#I feel like so much blame is thrown onto her when half of her co-workers completely agreed with her

[therighthandofvengeance]

Yes, Delenn started a war. Yeah, that's objectively bad. But do we really think that EarthGov would have given anyone the courtesy of asking about why they killed a significant (political) figure before committing massive violations of the Geneva Convention?

Obviously we shouldn't condone this behavior- but let's at least give it some perspective:

It's literally her first day on the job. she just finished her internship the night before

she's been trained for this role and this role alone, her life experience is limited at best and nonexistent at worst

her mentor just died -> that's essentially going from training wheels on flat and even ground, with a helmet to a unicycle on a mountain during fire season... uphill

nobody really cared about what she said until 20 minutes ago when she became One of Them

there were four other members of the Grey Council that were pro-war, she didn't decide to go to war by herself

[cmzucchero]

a love for the ages.

summary: g/n reader wants to take a break from spencer, but things turn out to be more difficult than expected. uses (altered) lyrics from cornelia street, death by a thousand cuts, and i wish you would by taylor swift

requested: yes!! (and requests are still open!!)

warnings: tv 14 cussing, bar scenes and mentions of alcohol

———————————————————————

You make your way back home from the restaurant, alone. This did not surprise you, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t disappointed. This was your two year anniversary. You knew his job came first, and that was one of the things you loved about him- he was loyal. Unfortunately, you picked a man that had an aggressively demanding job he needed to be loyal to as well.

You sat in your car, passing streets, and stopping for red lights. You hopelessly look up and ask the traffic lights if things will be alright. Subconsciously, you think you hear them say ‘I don’t know’. The red glow fills your car as you quietly chuckle. ‘Great Y/n, now you’re really losing it.’ you think to yourself. After some time, you finally make it home. As soon as you walk into the door, you take off your shoes and throw the keys onto the small coffee table a few feet away from you. Finally, you sit down and let out a long sigh. You start listing all the times Spencer had stood you up, neglecting to inform you the plane was late or that there was a case.

Spencer did not like technology, and the thought of texting rarely crosses his mind. However, that did not mean you never crossed his mind. There is hardly a moment he doesn’t hear your voice instructing him to grab something to eat, that he would get more done if he rested, that it’s not okay to mix patterns with his shirt and tie; or that he passes a spot that somehow mimicked your aroma perfectly. 

He had a damn eidetic memory, so he cannot believe he forgot about the date. By the time he remembered, he had already boarded the plane and lost cell service. ‘Okay, well, at the rate of velocity the plane travels at, we will be landing by 10:30. The flower shop closes at 11 and her favorite book shop closes at 11:30. The flower shop is 13 miles away-” Spencer’s thought process was interrupted by Derek asking if Spencer could move so Derek could get some “grub”. Spencer just moved his legs over in response, allowing Derek to cross. 

“Hey, Reid, what’s on your mind?” Emily asked from across Spencer. “I- uhm- I forgot to let Y/n know that I can’t make it to our dinner tonight.” JJ and Emily share a look. “Spence, isn’t this your two year anniversary?” JJ asked, her voice laced with sympathy and bewilderment. “I know, I screwed up.” “Yeah, you can say that.” Emily said with a bit of a chuckle, but losing it as soon as she noticed Spencer’s reaction. “How do I fix this one?” Spencer asked a bit too helplessly. The girls shared a look again, ending when Emily looked back at the Doctor. “I’m not sure you can.” He just hopes he never loses you, he hopes it never ends.

It was no surprise you became bitter after listing off all of the times Spencer stood you up or stretched you thin. You began to pack your bags and leave Cornelia street, Hopefully you’ll be done before he even knew you were gone. That plan did cut out the rough confrontation.

He told you about his co-worker’s divorce, and you felt for the guy. His wife did not give him a lot of room to wiggle. Now you’re starting to think that was Spencer warning you what this job entails for the romantic partners of the team. You stood looking at the half full suitcase that laid on your bed you share. You want to run and hide, but he makes you turn right back around. 

If you were right, Spencer should be over Kentucky. This gives you an hour and thirty minutes to make a decision. You needed a break, but this boy has had everyone leave him in this way, but he answer was clear… you’ve been stretched too thin.

The plane finally landed and Spencer did not take any time to get out of the plane and run to his car.

“I mean, yeah that plane ride was a bit too rocky for my liking, but didn’t pick the kid for a fear of heights type of person.” Rossi said while watching Spencer. “Hell, I would be running like that too if I had an angry Y/n to come home to.” Derek said smoothly walking to get his bags. Rossi made a “I know that story” face and followed Derek. 

You didn’t even hit the tunnel before your phone started to ring. You knew it was him without even glancing at the screen. You decided against answering and just turned around. You waited a little bit after making your decision from earlier to test the universe. If Spencer came through that door, you would sit and talk about how you felt, but if not…

You made it to the door and started to look for your key. Spencer pulled open the door before you could fully get the key out. Your face remained unfazed, but you saw how full of worry he was. You’d be just lying if you said you didn’t feel a wave of guilt wash over you. 

You push past him and stand between your breakfast bar and living room, facing him. He shuts the door and begins to apologise. You have to fight back the scream you felt bubbling up. You knew it was unfair, but damn it, tonight was supposed to be special! 

You see flowers and a book lying on the same coffee table you had thrown your keys onto a few hours before. Damn, he’s playing all the cards in his hands. 

You notice he had been quiet for a minute, so you turn and walk over to the window on your left, above the couch. Spencer watched you climb onto the couch and crawl out of the window, onto the fire escape. 

You guys took every chance to sit out there for reading, eating, talking, anything. It had a nice view and had a way of calming the both of you rather quickly. Spencer followed you out. You both sat on the roof in silence before he said “I’m so terrified of you walking away, Y/n.” You sat, calming yourself and trying to find the best answer before you settled on “I think we both need to step away for a minute. Nothing permanent yet. I just think that would be the next step for right now. I just can’t pretend everything is okay when it’s not.” Neither of you looked toward each other, but you both knew you shared the silent tears streaming down your face. 

Not much time passed before you got up, crawled back into the apartment, grabbed your stuff and left. You wanted to say something more, but you couldn’t bring yourself to it. Saying goodbye was already death by a thousand cuts. You drove back home with tears in your eyes, threatening to spill over. You had trouble sleeping that night due to all the flashbacks you kept getting of your time with him. You knew this was probably not the best decision, but at this point he probably thinks you hate him because he still has no idea what you never said. 

Spencer walked into work the next morning, clearly off his usual game. Derek and Emily realized this and started saying some things that they knew Spencer would correct. To no avail, the Doctor still stared blankly at the papers on his desk. “Hey Pretty Boy, what’s got you head in the clouds?” Derek said, now turning his body towards Spencer. No response. Derek bumped into Spencer's chair, snapping him out of his trance. 

“Wha-what?” 

“Reid, are you okay?” 

Derek asked now matching Emily’s worried features. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Has Hotch said anything about a new case?” Derek’s eyebrows are still furrowed as he slowly says no. After his response, Spencer stood up and announced he would be going to lunch early, and walked off. 

“It’s 10:38.” Derek said more to himself than Emily. Emily nodded in response and walked over to JJ’s office.

Before your shift at the library, you went back to Spencer’s apartment and grabbed anything you thought you needed. Hopefully he wasn’t there. Why would he be? I mean he’s been out and at work for about two hours. You stuff some clothes, hygiene products, and books into a bag. For the past couple of years, he had always been at the back of your mind. Hell, he still is. Your heart, your body, your hips, your love..you're trying to find a part of you that he didn’t touch. Your time, your wine, your spirit, your trust..trying to find a part of you he didn’t take up. You begin to rethink your decision until rushing out before you have an unwelcome meeting with Spencer.

Spencer didn’t quite know where to go. His body and mind just followed his feet. Before he knew it his nose was hit with a musty and sour smell and his eyes had to adjust to the contrasting dark room. He was at a bar at 11:15 in the morning. ‘...great’ he said to himself. He slowly walked up to the almost vacant bar and climbed up onto the seat. 

