#The Answer to Life the Universe and Everything

[itneverendshere]

the first relapse being the most scariest thing you’ve seen. sarah’s even calling you about him like “dads trying to get his doctor on the line just in case he od’s”

added this to what i'd already summarized in this ask!! hope everyone enjoys the angst 😔🫂 it’s a little long (around 7.1k)

death by a thousand cuts - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe) warnings: substance abuse.

Ward’s sitting at the dining table, barely glancing up from his phone when Rafe walks in. His jaw clenches. That look—so cold, so dismissive—always sets something off in him.

“What’s wrong?” Rafe asks, already knowing this isn’t just a normal night.

Ward doesn’t answer right away, just sighs like Rafe being here is another weight on his shoulders. “Your mother called today.”

Rafe freezes.

He doesn’t have to ask which mother. Ward’s new wife has nothing to do with this. His real mom. The one who left.

He tries to stay calm, but he can feel his blood pumping, “What’d she want?”

“She says she wants to see you. You and your sisters.”

Rafe’s eyes narrow, his heart pounding harder now. The audacity of it. She always did this—popped back in when it was convenient for her, like they were just part of her life she could pick up and drop whenever she felt like it.

When was the last time? A couple of years? Before that? It doesn’t matter.

“No. I’m not doing this again.” 

“Rafe—”

“No, I said no.” The anger wells up fast, a familiar burn in his chest. He stands there, fists clenched. “She’s full of shit, dad. She doesn't give a fuck about us. So, no. I’m not seeing her.”

Ward looks up, calm as ever, but there's that edge in his eyes—the one that always makes Rafe feel like a little kid who’s stepped out of line. “You’re overreacting. She’s still your mother.”

“My mother?” He lets out a bitter laugh, but there’s no humor in it. His fists tighten at his sides. “She left. She fucking left us. She’s not my mother. She’s just some lady who couldn’t handle shit.”

Ward stands up now. “Watch your mouth.”

“Watch my mouth?” Rafe barks back, stepping forward, his anger boiling over. “I watched her leave me every time she got bored or freaked out. And you—you didn’t do shit!.You just let it happen. Let her walk out over and over.”

“That’s enough, Rafe.”

But he's not done.

He’s too pissed to think straight. “What? You gonna defend her? You’re the one who let her fuck me up like this! You—”

“Stop blaming everyone else for your problems,” Ward snaps, his voice rising. "Grow up. She left.  And you’re still standing here acting like a child over it.”

Something inside Rafe cracks. His chest tightens like someone’s squeezing the air out of him. "A child? You don't get it. You never got it. She fucked me up. She fucked all of us up, and you're still acting like it's nothing." His mind is spinning, flashing back to all those nights he was too high to breathe, too strung out to care if he woke up the next day. He feels like he’s suffocating, the anger burning too fast. “I’m not doing this again, dad. I’m not.”

Ward’s gaze turns cold. “She’s trying now. That has to count for something.”

“Trying? Trying?!” Rafe grits out, stepping forward. All those years, all those broken promises, all the times he was left wondering what the hell he did wrong to make her leave—and now Ward wants him to sit down like it’s a fucking family reunion. 

“I don’t care what you think about it, Rafe. This isn’t up for discussion. You will see her, and that’s final.”

“No. No fucking way!” He shouts, his voice shaking as he steps closer to Ward, fists clenched. “You can’t make me do this. I’m not going to sit there and pretend like everything’s okay when she’s the reason I turned into the mess I was. And you—” His chest heaves as he fights to find the words, his throat tight. “You’re just as bad as she is.”

Ward’s eyes narrow dangerously, but he continues, “Every time she left, you didn’t do a goddamn thing. You let her walk all over us. You let her leave me, leave us, and you never said a word. You’re a shitty father, just as bad as her."

Ward’s face darkens, a storm brewing behind his eyes. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that.”

“I’ll talk to you however the hell I want,” Rafe fires back, stepping even closer, eyes blazing. “You didn’t stop her. You never protected me. You sat there and watched her fuck me up and then turned around and blamed me for it. Like I was the problem.”

“You were the problem,” Ward snaps, “She didn’t know how to handle you, and neither did I. You were a fucking disaster, Rafe. And that’s on you.”

“No. You two were and are the fucking problem because you can’t let go of her.”

Ward takes a step forward, “This isn’t about you. It’s about your sisters. Sarah wants this. Weezie deserves a chance to know her mother. It’s not all about your issues, Rafe. Grow up.”

“Grow up?” He feels like he’s suffocating, “You think I’m the one who needs to grow up? 

“Enough. You will meet her, or you can leave this house right now.”

All the work he's put in, all the shit he's tried to fix, feels like it’s slipping right through his fingers. He can’t be here. Not like this. He’s out the door before he even knows what he’s doing. That itch beneath his skin is back after years, that’s how much control his parents have over him.

Rafe’s hands are still shaking as he gets into his truck, slamming the door harder than he means to. It feels like he can’t get enough air in his lungs, and his thoughts are spinning, they’re all crashing into each other at once. The fight with his father keeps replaying in his head, louder and louder, until he can’t hear anything else.

He’s gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turn white. His dad’s voice, cold and cutting, telling him he’s the problem. That he’s always been the problem. His hands are shaking worse now, trembling like he’s about to snap, and there’s only one thought pounding through his mind: He can’t go to you like this.

The thought of walking through your door, this messed up, makes him feel sick. You’ve seen him at his worst before, but this… this feels different. He can’t let you see him like this—not the old Rafe. Not the one who almost lost everything.

You don’t need to see that. You don’t deserve it.

He knows where he can go instead. Somewhere he shouldn’t, somewhere he swore he’d never go again. But right now, it feels like the only place that makes sense. His head’s spinning, his body buzzing with leftover adrenaline and anger, and he just needs it to stop.

So, he turns the key in the ignition and drives. It doesn’t take long to get to Barry’s. He knows the back roads by heart, even though it’s been years. He pulls up to the small shack Barry calls home, the lights still on, music thumping faintly from inside. It’s like nothing’s changed. The same rundown place, the same shitty cars parked out front, the same smell of smoke and spilled liquor lingering in the air.

Rafe sits there for a minute, gripping the steering wheel, breathing heavy. He shouldn’t be here. He knows that. 

He climbs out of the truck, shoving his hands into his pockets to keep them from shaking, and heads toward the door. The second he steps inside, the familiar smell of stale beer and weed hits him like a wave, bringing back memories he thought he’d buried.

Barry’s lounging on the couch, a joint hanging from his mouth, lazily flipping through channels on the TV.

“Country Club!”, Barry drawls when he notices him, smirking around the joint. “Now this is a surprise. Didn’t think I’d ever see you walk through that door again. Thought you were all clean now, with your pretty little girlfriend.”

He tenses at the mention of you. But he can’t walk out now. Not after what just happened with Ward. Not when everything inside him feels like it’s about to blow.

“I just need something,” Rafe mutters, avoiding Barry’s eyes, already regretting this but not enough to stop.

Barry raises an eyebrow, amused. “Something, huh? You know, you’ve got a real habit of showing up here when you’re all fucked up.” He laughs, low and mocking. “What’s the matter this time? Daddy issues again?”

His jaw tightens. “Just give me what I want.”

Barry leans back, flicking ash onto the floor. “You sure you wanna go down that road again, man? Thought you were past this shit.”

“I don’t care,” Rafe snaps, his voice low, shaking with frustration and something darker. “You know what I want. Go get it.”

There’s a pause, and for a second, Barry just looks at him, sizing him up. Then, with a shrug, he gets up, disappearing into the back room. Rafe waits, heart pounding in his ears, staring at the floor, trying not to think about what he’s doing. About what this means.

Barry comes back a minute later, a small bag of coke in his hand. He tosses it onto the table in front of Rafe, “Knock yourself out.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the bag, his fingers already moving on autopilot as he pulls out his wallet and shoves a roll of cash toward Barry. He knows this is stupid, reckless. He knows this is going to hurt you, more than anything else. But ll he wants is to forget. Just for a little while.

His hands stop shaking the second he takes that first line.

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You’re already drained when you step through the front door of the house, kicking off your shoes and throwing your bag onto the couch. The sticky summer air is clinging to your skin, and all you want is a cold shower and to crash in bed. 

The day’s been dragging—work was a shitshow, and all you’ve been thinking about is Rafe. You haven’t heard from him since this morning, which isn’t weird, but there’s been this nagging feeling in your chest, like something’s off.

“Hey,” Monica calls from the kitchen as you grab a glass of water and lean against the counter. She’s scrolling through her phone, half-distracted. Milo’s at kindergarten.

“Hey,” you mumble back. “Everything alright?”

She shrugs, not looking up. “Yeah, mostly.” She pauses, frowning slightly, like she’s trying to piece something together. “I think I saw Rafe’s truck earlier. Over by Barry’s place.”

You blink, trying to process what she just said. “Barry’s?”

“Yeah, you know. The guy who used to sell—Whatever.” Monica shrugs again, more casual than you feel. “I was driving back from work, and I swear it was Rafe’s truck parked outside Barry’s house.”

Your stomach drops. Instantly.

“You’re sure?”

“Looked like his truck,” your sister says, “Thought it was weird. Figured maybe he was helping someone out or something.”

But you know better.

A cold sweat breaks out over your skin. You’ve heard Rafe talk about Barry. Back when things were bad—really bad—he was the one who kept him hooked, who kept pulling him deeper. He told you everything about those years when he was drowning in addication and Barry’s name came up more than once.

And if his truck’s outside Barry’s, you know something’s wrong.

It’s like a pit in your stomach, this gnawing feeling that’s been sitting with you all day. 

“What? Why’s that such a big deal?”

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady, but it’s impossible. “Rafe doesn’t… he doesn’t go there anymore. He hasn’t in years.”

