look good on camera.”

He glared at her but said nothing.

“Five more minutes,” Maggie yelled.

Five more minutes until Melinda would arrive.

Maggie walked over the drive way and towards them.  “You look great, Eric!” She quickly patted his arm, before she moved on. “Someone move that flower pot to …”

Around them, everybody was moving. The light team was busy setting up extra lamps and those weird white reflectors.  The sound people checked out the sound system and three camera teams set up their equipment. He could see Natasha Romanoff set up a camera right in front of the beautiful hotel doors.

Because of course the black widow knew how to operate a movie camera.

“It’s good that Nat is here,” he said. “It’s good. Another pair of eyes doesn’t hurt.”

“Hm.”

“Think we’ll catch them soon? Did Nat say anything to you?”

“No new intel, sorry.”

So he had to continue with this charade. That meant more overly romantic dates with Melinda May. Kissing Melinda May.

Fantastic.

“You’ve never been this nervous with any of the other women.”

“I know.”

“Know what you’re doing?”

“Just my job. And so is she. I know that.”

A black limousine drove up towards the hotel.

Melinda was here.

He was so screwed.

o0o

She stepped out of the limousine and his heart skipped a beat.

“You look breathtaking,” he said and swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Absolutely beautiful!”

Her hair was pulled up in a loose bun, her eyes looked soft and her lips looked so cherry red, he could only think about tasting her.

“Thank you.” Melinda smiled at him and twirled in her golden ball gown with lacy details around the sweet heart neckline. The full skirt with tiered ruffles swayed as she twirled. “So this is what you’d like to see me in?”

“Which little boy doesn’t dream about dating a Disney princess?” He grinned.

She raised a brow. “Well, enjoy it while it lasts because as pretty as it is, I won’t be able to keep this look up on a daily basis.”

“That’s alright.”

“Too generous,” she said dryly and he felt himself blush.

One moment he thought he was doing well flirting with her and the next he just put his foot in his mouth again. “No, I mean I like your dresses and how they show your legs and …”

“So you’re a leg men, hm?”

Oh good, she was just mocking him!

She smiled at him. “If you treat me well, I might just show you a little bit of my ankle before the night is over.”

“Be still, my heart can’t take this!”

She laughed and he just felt happy.

Ten minutes later they walked into the big ball room, her hand resting on his offered arm.

Melinda stopped as soon as they walked through the swing doors. “Oh …”

“You like it?”

“It’s … ” She swallowed and nodded.

The room was big enough to hold two hundred people but now it was empty except for a single table and two chairs. White roses everywhere in the room. Hundreds of them. He knew microphones and cameras were placed in some of them. And of course there was Nat following them with a camera.

The table was set beautifully, too. White porcelain and polished silverware. Crystal glass.

“Not too much?”

“Definitely too much! But I like it.”

“Very good. Because I won’t be able to keep this up on a daily basis either.” He tilted his head and raised a brow. “May I lead you to our table?”

o0o

After dinner, the sun started to set. As two waiters cleaned their table, three violinists showed up in black dresses and started playing music a romantic tune. Lightly treading people in black carried in at least thirty candle holders in various sizes and distributed them around the room.

“You really went all out, didn't you?” Melinda asked.

“Go big or go home.” He stood up and reached out his hand.” Would you like to dance?”

“I'd love to.” She took his hand and he lead her to the middle of the room. - Since they had all this space, why not use it?

They got into position and started to dance. A slow waltz.

This felt familiar. This felt like their early days. He swirled her around and pulled her back against him.

“This is nice,” he said.

“Definitely not our worst date.”

“Worst date?”

“You made me cook!”

He grinned. “And we all survived.”

“You’re not as funny as you think.”

His grin just widened.

“You’re just lucky you’re so handsome.”

Yeah, that was definitely Diane talking, still it made his heart skip another beat.

He saw Nat following them with a camera as he turned them around again. - This was a show. This wasn't real.

He cleared his throat. “So, tell me about yourself.”

“Very smooth.”

“That’s me, smooth and handsome – your words. And humble, of course.”

She snorted. “Of course.”

“But seriously, what brought you here?”

“On the show?”

“Every week that passes and you stay … I can’t believe my luck.”

“Your eyes.” She lifted her chin and looked up to him.

Nothing would be easier to lean down and to kiss her. With Nat's camera on them – and most likely two other hidden cameras – she would kiss him back.

And that was exactly why he didn't do it. He wanted it too much for the wrong reasons.

“I saw your video and you’ve got very kind eyes,” she said quietly. “And the world can be a cruel place … “ She gave a little shrug. “You seemed like someone who worked to make it better.”

Something in her tone made him perk up. By now they were swaying on a spot. He wasn't sure if it qualified as dancing any longer.

“I loved my job. The … the army. I loved to fight. I loved it.”

She pressed her lips together and he just waited.

“I went to some dark places and …”

He rubbed her back and she looked down and over his shoulder. He made sure to move them so that Nat would catch his face instead of hers. He knew what was next. Diane's backstory wasn't pretty and though it was fake, fake Eric knew better than to expose Diane to any obvious camera.

“We were in this village and there was this girl and she …” Melinda pulled in a breath. “She had a bomb. She would’ve … She could’ve hurt so many people.”

The hairs on his neck stood up. This wasn't part of Diane's story.

“We thought the girl was a victim. We were wrong.” Melinda looked at him again. “I didn’t know how else to stop her.”

The girl? Oh my god. Bahrain. She was talking about Bahrain. “You saved them,” he said. “You saved the village.” Weak words. He wished they were alone. He wished he could talk to her as himself.

She looked at him again. The expression in her eyes broke his heart. “I killed a child,” she whispered.

He knew what ever had happened had been bad, after all the girl had died, but this … this was so much worse. No wonder she had quit after that.

He wished he had known. He wished he could've been more useful afterwards.

“Thank you for trusting me with this,” he said and felt stupid.

“Still think you’re lucky I stayed?”

“Very.”

She pressed her lips together, tears welled up in her eyes. When he pulled her closer, she leaned in and rested her cheek against his shoulder.

He held her tight for the longest time.

o0o

PREVIOUS | NEXT

[i-write-shakespeare-not-disney]

Warm Me Up pt 22

Songs I listened to: Mercy- Shawn Mendes, The Reason- Hoobastank, Already Gone- Kelly Clarkson, Love You Goodbye- One Direction, What Hurts The Most- Rascal Flatts, Breakeven- The Script

Click Here for Ch. 1

Click Here for Ch. 21

There was one ceiling tile that wasn’t completely aligned with the others. It had been driving Nico crazy since he woke up. But he found himself staring at it anytime he was alone. Which was often. Aside from the nurses and doctors that checked on him, no one else came in.

Ever since Will’s outburst, Nico had asked to keep visitors away. He couldn’t bring himself to tell his friends what had happened. Surely they’d heard it too. Surely they’d heard all the things Will said, all the things he’d called him.

The moment kept replaying in his head as he stared at the tile. Over and over. Even when he slept, he didn’t get a break from it. In the back of his mind, the shouts were still echoing.

“Ready to go home today?” Dr. Ass- something asked him. Nico shrugged. “I suggest you stay away from alcohol. You’re too young to give yourself liver damage.”

Nico rolled his eyes and pulled at the ends of his hair. “Yeah, well. Easy for you to say. You have your life made. Nothing to run away from. I’m trying to run away from everything.”

“Everything?” the doctor asked.

“I’m not suicidal,” he snapped, knowing that if he said the wrong thing, he’d have to stay longer and get checked into a psych ward. “I’m just saying… drinking stops the thinking. It always has. So I drink enough to forget.”

“Well what were you trying to forget this time? Because obviously it didn’t work until you reached unconsciousness.” Nico averted his gaze and stared at the IV in his arm. “Alright then. I hope I don’t have to see you back here with the same problem, Nico.” He nodded and watched as the doctor removed the IV and gave him some regular clothes that Percy and Annabeth had brought in for him.

One of the most infuriating things was that he couldn’t remember anything from the night he was taken to the hospital. He remembered seeing Will and kissing someone. But he couldn’t remember how much he drank, what he had done, whether or not that boy had been in his room, or at what point he’d stopped breathing. The guy had to have been with him. Who else could have called the ambulance?

The connotation in that made Nico even more anxious. If a guy was in his room with him at two in the morning, which was the time the doctor said he’d been brought in, then didn’t that suggest something? He couldn’t bear the idea of it. Not with Will occupying so much of his thoughts and how desperately he wanted him back.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Maybe he should just pretend the night, the last five days, hadn’t happened.