“Hey sugar, what are you having?” Spencer slowly looked up “Just a water please. I’m still on the job.” The bartender curtly nodded and slid a glass of water and a small cookie to Spencer. She sweetly smiled and turned around to top off the only other customer he saw in the bar. Spencer took a sip of the water and stared at the cookie, starting to smile a bit to himself. The sweet bartender came back and started talking to Spencer. 

“So who was it? You still got a job that you’re loyal to. You seem too put together to be a regular day drinker. Wasn’t a death. So, who was the one who broke your heart?” Spencer looked at the bartender for a few seconds before answering. 

“I can’t blame them if I’m being honest.” He said, diverting his eyes down to his glass of water. He chuckled to himself about what the bartender said about his job “And yeah, you can say I’m loyal to my job. That was the thing that caused the ‘break’” The bartender looked Spencer up and down “The only job I can think of  that is that demanding would be the police force, but, no offence, you don’t look like you belong there.” Spencer laughed, picking at the cookie. “Yeah, I’m sorta the police. I figure out the psychology behind why people kill and my team and I help solve cases with that knowledge.” The bartender raised her eyebrows. “Intense” was all she said. Spencer nodded and dropped his eyes back down to his water. 

After an hour or two, Derek walked into the bar. He looked around and moved towards Spencer. It wasn’t that hard to spot him since he was the only other person at the bar besides a trucker on the other end. 

“Hey kid, you okay?” Spencer didn’t acknowledge Derek. They sat in silence until Spencer finally said “I gave them so much but it wasn’t enough.” Derek nodded and ordered a glass of water for himself. He knew they would be there for a while. 

“Do you want my advice?” Derek said after a sigh. ‘No, I really just want her back.’ Spencer thought, but decided to remain silent. They stayed in the bar for a bit longer. 

“Sure.” Spencer said meekly. 

“You’ve got to win her back.”

 “And how do you suppose I do that, Derek?” a more snappy response from the Doctor. 

“Well, you could go to the library. She’s working today, right?” 

Spencer nodded but was still confused about how going to their work and suffocating them when she wanted a break would win them back. 

“I’ll go with you and we’ll say we need a book for a case.” Derek said, hopeful. 

Spencer sighed. “They’ll know it’s an excuse.” 

“No they won’t. What makes you think they will?” 

“I have an eidetic memory.”

“And you’ve never read twilight.” 

“What?”  

“You’ve never read twilight. If they asks, we say that one of our unsubs is mimicking something from it.”

Spencer was quiet for a moment, then gathered his coat and bag and made his way for the door. 

“Alight!” Was all Derek said, grabbing his coat and following Spencer.

 You were talking to your coworker about Spencer, not noticing the bell ringing from the front of the door. 

“I mean it hasn’t even been 24 hours but I already miss him too much to be mad anymore.” you say, shaking your head, thinking you were being just a bit too pathetic. 

Your coworker tried getting your attention by tapping her pencil rapidly. She wishes she chose a  better distraction cause you kept going on while the certain FBI agent kept getting closer. Suddenly, Spencer ducked behind a bookshelf, leaving derek looking around confused after realizing his friend disappeared. 

“I just have a feeling this will be the kind of heartbreak time will never mend, you know. I don’t know, I just wish he was right here, right now, and it’s all good again.”

“Well your last wish is granted!” Your coworker whispered, slightly agitated.

Your eyes grew as you looked around, looking for Spencer. The only thing you saw was Derek Morgan approaching the check-out desk with an alarming smug look on his face. 

You felt your face heat up and turn red while you grab the book he slid over the counter.

“Hello Derek, what brings you in.”

“Oh, Pretty Boy and I have to get some books for a case.”

Your heart dropped. ‘Shit! He’s in here!’. Alarms start going off in your head. Derek leans over the counter and whispers “Don’t worry, I don’t think he heard.” Your eyes widen, but you are slightly relieved knowing Spencer didn’t hear your pathetic rambling. 

You clear your throat and ask if that was all Derek was getting. He looked around, what you guessed was him looking for Spencer, and nodded. “Good bye, Pretty.” he said with a wink, then turned around toward the door. You continue to watch and see Spencer practically run out of the aisle closest to the door, following Derek out. You can’t help chuckle, despite the pain in your heart. 

“Thanks for the warning.” you said to your coworker, Anne, while you were still facing the door 

“I tried to tell you!” 

“Yeah, sure” you chuckle, finally turning towards her.

“You wanna grab a drink tonight. No offense, but it seems like you need it.” 

“Jee, thanks. I will take you up that offer.” 

Anne was the only person you thought would have room to have you as a roommate until you find another apartment. You felt bad for barging in, but you didn’t think your car would suffice. Besides, she owes you for all the shifts you picked up. 

Spencer ended up going back to work with a stupid book and a large dent in his pride. The rest of the day was slow. There was no case and the other members apparently took most of his files. He didn’t argue with them, though. He was drained and thankful they took that load off of him. He finished his stack about an hour before he was supposed to leave, but Hotch allowed him to leave. He felt weird about going back to the bar, so maybe he’ll just camp out at his apartment. After a moment of thought, he decided just to ride around in his car. He knew the apartment would remind him of you too much. It’d be like sitting in a haunted room, waiting for a sign of you coming back.You haven’t even been gone for 24 hours. How could he feel this raw and vulnerable?

“What are you wearing?!” 

“Uhh, some clothes.”

“Those aren’t clothes for the bar!” 

“I mean they do sorta meet up the dress code. I’m not trying to get any guys. I don’t want a rebound. Just want to forget for a while.”

“The only way to really do that is with another guy, Y/n.” 

“No, Anne. By the way, you’re wearing two different earrings.”

“Oh- thanks!”

Anne rushed back into the bathroom while you stood in the middle of the living room. You felt a bit awkward, so you pulled your phone out of your jeans. ‘What does she mean ‘these aren’t bar clothes’?’ you thought. You were wearing jeans, converse, and a jacket over a shirt. What else are you supposed to wear? 

You were broken from your thoughts by Anne walking out and hollering. You two weren’t very similar, whatsoever, but she was your closest friend in D.C., besides Spencer, but that doesn’t really count right now, does it? Anne was ushering you out the door with her, only pausing to lock her apartment door. You had no idea how this night was going to play out. 

“C’mon, you came here to forget- shot.”

Anne was persistent trying to help you forget Spencer. You would’ve complied if you knew that you getting drunk wouldn't be enough. Once the morning came, you would be hit with the realization that he was not yours. 

You endured a few more shots before sneaking away from Anne. You left her in a booth while you climbed up into a bar stool. 

“Hey hon, whatcha want?”

“Just a water please”

The bartender gave a nod and slid the water over. She tended to a few other customers before she circled back to you. 

“So what’s got you in the slumps?”

You’re a bit taken aback from her blunt demeanor, but at least she wasn’t giving you shots.

“I asked my...my boyfriend? I don’t know, I asked for a break.”

“And now you’re upset?”

“Yeah, I am. Sounds so stupid, but I think it’s too late to go back to him. I just got so frustrated! He’s more loyal to his job than to me. I mean, it’s a noble job, I’m not that upset about that, he just doesn’t communicate well!”

The bartender looked like she knew something when you talked about how Spencer was loyal to his job. You brushed it off as her being familiar with the same situation. 

“I don’t think it’s too late. I actually think he might be just as down in the dumps as you are.” 

“I don’t know. What makes you think that?”

“Cause there was a tweaky little guy in here earlier today. Eileene gave him a glass of water. I was eavesdropping from the booth. He barely talked- just poked at his cookie.” 

You felt your heart start to race. Spencer was upset! ‘Of course he is, idiot.’ you cursed yourself. 

You looked back up to the bartender, thanked her, slid a 10 across the bar, and rushed over to find Anne. 

Spencer had been driving for a while now and he figured he should probably brace himself to enter the apartment. 

He felt a painful ping in his chest when he passed the street the apartment complex rested on. All the memories started flooding back in. The dinners- cut to the break up. The Doctor Who marathons- cut to the breakup. All the whispered questions asking what someone meant in a movie- cut to the breakup. He knew he wouldn’t be able to pass the bathroom without smelling you. 