Monica frowns, finally understanding. “Oh. Shit. You think something’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter, already pulling out your phone, fingers wobbly as you open your messages. You scroll through the last few texts from Rafe, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Except the silence. He’s usually better at checking in, especially when he knows you’ve had a long day. But today? Nothing.

You stare at your screen, debating if you should call him. But deep down, you already know something’s happened. He wouldn’t go to Barry’s unless things were really bad.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” your sister offers, but her voice is hesitant, like she’s not sure. “Maybe he was just stopping by. It doesn’t mean—”

But she doesn’t finish, and you don’t need her to. You know what it means. You feel it in your bones. He’s back in that dark place—And he didn’t come to you. He went to Barry instead.

Why didn’t he come to you?

“I need to go,” you say, your voice coming out more panicked than you’d like, but you can’t help it. Your heart’s racing, your mind is spinning, and the only thing you can focus on is Rafe. You’re grabbing your keys off the counter before your sister can even answer.

“Wait, what? Where are you going?” Monica asks, a bit alarmed now, but you don’t have time to explain.

“I need to find Rafe.”

Your sister steps forward, “Is it really that serious? I mean, maybe he’s just—”

“He’s not just anything,” you cut her off, shaking your head. “If he’s at Barry’s, it’s bad.”

Rafe had told you everything about his past—every ugly detail about the years he spent losing himself, the drugs, the fights, the constant mess of it all. He had opened up to you after your first time together. And for the past two years you’d seen him, the real Rafe, the one who tried so damn hard to be better.

And now? He’s slipping. And you weren’t there.

Your mind is racing as you drive. You think about how good things have been with him—how far he’s come. He’s not the guy he used to be. He doesn’t party like he used to, doesn’t need to numb everything with lines of coke or bottles of whiskey.

He told you about his time in rehab, how scared he was of becoming that version of himself again. But something must’ve happened.

Something big. 

Why didn’t he tell you?

The thought is suffocating. You know him—he’s reckless and impulsive sometimes, but he’s been so careful with you, always making sure you never had to see the side of him that scared him the most. He’s opened up about his struggles with anxiety, about how he sometimes still smokes weed to take the edge off, but this… this is different. 

This is worse.

It had to be Ward. He’s has always had this chokehold on him, making him feel like he’s never good enough. And whenever his mom gets brought up—whenever she’s even mentioned—it messes with him in ways you can barely understand. She’s the one person who could make him spiral, and Ward is the one person who could push him over that edge.

You slam your fist against the steering wheel, frustrated.

He’s dealing with this alone, and now he’s gone back to Barry. To coke. To everything that almost killed him before. You pull up to his place, your stomach churning. You can see Rafe’s truck parked haphazardly outside, and your heart skips a beat. He’s here.

He’s here, and he didn’t come to you.

You sit there for a moment, gripping the wheel, trying to calm yourself down, trying to figure out what the hell you’re even going to say when you see him.

You get out of the car and practically run toward Barry’s door. You know this place, know the people who come here and what they’re looking for. You’re pretty sure your dad spent half his life here, when Barry’s dad still ran the business. 

You don’t even knock. You push the door open. Barry’s on the couch, looking up lazily when you walk in, and you see Rafe—sitting in the corner, eyes bloodshot, jaw clenched.

He looks like a ghost.

Barry snickers from the couch, taking a drag from his joint. “Well, well, look who it is. Didn’t think I’d see the two of you here together.”

“Shut the fuck up, Barry,” you snap, glaring at him before turning your full attention to Rafe. “What are you doing here?”

“W-What?”

“Baby, look at you.”

He tries to stand, his movements slow, like his body isn’t responding the way he wants it to. His eyes are bloodshot, unfocused, his pupils blown wide, and he’s swaying slightly, barely able to keep his balance.

“I just... I needed to clear my head,” he mumbles, the words slurring together. His hand goes to his hair, but it’s shaking, and he can’t even look at you. “It’s not—”

“It’s not what?” You feel your heart breaking with every word, the cracks widening as you take in the mess of him, his clothes disheveled, his face pale, his hands twitching.

He stumbles again, trying to step toward you, but he’s so high he can barely stand. “I didn’t want... I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he rasps out, finally meeting your eyes for just a second before looking away. “Didn’t want you to... think I was still... still that guy.”

“You’re not that guy anymore,” you say softly, even though right now, he looks too much like that guy. “But you’re acting like him.”

His head drops, and he looks down at the floor, his shoulders sagging, defeated. “Didn’t know...what else to do.”

“And you didn’t think to come to me?” Your voice breaks on the last word, “You went to Barry instead of me?”

“Hey now—"

“I told you to shut the fuck up,” You almost scream in Barry's face, your chest rising with each breath you take. Rafe can't stand to look you in the eyes right now. He can't see the disappointment.

“You always know what to do. You call me. You come to me. Why would you run here? Why would you go back to this?” You glance at Barry, who’s watching the whole scene with a smirk on his face like he’s enjoying every second of your heartbreak. “You’re better than this. Get in the car. We can talk about this.”

But he shakes his head, his breath shaky. “Can’t… can’t be with you right now.”

“Why?” 

 “Just… too much. Hurts too much.” He looks down, guilt washing over him. “Didn’t want you to see... this.”

“Then get in the car. We can figure this out together.” Your voice cracks, the hurt pouring out.

He hesitates, shaking his head again. “I… can’t.”

It pushes something inside you.

Maybe you’ll regret it later but now it’s all you can think about. If he doesn’t want your help, he doesn’t want you. And if he doesn’t want you right now he doesn’t deserve to want you when he’s better. 

“You can either get in this car and fight with me, or you can stay here. But if you stay—”

“Y-You’ll leave?” He’s looking at you despite the fog in his brain, not sure if he’s hearing you correctly, “Leave me?”

“I didn’t say that—”

“E-everyon leaves right?"

He’s never said anything like that to you before.

“I’m not leaving you, but if you stay here, with him,” you jerk your head in Barry’s direction, “I can’t help you. I can’t pull you out of this if you don’t want to get out.”

You know you can’t fix this for him. He has to make the choice. His eyes dart toward Barry for a second, and Barry just shrugs, clearly not giving a damn about anything but his next hit. 

“I love you, but I can’t watch you destroy yourself.”

For a second, you think maybe you’ve gotten through to him, because his eyes soften behind all that darkness. But then he shakes his head again, looking at the floor like he’s already made his decision.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he mutters, barely audible. “But I don’t know how to stop.”

Your heart breaks a little more at that. “Yes you do, baby. You do. You just need to believe it.”

If he doesn’t come with you, you’re not sure where this ends for him. He’s stuck, frozen in place, trapped by whatever’s going on in his head, and you realize that no matter how much you love him, no matter how much you want to save him, you can’t force him to choose you. You can’t make him get in the car.

“You have to decide,” you say quietly, voice breaking. “Me or this. You can’t have both.”

Rafe looks up at you, eyes glossy, and for a second, you think he might actually say something — something that will make this all okay, something that will bring him back to you. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, torn apart by his demons, his lips pressed into a line. You feel the pit in your stomach grow deeper.

“Okay,” you nod, barely holding back tears. “I guess that’s my answer.”

You turn and walk out the door, your heart shattering with every inch of distance you put between you and him. You don't look back, because if you do, you know you’ll drag him out yourself, and you can’t do that. Not now. But as you get into your car and grip the steering wheel with your entire strength, the sobs come anyway.

You don’t want to leave him. God, you don’t want to. But he didn’t choose you. Not this time.

Rafe doesn’t even register the sound of the door slamming behind you. It’s like he’s watching everything happen from somewhere far away, his body numb, his mind completely blank. You said something, you were upset—he knows that much—but the words never really hit him. They just floated around. He sinks back down into the chair, staring at the floor, heart racing but completely detached. The room is spinning a little, his chest tight, but he can’t feel anything. Can’t let himself feel anything. It’s better this way. Safer.

You left.

He knows that happened, but it doesn’t mean anything right now. He can’t process it. Not in this state. Not when the drugs are still in his system, making everything feel like it’s underwater. He blinks a few times, trying to get his brain to catch up, but it’s not working. It’s just static.

Barry’s voice is somewhere in the background, laughing about something, but he doesn’t hear him either. It’s like the world’s on mute. His body’s still buzzing from the high, fingers twitching, muscles tense, but inside? Inside he’s empty.

Hours pass, maybe. Time doesn’t exist here, not when he’s this far gone. The light changes through the window, but it could be minutes or days for all he knows. He drifts in and out, his head heavy, eyes closing, but sleep never comes. Just darkness. Maybe he did too many lines.

At some point, he wakes up—if you can call it that. His body feels like it weights two hundred pounds, his head is spinning, his mouth dry and sour. He blinks against the light, his vision blurry, trying to figure out where the hell he is. 

It takes a second for everything to catch up. To realize he’s at Barry’s.

And then, it hits him all at once. You.

You were here. You were mad. And then you were gone.

His chest tightens, a sick, sinking feeling crawling up his throat. He sits up too fast, his head swimming. Fuck.He rubs his hands over his face, trying to calm his breathing. His thoughts are still sluggish. You left. You walked out, and he… he didn’t stop you. Didn’t even try.

Why didn’t he stop you?

Before he can think too much about it, Barry saunters in, a smug grin on his face, holding a beer in one hand, a joint in the other. He takes one look at Rafe, slouched and disoriented, and lets out a low, mocking laugh.

“Well, well, well,” Barry drawls, leaning against the doorframe, clearly enjoying every second of this. “Look who’s finally awake. You done fucked it up, Country Club.”

Rafe doesn’t say anything. Can’t.

Barry raises an eyebrow, taking a drag from the joint, shaking his head. “Damn, man. Thought you were smarter than that.”