When he was changed into his clothes, he grabbed his phone, signed some final paperwork, and left the hospital. He called a cab to take him to the campus, but he didn’t tell anyone he was free. He wanted to be alone. He was scared to find Will, and he didn’t have the stamina to answer questions from Leo and the others.

Instead, he got his motorcycle, stopped at a McDonald’s for food to regain his strength, and then rode over to his dirt road clearing. He sat under a tree to eat, frustrated with the way the wind kept blowing his hair in his face. He made a mental note to get a haircut. Possibly that very day if it would stall going back to campus.

He ate slowly, his stomach still sore and uneasy after what had happened.

Vaguely he wondered what Will would do when he saw him again. Would he ignore him? Yell at him again? Nico didn’t want either. He wanted him back. He wanted to fall to his knees and apologize until Will believed him and took him back and kissed him again and again.

He just wanted Will Solace back.

At the moment he was in The In-Between as he liked to call it. He didn’t feel hopeless and empty the way he did when he hit a depressive episode, but he wasn’t happy and ecstatic and filled with energy like when he had his highs. He felt numb, stoic, and confused. He knew there were things he had to think on, to act on. But his brain wouldn’t let him think enough. So he was stuck. He was at that middle place, No-Man’s Land, where he was simply focusing on little tasks like eating and putting one foot in front of the other.

He supposed it was the best place to be, mentally. At least for him. He never enjoyed his highs as much as he should, not with that little voice warning him that the next depression low would hit soon. And he hated the episodes where he could barely get out of bed.

So he supposed his mental state at the moment was the best he could hope for after what had happened.

Suddenly his phone started ringing. He looked at it and saw Percy’s number. He ignored it. Then two minutes later, Leo. He ignored that too. Within the next thirty minutes, he had seven calls from Percy, fifteen from Leo, eight from Annabeth, seven from Piper, and ten from Jason. None from Will. He received texts, Facebook messages, WhatsApp messages, even GroupMe messages which he never even used.

He groaned and turned his phone off. He didn’t want to go back yet. Not until he was okay enough.

He clambered back onto his bike and revved the engine. It had been a long time since he’d bothered riding it here. He didn’t want to be reckless this time. He wanted to ride it right. He wanted to see how many times he could go around without falling, how long he could sustain the feeling of flying in such perfect weather.

He kicked off and all that filled his ears were the sounds of air pushing against him and the angry engine as it pushed him forward. Dirt filled the air as the motorcycle turned and sped along the path.

It was the best he’d felt in a long time.

Then he saw a figure at the end of the road. He nearly lost control of the motorcycle in the shock and confusion, but he steadied himself and squinted to get a better look. Golden hair glinted in the sun, and Nico’s heart stopped.

The closer he got, the more certain he was it was Will. Until he had stopped his bike in front of him and was staring at angry blue eyes that left Nico speechless and weak in the knees.

After about a minute of silence and staring, one in wonder and shock, the other in what seemed like hatred and anger, the latter spoke. “Percy and Leo said you disappeared. They went to see you at the hospital and they were told you’d left, and you weren’t answering your phone.” Nico continued to stare mutely. “Are you going to say anything?”

“Will,” he breathed.

Will rolled his eyes, but the apples of his cheeks tinged red. He crossed his arms and glared at Nico. “I’ll give you five minutes. Five minutes to explain the shit you pulled at the hospital before I tell your friends where to find you.”

Nico shut the engine off and hurried to stand, letting the motorcycle clatter to the floor, but never once letting his eyes leave Will. If he did, he might just disappear. “Okay, okay,” he said hurriedly. “Look, I know I said really horrible things when I broke up with you, and I know you think you’d never forgive me, but I didn’t mean any of it, okay?” Will rolled his eyes and turned away from him. “Will, please. I never once wanted to be without you. The truth is you make me want to be a better person, okay? I was a decent human being when I was with you. But that didn’t stop the depression from pulling me under okay, and that wasn’t fair to you. I was being selfish by staying with you. You deserve someone better, someone who doesn’t constantly need you watching over them, and I had to let you go, I had to be selfless for once in my-”

“Oh shut up!” He shouted, turning back to him. He stepped forward, digging his finger into Nico’s chest. “Don’t you dare pretend you thought of anyone but yourself when you did that! Don’t you pull that bull shit!” He turned away, and Nico followed after him, but he was still shouting at him. “The things you said were horrible! I trusted you!” He bent over and Nico didn’t have time to process what he was doing until he turned around, throwing something at him. “I trusted you, you asshole! I told you everything! And you left me!” Rocks bounced off his jacket and to the floor, as Nico tried to block them from sensitive areas.

“Will, I-”

“You left me! Not the other way around! Don’t- tell- me- you were heartbroken when this was your fault!”

“Ow!” he exclaimed as a stinging pain burst above his right eye. “Okay, I deserved that,” he groaned.

“You are a selfish prick, and- oh my God, you’re bleeding.” The anger dissipated and Will rushed over to his side, checking the wound. “Oh my God, you’re bleeding.”

“Well, you hit me with a rock,” he answered. Will ignored him and tore the bottom of Nico’s shirt. “Will, if you wanted to undress me, you could’ve just asked.”

“Not the time, di Angelo,” he growled. Nico clamped his mouth shut and Will pressed the cloth against his forehead, causing Nico to wince. “You have to put pressure,” he mumbled under his breath.

Nico glanced up, catching the expression of determination on his face. The furrow of his eyebrows, the concentration in his eyes, the lip bite. And the flush in his cheeks, splattered with beautiful freckles. “I don’t think I ever told you how much I like your freckles, did I? They’re mesmerizing.”

Will’s eyes flickered down to him, but his expression remained hard. He grabbed Nico’s hand and pressed it to the wound. “Pressure,” he said, ignoring him still.

Nico sighed and looked at him longingly. He began to pull away, so Nico decided he had nothing left to lose.

“One more thing,” he said desperately. “I know I hurt you, and I will never forgive myself for it. I know you probably hate me, and I don’t blame you. I understand if you don’t feel the same, but I have to tell you before you disappear forever, okay?”

Will’s eyes flickered back to him, curious and wary. “Tell me what?”

Nico swallowed and took a few breaths. “That I’m completely fucking in love with you. And it honestly scares the shit out of me.”

The change in his expression was immediate. Wide eyes, almost frightened, lips parted, his cheeks bright red. His hands fell to his sides, and Nico was afraid he’d scared him away completely. “What?” he asked, barely audible.

Nico took another breath and tried to ignore the dizziness that had overwhelmed him. “I love you. I’ve been in love with you. I never said it, and maybe I should have, but  I was scared. The idea of letting myself be so vulnerable to someone…” His voice broke, and he felt the tears that stung his eyes. But he didn’t want to cry. “I didn’t want to let someone have that much control over my emotions. So the best thing I could do was show you how much I cared about you and show my affection the best way I knew how to.

“I tried so hard to show it without feeling vulnerable. Without making it about me. I wanted to focus on you, I wanted to show you I loved you, but I’m not the best at emotions. But you have to know, Will…. I loved you as best as I could. I tried... to show you how important you are to me.” At that point, his voice was wavering uncontrollably, desperate and afraid. But he had to tell him everything. Will had to understand. “To show you how happy you made me even if I couldn’t always be happy. How much I appreciated you, without having to put all of my emotions out there. Maybe that's what you wanted. I know you wanted me to lay myself bare for you, but I couldn’t- I can't... do that.

“So I left you that way you could find someone who could. Someone who wasn’t so fucking afraid, so messed up in the head. You think I couldn’t see it in your eyes? The way you looked whenever you couldn’t fix me, when you couldn’t pull me out of the depression? I was selfish in keeping you with me, and I’m being selfish now by wanting you back. Because I know you deserve better, but I’m still hoping you’ll be okay with me.”

“Stop,” he croaked. Nico looked down and shut his eyes. “You’re right,” he whispered. Nico glanced at him, not understanding. His nose was red. Runaway tears had fallen down his freckled cheeks. “I hated you. I hated you so much for what you did to me.” Nico choked back a sob and looked away. “But how could you be so dense, Nico?” He didn’t look at him. “Don’t tell me I could’ve done better than you. I knew about your pains and your messes and how fucked up things could get in your head. I knew about you using alcohol to run away from problems. I know what each scar on your body means and where it came from. And how you can never let yourself be fully happy because that pessimistic voice is always there telling you it won’t last.