Spencer opened the door and stood in the doorway for a minute, taking in the picture. You weren’t cooking, or dancing to Dean Martin; you weren’t lying on your stomach, reading; you weren’t hunched over your laptop, writing; and he didn’t hear your soft snores from the bedroom. It was colorless, silent, and empty. 

After a few shaky steps towards the living room, he shut the door. He felt like a stranger in his own apartment. Without you, it was so bland and different. He couldn’t stomach any food, and he had already completely marked out the idea of going anywhere near the bathroom for a shower. 

Spencer fell onto the couch and just stared. Your shoes weren’t by the door with your socks kicked several feet from them. Your keys were missing from their usual spot. Your presence was gone. And until yours came back, Spencer’s was gone.

You have two choices. Keep your pride and learn to live without Spencer, or, you would swallow your pride and go back home. Between the pain in your heart and the rain, you chose the latter. 

He was upset, he skipped work, he came into your library. You stopped in your tracks. They had a case. He shouldn’t be home. He wouldn’t be there. If he’s not then maybe that’s just the universe- ‘No, Y/n, last time you thought the universe would choose for you it was wrong. It’s the thing that got you into this shit show.’ You began to walk again, quickening your pace every block you pass. 

Spencer didn’t know how much time had passed when he heard a knock on the door. He slowly got up, trying to piece himself together for Derek or anyone else on the other side of the door. He had gotten to the coffee table when he heard keys jingling. His entire body halted, then jerked forward. He swung the door open as soon as you stuck the key into the lock. 

You and Spencer stare at each other before, in unison, you practically leaped forward. You missed his smell. You have gone weeks without seeing him, but you never missed him as much as you have in these 24 hours. Spencer felt his spirit recharge the longer he held onto you. It made no sense to him, but he didn’t question it. He just wanted to stay like that, with you, forever. 

“I probably smell like a wet dog.” you say, muffled, into his chest. 

Spencer let out a laugh and pulled you out, arm length away, and still holding onto your shoulders. “Yeah, but I don’t really care right now.” You both break into ear-to-ear smiles while he pulls you back in to shut the door. He wanted both of you to stay in that apartment forever. 

Both of you awkwardly stood in the hall between the living room and kitchen. 

“I’m sorry.” you practically blurt out “I was just mad and childish. I wanted to be alone but I didn’t necessarily want to break it off. I think that was the anger. I don’t know. I just want that to go away. I’m sorry-” your rambling was cut off by spencer. 

“Y/n, it’s in the past. It’s over now. You’re back. I’m back. It’s fine.” 

You weakly laugh and just step back into him, tucking your head into his chest. He wraps his arms around you.

Spencer had always said it was a great love you two shared. You’re just so glad that the pages are still being written.

AN: Hello, thank you so much for reading!! I hope you liked it!! I always accept constructive criticism!! This one was a challenge! Between making 3 breakup songs have a happy ending, and all the technical difficulties, it was a bit hectic, but SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE!! I love challenges, so if you have any requests, send them my way (guidelines are in masterlist)!! Hope everyone has a day/night!!! <333

[thephantomofthe-internet]

And the World goes Soft

Steve Harrington x Reader (Future AU)

Words: 3,730

Warnings: Blood mention, injury mention, insecurities, general fluff

Author’s Note: I was inspired by a fanfiction that I can no longer find :( but it was a Steve as a bartender fic, I would tag the potential writers but I don’t want to bother them, but when I find it the world will know!

Masterlist

When Steve walked into your shared apartment, he looked like absolute shit. He’d worked a devil’s double-he closed the bar and then opened it only a few hours later. You couldn’t remember him coming to bed the night before, and you’d left before him to make it into Gary Garden Court mall’s Sears to open the makeup counter. You both had the opening shifts that morning and while you knew that your shift would pay you basic minimum wage to deal with stuffy older women all trying to buy orange lipstick and bringing in their young daughters to have mall makeovers before school dances. Steve, on the other hand, would get paid less than minimum wage to lift heavy cases of beer and liquor, prep the rail for the night shift, and still serve the saddest drunks in the world their three beer lunches.

By the way he threw down his gym bag, the shift was gruesome. The bags under his eyes were blotchy blue and purple and heavy, his eyes dull and lids sagging over his pupils. His hair was greasy and hidden under a blue baseball cap. His work bag stunk like grease. By the looks at him, he probably had to step into the kitchen as well. You dropped your thin paperback on the couch and swung your feet onto the floor.

“Did Anthony not show up again?” you asked, standing to meet him in the doorway. You pressed a kiss to his temple. He was sweaty. They must have been busy, mornings were usually pretty safe. That was the only reason Steve picked up the shift, his co-worker Hannah had practically begged him to cover for her.

“He was two hours late,” Steve sighed bitterly. Anthony was the worst guy in the kitchen, he was always either late or absent from work, but because he was the general manager’s nephew he never got fired. “I had to do the whole kitchen put away while Mike opened up everything.”

“I’m sorry baby,” you smiled sadly. He skin and hair smelt of fryer grease. It was a pungent odour that you were very used to. Steve shrugged half heartedly. He reached over his head and pulled off the olive crewneck sweatshirt he’d thrown over his uniform. The sweater was ancient; he’d had it since high school and was more than showing its wear and tear. Steve winced audibly, pulling an arm behind him to clutch at his lower back.

“Did you hurt yourself at work again?”You asked as he pulled off the other sleeve and dropped the sweatshirt on top of his bag.

“Yeah, heavy wing boxes, no help.” Steve said through gritted teeth.

“Did you tell Mike?” you asked, taking the hat off his head so he didn’t have to lift his arms over his head again.

“Nah, no point, I won’t die.” You furrowed your brow. Steve always acted tougher than he actually was; years of putting other’s safety above his made him constantly put himself last on his own list. It made you sad to watch him wear himself down for shitty managers and co-workers who cared more about filling their own pockets than taking care of one another.

“You should go take a bath, soak your back.” You said, reaching down to pick up his work bag. Steve nodded, hobbling towards your shared bathroom. Once the door shut, you picked up his things. You felt terrible for him. He did so much for you to make life easier for the pair of you. You knew that he still didn’t think you should’ve left with him. He had all these ideas about who you could be, who you should be. But what he didn’t understand is that none of that really mattered to you. You didn’t care about big fancy college degrees or the Harrington family wealth or trust funds. You cared about Steve. Steve made you happy. You could be living in absolute shit with him and you’d still be happy. And your little studio apartment made you happy, with its cool teal glass brick pillars and the big windows facing out into the busy street. Living in downtown Gary wasn’t exactly the little haven you’d expected for your life, you’d selfishly imagined your own little box build house in the suburbs, with uniforms lawns and pastel doors. You wanted the life your parents had made you, a safe space for kids to grow up. But you knew in your heart that even the safest, quietest small towns in the world weren’t safe.

You heard the water start and you turned your attention to the mess Steve had left behind. You threw his work bag under the coffee table under the window, where it belonged, and turned your attention to Steve’s sweater. It was ancient, but you knew that it was Steve’s favourite. It comforted him when he was upset or had night terrors. He wore it whenever he wanted to feel a bit of security. You examined the fabric. It was beat-the neck had a chunk of fabric missing, showing the fleece underneath, the sleeve cuffs had holes and seams along the arms had holes in between the seams. You felt bad for the thing. Steve tried to take care of his clothes the best he could, but he couldn’t sew. Hemlines would fall and Steve would just throw the shirt into the back of his closet until he was desperate for clothes. He’d buy a whole new pair of jeans if he ripped the knee open. You found the piles of forgotten shirts when you moved in with him and had taken on the slow process of fixing them all. Steve never really seemed to notice. Every time he went for an old shirt do some work in and found it hemmed, he merely shrugged it off, blamed it on his memory. Get your head beat in enough times and you start to lose some things. Steve couldn’t remember most of elementary school and most of the fire at Star Court mall, the combination of drugs and the concussion he’d gotten fucked up his brain for a summer.