Rafe just stares at the floor, his stomach twisting. He can’t remember exactly what he said to you. But the look on your face… he can’t forget that. The disappointment. The hurt.

Barry chuckles, settling down on the couch across from him. “What was it? You running your mouth again, or did she just get tired of you being a fuckup?”

The shame is settling in now, creeping up his spine. He doesn’t want to hear this. Doesn’t want to hear anything. But Barry just keeps going, like he’s enjoying watching him fall apart.

“Should’ve seen it coming, man,” Barry continues, “Girl like that? She was bound to leave eventually.”

If he felt strong enough he would’ve punched that joint out of his mouth, his teeth following next. Who the fuck did he think he was to talk about you like he knew you.

He knows Barry’s just trying to get under his skin, but it’s working. He feels sick. He presses his hands against his eyes, trying to push it all away, but it’s no use.

“You done fucked it up, Country Club,” Barry repeats, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. “And now you’re right back here. Same old Rafe.”

Same old Rafe. He told himself he’d never end up here again. He swore he was done with this. Done with Barry, done with the drugs, done with the guy he used to be.

But now? Now he’s right back where he started. And the worst part? He let you see it. He doesn’t know how to fix this. Doesn’t know if he even can fix this. But the one thing he does know? He should’ve crawled after you.

Rafe doesn’t say a word.

He doesn’t need to. His hands are already moving, reaching for the small bag of coke on the table. His fingers tremble as they close around it, the weight of the plastic barely registering in his hand. 

Barry watches him, that same smug grin never leaving his face, taking another drag of his joint, exhaling a cloud of smoke with a low chuckle. He’s not surprised. Not at all.

"Of course," Barry mutters, shaking his head in amusement. “Of course, you're takin’ that shit with you.”

Rafe’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t fight him. He can feel Barry’s eyes on him, feel the judgment radiating off him, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not anymore. 

Not after everything he’s already fucked up. He stuffs the bag in his jacket pocket, standing up on shaky legs, the room still spinning a little as he stumbles toward the door. His mind is on autopilot, moving without him, as if the drugs are the only thing holding him together. 

"Attaboy, Country Club," Barry calls after him, voice dripping with condescension, laughter bubbling up from deep in his chest. “Just keep runnin’. That’s what you’re good at, right?”

Rafe’s hand tightens on the doorknob, his teeth grinding together, but he doesn’t turn back. He can’t look at Barry—he can’t look at any of this—so he does what he always does.

He walks away. He doesn’t think. He just keeps moving, out of the door, out into the night, the bag burning a hole in his pocket.

It’s been two weeks since you last saw Rafe.

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Two weeks of silence, of unanswered calls and texts that sit there on your screen and make you cry every time you look at them. You told him you’d leave, but you didn’t mean it. You never meant it.

You just needed him to fight. For himself. But he didn’t.

And now, you can’t stop thinking about him. It physically hurts.

Every morning you wake up with this heavy impossible ache in your chest, and it only gets worse as the day goes on. You keep wondering where he is, if he’s okay, if he’s even thinking about you or if he’s too far gone to care.

You miss him. God, you miss him.

Now you don’t even know where he is. If he’s still spiraling or if he’s hit rock bottom.

You’ve barely been able to keep it together at work. Every time you try to focus, that image of Rafe in his absolute worst slips in, and you never get anything done. You’ve called in sick twice, just to stay in bed and cry, because you can barely breathe.

You’ve reached out to Sarah a few times, trying to understand what’s going on, but she doesn’t know much either. "He’s off the grid," she’d told you last time, "Doesn’t want to talk to anyone."

That was a week ago.

And now you’re sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone, debating if you should try one more time. One more call. One more text.

Because this can’t possibly end this way. 

He’s the love of your life. 

Sarah’s name flashes on the screen, and you nearly drop the damn thing. “Sarah?”

“Hey,” You can hear it immediately—something’s wrong. “Are you home right now?”

Your stomach drops, “Yeah. Why? What’s going on?”

You can hear her take a shaky breath. “It’s Rafe. He’s, shit, it’s bad. Like, really bad.”

 “What do you mean, bad? Sarah, what happened?”

“Dad’s trying to get his doctor on the line,” she says, her voice cracking. “Just in case he ODs.”

Your blood turns ice cold.

“He’s not picking up,” she continues, her words spilling out in a rush, like she’s trying to keep herself from breaking down. “Dad’s freaking out, and Rafe—he’s not making sense. He’s been on a bender for days, and now he’s just... he’s not there. I don’t know what to do. I thought maybe you could—”

“I’m coming,” you say, cutting her off, already standing, your body moving on autopilot.

You hang up before she can say anything else, grabbing your keys and rushing out the door. The drive to Tannyhill  feels like it takes forever as your mind comes up with worst-case scenarios. You’ve seen Rafe struggle before—you’ve seen the dark places he’s been—but if Sarah’s calling you, if Ward’s getting a doctor involved….

You barely notice you’ve already parked the car, barely notice the front door swinging open as you run inside. The house is quiet, too quiet.

Sarah’s standing by the staircase, her eyes red and puffy. She doesn’t say anything, just nods toward the living room.

And that’s when you see him.

He’s slumped on the couch, his body limp, his eyes half-open but glazed over, like he’s not even seeing what’s in front of him. His skin is pale, clammy, his hands twitching every few seconds, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead. He looks like half a version of himself, his breathing shallow and uneven.

Ward’s pacing the room, his phone pressed to his ear. “I don’t care if he’s busy, get him here now. He’s going to fucking die.”

“Rafe?” you call, stepping toward him. But he doesn’t react. Doesn’t even flinch. He just stares ahead, eyes unfocused, like he’s not even aware you’re there.

Sarah’s standing behind you now, her voice low, “He won’t talk to us. He’s too far gone.”

You sink down beside him, your heart breaking at the sight of him like this. You reach out, hesitating for a second before gently placing your hand on his arm.

“Rafe,” your voice wavers. “Baby, it’s me. Please… please talk to me.”

But there’s nothing. Just silence.

His head lolls to the side, and his eyes meet yours—but it’s like looking at a ghost. The person you know, the person you love, isn’t there. Not right now. Not in this moment. And it kills you.

You keep whispering his name, pleading for him to wake up, to do something, but nothing works.

Ward's still on the phone, pacing like a caged animal, his voice a angry hum in the background. His eyes flick over to you every few minutes, but he doesn’t say anything. Sarah’s standing off to the side, her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes red and puffy from crying. You can see how scared she is, and you’re glad they got Weezie out of the house before she could see this. 

After what feels like an eternity, the front door bursts open, and a doctor rushes in, followed by a paramedic with a bag of medical equipment. The doctor, some guy Ward must have on speed dial for situations like this, doesn’t waste any time. He kneels down beside Rafe, checking his pulse, his pupils, his breathing.

“This is bad,” the doctor mutters, shaking his head. “He’s lucky he’s still breathing.”

Lucky. 

The paramedic moves in, setting up an oxygen mask, checking Rafe’s vitals, and it feels like the room is spinning. You try to stay calm, try to keep your hand on Rafe.

Ward finally hangs up the phone and stands there, watching as the doctor works. “Is he gonna be okay?” he asks, his voice strained because god forbid he shows more emotion.

The doctor glances up, his expression grim. “We need to take him in. I’m stabilizing him, but if this had gone on any longer, we’d be having a different conversation right now.”

You feel like you're going to be sick.

The paramedic starts prepping him for transport, and you stand there, helpless, watching as they move him onto a stretcher. His body looks so limp, so fragile. They’re talking about taking him to the hospital for observation, but all you can hear is the blood pounding in your ears.

Ward steps forward, he watches his son being carried away. For the first time, you see it—real fear in his eyes. 

“I should’ve seen this coming,” Ward says, his voice shaking. “I should’ve stopped it. This is my fault.”

You feel something snap inside of you.  “I’m sure it fucking is.”

He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there like a fucking idiot. Sarah is beside you now, her hand on your arm, gently pulling you back. “Let’s go,” she mutters,“We should go with him.”

You nod, swallowing as you follow her out of the house, leaving Ward standing there alone.

You climb into your car, Sarah beside you, and you both sit there for a moment in silence, watching as the ambulance pulls away, taking Rafe with it.

“I’m scared,” Sarah admits. 

You close your eyes, and nod. “So am I.”

You have to remind yourself to breathe. She sits beside you, staring straight ahead and neither of you says another word.

The hospital is quiet when you arrive, eerily so. You both rush in, Sarah at your side, searching for the emergency room and after a bunch of paperwork and hurried conversations, you’re finally led to the waiting room. The doctor said they’d keep you updated, and you sit down on those stiff, uncomfortable chairs, the waiting begins.

Minutes drag by like hours. You try to text or scroll through your phone, anything to distract yourself, but you can’t focus. Every time you close your eyes, all you can see is Rafe. It’s like your brain is stuck on replay, and you can’t shut it off. Sarah’s over there biting her lip until it’s bleeding. Every now and then, she looks at you, like she’s about to say something, but then she doesn’t. And you don’t either. You can’t. What the hell would you even say? It feels like you’re both waiting for the worst possible news and just pretending you’re not.

After what feels like forever, the doctor finally comes through the doors, and Sarah and you jump up at the same time. 

The doctor sighs, and he looks tired, like this isn’t the first time he’s delivered news like this today.

“We stabilized him,” he says, “He was really close to an overdose, but we got to him in time. He’s still unconscious, but his vitals are stable for now. We’ll keep him under observation for at least 24 hours.”

You finally take a deep breath, but it’s shaky, and it doesn’t feel real. 

Sarah doesn’t even hesitate. The second the doctor says Rafe’s stable, she’s heading towards his room, like she needs to see him, to make sure for herself that he’s really still here. You don’t follow her, though. Your legs feel like they’re made of concrete, if you move, you’ll just collapse right there in the hallway.