“And I also know about your determination, and defiance. I know what makes you smile. I know how gentle you can be, because you’ve always shown it to me. I know how strong you’ve been all your life and how strong you still are. Defensive, protective, and stubborn.” He stepped closer, keeping Nico’s eyes on him. He wanted to brush away the tears that kept falling down his face. Nico didn’t want to make him cry anymore.

“And I fell in love with all of it.” Nico took a sharp breath, and he couldn’t keep himself controlled anymore. The tears he’d been fighting fell down his face, and now he was crying in front of him.

Nico didn’t think he’d ever really cried in front of him. He’d gotten angry, he’d ranted, he’d been hurt, he’d been sick, he’d thrown up, maybe shed a few tears. But he’d never cried the way he was now. Not in front of anyone. Especially Will.

“I fell in love with the smell of cigarettes that stays in your fingers and your leather jacket.... The callouses on your fingers.... With that stubbornness and pessimism. With your voice. Your dark eyes that never fail to make me forget what I’m thinking. With your laughter which is still the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard and your smile because it’s rare, but it was always real when you looked at me. It always made me feel worthwhile.

“So don't tell me I could have found someone better. Because I found you, and I loved you, and I wanted you. I fell in love with the good and the bad that comes with you. I was willing to handle it. You’re the one that decided to call it quits. You’re the one that pushed me away and gave up on me, I never once thought about leaving you.”

“I didn’t give up-”

“Yes you did,” he interrupted. “I know I can’t make your depression go away, and I couldn’t help if I felt bad about it, okay? That’s something people feel, it’s empathy. But I wanted to make it easier for you. I wanted to be there to keep you from falling apart, or to at least help you pull yourself back together. I wanted to at least do that.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, gripping his arms, afraid that he’d go away if he let him go. But he didn’t move. Nico was close enough to hear his breaths, uneven through the crying. He looked up, biting his lip. “Do you still love me?” he whispered.

“Of course I do,” he whispered. Nico cupped his face and pressed his forehead against Will’s. “Nico,” he breathed.

“Could you give me another chance? Please, baby,” he begged, soaking in the feeling of being so close to him again. His scent, his voice, his warm skin beneath his fingers. He missed Will so much. “I’ll do anything.”

Will’s eyes were solemn, his gaze focused on Nico. Conflicted. It made Nico nervous. Then his warm hand pressed against Nico’s cheek and he leaned into him slowly, pressing his lips against Nico’s gently. Nico forgot how to breathe.

The feeling of his lips was so familiar, so right. It made him weak. He wrapped his arms around him, kissing him harder. He loved him. He loved him and Will loved him back. They would be okay. They had to be.

His fingers were pressing into his side, pulling him closer. Nico’s hands were in his hair. He wanted to forget every other kiss that wasn’t with Will. He wanted to fall apart in his arms because he knew he could trust Will. He wanted to love him in every way possible and never let him go again.

Then Will pulled away and rested his hands on Nico’s shoulder, pushing him back gently. “I need time to think,” he murmured. “I can’t… I can’t think straight when you’re this close to me. When you’re kissing me and looking at me like that.”

“Think about what?” Nico asked incredulously, feeling his heart begin to shatter again. “Will?”

“I don’t know,” he breathed. “I don’t know. I just… I need to think.”

Nico swallowed and furrowed his eyebrows. “Is there… someone else?” He’d seen Will with Paolo and some other boy he didn’t know. He’d seen them together often. Had Will moved on despite loving him?

But he shook his head, and Nico was able to breathe again. “No, there’s no one else, Nico. I just need to think. About this, about what it means. Okay?” Nico hesitated, but he nodded. He’d hurt him enough. The least he could do was let him have time to understand what he felt, right? “I have to go…. You should call your friends and tell them you’re okay.” He cleared his throat and pulled away. “Will you need a ride?”

“N-No, I have my… motorcycle.” Will nodded and bit his lip. Then he turned away, and Nico tried not to think it was for the last time. When he heard the car drive away, he turned back to his motorcycle and sat beside it, trying to wrap his head around what had happened.

He didn’t understand. How could they both be so in love with each other and still be apart at that moment? They should have been kissing in the sunset, laughing and hugging and promising beautiful things. They should have been getting back to campus together, hand in hand, while onlookers stared with shocked expressions.

Instead, Will had left and Nico was confused and exhausted.

He turned his phone back on and waited for it to stop buzzing with notifications of people trying to reach him. When it finally did, he called Leo and winced when his voice burst through the speaker. “Where have you been! We’ve been worried sick, no one has seen you and-”

“Leo, shut up for a second?” he snapped. “I’m fine… I came to clear my head. I’ll be back to campus soon. I’ll let you know when I’m there.”

He leaned against his bike and touched his head again, wincing at the throbbing pain that came from it. He looked at his shirt and shrugged. He had tons of black shirts anyway. When he finally mustered the courage to go back, he righted his bike and rode it back to campus. He went to the café and messaged his friends. It was a little fuller than the last time he’d been there, though it made sense because some people were already coming back from break.

A spring break spent in the ICU. That was without a doubt the most idiotic way he’d ever spent a vacation. Though it beat being home.

He messaged Leo and Percy and within five minutes his friends were crowding him, inspecting him, asking him questions. Nico remained silent until they backed off. Then Percy moved his hair and frowned. “Why is your head cut? Honestly, Nico you just got out of the hospital.”

“Will threw a rock at me,” he answered tiredly.

They blinked at him and raised their eyebrows. “Well… let’s be honest, you kind of deserved it,” Leo mumbled. Nico rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t you let us come in to see you at the hospital?”

“Because I knew you’d all be asking me all of these questions. About what happened with Will, and what we said and what I’d do next and on and on. I just… I couldn’t deal with them. And I still can’t.” He took a shaking breath and leaned his head against his hand. He needed a cigarette, but his pack was in his room. And none of his friends smoked.

“Nico, we actually have something we want to tell you,” Jason said.

“No questions, if you don’t want. Just hear us out,” Piper added.

Then they all looked to Annabeth and she scooted closer to Nico. “Listen,” she started. “We haven’t been very good friends. We don’t know how to help you when you get depressed. And we shouldn’t be so oblivious to what’s happening with you that you end up in the hospital. We’ve been shitty friends, and we’re sorry. We should be helping you m-”

“Oh my God, please stop,” Nico grimaced. “Where is this even coming from?”

Leo bit his lip and rubbed his neck. “At the hospital, when Will left, he sort of snapped at us. He pointed out that we don’t really pay attention to you.”

“And that’s how I like it,” he protested. “If I wanted help, I’d ask. I didn’t even ask Will for help, he just… forced his way in.” He sighed and shook his head. “Look, you guys got me away from a party when I drank too much. My need to drink has nothing to do with you guys. And I didn’t even tell you guys what I was doing when I got checked into the hospital. There was no way you could have known. You’re not shitty friends, okay? I just stay distanced and I prefer it that way really. So please stop.” They frowned and looked at him uncertainly. Frustrated, he rolled his eyes and continued, “I asked the nurses to stop letting you guys in. And every day they told me you guys were back. Even though I tried to push you guys away, you kept coming back. My phone blew up with a million calls and messages because you didn’t know where I was. And you were all there the second you heard I was in the hospital. Shitty friends would’ve gone on a Spring break road trip anyway.”

He stood and squeezed Leo’s shoulder, glancing fleetingly at the others. “It’s okay, really. Thank you. I’m going to go sleep or something.” He turned away and started for his dorm, trying to shake off the exhaustion from everything about that day.

***

His head was spinning with the flurry of emotions he’d experienced in the last hour. He had chewed his nails so badly at that point that the skin was raw.

Will knocked on Paolo’s door a little too hard and tried to keep each thought in line. When the door opened, Paolo looked worried and Will wondered what his face looked like. “I need help,” he said.

“What happened?” he asked, letting him in.

Will took a breath and told him everything, from getting a call from Percy about Nico missing and finding him, to yelling at him and throwing rocks at him, to the sudden declaration of love, to running away. He was completely talked out, confused, and feeling both pathetic and hopeful.

Paolo had listened the entire time, his facial expressions speaking for him. Doubt and shock and suspicion and concern all crossed his face, and it didn’t settle Will’s nervousness.

“I don’t know what to think, Paolo. I know he said he didn’t mean any of the things he said, but he still said them. And then he decides to tell me he loves me and….” His voice quavered and he took a breath. “I still love him. But he hurt me.”