You were determined to fix the sweater. You wandered to your desk, pulling out the broken swivel chair and opening the drawer. You had a few spools of thread in your sewing kit; the basic black and white, along with a red and a navy blue. You kept the kit in the back of your desk, although a couple spools of pastel pink, purple, and green thread rolled around up front, leftovers from high school home economics. You didn’t have the exact colour to match Steve’s sweater, so the pastel green would have to do. You grabbed that, along with a needle and the pink scissors from the cup of pens on the top of your desk. You brought your supplies out into the space zoned out as your living room. There were three holes on the right cuff and one small hole on the right sleeve, and one hole on the left cuff and one hole on the right sleeve. The left sleeve was much for wear than the right, one wrong hook of the thumb and the whole cuff could be taken off the sleeve. You focused on that sleeve first.

You wouldn’t bother with pins to hold the material together; you’d simply do a free stitch. You cut off an arms length of thread and slid the needle through, knotting the ends together. You started with cuff, since it would be the easiest. You stabbed the needle into the fabric, bobbing through the material in a straight, basic stitch. It took you all of two minutes. You’d gotten quick at hand sewing from fixing up Steve’s wardrobe. You didn’t want to make a big deal of it, mainly because Steve would feel bad about you taking care of him. He liked to feel self-sufficient, and he was but everyone needed a bit of help once and awhile.

“Baby?” you heard Steve call from behind the closed bathroom door.

“Yeah?” you called, knotting off the green thread once, then twice. You snipped off the excess thread and stabbed the needle into the couch, the excess thread hanging off the eye. You knotted it off and started in on the sleeve, turning it inside out.

“Will you come and sit with me? I’m lonely.” Steve called. The bathtub you had barely held him, but he still tried to get you to join him in there every time he took a bath.

You sighed through your nose “Alright, baby.” You collected up your supplies, bundling them in your arms and padding your way into the bathroom. You kicked Steve’s work clothes into the hall as you opened the door, a silent reminder to wash that shit later. His clothes stunk. Steve looked like a poorly done piece of origami, crumpled up in the tiny white tub. It was barely five feet in length and Steve was a strong six two, his legs hung out of the tub in the open air, his torso pulled into the hot water. He’s steamed up the mirror and made the whole bathroom humid. You flipped down the toilet seat and dropped your supplies on the counter top.

“Baby, come sit with me…”Steve whined, his head low in the tub, only his hair visible.

“I am sitting with you,” you chuckled. You had taken to doing a ladder stitch up the open place in the sleeve. It wasn’t as though the seam had ripped, the sleeve had simply been surged shut and the surging had come up and pulled away. It was a cheap sweater. You struggled to pull the needle through the other side of the fabric; it was thick and the needle was hooked at the end, which meant that it hooked on every loose bit of fluff on the material. You stuck your hand through the cuff to grab the needle and push it back in to make the next stitch.

“You’re too far away…” Steve complained quietly.

“And our tub is too tiny,” you replied “When we can afford a bigger place, we’ll get one with a nice tub. Then we’ll take as many baths as you want.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep…” Steve chuckled. You sat in silence for awhile, long enough to finish off the left sleeve and start in on the right. Steve didn’t seem to notice the sounds of scissors snipping or the thread unwinding from the spool. He hummed quietly to himself. Sometimes he’d sing when he thought no one was listening. He had a nice voice; you wished he’d sing more. But his quiet humming was comforting. It reminded you of driving around with him on the nights he couldn’t sleep. He’d drive in silence for awhile, the radio playing softly, and whenever a song he liked came on he’d hum along. You’d fall asleep in the passenger seat some nights; you hand on his arm to remind him that you were still there. You’d wake up to hear him humming along to Chris de Burgh or Stevie Nicks as the station began to transition from the smoother songs to the morning zoo crew shtick. You remember waking up to the sunrise and forcing Steve into the passenger seat when you realized how long he’d been driving. There were mornings when you didn’t know where you were anymore and you’d have to figure out where the hell you were. Still, you’d let him sleep as you winded your way back into Hawkins. He only seemed to be able to sleep with someone there with him. Driving became his move after he got worried that calling you at two in the morning was upsetting you. It didn’t bother you at all, but the phone ringing early in the morning more than upset your parents. Sitting with Steve in the tub felt like those nights in the car, or on the phone, not so much talking so much as checking that you’re still there and that he was still okay.

“What’re you doing over there?” Steve asked. You heard the water slosh and watched as Steve’s legs slipped back into the tub and his head pop out from over the tub’s ledge. You smiled shyly, lifting the sleeve of his sweater. “What’re you doing with my sweater?” He seemed perplexed by you having it. Steve still wasn’t used to people wanting to take care of him. He was so used to being self sufficient that letting people take care of him was still foreign to him.

“I’m fixing it. It’s all ripped and worn to shit.” You turned your attention back to your sewing. You’d finished patching up the right cuff and had turned your attention to the last rip. You flipped the sleeve inside out and jabbed the needle into the fabric.

“You don’t have to do that, I can fix it.” Steve replied awkwardly, sinking low in the tub again.

“I know you can, but it’s no issue for me,” you said “Besides, I’ve been fixing your shirts for months now.” Steve frowned, looking down at his chest. He didn’t like to be care taken for, it made him feel small and useless. It reminded him of when his mother would burst into his room and start picking up after him, muttering over how ungrateful and lazy he was. He never asked for her to do that, he never expected it, but it was a constant reminder that he wasn’t good enough. That he was still too much of a child to take care of himself.

Steve was silent for too long. You knew in your heart that helping Steve wasn’t always easy. He didn’t accept help like other people did, he was too brave to ask for it and too cowardly to admit that he ever needed help. He wanted to be brave, to take care of himself without anyone else’s help. And he did that, every day without comment or complaint, but it hurt to watch him struggle sometimes. He struggled to hard to be the bigger breadwinner in your house. He was still on your ass to quit your job and go to school. In his mind, he could handle it on his own. But you both knew, even if he wouldn’t admit it, that extra shifts at the bar wouldn’t keep a roof over your head without you working too, it was just too expensive to live on minimum wage, even in a shitty neighbourhood in Indiana. You wouldn’t pretend that it wasn’t brave of him to declare that he could handle it, it was almost romantic, but you were just as brave as him and you wouldn’t watch him break himself apart to give you a life only marginally better than what you already had.

“Baby…you know that I don’t do things for you because I don’t think you can do them, right?” you asked. Steve was silent for a moment. You heard him shift in the tub. The room was starting to go cool, the fog on the mirror fading away. The water in the tub must be uncomfortably cool. You wished he’d turn on the water and add a bit more to the tub, to at least add some sound to the room and warm it up again. You were starting to get cold.

Steve sighed quietly “I know…”

“Do you?”

That was a hard question. Harder than Steve had expected. He wanted to believe you. He did trust you, more than anyone else in the world, and he almost always believed you. But he wasn’t so sure on that one. He still felt like such a child so much of the time. He was still so young, most of his coworkers were older than him, and the ones his age only worked part time and went to college. Half of them still lived at home with their parents too. Most people who he met either took pity on him or outright judged him. When he mentioned that he lived with his girlfriend out here, one of his coworkers asked if she was pregnant. If he’d gotten kicked out. He was still viewed as too young for the life he was trying to build for himself. His father still thought he was coming back. He’d get on the phone after Steve’s mother every couple months to ask when his little experiment was done. He didn’t understand that this wasn’t an experiment, this was life now. That he wasn’t coming back to take some entry position at the company, where he could get shit on by his father in a corporate scenario as well as at home. That he was going to make it on his own. And Steve was determined to make it, and to make it with you.

“Honestly?” you nodded, hoping to god that he’d actually admit a feeling. “I’m not used to people trying to help me without asking for something in return. People usually want something from me. And then there are my parents…”

“I understand,” you sighed softly, stabbing the needle into the material and setting it on the toilet seat. You stood and walked over to the tub, sitting down on the cold tile outside the tub. “All I want to do is help you. I know you can’t sew and I can, so I just wanted to do something for you. I know that this is your favourite sweater and it needed a bit of mending.”

“I can sew…” Steve muttered awkwardly. You looked behind you to see him pouting like a child, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. It was strangely adorable, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Oh yeah, I have the scar on my leg to prove it.” Your hand came to touch the jagged scar on your calf. You’d been hurt in an attack, the onetime Steve let you anywhere near the monsters he willingly threw himself at, and came away with a massive wound four inches long and deep. Steve had promised that he could patch you up and had done his best to clean and stitch the wound shut. It never got infected, thank god, but it didn’t heal even or flat. The scar was still lumpy and dark in spots. You were proud of the little scar, but you could tell that Steve was still a bit ashamed of what he’d done to you. You watched as his face changed, defeat flashing in his deep, warm eyes.