As much as you want to be with him, to hold his hand or just… see him breathing, you know you can’t handle it. Not right now. You’ve spent the last two weeks trying to hold it together, and this is the first time you feel like you can finally breathe. Like you’re not suffocating with worry.

What you need more than anything is to get out of here. To just breathe, to close your eyes for more than a minute without the image of him passed out, strung out, burned into your brain. You need sleep. You need to feel something other than panic. He’s gonna be okay. Maybe not perfect, maybe not healed, but for now, he’s alive. 

The next day, you finally gather the courage to see him. You feel like you might throw up at any second. You stop outside his room, staring at the door for what feels like forever, trying to convince yourself to go inside.

He’s lying in bed, looking like he barely walked out of this one alive, but he’s awake. His eyes meet yours the second you step inside, and you feel like you’re going to start crying at any given second. 

“Hey,” You manage to say, You don’t trust your voice to be strong enough to say something more.

Rafe blinks, like he’s surprised to see you. His voice is rough when he speaks, cracked from everything his body’s been through. “You came.”

“Of course I did,” He’s genuinely shocked. As if he thought you’d just walk away from all of this. From him. You swallow hard, taking a step closer to the bed. “Of course I came, Rafe.” Your voice is soft, barely holding together. “Where else would I be?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes flicker away from yours, settling on the IV in his arm, like he can’t stand to look at you. 

“Sarah called me. She was scared. She didn’t know what to do.”

Rafe’s jaw tightens, but he still won’t meet your eyes. “She shouldn’t have,” he mutters, his voice hoarse, barely there.

“She shouldn’t have had to, Rafe. You scared the shit out of her—out of everyone. And I’ve been sitting here for two weeks, waiting for you to say something, anything, and you just—” You stop yourself, your throat closing up, and you bite your lip to keep from crying. “You almost died.”

You can see his chest rising and falling slowly, and for a split second, you think he’s not going to answer at all. That he’s just going to keep shutting you out. 

“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he says quietly. “I didn’t want you to see how fucked up I am.”

Your heart breaks all over again because you’ve already seen it. You’ve seen every part of him—the good, the bad, the absolute worst. And you’re still here. You’re still standing in this stupid hospital room because you love him. He shakes his head, his hands gripping the edge of the blanket like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You step closer to the bed, sitting down carefully on the edge, and for the first time in weeks, you feel like you can breathe. Just a little bit.

“Don’t say that,” you reach for his hand. He flinches at first but doesn’t pull away when you lace your fingers with his. “You’re gonna be okay. We’ll get through this. But you can’t keep pushing me away. I need you to let me help you.”

He closes his eyes, his face twisting in pain, “Ward wanted us to meet mom and I just—”

You’ve never fully understood what his mom meant to him, or maybe what losing her did to him, now you do. That deep-rooted pain that always seems to haunt him when he talks about her is stronger than you’ve ever seen before. 

“I didn’t want you to see this mess. I don’t want anyone to. I’m a fucking disaster. Every time I try to fix something, I just make it worse. I just—” He breaks off, his jaw clenching like he’s trying to swallow down the rest of his words, the ones he can’t say out loud.

“You spent years sober, that’s not easy,” You scoot closer, wrapping your arms around him carefully, not caring if he feels like a mess or if you’re being too much. You just want him to feel like he’s not alone. “Baby, I know you’re hurting,” you murmur into his shoulder, “But I’m not going anywhere.”

“You should,” He confesses, “I hurt you.”

“You have,” you admit, “But that doesn’t mean I’m leaving. I’m not gonna give up on you.”

He looks away, like he doesn’t believe you, like he’s waiting for you to just walk out of that hospital room and never look back. But you don’t.

You tighten your grip on his hand, "You don’t get to decide that for me.  I’m still here because I love you. Even when you push me away.”

“You shouldn’t love me,” he whispers, like it’s some kind of fact, like it’s already been decided.

You shake your head, leaning in closer, your hand resting on his cheek. “But I do, Rafe. I always will. Even when you don’t think you deserve it, we’ll figure it out, together, okay? One step at a time.”

He nods, barely, but it's something. It’s a start.

[serpentarii]

M O R D L U S T ; september 22nd, 2024

finally getting around to doing these more often now that i'm making money moves in the draft (this is a lie, i am making moves into my friends' dms to scream) so that means i have an excuse to make self-indulgent WIP edits.

my primary protagonist vératre, formerly known as voir, has been made sufficiently weird, and i think i've found a way to smoothly integrate all of the new scenes i added when i reformatted her half of the plot.

i've also been in my overthinking era to make sure that everything from color symbolism, animal motifs, to the specific variations of words characters use has a purpose. 90% of it will not be apparent in the actual draft so, to paraphrase myself, i'm like gay sisyphus opening and closing notion.

but, i do plan on making some character aesthetic intros, tv show edits, and finally getting around to that animal symbolism post 🐯

transcript below the cut:

Pale blue light flooded into the crate as the lid was pried off, then abruptly overturned, sending Aleksander tumbling out between a set of familiar armchairs. His attention traveled up the front of a familiar desk and landed at an unsmiling familiar face.  Sitting quietly on the other side of the desk was Lady Kos, regal as a queen and ten times wealthier, with pearl droplets woven into her dark braids, dressed in chiffon and lace from trailing hem to high, starched collar.  She was melting wax, her movements swift and assured as she poured a small pool onto the folds of an envelope and stamped it with a sigil Aleksander knew to dread. She took a sip of riesling, soundlessly replacing her glass onto the wood, before setting her sights on him.  “Herr Aleksander Fox,” she said at last. 

and since i haven't done this in like 4 years, surprise bitch. i'm doing a novel prep tag in here now.

first look ;

describe your novel in 1-2 sentences (elevator pitch) ;

a businessman-turned-thief finds himself entangled with a pair of opposing assassins and the roles they unknowingly play in a much grander conspiracy.

how long do you plan for your novel to be (novella, standalone, series, etc.)? ;

a standalone, thank god. the technically term would be roman fleuve, since i am planning future standalone works that take place within the same universe.

what is your novel’s aesthetic? ;

ancient buildings overtaken by nature, cemeteries at midnight, poisonous flowers, venomous snakes, whispering in shadowy alcoves, masquerade balls, bloodstained feathers, veiled truths

what other stories inspire your novel? ;

the his dark materials series by philip pullman, uprooted by naomi novik, classic gothic lit, fairy tales in general, and uh,,,,,,,exodus.

share 3+ images that give a feel for your novel ;

main character ;

who is your protagonist? ;

my two main protagonists/POVs are liferuiner and wannabe businessman aleksander fox, and vératre, a notorious poisoner struggling her way through a quarter-life crisis.

who is their closest ally? ;

aleksander's closest ally, at least in the beginning, is his friend heidi, an information broker with a secret :) and vératre begrudgingly accepts the help of salicaire, another assassin, since they are both nosy and want answers.

who is their enemy? ;

aleksander vs. the ospirin family (a fight he is nawt winning) and the church

what do they want more than anything? ;

so, to be cryptic, 3/4 of the leads in mordlust are all reflections of each other, what they could have been and what they want to be. the last of them is the mirror. they see in him what they want to see. and what they want, shockingly, is prestige, power, belonging, etc. they've always felt like strangers in their own skin and will go to terrible lengths to fit themselves into a society that was not made for them.

why can’t they have it? ;

dirty dirty politics for which they are mere pawns ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

what do they wrongly believe about themselves? ;

that because they've been hurt, they are justified in hurting others in pursuit of their goals.

draw your protagonist! (or share a description) ;

aleksander is a classic dandy with a hyperfixation on his vintage fox fur coat, which he wears even when it's wildly out of season and out of fashion because it's the nicest thing he owns. he's also usually seen wearing kid leather gloves and a golden cravat pin he received from his patroness. he's got green eyes, short auburn hair, lots of freckles, and more people would find him handsome if he didn't smile like he knew your fly was down and was refusing to tell you.

vératre's lips are stained purple due to. reasons. and so she wears a veil, which is not uncommon for particularly devout women. she has medium length brown hair she keeps pinned up into tight plaits and a notably long neck. also, she has pretty privilege because shits fucked and having attractive lay servants representing the house/church is common practice. since she works as a kitchen maid most of the week, she's often wearing her uniform w/ an apron. and sometimes she wears isme's black feathered cloak.

drawing wise, i do have this chart, courtesy of alex @bitethebard:

plot points ;

what is the internal conflict? ;

aleksander and vératre, being parallels of each other, have somewhat similar internal conflicts. they both came from nameless villages out in the countryside and share a burning desire to be more. in vératre's case it's v much a "be careful what you wish for" situation, because in receiving everything she thought she wanted she's no longer herself and unhappier than ever. aleksander is younger and earlier along in his journey, but barreling down the same path. except the choices he makes fucks shit up for the people around him more than they effect himself.

what is the external conflict? ;

again, cutthroat politics (literally). everyone has something they'd kill for.

what is the worst thing that could happen to your protagonist? ;

other than dying horribly, probably being tethered to an uncaring master, praying to uncaring gods, and trying to find comfort in an uncaring church for the rest of their miserable lives.

what secret will be revealed that changes the course of the story? ;

aleksander is entangled in a pseudo-liar revealed plot, which i kinda hate, but as an extremely unreliable narrator his priorities are not in proper order... vératre is witnessing the horrors.

do you know how it ends? ;

yeah

bits & bobs ;

what is the theme? ;

blind faith is dangerous. you must learn to take responsibility for both the good and the bad actions you take, and attaching yourself to someone or something at random to validate your own existence isn't healthy. holiness exists not only in gods but in small moments of happiness and in the people we love. and lastly don't fucking steal someone's skin and sell it on the black market.

what is a recurring symbol? ;

thorns.

where is the story set? (share a description!) ;

niederbrinn, the capital city of falkenreik, which is loosely inspired by pre-german empire prussia. it's filled with tons of gothic™ architecture and fun locations like cathedrals, catacombs, and creature shops. it's situated closer to the malevolent eldritch forest than most would like.

do you have any images or scenes in your mind already? ;

hell yeah

what excited you about this story? ;

mostly isme. and then the other 3 protags ig 🙄

tell us about your usual writing method! ;

these days, i usually write a rough outline and expand it using the snowflake method, incorporating ideas, themes, and worldbuilding along the way. then i make a proper outline where i figure out chapters, acts, the dreaded midpoint, etc. i don't write in chronological order so this helps a ton with out-of-context lines since i have a reference for where i want them based on the location/emotional state of the characters. getting myself to actually sit down and WRITE the damn thing is the problem, shout out to my fellow procrastinating perfectionists <33

if you made it to this point you are sexy and i love you, byeeee !!