Paolo stood and put his hands on his shoulders. “It’s no surprise that you still love him, Will. Why do you think you hated him so much?” He bit his lip and sighed. “I want to be supportive. I want to say what you want to hear and tell you to go after him, to give him a second chance.” Will grit his teeth waiting for the second part of that thought. “But I’m afraid he’ll hurt you again. And that you’ll have to go through all of this again with the same person.”

“I’m scared too!” he exclaimed. “That’s why I don’t know what to do. I mean, now he wants me back, but what if he just goes back to saying I deserve better and breaks up with me again? I don’t want to keep going in circles and getting hurt. But I don’t want to give up on him either. Because I know he meant it. I know he did, Paolo.”

His friend furrowed his eyebrows and chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. “Do you have it in you to forgive what he did and try again?”

It was a long time before Will was able to answer. “I don’t know.”

“That’s a no that you wish was a yes.” Will let out a soft breath and shut his eyes. “Don’t force yourself to do something you don’t want to do. If he loves you, he’d respect that, Will.” He ran a hand through his hair and groaned as he sat on Paolo’s desk chair. “Part of me really wants to punch him in the face for springing this on you.”

“Trust me, I do too,” he mumbled. “This is too complicated. It’s not supposed to be like this. Love doesn’t hurt this much.”

***

The next day, Nico walked out to the café to get a breakfast taco and a coffee. He sat outside, smoking a much needed cigarette as he flipped through his song journal. He was on his third cigarette when the chair in front of him was pulled out.

“Can I sit?” Immediately, Nico put the cigarette out and nodded. “I thought you were quitting,” Will noted for what must have been the hundredth time since they’d met. Nico bit his lip, unsure of what to say. “So. I thought about this. You and me.” He took a breath and his blue eyes seemed faded as they looked at Nico. “I can’t….”

“You… can’t?” he repeated.

“Date you again.” Nico’s heart fell to his stomach. He couldn’t bring himself to form any words. “You hurt me too badly, Nico. I don’t trust you the same way I used to. I don’t want to date you again and spend half the time paranoid, wondering if you’ll break up with me again because you’re too upset. It’s too painful. I know that you have problems. I know you suffer with depression and it makes you do things or think things that you wish you didn’t. I get that. But it doesn’t give you the right to hurt other people, Nico.”

“I know what- I wasn’t- Will, please,” he begged, shutting his eyes, refusing to believe Will would walk away from this after everything. He bit his lip and motioned for Will to wait with his hands. He had to form the right words. “Look, I’ve… always believed I wasn’t worth loving okay? I always believed that I wasn’t worth the time, worth the effort for anyone to try. So I figured you never would, and I should’ve cut it off before you did fall in love with me. But that was stupid and I see that now. I know I messed up, but I can fix it. I’ll do anything to fix it. Just please don’t leave me.”

Will’s eyebrows scrunched together as he winced. “I didn’t. You left me. I don’t have it in me to try again when it still hurts this much.”

“I thought you loved me,” he whispered.

“I do. And that’s why…. Listen, I don’t want you to just disappear from my life again. We have this idea of either dating again or ignoring each other, and we don’t have to do that.”

Nico shut his eyes and put a hand against his forehead. “What, you mean the whole, ‘we can still be friends’ thing? Seriously?” Will sighed in exasperation and Nico opened his eyes.

He saw the raw pain on his face. It didn’t look right on him. He deserved to smile and be happy. Nico wanted to be the one to make him smile. To make him laugh again. He wanted that smile from the karaoke night. The smile from their first date. The smile from the first gifts Nico got him. He hated himself for causing this heartbreaking expression on his face.

Slowly, Nico reached over the table and took his hands. “Okay,” he whispered. “I don’t want you to disappear either. And as much as I want you back, I don’t want you to be hurting the entire time. I know what I did. And I know it was horrible. I’m so sorry, Will.” His eyes were focused on him, his cheeks pink from the contact. “Tell me what to do to get you to trust me again. Please. I’ll do anything.”

A small breath escaped his lips and a small, tired smile tugged at his lips. “I don’t know, Nico.” He pulled his hands away and rubbed his neck. “I have to go to my internship. I’ll see you around.”

He stood and walked away, leaving Nico to stare at the seat he’d been occupying in absolute defeat.

For a long time, Nico wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He didn’t trust himself to go back to his dorm. There was a part of him that was angry. With Will for saying that he loved him but not giving him another chance. With himself for having fucked up so badly that the kindest person on the planet couldn’t trust him anymore.

There was a part of him that blamed his depression. It was the part of him that told him he was right. He was unlovable. He fucked up too much. He wasn’t worth it. He ruined beautiful things.

Before long he was in his room, pacing angrily, trying to stop the thoughts racing his head. He wanted to shut them up. He wanted to stop them and stop thinking them because they’re what got him into the situation in the first place.

It was about three in the afternoon when Nico couldn’t stand it anymore. He opened his fridge and pulled out what he had left of his liquor. The first thing he saw was a bottle of tequila and he unscrewed it, pressing the bottle to his lips before the smell hit his nose and made him dizzy.

His hands started shaking and he stared at the bottle.

I knew about you using alcohol to run away from problems.

Nico was tired of running. Tired of giving in to these bottles. He wasn’t helping himself by repeating the same mistakes.

So instead of drinking it, he stood and began pouring the liquor down the sink. He stared as the clear liquid flowed into the drain, mixing with hot water. Then he turned and grabbed the other bottles, even the small collectibles, and dumped them too. He grabbed his wallet and cut his fake ID in half. Maybe that didn’t make it certain he’d stop buying alcohol in the future, but it did make it more difficult.

Then he turned on his laptop and ran his hand through his hair in anxiety and frustration. After a few searches, he finally found a number to call.

He dialed it on his phone and waited for the click. “Hello, this is LifeWorks, how can we help you?” a soft, feminine voice greeted.

Nico swallowed the knot in his throat and tried to ignore the thumping of his heart. “Um, hello. My name is Nico di Angelo and… I’m interested in starting therapy.”

Click Here for Ch. 23

[gamesmakers]

Love Is... Sharing Memories

For the always wonderful @thelettersfromnoone. I hope you’re having a wonderful birthday, love <3.

“Shara’s mom lets her wear lipstick on picture day.”

“Do I look like Shara’s mom to you?” Bad question. With shiny blue-black hair that flowed past her waist and wide blue eyes framed by equally impressive eyelashes, Annie would bet that Seya Vergas had emerged full-formed from the seafoam. Before her seven-year-old daughter could jump on that – and Annie knew better than to think Maggie would pass up that opportunity – she tapped on Dylan’s plate. “Come on, eat up.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“But you need to eat so you can learn. Food fuels your brain and your body.”

The pout came out, and Dylan shook his head. “Not hungry.” He’d been such an easy baby. Did some kids just put off the Terrible Twos until they were four?

“You aren’t leaving this table before you’ve eaten five bites. I get to decide what counts as a bite.”

“Mom, what if it’s just a little bit of –“

Time to put her foot down. “I said no, Maggie.”

“No, you didn’t. You just said you didn’t look like Shara’s mom.”

“She’s right, you know.” Of course Ronan would choose now to add his input. He could go days without making so much as a peep during breakfast, even when she tried to drag him into the conversation, but now that breakfast was slipping out of her control, he just had to step in. “You didn’t specifically say no,” he added.

“You both know what I meant.” She checked the clock. Good, they had eleven minutes before they needed to leave. That should be enough time to do something about the weird curl Ronan had going on over his forehead. Annie normally wouldn’t bother, writing off any interesting curls and bumps as Finnick’s genes and therefore not her problem, but today was picture day, and that called for a little extra effort. “That bite doesn’t count, Dyl - sweetie, what’s wrong?”

Annie had seen that look enough times to know what was going to happen. She grabbed Dylan under the arms and ran towards the bathroom.

“Mom, what if I –“

“Not now, Maggie!” They almost made it to the toilet. Some hit her foot, but she hardly noticed. It wasn’t the first time one of her kids had thrown up on her, and she doubted it’d be the last. She set him down before the toilet and rubbed his back as he coughed. “It’s all right, sweetie.” Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, and her heart hurt. “Shh,” she comforted him, “you’re going to be okay.”

“Gross. Is Dylan sick?” Maggie peeked into the bathroom.

No, he’s puking his guts up because he’s not sick. Annie bit back the words. No reason to make things worse. “Yes. Can you give him some privacy, please?”

Maggie retreated, and Dylan’s shoulders stopped shaking under her hands. “Better?” she asked, and he shook his head. Poor thing. “I’m going to go check on your siblings. Can you stay here and call for me if you get sick again?” This got a brave little nod. She kissed the top of his dark head – no fever, a good sign – and returned to the kitchen.