“Hey,” you reached out and took his hand “I like my little scar. You saved my life that day…” Steve gave you a small smile.

“I made a mess of it though…” he whispered to himself.

“No, Steve,” you squeezed his hand in yours, turning your full body to look at him, leaning your other arm on the ledge of the tub. It was a bit strange having such an earnest conversation while Steve was buck naked, you worried that he felt overexposed with you watching him. You held his gaze. “You didn’t mess anything up, you saved my life.”

“You would’ve done the same for me…”

“I would have, happily, and that’s because I love you.” Steve still smiled like a little kid whenever you said that you loved him, it was so sweet and earnest that you couldn’t help but smile back just as sweetly. “And when you love someone, you do stuff for them. And so me fixing things up for you isn’t me judging you or thinking that you can’t do it, I know you can, it’s just me trying to help you however I can.”

Steve nodded hard “Okay…” he replied softly. You watched him carefully, trying to find cracks in his expression. He seemed genuine in his acceptance, his smile stayed firmly in place.

“So will you let me finish the damn work without pouting?” you chuckled, reaching for your work. You’d left the needle end out too far. The second you grabbed the sweater, you jabbed your hand. “Ow!” you yelped, pulling the sweater in your lap and your hand up to your mouth. It was only a pinprick, but the bit of blood seeping from the wound made your stomach churn to look at. You didn’t like blood, you’d seen too much blood in your life to last you a lifetime. You’d seen Steve bloody and battered too many times to last a lifetime. Steve grabbed your hand away from you, pressing a firm kiss to the wound and held it there.

“Be careful,” he soothed “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

“It’s just a flesh wound, Steve, I’m fine.” You tried to push yourself up again, but Steve pulled you back down. “Lemme get a Band-Aid, I’m not gonna leave I-”

Steve pulled you down to his level. You stumbled, but caught yourself on the mildew stained tile. “Thank you, baby,” he craned his neck, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. You smiled, running a hand through his hair.

“Anytime, baby,” you mused “Now, finish off your bath I wanna eat and I won’t wait around for you to stop playing princess.” Steve let go of your hand and you turned your attention to your tiny bathroom mirror. You pulled it open, pulling out the box of bandages. You pulled one out and pulled off the thin, wispy paper, wrapping the latex around your fingertip. You heard the tub begin to drain and felt damp, pruney hands wrap around your middle.

“I like your hair…” he pressed a kiss onto the side of your head. You pulled his hands away, reaching for an old towel off the rack and shoving it into his chest.

“You’re soaked, Casanova, dry off before you ruin the whole bathroom.” You chuckled, turning on your heel and pushing out the door. His hands had left two marks on your stomach, cold on your skin.

“Save me some of that pizza from last night!” Steve called, turning his attention to the door to watch you go. You laughed, pulling the door shut behind you. “I love you!”

You stopped in your tracks. Hearing him say that could still make your heart speed up. You smiled to yourself, shaking your head slightly. “I love you too, doofus.”

[shirewalker]

Be My Valentine - A Nikolina Fic

Nikolina Appreciation Week 2020 ♛ [Day 1: Valentine’s Day]

Summary: Alina finds her old friend, and secret crush, Nikolai at a romantic getaway she should have taken with her ex. Nikolai wastes no time in making her feel better. And reawakening certain... feelings.

Pairing: Alina/Nikolai

One-shot

Rating: Teen

Also on AO3

Be My Valentine

Well, this was officially the worst Valentine’s Day in all of the recorded history. At least, as far as Alina was concerned.

She stabbed the heart shaped waffle and fought back yet another onslaught of tears, wondering why the hell she’d still come to this place when the reason to come in the first place was no more.

“Bastard!” She hissed at no one, remembering with some satisfaction the look of shock in Mal’s face when she’d thrown the dirty mop water at his face just a few hours before coming here. “Served him right.”

“Whoever it was, to earn that look on your face…” A voice spoke from above, followed by a whistle, both of which Alina recognized in a blink.

She looked up, mouth parted in a wide O.

A smile. One she knew oh so well. “I know I wouldn’t want to be the object of your anger, sunshine.”

“Nikolai…!” She gasped. The next moment her chair was on the floor and her arms were winding tight around his neck. Nikolai. Her best friend. Her secret crush. Well… former. Former best friend. Former secret crush. Who knew what he thought of her now?

Scolding herself for her hasty reaction, Alina let him go and awkwardly picked up her chair. She looked everywhere but Nikolai, not wanting to see the look on his face. Sure, he’d smiled. But…

“Do I have a huge, disgusting pimple on my face?” He asked, humour lacing his words.

She frowned and shook her head, “What? No!”

“Then why are you so diligent in not looking at me, sunshine?” His voice softened, “I missed you.”

She pressed her eyes shut and half-shrugged, half-nodded, “I missed you too, Nikolai.”

He touched her cheek briefly, forcing her to finally open her eyes and face the music. Saints, his eyes were still that shocking storm of green and caramels. Hazel wasn’t enough to describe them. No. They were magnificent and calling them just hazel was downright rude.

And that smile… It still took her breath away. “So,” He started, a corner of his mouth tilting up, “How have you been? And why are you in this romantic getaway but all alone?”

Alina slumped into her chair with a sigh, “Because I wasn’t going to waste a perfectly good trip. One I paid in full.”

Nikolai sat in front of her. He laced his fingers under his chin and arched an inquiring eyebrow, “And why would it be wasted…?”

She swallowed down the bile and anger that bubbled up with that question. Then, remembering she was in the restaurant of the inn – a public place – she hissed, “I wanted to have a romantic Valentine’s getaway with Mal, so I got this to surprise him. Funny thing, he had a surprise for me too. And not a good one.” She stabbed her waffle again and wished for blini all of a sudden. “Imagine my utter surprise and disgust when I go to his workplace to show him the tickets and find his face stuffed between his co-worker’s legs. Oh, and she was calling him all sorts of dirty names and asking him to do all those things he did so well. So, not a one-time thing. Not that there would be any reasonable explanation for him to have his face between her legs!” The waffle flew out of her plate, startling Alina back into reality.

She looked up to Nikolai, expecting anything but the mix of revolt, anger and pity in his eyes. No, not pity. More like… Like he wished he could have spared her this.

Nikolai picked up the ruined waffle and waved in a waiter. He ordered them a plate of blini and hot chocolate. Then he looked back at Alina and sighed, his jaw tense. “I’m so sorry, Alina. No one deserves that, especially you.” He grabbed a napkin and started to press it into shapes, “I knew he wasn’t worthy of you, always so angry at your spending time with friends… Always so… So possessive of your decisions. But you loved him. And you were so happy to find him again after so long.” He sighed and curled and uncurled his fists, “But I never expected him to hurt you like this. Saints… I want to cave his face in.”

Alina blinked at the casual way he’d uttered such a violent suggestion. But she found she didn’t mind the idea. Not at all.

She drank some water and flashed a watery smile, “I know. I guess I was… Blind.” She shook her head. She certainly had been blind. And scared. Oh, what a coward. Instead of acting up on her budding feelings for Nikolai, she’d ran back into Mal’s arms just because he’d said he’d always loved her. Hah! What a lie. And how easily she’d fallen into it.

“Don’t blame yourself, sunshine. You’d always wondered what could have been.” He paused while their food was settled, only speaking again when the waiter was gone. “So, I take it you came here out of anger. Not wanting to throw away the cash?”

“I hoped I could forget all about it. About him, about the time I wasted with him…” She took a bite out of her blini and groaned, “But this place is stuffed with happy couples. It’s a bit hard to pretend otherwise. I can’t even…” She held her tongue, face growing hot with embarrassment.

But Nikolai wasn’t about to let it go, “Can’t what?”

She mumbled her reply into her mug.

Nikolai leaned in, hazel eyes shining with mirth, “Say that again?”

There was no point in denying it. He knew she’d said something juicy and wasn’t going to let go. She sighed and uttered the words, “Can’t even hook up to get back at him.”