[harmonia-university]

Some history facts with Prof. Elsie!

Hey! The name's Elsie, and I'm a history professor at Harmonia University! I specialize in human history, but I'm pretty passionate about history in general so I guess the Askblog Council came to me with all these questions from you guys, heh heh!

You probably saw me a while ago anonymously answering a few of these questions. But I think I'm brave enough now to show my face to everyone and be an official member of the Blog! I believe these questions were asked a while ago, but now I have the time to answer them so...well I guess I should address them eh?

What can you tell us about humans?

Well I think I've mentioned before, and it's probably obvious just by looking around, but they're nonexistent here! They did exist at one point, we were all living harmoniously together...until some unfortunate circumstances that led to a big war between humans and Pokemon. From then on, humans began to disappear and then just...completely vanished, without any warning.

Was it ever stated how all the humans disappeared? Is it simply an extinction event or more of a supernatural thing?

That's a pretty big topic in today's history research actually! After the war, although the Pokemon won by a landslide, there were still a good amount of humans left. Although the roles shifted a little bit, as before Pokemon were often companions to humans, almost like a pet...but now we were more independent. Living among them as civilians.

The complete disappearance is truly an enigmatic event that is a big debate among experts nowadays! Some associate it with a giant meteor shower - the biggest one seen in history that wiped out humans, as us Pokemon are quite durable. There's also been recounts of a blinding, soul crushing flashing beam of light that wiped them all out. Either way, life was becoming more unsustainable for humans as things evolved to fit Pokemon-kind more...that probably accelerated things. But from how fast it happened and the fact that the event was very poorly documented...there's more reason to believe that someTHING supernatural caused it.

What are your thoughts on humans as a whole? How do you feel about their unfortunate fate?

My family was always very close with humans. I've only heard great things about them, and all the cool stories of how my family, against all odds, won the biggest battles in international leagues and tournaments, all thanks to a trainer that knew how to make a small, weakling species like ours, very strong! I grew up with a very positive outlook on humans, and it makes me really sad that things ended the way they did. Like I said earlier, we wouldn't be here if it weren't for the humans. That's probably what led me down this path, honestly. Haha!

What's the geography of the world like? How has the geography changed since the human times?

The humans were in the midst of restructuring and renaming the regions in the world. To make them more...friendly sounding I guess. Certain areas also wanted to be their own thing...so that's where regions like Unova and Alola come from.

When the humans were wiped out, this was an unfinished project that Pokemonkind were determined to finish. Physically, the world is the same. But how everything is divided is probably different from what you're used to.

The region that Harmonia University is in - Arboria - although one of the biggest regions in the world, remained in one piece, somehow! Our downstairs neighbour got split into a few parts...Unova and Alola, as Ive mentioned, and some of the desert areas became known as the Orre region.

Another example where things are different...the Freyurr region! This was comprised of 3 different regions before - collectively known as Scandinavia. After the human extinction, this region became one with 3 distinct areas with their own language and culture.

What happened to Pokeball technology? It seems like it could be dangerous, but on the other hand it could be useful - especially for transportation! And it's low cost, low space, I'm surprised I haven't seen any evidence of the technology being converted for modern use.

Pokeballs are pretty much nonexistent nowadays, near impossible to get your hands on as a normal civilian! It was one of the biggest things that the Pokemon back then had a gripe about with the humans. Although not completely inhabitable, living in a Pokeball was very unpleasant - it's basically like being put into a very deep slumber, for who knows how long. Not much room to do anything or move around in there. Plus, many humans caught and collected tons of Pokemon with no rhyme or reason - many of them were left abandoned in Pokeballs and PC’s, never being able to see the light of day.

Other than for research and education purposes, Pokeballs have been banned all around the world ever since Pokemon civiliazation was born. We don’t even use them to capture our own ferals.

I've heard rumors that humans had experimented with themselves to turn into Pokemon before, but I'm assuming it's all just a myth. Was there ever a possibility that some of the humans ended up becoming Pokemon due to their experiments?

Pah, I'm pretty sure that was all a hoax. I'm sure humans have tried, but honestly they didn't make any breakthroughs in that front. I don't think human genetics were wired in a way that would even make that possible. They were able to kind of do it with Pokemon due to there being a particular species with properties that could allow it. But humans to Pokemon...nah that'd be a complete rewrite of everything! Or maybe...a really fun dream.

Do the Galar fossil Pokemon exist? How do fossil Pokemon work, are they revived or have they just always been around?

Yep, they do exist. But there's a bit of a catch...all of the fossil-revived species living today were revived during the human era, or are descendants of those that were. We've had to abolish a lot of those fossil revival labs, as newly found fossils would just come out as feral Pokemon with really nowhere to go. Now there are some such Pokemon in captivity, but it's strictly for ethical research purposes!

Anyways, I think that's all the questions that were left over for me! Hope that was informative. Our history isn't pretty but I think it's still really important to learn about it all. Haha! Well, if any of you still have questions, or just want to come chat with me...I'll be available!

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

https://www.tumblr.com/batmanisagatewaydrug/761919124962181120/hi-there-sex-witch-umm-im-a-cisgender-lesbian?source=share hi! same anon, umm i do talk to her, i talk to her all the time about this i ask her questions to an almost excessive degree because i want to get things right, also like- she doesn't really seem to know fuck about shit either. this is her first time being in a relationship with someone who actually gives a shit about her wants and needs so she's still figuring out what those are. what i was more sort of looking for was like- general advice because i do not know how the body of an amab person not on e differs from the body of an amab person who is on e. lots of people in the tags were saying to read "Fucking Trans Women" and the thing with that is i've tried and have run into this problem where i'm broke and can't afford to read it (sorry if this is a mouthful or if the answer is the same i just want to make her happy so fuckin bad)

hello again, anon!

here's the thing: there's no universal "this feels good" guide, for anybody. of any gender, genitalia, or hormone composition.

you know how the clit is supposed to be, like, The Thing for people who have it? it is, sometimes. but I've also known all manner of clit-havers who just... do not get what the fuss is. they could take it or leave it, their cup of tea, as it were, is being poured from a completely different pot. I'm a bit skeptical that there's any such thing as a universal human experience at all, and certainly not when it comes to something as subjective as what makes you bust a nut. I agree with folks in the replies saying Fucking Trans Women is a neat resource, but it's hardly guaranteed to answer your questions - you're trying to fuck your partner, not Mira Bellwether.

if your partner also doesn't have a strong idea of what gets her off, great! lay out some ground rules and observations together so you can start from the same place - are there any body parts or behaviors that are a hard no? what are you're mutually curious about? what do each of you do when you masturbate? etc - and then play! just have fun touching each other (in ways that you're both agreed are okay, obviously) and seeing what happens. not everything is going to be a life-changing orgasmic experience, but it will be fun and silly and teach both of you a lot about what you do and don't like while you get to know each other's bodies better.

"talk to your partner" doesn't mean "your partner needs to have a tedtalk prepared on how they want to be fucked," it means "partnered sex is a conversation."

[cyberbabyangell]

₊˚⊹☆after becoming a shifter...

hello! its been a while because school started, also because i had no idea what to post while i wrote about the innerspace..i was bombarded with 99+ likes and reposts so THANK YOU SO MUCH?? 😭 so did that happen on tiktok- i had 110 followers when i last checked, its been a month im at 300 😨 anyway i love u guys mwah 🫶

I legit forgot the concept of OCs 😭 like whenever i """create other people""" it's always people i know/ill script in one of my many drs, when i see people create someone i'm like "..OHR IGHT THIS IS YOUR CHARACTER AND NOT SOMEONE YOU KNOW IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE......."

I get so confused at the "life is short, YOLO" philosophies and it genuinely doesn't sit right with me anymore 😭

my brain somehow decided to put "shifter" as the default setting for every human my age i meet. "yeah i do that in my drs!" "in your WHAT." ".. sorry 😊"

i lost interest in media i know im NOT going to shift to 😭 like its a bit annoying but to me new media=new drs, and i dont willingly watch stuff i know im not shifting to which is so dumb.

self insert EVERYWHERE. im rarely the main character like in most my drs im less powerful than them, but i always see myself as this perfect being everyone loves and does everything right. kinda like the lucky girl in deadpool 2

whenever i see pretty people in the streets or meet nice people, im like "you're becoming my friend in my dr." so i may have 453455 friends that come from here that ive seen ONCE and probably even forgot about.

i kinda stopped asking questions to myself because in my waiting room rn i have a library with the answers to everything so.

i like dilemmas from my drs but i know they don't really matter because i'll go to a reality that has the perfect middle ground or a perfect 3rd option, even if its something that's currently beyond my comprehension

i like reminding myself im literally everything. like also objects cause its funny

whenever i see someone i admire or i like what they do i snatch it from them. "omg i like these songs!" and boom i sung those in my dr. "omg i love this content!" and boom i pioneered it.

i'm trying to get used to not be in 2024. theres not a single dr i shift to in 2024, and if i get caught lacking i might go on an fbi watchlist. like NOBODY can catch me saying rizz or singing songs that haven't been released yet. (also side note. IT SOUNDS SO TORTUROUS TO NOT BE ABLE TO LISTEN TO 80% OF MY CURRENT PLAYLIST CAUSE IT HASNT RELEASED YET. i be humming doing it first in 2020 😾)

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶ ✦　　

[peppymintdreams]

What If Luca Didn’t Go to the Party

This is my first ever Zsakuva Fanfic so bear with me on this 🙏🏿

masterlist

It was a late Thursday evening. Luca was lying in his dorm room, staring at the ceiling and feeling empty. He had finished all he needed to do, and all that was left was to relax. He had been invited to a party but didn’t feel like going. What would he even do at a party? It came as a shock when someone actually invited him; it must’ve been a joke to get a reaction out of him—who knows? The night was quiet, aside from the occasional ventilation turning on and off, the faint sounds of upbeat music echoing across the campus, and moans of couples haunting the hallways. Here he was, alone in his bed.