Ronan was still eating his toast as though nothing unusual had occurred. That boy had an iron stomach. “Ronan, call Mrs. Trawlers and ask if she can drive you and Maggie to school.” She fished around under the kitchen sink for the necessary cleaning supplies, pulling out the disinfectant and gloves. The spatula sat in its usual spot at the sink.

“Mommy, I think I’m gonna throw up again.” As she rushed back to the bathroom, she didn’t have time to wonder why Maggie was digging through her purse.

“I still can’t believe her teacher didn’t make her take it off.” All these years later, she remembers in perfect detail Maggie’s proud smile as she presented Annie with her school picture. The deep brownish-red would have done nothing for her daughter’s golden skin and bronze hair even if applied correctly.  Smeared over her lips with all the enthusiasm of a seven-year-old certain they had gotten away with something, it turned an otherwise very nice picture into a complete mess.

“I had a hard enough time with just our three. I can’t imagine trying to wrangle twenty at a time.”

“Seconded.” Annie runs a finger over the photo and turns to Finnick, smiling. “I was so angry at her.”

“Not as mad as you were at me for buying the picture.”

“We could’ve had it retaken.”

“But it wouldn’t have been as memorable.”

She frowns at him and settles back into the couch. His arm tightens around her shoulders as she flips to the next page. Annie snorts at the picture of Ronan, his right arm in a cast, grinning as he holds up his eighth-grade diploma with his good hand. “What is this, the album of all the times I wanted to throttle our kids?”

“I thought you wanted our kids to graduate.”

“Of course I did. I was talking about that.” She points to his cast. “What on earth made him think that riding his bike on the very edge of the pier was a good idea?”

Finnick chuckles. “Fourteen-year-old boys do some stupid stuff. I was one once too, you know.”

“Thank goodness I’m not your mother. I never would have survived.”

“There are a lot of reasons I’m glad you’re not my mother.” He’s still proud of his come-ons. Finnick leans down to kiss her neck. She smells like the soap in their shower, and he knows the same scent clings to his own body as well.

“That’s awful.” Nevertheless, Annie leans into the caress, and her fingers thread through his hair, holding him to her. But when he starts to edge down the neck of her blouse, she nudges him away. “Maybe later,” she answers the question in his eyes. “I want to look through this first.” He keeps his head on her shoulder as they flip through years of memories. He’s only included the good ones, weddings and birthdays and quiet days at the beach, the ones he wants to hold onto forever. Most of them can be passed with a smile, maybe a quick word or two. A few need more time, contemplation, discussion. And here, in the home they’ve shared for thirty-five years, thirty of them as a married couple, is the perfect place for all of it.

Annie insisted that going through the boxes at the back of the closet was more than enough of an anniversary gift. Some of them had been sitting there since they returned from Thirteen to find what remained of their possessions strewn across the floor. Finnick still didn’t know if it had been peacekeepers or looters. Stuffing what remained into boxes was meant as a temporary solution. Later, when they had more time, they would go through everything.

Sitting in the center of the guest bedroom, surrounded by boxes, Finnick had to wonder when they thought they’d thought they would have more time. Nothing he could do about that now. He picked a box at random and opened it. Some recipe cards, a few letters, and three years’ worth of Couture Capitale. He’d forgotten that Annie’s stylist used to send those. Finnick set a few of the magazines aside – Dylan might get a kick out of those - and binned the rest of it. One box down. Way too many to go.

He smiled when he opened the fourth, for Annie and Dylan smiled back at him. Well, Annie squint-smiled, her sunhat not blocking as much of the bright July sun as she’d probably hoped, and Dylan’s mouth hung open as he stared at the camera, Annie’s oversized sunglasses even larger on his nine-month-old face. Finnick set it aside to show Annie later.

By noon, the Annie pile had grown to include at least three dozen gems, and he still had a mountain of boxes left to go. When he found the remnants of a well-intentioned scrapbooking project, Finnick grinned. Perfect.

“That’s my favorite.” Maggie and Dylan chase after the bubbles Ronan blows for them. He can hear their giggles now just as clearly as he did twenty years ago. The minute he’d found it, tucked into the very last box, he knew it would have to go on the last page.

“I can see why.” Annie smiles. “They look like they’re having fun.”

“They were. It took me forever to convince them to come inside that night.”

“I’m sure you pressed really hard.”

“Of course.”

“Didn’t accept any requests for five more minutes.”

“That would have been irresponsible of me,” he agrees.

She shifts in his arms. Now that he can’t avoid her eyes, it’s getting harder to maintain the innocent face he’s spent years perfecting. “And you definitely didn’t blow any bubbles for them after you said it was bedtime.”

“Mrs. Odair, you are really very good at this guessing game.”

Instead of the scolding he deserves, he gets a kiss on the cheek, which he considers a much better alternative. “Thank you. It’s perfect.” Another kiss, this time on the lips.

“Thank you for putting up with me for thirty years.”

“It’s been a chore.” She jumps when his fingers find the ticklish spot on her side. “I mean, you’re welcome, most wonderful and loving husband.”

“That’s better.”

He earns another kiss on his cheek. “You know, Odair, you aren’t too bad. I think we might just have to shoot for another thirty.”

“I was thinking fifty.”

“A hundred and three and a hundred and four?” A hundred and five, actually, but he’s not going to correct her. “Hey, if you’re up for it, I guess we can give it a go.”

“I’m definitely up for it.” He wiggles his eyebrows at her.

She rolls her eyes. “I might love you, but remember that you’re still awful.”

“I’ll make a note of it.”

[heliosfinance]

What My Ridiculous Parents Taught Me About Money

[Please welcome one half of the duo from DukeofDollars.com today, as Jack spills his heart here on all things financial he learned from growing up in a helluva toxic household, ugh… As a parent this KILLS ME, and I wish this upbringing on no kids out there! What is wrong with people????]

********

The first time I rode a four wheeler as a kid, my dad plopped me down on the machine without a helmet and pointed me at the trailhead. This same guy — we’ll call him Ronald, because he’s kind of a clown — then hopped on his mechanical high horse and proceeded to take off down the trail, yelling “Follow me!” behind him. A 90-degree corner immediately greeted me, and with my limited 20 feet experience of riding so far, I was bucked off the machine as it proceeded to climb straight up a tree. I cracked my head, and the four wheeler landed right on top of me.

After waiting a minute or two, I realized I was all on my own with this problem as Ronald was long gone. I mustered the strength to kick off this heavy burden, climbed back on top of that mofo, and then sped passed Ron while flipping him the bird.

That’s pretty much how my financial life started too: flat on my ass with an enormous weight holding me down and no parent in sight.

Lesson #1: Don’t Sell The Shares You Inherited and Blow The Proceeds on Four Wheelers!

Those same ATVs mentioned above? They were purchased from stock my parents inherited. I wasn’t privy to all the details, but the sum I guestimated they received was in the $50k – $100k range: invested in what my parents called “blue chips,” which was the first time I’d heard that phrase before. What I do know, however, is that a $15k chunk started its brief life under the tutelage of my parents as the bluest of blue stocks on the market: IBM.

In 1992, a single share of IBM was worth about $88 unadjusted for splits, meaning my parents possessed roughly 170 shares. Let’s assume that instead of rushing down to Honda Motorsports before the check even cleared, Ron and his wife had the foresight to hold onto this small fraction of their inheritance and just let it ride. They could’ve spent almost $29,000 in dividends to date and still be sitting on a split-adjusted 680 shares, which would now be worth over $95,000; the annual dividend for 2017 and beyond is projected to be > $3,800.

That’s a lot of Power Wheels.

When I draw lessons from this mistake, I look at not only the hypothetical end-result, but also what kind of mindset it would take to ride IBM from 1992 to 2017. Seven years into the experiment, IBM experienced a meteoric rise powered by the turbo booster of the tech bubble. The shares reached a high of roughly $138 in 1999, right about where the price sits today, nearly 20 years down the road. During the ensuing crash, IBM dipped below $60.

Depending on your mindset, it might’ve been tempting to sell at both the high and the low phases: lock in gains in the former, or salve your fear of further losses with the latter. The company was considered the unassailable stalwart of tech during the 90’s, but its waning market position redefined the business in investors’ eyes. Declining revenue and a lack of innovation has transformed the perception of IBM from a shining star to a washed-up has-been.

I try to focus much of my investing efforts on the hold part of buy-and-hold. In the case of IBM, a dividend powerhouse, I’d pool the dividends and invest in a different, more stable sector. Diversify not through selling, but by redirecting the increasingly fat dividend stream into other businesses.