Nikolai chuckled, “Because… couples?”

“Yes.”

“Well, would it be your only reason for hooking up with someone?” He asked, as casual as asking about the weather.

Alina shrugged, “Well, it was my first reason. But I guess I want to feel… Free again. Put it behind me. Feel good. He wasn’t… Well, let’s say that co-worker was definitely playing his ego.”

Nikolai snorted. He needed thirty seconds before composing himself and flashing the most mischievous grin he had, “Oh sunshine. Don’t ever change.”

--

They spent the next few hours catching up, a mix of regret and relief flooding Alina’s mind as she realised she’d missed Nikolai far more than she had thought. How had they drifted apart so easily?

Had she been so in love with the idea of being with Mal that she’d forgotten herself?

“Mum hates it, of course.” Nikolai chuckled, his hazel eyes like embers in the firelight, “She thinks I’m a fool for avoiding those balls. As if attending parties will help me become the heir she needs.” He shook his head and put away an empty glass.

“She seems to be under the impression you’re royalty, huh?” Alina joked, watching the way Nikolai’s lips stretched onto a grin he’d always reserved only for her. Saints, it sent her stomach into a series of backflips.

“You know her. So, what about you? How’s the florist shop going?”

She bit her lip and shrugged, “Not going.”

In an instant, Nikolai’s good humour slipped away, “What do you mean? I thought the shop was as good as yours.”

“The bank didn’t approve the credit and the seller got a better offer.”

Nikolai was silent for a long moment. Then, “And I wasn’t there…” It was more of a mumble to himself, she was sure of it, but she had still heard it.

“It’s fine. There’ll be another chance.” She said, trying to dispel that look of guilt that clouded Nikolai’s eyes.

“But you loved that place. I shouldn’t have been a gentleman. I should have insisted of helping you get it.”

“Then it wouldn’t be my hard won prize.” She countered, just like she had so many times before.

Nikolai chuckled, “I know. That’s why I always respected your decision. Still…”

“Don’t worry, Nikolai. It’s not like I don’t work with flowers. I just do it from my home.” A website, personalized orders and a living room always looking like a greenhouse. Well, considering Mal was out of the picture now, Alina could easily shift things around and have more space for her work.

“You shouldn’t.” He said. Then, in a flash, he was up, and offered a hand, “How about we keep business discussions to another time?”

She eyed the hand with curiosity, “Sure. What does that have to do with your hand hanging in front of my face?”

His wink overflowed with mischief, “They’re playing music over there, come on. Let’s dance.”

Dancing? With Nikolai? A sure way to fall back into that crush of hers. It was a terrible idea. Yet Alina’s hand still found its way to his own hand, and she found herself being led to a small dance floor, where Nikolai didn’t waste a second to sweep her off her feet.

Maybe there was still hope for Valentine’s Day.

--

“Well, that was exciting.” Nikolai fake-whispered as he led her to her room. “We should do it again tomorrow.”

Alina bit her lip, keeping a bubble of laughter out of the darkened corridor, “We covered the entry with snow, Nikolai! We can’t do it again without risking getting kicked out.”

“But making snow angels at midnight is so fun!”

“If you’re the one covering the other person with snow.” She bit back, though her bite was harmless as she couldn’t keep a grin off her face.

“I had to chill you a bit, you were looking so flushed I worried for your health!”

And just on cue, Alina’s blush turned ten shades darker. “Shut up.” She hissed, hoping he didn’t notice how red her face was.

But Nikolai wouldn’t be Nikolai if his keen eye didn’t catch it.

He braced a hand on the door, right next to her head and leaned in until their noses almost touched, “Why? Am I… Closing in on something?”

His closeness was too much. It made her remember all sorts of feelings she had and didn’t act on. It made her heart skip several beats only to then race to catch them. It made her stomach flutter like a million butterflies had burst to life in there. It made her wonder if he’d follow her through the door threshold.

She scoffed, or tried to, and looked away, “Like what?”

A corner of his lips curled up, “Like how badly I want to kiss you.”

What?

Alina gaped like a fish at him, blinking fast and wondering if pinching herself would be too much at this moment. “Did you…?” She rasped, her heart beating faster than it could beat. It wasn’t natural to beat this fast. Surely she was going to faint any moment now.

Nikolai let out a breathy chuckle, his hot breath teasing her further into cardiac arrest. “I did, sunshine.” He reached up with his other hand to play with a lock of her hair, “I have been dying to kiss you for so long, I no longer remember when it started. I do remember when I realised it was too late to make any move, though…” He added with a softer, sadder tone. “He was back and you needed to know.”

Just like that, Alina’s stomach fell flat on the floor. She looked down, her violent blush freezing in a second. “You really know how to woo a girl, huh?”

“I’m just being honest, sunshine. I remember when you dumped a freshly made pie on my head after you found out who I really was. Never again.” He chuckled, “Plus, I love that look on your face when I give you nothing but honesty. Makes me want to… do things.”

And there she went again. Stomach fluttering, heart going wild, cheeks blazing.

“Are you stalling?”

He shook his head, the tip of his nose brushing hers for one aching second, “Just making sure I read the signs right.”

“Oh?” She uttered, realising she had a hand grasping the lapel of his coat, “What signs?”

He hummed and leaned down to brush a kiss on her throat, right where her heart was beating so loud, “That you are thinking of me and me alone. That you’re no longer looking for ways to get over… him.” He let out that last word with such venom and offense on her behalf, Alina found herself actually turned on.

“I… I really…” she cleared her throat and pulled him closer, “My head is full of you, Nikolai.” She winced, “That came out wrong…”

His laugher startled her for a moment, before his mouth was kissing her neck again, “Sunshine, you are… brilliant.”

She started to moan, the sound far too loud for a dark corridor in the middle of the night, “Nikolai… Please…”

His hum reverberated throughout her body, igniting her blood in a flash, “I want to take my time with you, Alina. My sunshine…” He looked up, pure adoration and longing in his eyes, “I want to enjoy every second we get together. All of it.”

“Me too.” She said in a breathy voice.

Nikolai leaned in and smiled against her neck, proceeding to slowly kiss every bit of skin he could kiss. He made a slow trek up her neck, along her jaw and down the other side of her neck, earning sweet moans out of Alina’s mouth to the point she was close to begging for his lips on hers.

The breaking point was so close, Alina’s legs were ready to give out on her.

And that’s when Nikolai cupped her face between his hands and offered her the most beautiful smile he had to offer her, “Saints, sunshine… I love you so much. Being apart was… too much. Too much…” And then… at last…

He kissed her.

And it was…

It was…

Far better than anything she’d ever dreamed of.

It was a kiss with magic. It was so…! The kind of kiss she was sure was what people meant with true love’s kiss in fairy tales. It made her fly. It made her glow. It made her so happy…!

And then, it was over far too soon. Despite the fact that her lips were swollen from kissing so hard. Despite the fact that her lungs had been burning for air. Despite the fact that she now knew every detail of Nikolai’s lips.

It was too short.

“Wait…” She started, only to be stopped by a quick peck on the lips.

“Tomorrow, sunshine. I… Trust me, I too want to kiss you until I can’t breathe, but… I want to take our time. And, well… Tomorrow…” He chuckled, “Or I suppose today in a few hours… We can continue this, yes?”

“I guess…” She let out, still holding onto his coat.

“Well,” Nikolai started, opening the door to her room with a drunk smile on his face, “Happy Valentine’s Day, sunshine. I look forward to making it a memorable one…” Then he kissed her again and was off to his room, leaving Alina behind and fashioning the stupidest grin on her face.

“Me too…” She let out with a sigh, slipping into her room with a thousand ideas of things to do with Nikolai.

This Valentine’s Day was officially the best in recorded history. And it was only beginning.

[therainroguefanfiction]

༄ How To Save A Life… » original

Genre: Slice of Life, Angst

Word Count: 2,003

Pairing: None

World: Original

WARNING: This fic mentions anxiety, social anxiety, loneliness, self-harm and depression.