Deciding to make a stand, he put on his nice clothes and headed for the door, determined to make his presence known at the university. But when his hand touched the door, something changed. Visions of doubt, insecurities, and the years of bullying he’d endured flooded his mind. He wanted to be strong; he wanted to try something new, but the pain was just too much to handle. What was he to do—stay home and let his insecurities and doubts win, or let himself be free? It took everything in his power to keep his hand on the doorknob and turn it fully. He was almost there, the door beginning to open, his vision starting to blur. It felt like time was running out if he didn’t make a decision. In the end… he shut the door and locked it.

“Weak,” that’s all he could hear in his head. A weak person, he thought. He lay down on the sofa, turned the TV on, and watched whatever was playing, tears streaming down his face. What was he to become if he couldn’t even muster up the courage to just be a person?

His phone lit up with a notification from his mom. She was his safe place, the person he could turn to whenever something went wrong and he didn’t know the answer. He called her and waited as the line buzzed. “Hello,” she said, her voice like a cloud—so soft and welcoming.

“Mom, I—” he stuttered, tears rolling down his face.

“Hey, honey!” she spoke with excitement; just getting a call from her son made her day, judging by the silence and occasional weeping on the other line. “What’s wrong, baby?” Anytime Luca was sad or upset, his parents were there for him, no matter what giant missile life threw at him.

“Mom, I don’t know what to do,” he began to cry, his voice cracking, He had explained to her about his invite to the party and what just happened and the meltdown he had.

“Aww, baby, it’s okay to not know the answer.” Hearing his mom understand him relaxed him, calming his breath. “Sweetheart, I understand how you’re feeling. It’s completely normal to be scared about going to a party, especially when you’re unsure of what to expect. Remember, it’s okay to feel nervous.”

His breath hitched; he began to hiccup. “Maybe you could talk to a friend who’s going and see how they feel about it?” Thinking about what she said, he realized he didn’t really have any friends in university or anywhere in London. So, what was the next best option?

“Think about what you might enjoy about the party—like meeting new people or having fun with friends. If you decide to go, just be yourself. And if you feel uncomfortable at any point, it’s okay to leave. Your feelings matter, and I’m here to support you, no matter what you choose.”

He began to calm down. Just a couple of minutes ago, it felt like the weight of the world was crashing down on him, but hearing his mother’s voice was enough to wash away everything. He wanted to change the topic to avoid the emotional roller coaster he had just thrown at her, but then he heard a door open and a heavy grunt—Luca’s dad was home.

“I have to go, Luca; your father just got back from the store. But we can talk tomorrow. Does that sound good?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Luca replied. There was nothing more he enjoyed than unwinding with his mother; she always had the right answer.

“Mom, I do have one more thing to say.” There was something that had been bothering him lately, and he needed the answer to free his mind. “Can it wait until tomorrow, dear? Your father appears to be struggling.” Disappointed, he reluctantly agreed.

“Of course, Mom,” he said sadly. Judging by his tone, his mom could tell he wanted to talk but couldn’t stop himself from waiting. His father did have a bad back.

“Well, okay. I have to go. Mommy and Daddy love you very much, Luca. Kisses,” she said.

“I love you too, Mom.” She hung up as soon as he responded; she was in a rush. He understood his parents had their own lives, but they always made time for him.

Turning off his phone, Luca made up his mind. Grabbing his laptop that was still on the coffee table, he looked for available flights home after his graduation. There was no one he had to stay with; he didn’t have friends here, and he wasn’t in a relationship this town wouldn’t miss him. Luca let out a heavy breath and flipped through the channels, trying to relax. “I’m here,” he thought. He felt comfortable. Soon, in the next few months, he’d be home—there’s no place like home.

Not more than a couple of miles away, a lonely person stood next to a table full of drinks. They seemed dazed and confused. “Ayo ___, come and dance with me,” a friend said. Looking at them, they replied, “Meh, I don’t know.”

Their friend looked at them, concerned. “Yo ___, you alright? You seem troubled.” They were troubled; something didn’t feel right. He took their hand, wrapping his other arm around their waist, twirling them to him. Nothing else mattered but having ___ someone he longed to hold in his arms, someone he was now face to face with, just a few inches apart.

“I don’t know; I just have a weird feeling,” they said, backing up and looking around.

“Feeling? Like what?” he asked.

“Like someone was supposed to be here…”

[crimson-rots]

ggHH i can't stop thinking about marlton johnson. god. fuck

can you imagine. going from being alone, constantly begging the universe for some friends, to finally having people who needed him, and despite how poorly he gets along with them he has to grapple with the fact that the apocolypse, the damn end of the world, has brought him people. he has to grapple with the fact that this, the end of the world, this was the only thing the universe could think of to answer his prayers.

that for once in the life that he'd spent entirely alone, there are people who are counting on him. who have no choice but to listen to him, to stick with him. to be with him.

and he has a girlfriend! he has misty! and she might not like him all the time, might barely like him half the time, but she likes him! and maybe-- maybe, in situations like this, maybe in worlds like this he doesn't have to be some unlikeable freak who was predestined to be alone, maybe--

.

--maybe he's all that's left, but god damn it, for once in his stupid fucking life, marlton was wanted by someone.

misty wants him. not only that -- the universe needs him. he dies MEANINGFULLY. he does something right, something he can be proud of, something he can look back on and say, i did it. i did it right. we fucked up and we died but we died standing and we did something. no one will remember me but i'll remember. i'll know. i'll know that.

(he swears to himself he won't forget it. he won't forget. he refuses to. 115 be damned, he's done something right for a change and he won't forget it! he can't! he's spent his whole life trying and look, he did something! he's not useless! he saved everything--)

(the dark aether swallows them whole, and for a moment there's a song of righteous pride in his chest before that is swallowed up, too.)

just. god, fuck. marlton johnson, guys. gh. fuck.

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 75

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe: Military School

Words: 5K

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Saturday, March 26th; 10:00 AM - Lucy and Ona’s Apartment.

"Come on, call her. You’re not going to stare at that phone all day, we’ve got other things to do," teased Lucy, who had just come out of the bathroom.

I groan to show my displeasure, but eventually, I dial my mom’s number. It was time to handle it, and I couldn't keep putting it off. The ringing tone echoed... for a long time... When it stopped, I was ready to speak, my mouth open, but I got her voicemail instead. My heart relaxed at this. I don't know why, but I felt relieved. I immediately hung up.

"I got her voicemail."

Lucy laughed. She definitely noticed my reaction.

"Well, better luck next time. Go get ready, or we’ll be late."

"You’re the one who spent forever in the bathroom."

"Oh, so now it’s my fault, huh?" she laughed as I was already heading down the hallway. "Remind me, who didn’t want to get out of bed?" she shouted so I could hear her.

"At eight-thirty, I had every reason to stay in bed!" I yelled back from the bathroom.

I could hear her laughing as I started putting on my makeup. It was the last thing I had to do. Lucy had wanted to take a shower, so I couldn’t access my things earlier because I wanted to give her some privacy. She needs to understand that weekends are sacred too. Not all of us are motivated to go jogging in the morning. I’ll never understand her on that. We’re supposed to grab brunch with our friends before heading to the gym. It’ll be good to all be together again. Aitana and Beth are supposed to join us later in the day, according to Lucy. I was finishing my makeup with mascara when my phone rang. I groaned seeing my mom’s face on the screen. Lucy came over at that moment, already making fun of me.

"Answer it, or I will."

"Definitely not."

I rolled my eyes, picking up my phone from beside the sink. She’s been pushing me to do this since yesterday, and I have to admit, she’s right. Otherwise, I’d never do it. I answered the call and held the phone to my ear with my shoulder while finishing my second eye.

"Hello?"

"Ona! Did you try to call me? Is everything okay?"

"Hey. Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. Am I disturbing you?"

"I just got out of surgery. I operated early this morning. Well, more like last night. I’m about to grab some coffee. Are you sure everything’s okay? You rarely call me."

I smiled despite myself. I’ve always admired my mom for her work, even though it cost her a lot in terms of family life. It takes a lot of mental strength and confidence to perform surgeries. She’s a general surgeon. When Mapi needed surgery, she wasn’t the one to handle the case, but I know she made sure to be involved in every procedure for my sake.

"I’m fine, really. I just wanted to call to apologize, that’s all."

"Apologize?" she whispered. "For what?"

"For my behavior last time," I said plainly. "We left without me getting a chance to talk to you again. So yeah, I’m sorry. My reaction wasn’t directed at you."

"Oh... You don’t need to apologize, Ona. I completely understand."

I smiled like an idiot. She really thinks Mapi didn’t tell me how worried she was. From what I’ve heard, she was scared to death, yet here she is acting like nothing happened.