Lesson #2: Maintain Your $hit or It Becomes Worthless

They lasted just two years. No, not my parents’ faltering marriage, still talking about those damn ATVs. It turns out that engines have this weird substance called “oil,” and it needs to be changed every now and then. Three gently-used automobiles later, my parents finally discovered that cars, too, also have this same strange substance in it.

The three cars: 1) Ford Explorer, 2) Mercury Sable, 3) Lincoln Town Car – all bought with < 40k miles, and all dead by 75k miles because of engine problems.

A dear relative of mine gifted me a granny car when I was 16. I loved and appreciated the crap out of that vehicle, old people smell and all. When I scurried off to college, a school that banned freshmen from parking vehicles on campus, my parents decided to reappropriate my car to my older sister for a year. She begrudgingly returned it with a dead inspection sticker soon after the school year ended. Yes, I got a ticket on my ride home.

Surprise, surprise: she too had never learned about oil. Within a week, I heard the familiar sound of a seizing engine. Fortunately, I was able to limp the car to my friend’s house where his girlfriend was palling around with this hot chick in a bikini who happened to be a mechanic’s daughter. Though I’d learned the lesson already, I pretended to be ignorant about checking fluids while she “assisted” me.

She’s now my wife.

The first time I met my future father-in-law, he towered over me, crushed my handshake, and told me, “Boy if you ever hurt my daughter, I’ll rip your head off and cram it up your ass.” The most productive man I ever met, he was always tinkering on something. When he helped me with a plumbing issue, I asked him how he knew what the problem was. He replied, “I had no idea. I just figure out how to take it apart and then figured out how to put it back together.”

That’s perhaps the best repair advice I’ve ever received. Everything comes apart somehow, even if it’s not obvious at first. As far as maintenance tasks go, I rely on reminders. Google calendar is set to nudge me whenever air filters need to be replaced, batteries charged, gutters cleaned, and yes – especially when oil needs changing.

Lesson #3: Cheating and Refusing to Pay Taxes Are – Go Figure – Illegal

Leave it to my parents to find a silver lining in a DIY storm cloud. They ended up donating all four totaled vehicles to a registered charity. Pretty generous, right? Except for the part where they forged the receipts to show that the cars were in pristine condition and worth 4x the correct stated value.

Tax time for ol’ Ronnie was a game he played with TurboTax – fudging every number until the exact moment that the software threw a red flag. It was an endless game of chicken with the IRS. Unclaimed income, fictitious and overstated donations, illegal claiming of dependents, falsified businesses, enormous home offices: if you can think of a way to cheat taxes, my parents did it.

Before I cut ties for good, I learned that they were outraged to have received a thick envelope from Uncle Sam. Those IBM divvy’s probably would’ve come in handy around the time Ronald & Company decided to burn the mysterious contents of that package.

Determined to be their antiprotégé, I once filed an amended return when I realized that tips weren’t automatically included in my pizza delivery summer job W2 to stay on the “good” side.

Lesson #4: Cigarettes and Drugs – A Surefire Path to Financial Ruin and Misery

Legal correspondence wasn’t my family’s favorite fuel. That award would be split between the cigarettes and the drugs. At the age of fourteen, I sneaked one of my parents’ cigs to see what the fuss was about. I ratted myself out with a nasty gagging fit on my first couple draws and was promptly scolded right after: par for the course for teenage mischief.

The next day, however, my parents gave me a pack of my own cigarettes so that I wouldn’t have to steal theirs. I smoked for four formative years until I landed my first office job and realized how much the habit would hold me back in the workplace. And by that time, the free cigarette train had run out of track.

With an hourly pay rate just a smidgen above minimum wage, it didn’t take me long to figure out how expensive it was to roll up and burn a $5 bill every day.

While cigarettes seared a massive hole in the household “budget,” at least they were legal. My drug dabbling experience, getting caught, and the resulting parental guidance all adhered to the same pattern as the tobacco. Drugs, however, were difficult for my parents to find. In me, they saw a budding conduit to the black market.

My relationship with my parents had been strained, to put it kindly, up until the moment they realized that I had nefarious connections. That revelation ushered in a brief golden age between father, mother, and son. They were oh-so-friendly during my mid-teens. Bless their hearts.

Ron was pulling in a solid income by this time frame, helped along by his thievery from the taxman. He approached the drug market much like a soccer mom at Costco – preferring to buy in bulk to secure the discounts. Behind the force of his seed capital, along with the entrepreneurship of the local high school slinger, a small narcotics empire quickly rose in my town. Faster than it had risen, the entire enterprise crashed down hard right after, tossing a few people straight into prison along its demise.

Miraculously, neither Ron nor I emerged with a scratch on our records. He employed me as a delivery driver specializing in felonious interstate transportation, nearly ruining my life before adulthood was even on the horizon. I was a child. His child. For this, forgiveness isn’t in the cards.

Between the ages of 15 and 18, I did glean a few useful money lessons throughout these illicit business ventures though. I learned about cost of goods sold, profit margins, inventory, goodwill with vendors, shrinkage, the compounding power of addictive consumerism, etc. One of my top investments to this day is an alcohol purveyor.

Most of all though, I started to learn about risk. I’ve read that the human brain doesn’t reach its full risk-processing power until age 25, and I know from experience that I was nearly blind to the concepts of probability and consequences as an adolescent. Nearing my mid-twenties, I began to realize just how mind-bogglingly reckless my teenage endeavors were regardless of whether I’d acted at the behest of my parents or not.

The whole clusterf*ck set into motion a deep-set sense of personal responsibility. I learned that I needed to take control of my own life, live up to my own standards, and then reap the rewards of my own hard work, while accepting the consequences of any misdeed that I committed on my own.

The Fallout

I eventually got out of the drug game. The first person that I ever cut out of my life was a young man I considered to be my best friend. He also happened to be the founder and CEO of my parents’ personal apothecary. Little did I know at the time, the night I watched a movie with him, shook his hand, and told him to never contact me again was also the beginning of the end of my parent-child relationship. What precious little of it remained, anyway.

As my underworld connections withered and died, my parents’ addictions grew ravenously. They latched on to as many mind-altering substances they could find to escape from the reality that their house was falling down all around them. And I mean that quite literally, not a metaphor at all.

Their master bathroom had sprung a leak, causing the tub to partially fall through the kitchen ceiling where it remained for a number of years – completely suspended above a mountain of dishes that stared back at the foreign visitor from upstairs, each neglected task accompanied by its own steady drip drip drip of water that seemed to spend all night debating with its counterpart over which quagmire would be resolved first.

I didn’t stick around long enough to find out who won.

One by one, major appliances choked out their last efforts. Water heater, washer, A/C, furnace: all met their demise over a $200 repair bill that Ron refused to pay, instead opting for a $200 baggie in its place. All the while, he pulled in a six figure income.

With financial ruin creeping up from behind, my parents found a frugal alternative to visiting the ghetto: they could manufacture the drugs themselves! I’m not aware of a federally sponsored comeuppance for this crime, but it’s only a matter of time. I still have nightmares of black helicopters and predawn raids.

Lesson #5: Running a Puppy Mill Inside Your House Might Not Be a Good Idea For Side Income

In a last-ditch effort to support their drug habits over their children, my parents turned to exploiting something even more defenseless: dogs.

Because affording a kennel was out of the question, the clown committee determined that the operation should be run indoors. Eventually all manner of canine bodily fluids spread across the floors and down the walls as up to 20 helpless, unvaccinated, creatures were forced to reproduce inside the crumbling confines of my parents’ nightmare.

One poor soul died of a perpetual and untreated kidney infection; he’d bay woefully as he urinated blood behind my father’s overused recliner. They were heartless enough to have named that dog Cash. I’d moved out well before the breeding began, and my bewildered parents wondered why I never came to visit any more.

Lesson #6: “I’ll Just Come Live With My Adult Child” Is Not a Valid Retirement Plan

When the eviction was finally enforced, my parents — considering themselves victims of the gravest injustices — turned to me for help, requiring assistance which absolutely must be delivered in the form of $30,000 cash.

I’ll never forget hearing the words on the phone from my mother, “You have good credit, right?”

Invitations from me to them became exceedingly rare, so they continuously strategized ways to drop in unannounced. Once when I was still under their roof and underage, my father decided to spend an entire year without speaking a single word to me. He returned to this antisocial mechanism later at my own house as he sat on my couch, uninvited and scowling, while his wife tried to coax a few dollars out from my pockets. And if I didn’t have any, then certainly I might have some drugs they could borrow, right?