━━━━━━༻🌧️༺━━━━━━

It’s amazing, how such a simple gesture can mean so much to a person. They may not even realize the impact that they made, despite how big it may be. Human beings have the power to connect in a way that goes beyond any other species, but they don’t always choose to do so. With a simple act, a person can change another’s life, whether for good or bad. That kind of power is dangerous, so I suppose it’s a good thing that most human beings don’t realize they actually possess such a thing.

The more I think about it, the more it scares me. But I guess that doesn’t mean much, seeing how afraid I am of other humans in general. I really didn’t like other people, and I absolutely hate the way they make me feel when I’m around them. I go out of my way to avoid other people, and I make sure that I don’t get into any type of fights or altercations with others. I seem to have a skill, though, that makes people hate me with every fiber of their being. It’s been that way since I was a child.

Back then, I strived to get close to other people; all I wanted was a single person I could call a friend. It didn’t work out like I had hoped or like it always does on television. I didn’t fit in with any of the groups around me, even though I went out of my way to change myself to fit them. I did many things I shouldn’t have, that I still regret to this day, just to get them to like me, but they wouldn’t, they refused to accept me. They used me for what they could get, got a good laugh, and then dumped me to the side like roadkill.

It was frustrating, sure, but more than anything else, it just plain hurt. It wasn’t physical, so there was no amount of medicine that I could take that would cure the pain. I refused to do drugs and I refused to go out and get drunk just to forget. I suppose what I did choose to do was just as bad, though. Instead of drugs or alcohol, I turned to cutting. It terrified me every time I placed the smooth blade to my pale skin. Even though I was in so much pain, I didn’t want to die.

I was afraid to die.

I loved the world, I just hated the people in it.

Still, I slid the blade across my skin despite my fear. It was never deep enough to put me in harm’s way, which proves how much of a coward I really am – it’s pretty sad. It was no deeper than a cat scratch, but it still stung and throbbed, and little diamonds of blood covered it like a blanket. It was enough to make me feel better, for a few minutes, before I started to feel stupid for what I was doing to myself. That just made the situation worse.

I already hated myself for various reasons – fat, ugly, and above all else, unable to do anything right, just to name the main ones – and now I had cutting to add to my list. I was a despicable human being, I still am, but at least I can handle it a bit better now. I don’t cut anymore, though it does cross my mind occasionally.

Perhaps that’s a side effect of the crazy pills that I’m on now.

Though the pills do ease the fear of human beings, it can’t take it away. It’s still there, lingering just beneath the surface, waiting for me to feel safe and secure before it winds its black arms around me like death coming from the shadows. It grips my throat until I can’t breathe, and chains my heart so tight that it hurts every time it beats.

Sometimes I would envision myself in a barren wasteland, filled with nothing but rock formations that towered over me like skyscrapers. I could see chains binding my wrists to a metal plate in the ground, one that refused to budge so much as half an inch. The ground would crack beneath me, and lava would begin to seep through, but I couldn’t run away.

I could never run away.

I often wondered if someone could come to my rescue, to take me away, but I hated how that sounded. One thing I didn’t like – besides people -, was being a damsel in distress that needed a knight in shining armor to come to rescue her. Really, I’d be fine with just having someone that was a true friend, but after a while, I started to doubt the meaning of that word. I actually looked it up, and the definition only filled me with misery, knowing that I’d never have such a relationship.

Sure, there were people that tolerated me and my smart ass quips, like my co-workers, but something deep down told me they didn’t actually like me. I’m positive they only act nice because we have to see each other every week, and often are put together on projects. The day goes by in a painfully slow manner when you’re working with someone and there’s nothing but lightning between you – sadly, I know this because I just recently learned the true nature of my friend, who believes she’s done nothing wrong.

But I’m probably mostly to blame, anyway.

I guess I got a little off point, here, and for that, I apologize. I’m sure my ramblings mean nothing to you. So, let me spare you further hell, and begin telling you my boring, bang-your-head-against-a-brick-wall story.

Everything began when I was twenty-years-old, working at the local J.C. Penneys in the mall. It was my second job, and although my bosses were lenient and pleasant to be around – most of the time -, I still hated it. Not only because I was lazy, but because I hated having to deal with customers. Dealing with the people I worked with was one thing, but having the thought of being thrown onto the register with a customer was like staring my own death in the face.

Wait, I take that back. I’d rather stare death in the face than be on the register with customers.

Thankfully, this rat has learned to hide and run from customers – which would probably get me fired if anyone knew I did that since the company was one of those customer first types. That’s also why I do my very best to keep these thoughts tucked away from prying eyes. I mean, I hated being out there with people, but I needed the money. And in what other job would you be able to cower in an air-conditioned stock room by yourself, with no one to deal with but the massive racks of clothes that needed to be priced? It was heaven, really, but it didn’t happen very often.

I guess in a way I rely on my co-workers more than I should. With them around, I can roll the customer off onto them and get away scot-free. They don’t mind since they can actually handle having a simple conversation with other people.

It was the beginning of Spring, the beginning of April, and although it had been slightly chilly as of late, Florida was beginning to warm up. I didn’t mind the rare thirty-degree weather, it was the eighty-degree humidity covered weather that sent me to the floor panting and begging my family to move to Antarctica. I was very sensitive to heat, of any kind, which is another thing I can add to my pathetic list.

Nothing really special was happening in my life at the time, not like it ever did at any other time. I woke up last minute, rushed off to work, grit my teeth and tried not to harm myself just to be sent home, and when I finally would make it home, I’d flop in front of the computer where I stayed until it was time to go to bed.

See, rather than being one of those kids that goes out and parties the night away, having sex with every guy that smiles at her, I’ve always been the nerdy kid that sat at home, with no friends, playing video games and screwing around online. If anything, that’s the only thing I can say I like about myself. Of course, I probably would have done those things if I had actually had friends to coax me into them – I cave easily, remember?

That Monday, I expected the same routine.

I was only working six hours, so I just bit the inside of my cheek and decided to bare it, just like I did every other day that I worked at this godforsaken clothing store – I didn’t even like fashion, for fuck’s sake. That should be pretty obvious since I only ever come to work in t-shirts, jeans, and dirty sneakers that were falling apart – thank you, Walmart, for your wonderful quality in shoes.

I said goodbye to my mother, and promised to call her which I had no intention of doing – I mean, come on, I only get fifteen minutes, and I fully intend on spending those minutes trying to stay alive!

Since it was seven in the morning, and the store did not open until ten, I was forced to stand there looking like an idiot, pushing the little white button until my supervisor came power walking to the door with the keys. The older woman would smile and greet me with the typical good morning routine before telling me what I would be doing that day.

After her explanation, I’d take the elevator to the second floor – and god was it slow – before heading to the pricing office. Just like always, my team was already back there, scrambling around getting pricing books and sheets, picking out the cart they wanted, and trying to find a scanner that actually worked – those were few and far between, believe me.

The women would greet me, but it was nothing beyond a simple ‘good morning‘. Though I wanted to say something else, I never did, because I never knew what to say, and I knew I could never hold a conversation without doing something I’d regret. It was easier just to keep it short and simple. Seeing these women did make me feel a bit happy, even though we weren’t friends. I liked their presence, and they could be rather funny when they worked together.

Today we were looking for clearance in the Men’s department. Apparently, we had about fifty sheets of stuff to find, though I was sure we’d only be successful in about half the list, if that.

When nine-forty rolled around, I attended the meeting just so I could sit down for a few minutes, though nothing they discussed had anything to do with my team and, to be completely honest, I could care less about who got the most ICAPS, and who got the best reviews on the survey.

Good for them.

Give ’em a damn cookie and move on.

I took my time after the meeting ended because I decided to take my break now, so I could have fifteen more minutes without the threat of customers. I always did this when I worked six-hour days; it was starting to become a routine.

With those fifteen minutes, I spent them in the air-conditioned break room, in the back corner – or emo corner, as I’ve officially dubbed it -, trying to collect my thoughts and prepare myself for the horrible experience I was going to be throwing myself into it. It took a lot to calm myself down, but I managed it, just like always.

If only I had known how different that day was going to be.

If only I had known what was really going to happen to me that day.

I really should have stayed home.

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[rewritingthestars]

Part 2 of my group home au

Part 1

Warnings: suicide ideation, suicide planning, eating disorders, implied abuse

——-

Neil knows what the Foxhole is. He's a foster kid. Of course he knows what the Foxhole is.