"No, it’s important. I need you to know my anger wasn’t directed at you," I said, smiling at my girlfriend, who finally turned around when she saw everything was fine.

"Alright... well, thank you for calling."

"I also wanted to let you know that we’ll definitely be attending your wedding, in case that wasn’t clear."

"Really?"

"Of course. We wouldn’t miss it."

"Will Lucy be coming?"

"Yes, that’s who I meant by ‘we.’ I hope that’s not a problem?" I teased.

"Oh no, no. We’d be delighted and honored!"

"Great... So, when is it again?"

"June 18th. I... Ona?"

"Yes?"

"I know it’s not the kind of thing you ask over the phone, and I’d understand if you say no, but... I’d like you to be my maid of honor, if you agree. You don’t have to answer right away, it’s just that—"

"Mom," I interrupted. "Calm down. I..."

I took a deep breath. This was hard for me, but I was doing it to keep my promise to my dad. He wanted me to be there when it happened.

"I accept. No problem."

"Really...?"

The surprise in her voice was obvious. A small smile formed on my lips.

"Yeah, it seems so," I teased.

"You know, if you’re feeling obligated or anything..."

"Stop. I accept, that’s it. Don’t make me change my mind."

"It really means a lot to me, Ona, truly."

"I figured."

"I’ll make sure to pay for your dresses, for both you and Lucy. We’ll pick them out together, so they’ll match."

"Whoa, slow down," I laughed. "We’ve got time."

"Can you come during your vacation? You know you’re always welcome at home, even though you’ve chosen to live with her in Manchester."

"I know, but we won’t be around this vacation. We’re visiting Grandpa and Lucy’s parents in Portugal."

"Really?" she asked, surprised. "She’s from Lisbon too? You’re meeting her parents?"

"She’s from Porto. We’re doing one week with Grandpa, then one week with her family. I still need to call him to see if he can host us."

"Oh, knowing him, he won’t say no. He’ll be thrilled to meet Lucy."

"Yeah, I’m not worried about that."

"Don’t be afraid to meet Lucy’s parents either. I’m sure it’ll go well."

"We’ll see," I sighed. "I should hang up, we’re supposed to meet for brunch," I said as Lucy reappeared, tapping her wrist.

"Oh really?With who?"

"We’re meeting our friends at eleven."

"Oh, well, I won’t keep you then. Have a great day, and let me know when you’re coming back to Barcelona."

"No problem, I’ll talk to Lucy, and we’ll keep in touch. Have a good day."

One last goodbye, and I hung up. Lucy immediately came over as I was putting away my makeup.

"Talk to me about what?"

I laughed, shaking my head. She looked so innocent, but I was sure she had listened to the whole conversation.

- Going back to Barcelona.

- Again? she groaned. That’s all we ever do!

- Oh, don’t complain. We’ve only been there twice together. And I think I just agreed to be her maid of honor. I don’t know what came over me.

Lucy laughed and wrapped her arms around me from behind, kissing the top of my head.

- Well, I’m proud of you. I assume everything went well?

- Yeah... she acted like everything was fine, as if nothing had happened. That’s a first.

- Well, that’s good, then. And why do we have to go back to Barcelona?

- She wants us to choose our dresses with her... and be matching.

- Wonderful, she teased.

- Hey, I said, turning towards her. Don’t make fun of me! I wouldn’t mind matching with you.

- That’s not the problem. It’s that I’ll have to endure another shopping session with the mother-daughter duo.

- Well, I have to meet your parents for the first time in a few weeks, I laughed in return. We all have our challenges, babe.

- That’s true, she replied, giving me a playful smack as I walked out.

I’d learned my lesson from last time, so I didn’t react to her playful gesture. We’d moved past that, and she didn’t catch me off guard this time.

- Did you remember to bring your design ideas?

I froze mid-step and turned back around.

- What would I do without you… I mumbled, making Lucy laugh.

I headed back to our bedroom to grab them. She wanted me to bring my ideas since she hadn’t had a chance to look at them this morning. After grabbing them, I got dressed to go out, and we left to meet our friends downtown. We’d noticed that the little Italian restaurant next to the gym offered brunch, so it didn’t take us long to decide to try it out today. The renovations were coming along great. We had time to finish up the locker room prep before the furniture arrived next week. Someone was coming to check if the plumbing was usable as it was. If so, Lucy said it would leave us with a little extra budget, though she wasn’t too hopeful. The place was pretty old and had been heavily used. When we arrived, I wasn’t surprised to see we were the first ones there. Lucy’s an early riser and hates being late. I’ve been on the receiving end of that before, and once was enough for me.

- So, when’s the wedding? You didn’t tell me the date.

- Oh, right. Uh, June eighteenth, I think.

- You *think*? she teased.

- It’s definitely the eighteenth. Are you done now?

She laughed as I playfully hit her shoulder. Looks like she’s in a teasing mood today.

- Oh, relax, I’m kidding. Maybe we can go after your exams, yeah? We’ll be on vacation, so we might as well enjoy it. It’ll take your mind off waiting for your results.

- Really? But what if I have interviews? And what about the gym?

- We’ll make sure you have a school and a gallery lined up before you leave Camp Wiegman.

- Easier said than done...

- Are you done complaining yet? I heard from behind. We can hear you from the other end of the restaurant.

- Oh, shut up! I snapped playfully at my best friend.

- Hey, cutie pie.

I smiled as I stood up to hug her. I’d missed her. It’s about time she moved here so we could properly catch up.

- Wow, it’s been a while since I’ve heard that nickname.

- No kidding!

I greeted Ingrid as well. Mapi sat beside me at the head of the table, and Ingrid across from me after greeting my girlfriend too. Mapi and I exchanged goofy smiles. Looks like I wasn’t the only one who missed this connection.

- So, Miss "I’m stressed about my exam," how’s it going?

- I’m fine, I chuckled. Are you mocking me?

- Oh no, she laughed. It’s just funny. You weren’t like this in high school, and I never imagined you’d turn into this.

- Well, people change, what can I say, I responded with a genuine smile.

- What’s new since I’ve been gone?

- Not much.

- Really? she raised an eyebrow.

- Yeah, honestly, nothing major, I said, glancing at Lucy. Everything’s going well. I’m looking for a gallery, we’re working on the gym, and I’m studying for my exam... that’s about it.

- So, what’s the update on that interview you had? The big gallery, she probed.

- Fields hasn’t changed their mind. I don’t think I’ll accept, but for now, I haven’t heard back from the other galleries, so it’s tricky...

- Stop worrying.

- I’m a month away from taking my exam and I’m without a school. I have every reason to worry, I replied.

Lucy rolled her eyes. It’s been a bit tense between us regarding this. She takes it so lightly that I wonder if she’s hiding something from me again. Luckily, Alexia and Jenni arrived at that moment. We greeted them and ordered right after they settled in. We didn’t want to drag things out since we had a lot to do today.

Saturday, March 26th; 1:00 PM - Gym

It was just Ale, Mapi, and me in the break room, finishing up stripping the wallpaper. There was one wall left, and the goal was to have it ready for painting tomorrow. Our girlfriends were in the locker room since the others hadn’t shown up yet. The plumber finally arrived, and Lucy wanted to be there for the assessment. I didn’t mind. It was nice to hang out with my friends. The atmosphere was great, even while working.

- So, notice anything? Ale asked Mapi with a mischievous grin.

- Notice what?

I gave Alexia a wide-eyed look as she smiled slyly. She knew Mapi wasn’t up to date on the progress of my relationship with Lucy. I turned bright red as Ale motioned towards me with her head. Mapi, who was between us, stared at me.

- Well? What don’t I know yet?

Alexia burst out laughing. I didn’t find it funny. There’s no need to make a big deal out of every milestone in my relationship.

- Your best friend became a grown-up last weekend.

Mapi gasped and smacked my arm hard.

- Ouch! I exclaimed, rubbing my arm.

- And you didn’t even tell me!? When? How? You better tell me everything to make up for it!

Alexia was laughing hysterically. I couldn’t help but follow suit, despite myself. This was exactly why I didn’t want her to know. She always has to give me the third degree.

- You couldn’t help yourself, could you? I scolded Ale.

- Nope, I had to share! It was too memorable and funny to keep to myself. You should’ve seen her, covered in hickeys and grinning ear to ear the next morning, she told Mapi.

They both started laughing. Okay, maybe I was on a high at the time. Hearing how she described me now made me feel really embarrassed.

- So, how did it happen?

- It just... did.

"It just did"? Do you think that’s a satisfying answer for me?

Stop. Seriously, it wasn’t planned at all. It just happened, that’s all. And it was good. She was really great with me. That's it. You won’t get more details.  

I stuck my tongue out at her when she groaned.

"I can’t believe you hid this from me again!"

"Hid what?" Lucy asked, just walking into the room.  

Oh no, that’s all I needed. We all know how she reacts to Mapi in these situations.

"Oh, nothing. You just need to know how your girlfriend is so mute and stubborn," Mapi pouted.

"Hmm… I think she’s improving. At least with me."  

I smiled as Lucy wrapped her arms around me from behind, rocking me gently. I leaned into her embrace.

"Can you come with me? I need your help," she whispered in my ear.

"Really? Well, sure, if you want."  

She let go, and I took her hand to follow her. It was the perfect time to be honest. Maybe Mapi would forget about this whole thing… though I’m probably being too hopeful. Before we left, my girlfriend added:

"By the way, we’re thinking of going out to a bar tonight with the others. So, if you're not up for a night at The United, now's your chance to have a girls’ night."

Her suggestion surprised me, but of course, my best friend jumped at it.

"Oh, that’s a great idea!" Mapi exclaimed. "What do you think? Since I’m already here."

"Yeah, why not," Ale agreed.

"We’ll talk about it when I get back, to figure out whose place we’ll go to," I said.

The girls agreed before I left with Lucy. She led me to the main room.