That day didn’t end pleasantly, and the next time I heard from them, my parents extended an invitation for me to celebrate dear ol’ Dad on Father’s Day.

I didn’t show up. That single inaction, one decision of defiance, was my sole moment when I’d finally had enough. It unleashed a torrent of hatred. He compared my absence — my refusal to fete the fool — to the terrorist attacks on 9/11. My inbox, voicemail, and mailbox overflowed with verbal vomit. I responded with silence.

In the years that followed, I spoke just eight total words to him on two separate occasions: “Never contact me again” and “Leave my wife alone.” I didn’t owe him the time of day, much less an explanation.

Where We Are Today – A Position of Strength

That’s the origin of my quest for financial independence. Ronnie knew that my separation from my parents had something to do with money, but his thoughts on the matter were completely twisted. In his magnum opus on the fantasy of filicide, he wrote,

“I am sorry I didn’t save money for you, blahahahahaha. You did nothing to earn it. Parents owe their children nothing.”

The fact was I wanted nothing from my parents but love and respect. I may as well have asked for the moon. When I was 18, I discovered that I could leverage frugality and a decent income to build a fortress that no person could disturb. Money was my ticket out from under the thumb of an abusive upbringing, and I still get chills when I watch Mr. Collins’ rendition of “F*ck You Money.”

Now, I’m close to that position of ultimate financial strength. I live in my own house with my beautiful, loving wife, and our pets whose healthcare rivals that of a senator’s. All my appliances and vehicles work flawlessly, and I pay gobs of taxes each year. Every single person in my inner circles shares with me a mutual love and respect, and I’m not beholden to any addictive or destructive force whatsoever.

Life is good… And I don’t own any damn four wheelers!

*********

The Master Dukes of Dollars are the dynamic duo from The Duke of Dollars Kingdom. The two bloggers held court frequently, delving into lifestyle and personal finance discussions as they searched for ways to live an optimal life, eventually deciding to invite a global audience into their mindsets by establishing their own blog together. Chris is the younger of the two and recently launched his Great War on Debt soon after achieving a positive net worth, while Jack – the author of this guest post – is further down the road towards FIRE and is seeking a cure for onemoreyearitis. Their primary mission is to help others build their financial kingdoms, providing the world with a road-map that leads to a fortified personal monetary policy.

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My Life (And Finances) After Escaping a Cult

What Being Homeless Taught Me About Money and Happiness

Seeking Financial Stability as a Gay, Non-White, Man of Muslim Faith

[Photo up top NOT of Jack’s dad – it comes courtesy of zachandlinz on Flickr]

What My Ridiculous Parents Taught Me About Money published first on http://ift.tt/2ljLF4B

[fesahaawit]

What My Ridiculous Parents Taught Me About Money

[Please welcome one half of the duo from DukeofDollars.com today, as Jack spills his heart here on all things financial he learned from growing up in a helluva toxic household, ugh… As a parent this KILLS ME, and I wish this upbringing on no kids out there! What is wrong with people????]

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The first time I rode a four wheeler as a kid, my dad plopped me down on the machine without a helmet and pointed me at the trailhead. This same guy — we’ll call him Ronald, because he’s kind of a clown — then hopped on his mechanical high horse and proceeded to take off down the trail, yelling “Follow me!” behind him. A 90-degree corner immediately greeted me, and with my limited 20 feet experience of riding so far, I was bucked off the machine as it proceeded to climb straight up a tree. I cracked my head, and the four wheeler landed right on top of me.

After waiting a minute or two, I realized I was all on my own with this problem as Ronald was long gone. I mustered the strength to kick off this heavy burden, climbed back on top of that mofo, and then sped passed Ron while flipping him the bird.

That’s pretty much how my financial life started too: flat on my ass with an enormous weight holding me down and no parent in sight.

Lesson #1: Don’t Sell The Shares You Inherited and Blow The Proceeds on Four Wheelers!

Those same ATVs mentioned above? They were purchased from stock my parents inherited. I wasn’t privy to all the details, but the sum I guestimated they received was in the $50k – $100k range: invested in what my parents called “blue chips,” which was the first time I’d heard that phrase before. What I do know, however, is that a $15k chunk started its brief life under the tutelage of my parents as the bluest of blue stocks on the market: IBM.

In 1992, a single share of IBM was worth about $88 unadjusted for splits, meaning my parents possessed roughly 170 shares. Let’s assume that instead of rushing down to Honda Motorsports before the check even cleared, Ron and his wife had the foresight to hold onto this small fraction of their inheritance and just let it ride. They could’ve spent almost $29,000 in dividends to date and still be sitting on a split-adjusted 680 shares, which would now be worth over $95,000; the annual dividend for 2017 and beyond is projected to be > $3,800.

That’s a lot of Power Wheels.

When I draw lessons from this mistake, I look at not only the hypothetical end-result, but also what kind of mindset it would take to ride IBM from 1992 to 2017. Seven years into the experiment, IBM experienced a meteoric rise powered by the turbo booster of the tech bubble. The shares reached a high of roughly $138 in 1999, right about where the price sits today, nearly 20 years down the road. During the ensuing crash, IBM dipped below $60.

Depending on your mindset, it might’ve been tempting to sell at both the high and the low phases: lock in gains in the former, or salve your fear of further losses with the latter. The company was considered the unassailable stalwart of tech during the 90’s, but its waning market position redefined the business in investors’ eyes. Declining revenue and a lack of innovation has transformed the perception of IBM from a shining star to a washed-up has-been.

I try to focus much of my investing efforts on the hold part of buy-and-hold. In the case of IBM, a dividend powerhouse, I’d pool the dividends and invest in a different, more stable sector. Diversify not through selling, but by redirecting the increasingly fat dividend stream into other businesses.

Lesson #2: Maintain Your $hit or It Becomes Worthless

They lasted just two years. No, not my parents’ faltering marriage, still talking about those damn ATVs. It turns out that engines have this weird substance called “oil,” and it needs to be changed every now and then. Three gently-used automobiles later, my parents finally discovered that cars, too, also have this same strange substance in it.

The three cars: 1) Ford Explorer, 2) Mercury Sable, 3) Lincoln Town Car – all bought with < 40k miles, and all dead by 75k miles because of engine problems.

A dear relative of mine gifted me a granny car when I was 16. I loved and appreciated the crap out of that vehicle, old people smell and all. When I scurried off to college, a school that banned freshmen from parking vehicles on campus, my parents decided to reappropriate my car to my older sister for a year. She begrudgingly returned it with a dead inspection sticker soon after the school year ended. Yes, I got a ticket on my ride home.

Surprise, surprise: she too had never learned about oil. Within a week, I heard the familiar sound of a seizing engine. Fortunately, I was able to limp the car to my friend’s house where his girlfriend was palling around with this hot chick in a bikini who happened to be a mechanic’s daughter. Though I’d learned the lesson already, I pretended to be ignorant about checking fluids while she “assisted” me.

She’s now my wife.

The first time I met my future father-in-law, he towered over me, crushed my handshake, and told me, “Boy if you ever hurt my daughter, I’ll rip your head off and cram it up your ass.” The most productive man I ever met, he was always tinkering on something. When he helped me with a plumbing issue, I asked him how he knew what the problem was. He replied, “I had no idea. I just figure out how to take it apart and then figured out how to put it back together.”

That’s perhaps the best repair advice I’ve ever received. Everything comes apart somehow, even if it’s not obvious at first. As far as maintenance tasks go, I rely on reminders. Google calendar is set to nudge me whenever air filters need to be replaced, batteries charged, gutters cleaned, and yes – especially when oil needs changing.

Lesson #3: Cheating and Refusing to Pay Taxes Are – Go Figure – Illegal

Leave it to my parents to find a silver lining in a DIY storm cloud. They ended up donating all four totaled vehicles to a registered charity. Pretty generous, right? Except for the part where they forged the receipts to show that the cars were in pristine condition and worth 4x the correct stated value.

Tax time for ol’ Ronnie was a game he played with TurboTax – fudging every number until the exact moment that the software threw a red flag. It was an endless game of chicken with the IRS. Unclaimed income, fictitious and overstated donations, illegal claiming of dependents, falsified businesses, enormous home offices: if you can think of a way to cheat taxes, my parents did it.

Before I cut ties for good, I learned that they were outraged to have received a thick envelope from Uncle Sam. Those IBM divvy’s probably would’ve come in handy around the time Ronald & Company decided to burn the mysterious contents of that package.