The Foxhole Home is a last resort. David Wymack, the founder and caretaker, only accepts the worst of the worst into the group home. It surprises Neil more than it should that he's ended up here.

Hernandez, his social worker, has been talking to Wymack for over an hour now.

Neil sits in the kitchen, fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie and trying to avoid eye contact with Abby, the Foxhole Home's very own nurse. Neil thinks it says a lot, that a group home would need an on site nurse, but keeps his mouth shut in hopes that she'll keep hers shut too. Betsy, the home's therapist, makes small talk over a cup of hot chocolate that she offered to Neil earlier. She's finally stopped directing questions at Neil yet still leaves them in the air for Neil to catch if he so chooses. Neil doesn't, and ignores both the women in favor of ripping a hole in his already torn jeans.

Abby keeps asking if she can take Neil's hoodie for him, which he only answers once with a shake of his head. It's nearing eighty degrees outside, and Neil is wearing a sweater under his hoodie. Partly because it's easier to hide his scars, and partly because he hasn't really been eating and the cold has started to manifest in his bones like a disease.

Hernandez and Wymack finish, coming into the kitchen and shaking hands before Hernandez makes an aborted motion at Neil as though he was going to hug him but thought better of it halfway through. Hernandez says something before he leaves, something that sounds like 'you'll like it here' or ' this is for the best'. Either way it doesn't matter. Neil doesn't care. Neil is thinking of how to kill himself and make it stick. Neil presses his had over his wrist, squeezing until it sends a painful jolt down his arm. If Neil wasn't currently planning his next attempt he'd be worried at how much comfort he gets from the pain.

"It's Neil, right? I'm David Wymack, though most of the kids here call me coach." Wymack finally acknowledges his presence, and outstretches his hand. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem for Neil, but Wymack is just the right age and right build that Neil can't suppress his flinch. Wymack retracts his hand with a frown, before pretending it didn't happen.

Wymack rubs the back of his neck with a sigh, "There's two floors of rooms here. The top floor has five occupants at the moment and the second floor has four. Usually that would mean I'd put you on the second floor, but there's no way I'm gonna trust Andrew and his crew around you, so you'll be rooming with Matt on the top floor." Wymack makes a motion to follow, and Neil reluctantly gets off his chair to walk behind Wymack through the gigantic house.

Despite there being nine other kids living here, Neil has yet to see one. Neil wonders if they were told to stay away to make him more comfortable, but finds the idea too confusing to think about for long. As Neil follows David, he takes note of his surroundings. The second floor has four shut doors, most likely bedrooms, parallel to each other on the opposing sides of the halls. There's a bathroom at the far end, door wide open to show varying towels, hair products, and other supplies thrown hazardously around the room. The top floor is the same layout, besides that there's two bathrooms opposing each other, one cluttered in makeup and the other with scattered dirty clothes pouring out of the doors. It takes Neil an embarrassing long time to realize he hasn't heard noise on either floor and frowns.

"Where are the others?" Neil says, his first words of the day.

Wymack raises an eyebrow at him in return. "It's a Tuesday." Neil looks at him confused before remembering that most kids went to school at this time.

"Oh." Neil says lamely, and follows Wymack into one of the rooms without another word.

The room is more spacious than Neil would have thought a group home would offer. Half the room is obviously lived in, clothes scattered everywhere and the bedspread a mess. There's posters of bands Neil doesn't listen to and movies Neil's never watched. The other side looks barren in comparison, the only thing there being a dresser, a bed, and a few scattered boxes. Wymack curses at the sight of the boxes and it's only years of practice that stops Neil from flinching again.

"I told Seth to get this shit out of here days ago." He grumbles.

"Who's Seth?"

"Matt's old roommate. He moved into the room next door." Neil hears what's not said and bristles. Seth is moving so Neil can move in. Neil bets it's because the room next over was previously empty.

"I don't need a babysitter." Neil says coldly which Wymack snorts at.

"No offense kid, but you've been to the psych ward twice in one month, you can't blame me for trying to prevent it from becoming a third." Neil could blame him for making his next attempt that much harder to do, but Neil figures saying so will only be proving Wymack right and keeps his mouth shut.

Neil sets his bag, his only bag, onto the bed and resists the urge to pout like a child.

"Now I like to think I'm pretty laid back when it comes to you kids, but there are some rules," Wymack says sternly, "I do not tolerate drugs, and I do not tolerate bullying. I don't like to get involved with the drama but I will if someone could or is getting hurt. If you have a problem with any of the others come see me or Abby and we'll figure it out. If you're going somewhere I want to know where, and sorry to say, but considering your history one of the others will have to go with you. Don’t take it too personally, Seth and Andrew can't go out without someone else present for their own reasons too. If you hurt one of the others unprovoked, me, Abby, and Betsy will decide if you should stay or not. Other than that try to stay out of trouble and always ask for help if you need it for anything, whether that be school, people or something else. We have at least one adult in this house at all times and all of us are here for you. Got it?"

Neil blinks twice before nodding.

Wymack nods back. "Good. There's scheduled meal times but most of the kids don't follow it so don't be shy to eat whenever you want. You can't just go into one of the others' room without their permission but most of them on this floor won't mind regardless. I suggest staying away from the second floor until Andrew gets used to you, but I won't hold my breath. The first floor is everyone's space, and my office as well as Abby's and Betsy's is down there too. The living room has a TV and video games if you're interested, but Abby has this thing about making sure you do your homework before, so watch out for that.”

Wymack scratches his head, thinking before saying, "Oh right. This floor is co-ed. The room across yours is the girls' rooms, and so is the bathroom on their side of the hall. Will that be a problem?"

Neil stares at him in confusion. "Why would that be a problem?"

Wymack narrows his eyes at Neil until he realizes Neil is being genuine and shakes his head. "I'll take that as a no then."

Neil looks at Wymack, fidgeting with his sleeve. "Is that all?" Neil says when Wymack still hasn't left.

Wymack sighs, "Yeah I think that's all of it. If you got any questions, you can always come to me."

"Okay."

Neil thought that was dismissive enough but Wymack continues to watch him from the doorway. Neil soon realizes he doesn't want to leave Neil alone which causes Neil to roll his eyes.

"I'm not going to kill myself just because you leave." Neil says, annoyed, even though it's a lie.

Wymack stiffens at Neil's wording, but nods, making sure to remind him that he'll be up to check up on him.

Neil breathes, feeling his chest loosen now that Wymack is gone. Neil doesn’t bother to pull the small pile of clothes he owns in a dresser and instead shoves the bag with all of his possessions under the bed. For a moment he ponders hiding it better but rejects the idea. It’s not like he’ll have a use for it for much longer. 

Looking around he sees there's a small window in the middle of the room. Neil finds himself surprised that it opens, looking down and measuring the distance. It could kill him, maybe. It could also not and leave him paralyzed. Neil wonders if euthanasia is legal in South Carolina.

Neil rules out the window. There's too much of a risk of it not doing the job and Neil's already failed twice, and he wants the third time to be his last.

Neil supposes he could tie the bedsheets together to form a noose and use the window that way. But there aren't enough sheets, and asking for more would just raise suspicions. Neil tries not to get too discomfited and goes to check out the bathroom. He steps over the dirty laundry that makes up the floor and searches. He soon finds that there isn't anything sharper than the back of a toothbrush and frowns. What about shaving?

He searches some more and finds a small safe on the floor. Of course they lock up sharp objects. Neil would have to convince Wymack that he wasn't a risk, or he'd have to break into the safe. It's a spin dial though, not a lock, and Neil never learned how to break those.

Neil checks the girls' bathroom and finds it the same. He goes back to the guys' bathroom, frustrated. 

Neil has prescription pills, but they were given to Abby and Neil would bet money he doesn't have that medication gets locked up too. But they have to give it to him at least once a day. Neil can fake taking them, stash them away, and take them when he has enough. A month supply combined with over the counter medicine should be good enough. Enough to leave no room to wake up after.

Neil breathes. In. Out. He just has to last thirty days. Then he doesn't have to deal with this again. Then he doesn't have to deal with anything again.

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