Determined to be their antiprotégé, I once filed an amended return when I realized that tips weren’t automatically included in my pizza delivery summer job W2 to stay on the “good” side.

Lesson #4: Cigarettes and Drugs – A Surefire Path to Financial Ruin and Misery

Legal correspondence wasn’t my family’s favorite fuel. That award would be split between the cigarettes and the drugs. At the age of fourteen, I sneaked one of my parents’ cigs to see what the fuss was about. I ratted myself out with a nasty gagging fit on my first couple draws and was promptly scolded right after: par for the course for teenage mischief.

The next day, however, my parents gave me a pack of my own cigarettes so that I wouldn’t have to steal theirs. I smoked for four formative years until I landed my first office job and realized how much the habit would hold me back in the workplace. And by that time, the free cigarette train had run out of track.

With an hourly pay rate just a smidgen above minimum wage, it didn’t take me long to figure out how expensive it was to roll up and burn a $5 bill every day.

While cigarettes seared a massive hole in the household “budget,” at least they were legal. My drug dabbling experience, getting caught, and the resulting parental guidance all adhered to the same pattern as the tobacco. Drugs, however, were difficult for my parents to find. In me, they saw a budding conduit to the black market.

My relationship with my parents had been strained, to put it kindly, up until the moment they realized that I had nefarious connections. That revelation ushered in a brief golden age between father, mother, and son. They were oh-so-friendly during my mid-teens. Bless their hearts.

Ron was pulling in a solid income by this time frame, helped along by his thievery from the taxman. He approached the drug market much like a soccer mom at Costco – preferring to buy in bulk to secure the discounts. Behind the force of his seed capital, along with the entrepreneurship of the local high school slinger, a small narcotics empire quickly rose in my town. Faster than it had risen, the entire enterprise crashed down hard right after, tossing a few people straight into prison along its demise.

Miraculously, neither Ron nor I emerged with a scratch on our records. He employed me as a delivery driver specializing in felonious interstate transportation, nearly ruining my life before adulthood was even on the horizon. I was a child. His child. For this, forgiveness isn’t in the cards.

Between the ages of 15 and 18, I did glean a few useful money lessons throughout these illicit business ventures though. I learned about cost of goods sold, profit margins, inventory, goodwill with vendors, shrinkage, the compounding power of addictive consumerism, etc. One of my top investments to this day is an alcohol purveyor.

Most of all though, I started to learn about risk. I’ve read that the human brain doesn’t reach its full risk-processing power until age 25, and I know from experience that I was nearly blind to the concepts of probability and consequences as an adolescent. Nearing my mid-twenties, I began to realize just how mind-bogglingly reckless my teenage endeavors were regardless of whether I’d acted at the behest of my parents or not.

The whole clusterf*ck set into motion a deep-set sense of personal responsibility. I learned that I needed to take control of my own life, live up to my own standards, and then reap the rewards of my own hard work, while accepting the consequences of any misdeed that I committed on my own.

The Fallout

I eventually got out of the drug game. The first person that I ever cut out of my life was a young man I considered to be my best friend. He also happened to be the founder and CEO of my parents’ personal apothecary. Little did I know at the time, the night I watched a movie with him, shook his hand, and told him to never contact me again was also the beginning of the end of my parent-child relationship. What precious little of it remained, anyway.

As my underworld connections withered and died, my parents’ addictions grew ravenously. They latched on to as many mind-altering substances they could find to escape from the reality that their house was falling down all around them. And I mean that quite literally, not a metaphor at all.

Their master bathroom had sprung a leak, causing the tub to partially fall through the kitchen ceiling where it remained for a number of years – completely suspended above a mountain of dishes that stared back at the foreign visitor from upstairs, each neglected task accompanied by its own steady drip drip drip of water that seemed to spend all night debating with its counterpart over which quagmire would be resolved first.

I didn’t stick around long enough to find out who won.

One by one, major appliances choked out their last efforts. Water heater, washer, A/C, furnace: all met their demise over a $200 repair bill that Ron refused to pay, instead opting for a $200 baggie in its place. All the while, he pulled in a six figure income.

With financial ruin creeping up from behind, my parents found a frugal alternative to visiting the ghetto: they could manufacture the drugs themselves! I’m not aware of a federally sponsored comeuppance for this crime, but it’s only a matter of time. I still have nightmares of black helicopters and predawn raids.

Lesson #5: Running a Puppy Mill Inside Your House Might Not Be a Good Idea For Side Income

In a last-ditch effort to support their drug habits over their children, my parents turned to exploiting something even more defenseless: dogs.

Because affording a kennel was out of the question, the clown committee determined that the operation should be run indoors. Eventually all manner of canine bodily fluids spread across the floors and down the walls as up to 20 helpless, unvaccinated, creatures were forced to reproduce inside the crumbling confines of my parents’ nightmare.

One poor soul died of a perpetual and untreated kidney infection; he’d bay woefully as he urinated blood behind my father’s overused recliner. They were heartless enough to have named that dog Cash. I’d moved out well before the breeding began, and my bewildered parents wondered why I never came to visit any more.

Lesson #6: “I’ll Just Come Live With My Adult Child” Is Not a Valid Retirement Plan

When the eviction was finally enforced, my parents — considering themselves victims of the gravest injustices — turned to me for help, requiring assistance which absolutely must be delivered in the form of $30,000 cash.

I’ll never forget hearing the words on the phone from my mother, “You have good credit, right?”

Invitations from me to them became exceedingly rare, so they continuously strategized ways to drop in unannounced. Once when I was still under their roof and underage, my father decided to spend an entire year without speaking a single word to me. He returned to this antisocial mechanism later at my own house as he sat on my couch, uninvited and scowling, while his wife tried to coax a few dollars out from my pockets. And if I didn’t have any, then certainly I might have some drugs they could borrow, right?

That day didn’t end pleasantly, and the next time I heard from them, my parents extended an invitation for me to celebrate dear ol’ Dad on Father’s Day.

I didn’t show up. That single inaction, one decision of defiance, was my sole moment when I’d finally had enough. It unleashed a torrent of hatred. He compared my absence — my refusal to fete the fool — to the terrorist attacks on 9/11. My inbox, voicemail, and mailbox overflowed with verbal vomit. I responded with silence.

In the years that followed, I spoke just eight total words to him on two separate occasions: “Never contact me again” and “Leave my wife alone.” I didn’t owe him the time of day, much less an explanation.

Where We Are Today – A Position of Strength

That’s the origin of my quest for financial independence. Ronnie knew that my separation from my parents had something to do with money, but his thoughts on the matter were completely twisted. In his magnum opus on the fantasy of filicide, he wrote,

“I am sorry I didn’t save money for you, blahahahahaha. You did nothing to earn it. Parents owe their children nothing.”

The fact was I wanted nothing from my parents but love and respect. I may as well have asked for the moon. When I was 18, I discovered that I could leverage frugality and a decent income to build a fortress that no person could disturb. Money was my ticket out from under the thumb of an abusive upbringing, and I still get chills when I watch Mr. Collins’ rendition of “F*ck You Money.”

Now, I’m close to that position of ultimate financial strength. I live in my own house with my beautiful, loving wife, and our pets whose healthcare rivals that of a senator’s. All my appliances and vehicles work flawlessly, and I pay gobs of taxes each year. Every single person in my inner circles shares with me a mutual love and respect, and I’m not beholden to any addictive or destructive force whatsoever.

Life is good… And I don’t own any damn four wheelers!

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The Master Dukes of Dollars are the dynamic duo from The Duke of Dollars Kingdom. The two bloggers held court frequently, delving into lifestyle and personal finance discussions as they searched for ways to live an optimal life, eventually deciding to invite a global audience into their mindsets by establishing their own blog together. Chris is the younger of the two and recently launched his Great War on Debt soon after achieving a positive net worth, while Jack – the author of this guest post – is further down the road towards FIRE and is seeking a cure for onemoreyearitis. Their primary mission is to help others build their financial kingdoms, providing the world with a road-map that leads to a fortified personal monetary policy.

Want more stories like this? Check out these posts next:

My Life (And Finances) After Escaping a Cult

What Being Homeless Taught Me About Money and Happiness

Seeking Financial Stability as a Gay, Non-White, Man of Muslim Faith

[Photo up top NOT of Jack’s dad – it comes courtesy of zachandlinz on Flickr]

What My Ridiculous Parents Taught Me About Money posted first on http://ift.tt/2lnwIdQ