"So, what about the guy? Did he give you a rundown of what’s working and what’s not?"

"Yeah. We could keep the plumbing, but he can’t guarantee it’ll last another three years, so instead of taking the risk and redoing everything later, we’re just going to replace it now."

"Ouch... That’s a shame."

Lucy shrugged and gave me a small smile.

"It’s fine. We anticipated this. He’ll give us a quote to see how much it’ll cost since we’re not doing it ourselves."

"That makes sense. Painting and demolishing is one thing, but this is more complicated."

"Exactly."

We reached the main room, where I noticed the guys had arrived, along with a woman I didn’t recognize. I slowed down when I saw that she was holding my sketches, the ones I had given to Lucy earlier in the day. She was tall, about Lucy’s height, with a normal build and heels. She was charismatic, with long, silky black hair and lightly made-up blue eyes. Lucy smiled at me, seeing my hesitation.

"Don’t be shy. Come on," she said, pulling me forward.

"What’s this about now?"

"Oh, here she is," Beth said when he saw me. "Hey Ona."

"Hey..."  

I went around, greeting everyone, including the woman holding my drawings. I quickly returned to Lucy, who had opened her arms, letting me snuggle into her.

"Let me introduce you to Grace," Beth said. "She has an art degree, but she mainly works as a street artist. She’s the one who did the decoration at my paintball place."

"Wow," I said, remembering the place. "Well, congratulations. You’re really talented. I loved what I saw."

"What she means is, she was completely blown away by it," my girlfriend embellished.

Grace laughed, shaking the papers in her hand.

"Thank you, I’m flattered. I could say the same about you. You’re very talented."

"Thank you," I replied, blushing.

I smiled shyly, sinking further into Lucy’s arms. I don’t handle compliments about my work well since I’m not used to people looking at it. Lucy smiled at me, kissing my temple.

"I imagine you’re not here for no reason?"

"No, indeed," Grace smiled. "Beth and I recently reconnected, and he’s been talking about you and how hard you’ve been searching for a gallery. It just so happens that I recently opened one myself to start working more seriously after all these years."

I listened carefully. No… Don’t tell me...? I glanced at Lucy, who was grinning mischievously. I couldn’t believe it! She surprised me again.

"It turns out I was supposed to collaborate with a friend who backed out at the last minute. The gallery’s already open, but I’m not keen on hiring someone when I’ve just launched it."

"You mean…"

"I’d like you to come work with me. As an apprentice, of course. You’d cost me less, and based on what I have in my hands, you’re talented. Our styles are very different, but I think we could complement each other. Plus, with your management degree, you’d be a great help to me."

"Oh, I’m not sure you should rely too much on that degree..."

She laughed heartily. I guess I’ve said enough times that management isn’t my strong suit.

"Well, what I mean is that your résumé is interesting to me. So, if you're up for it, we could do a trial at my gallery to see if you like it. Of course, the condition is that you need to get your diploma first… Although, to be honest, I’d take you anyway, but your girlfriend here doesn’t seem too fond of that idea, from what she just told me."

I smiled broadly. I playfully hit Lucy’s chest, pushing her away slightly. She laughed.

"You hid everything from me again! You’re unbelievable!"

"Hey, I didn’t know," she defended herself. "Beth just told me this morning that she was bringing someone for you today."

"Is that true?" I asked her.

"Yeah," Beth replied, amused.

"I hesitated a lot," Grace admitted. "I hope you’re ready to work because there’s no shortage of it."

"I’m not afraid of that."

"Good, then there won’t be any problem," she said. "Lucy told me you’re going on vacation soon, but if you’re up for it, you could visit the gallery one weekend and do a trial run, like a day or two, to see if it works for both of us."

"Yeah, we’ll arrange that," Lucy agreed. "Maybe we could exchange contact info to stay in touch?"

"Sure," Grace said with a smile. "I’ll handle the arrangements with your school. I’ve got some former professors who might be able to help you secure a spot."

"Thank you so much. I really don’t know what to say."

"Oh, don’t thank me. You’ll be just as helpful to me, so I’m happy to help in return. I hope this will turn into something good for both of us. Who knows, maybe if the sales go well, I’ll be glad to keep you on afterward."

I was thrilled and incredibly relieved. A huge weight was starting to lift off my shoulders. We exchanged contact information and promised to keep in touch. She left shortly after, and I kissed Lucy deeply without hesitation. I really hoped this would work out.

"Oh my God. I can’t believe it’s real. Thank you so much, Beth."

"No problem," she replied. "I’m glad I could help. It wasn’t even planned. We just happened to reconnect, and I mentioned you. She immediately showed interest. From what I just saw, it looks like she likes you too."

"Same here. She’s really cool. Nothing like Fields, for example."

"Oh, definitely," Lucy agreed. "So, are you good now? Can you relax?"

I stuck my tongue out at her in response. She laughed heartily. Unlike me, she had never doubted, and honestly, it felt good. Even when I couldn’t believe in myself, she was always there to remind me that anything was possible. And today, I had proof. I’d found a gallery. This was going to be the new driving force in my life. In our life. I no longer had to consider Fields’ offer, and I was so happy. I could finally turn it down with no regrets.

"I love you."

"I love you too. Now, should we get back to work?"

"Yep."

"Come with me. Let’s go over your sketches and see what we can come up with."

I smiled, following her to the back rooms. I couldn’t wait to start this project. Even though they were just small images without much cohesion yet, I was sure Lucy’s imagination would help bring them to life. And so, our day continued.

[thirtysomethingloser92]

Ok, hi! I absolutely ADORE and LOVE all of your writing, and I know you're not going to continue Green Eyed World, but I just wanted to know what you had planned for the ending so my anxious ass can finally rest in peace. Would Remy leave his universe to be with the reader? Would they live together happily ever-after or would it be bittersweet? I'm just so curious and I know you're the only person who can answer that ^^'. Anyways, I hope you're doing well <3

Okay so! I’m gonna give you my favourite bits that I wrote for the last few chapters.

Keep in mind none of this has been edited ❤️

Chapter 10:

Remyknocks gently on your door, the familiar sound a small comfort. “Hey,” he calls out when

you open it. “I brought you that sandwich I promised you. Thought you might be hungry after everything.”

You smile, a touch of your usual banter returning despite the emotional toll of the day. “You actually made it? I’m impressed.”

Remy chuckles, stepping inside and holding out the sandwich. “Well, I figured it was the least I could do. Plus, I didn’t want you accusing me of forgetting again.”

You take the sandwich gratefully and start to unwrap it. As you both settle into a light-hearted conversation, the mood lightens. The joking and laughter momentarily distract you from the Heaviness you’ve been feeling.

Eventually, the banter dies down, and a more serious tone fills the room. You take a deep breath, feeling a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability. “Remy, can I ask you a favor?”

He looks at you with genuine concern. “Anything. What’s up?”

You hesitate, struggling to find the right words. “After today... I need to feel something real. Something safe. I know this might sound strange, but... could you stay with me tonight?”

Remy’s expression softens as he processes your request. He closes the door behind him and moves towards the chair by your desk, pulling off his boots. “Sure,” he says, his voice reassuring.

“Just give me a sec.”

He slips into bed beside you, pulling the covers back and settling in behind you. For a moment, he just holds you, hesitating as if searching for the right words.

Finally, he wraps his arms around you, his warmth and presence a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves. “You did amazing today,” he whispers, his voice low and sincere. “I’m so proud of you.”

You close your eyes, letting his embrace envelop you. The comfort of his touch, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and his soft words provide a sense of security you desperately need.

You shift closer, seeking solace in his arms, letting go of the day’s stresses as you drift into a more peaceful state.

In the quiet of the night, you find a semblance of peace, knowing that despite everything, you’re

not alone.

As you lie there wrapped in Remy's embrace, a profound realization begins to settle over you.

Amidst the chaos, the uncertainty, and the emotional turmoil of the past few days, one thing stands out with absolute clarity. In the midst of all the confusion, there’s an undeniable truth: your love for him is real.

The gentle rise and fall of his chest against your back, the warmth of his arms, and the sincerity in his voice when he whispered how proud he was—these things ground you. They remind you that amidst everything else, this feeling you have for him is genuine and unwavering.

You let the sensation of his closeness wash over you, appreciating the tangible reality of his presence. It’s a stark contrast to the abstract challenges you’re facing. As you nestle deeper into his embrace, you hold onto this truth, letting it be a beacon of stability in the ever-shifting landscape of your life.

With each breath, you reaffirm this feeling, understanding that no matter what happens, this love is a constant, something solid and real. It becomes a source of strength, something to hold onto when everything else feels uncertain. In the quiet of the night, you allow yourself to fully embrace this truth, finding comfort and solace in the knowledge that this love, at least, is something real in a world full of chaos.

As you lie in Remy's arms, the weight of the day's events begins to lift, and a deep sense of calm washes over you. Gently, you reach for his hand, which rests across your stomach, and bring it up to your mouth. You press a soft, tender kiss to the back of his hand, letting it linger for a moment before holding it against your chest.

Remy's hand is warm against your skin, a comforting presence that soothes your racing thoughts. You feel him respond with a lazy, affectionate kiss to the back of your head, his arms tightening around you in a protective embrace.

The simple gesture, the closeness, and the warmth create a cocoon of safety that you haven’t felt in a long time. As you drift into a peaceful sleep, the first you've experienced since the chaos with Thanos, you hold onto the tranquility of the moment. Remy’s presence, the gentle pressure of his hand, and the steady rhythm of his breathing provide a sense of security and comfort.

In this serene embrace, you finally let go of the stress and fear that have been your constant companions, finding solace in the knowledge that, at least for tonight, you’re not alone.

The night drifts on peacefully, each breath you take syncing with Remy's, your bodies nestled together as if they were made to fit just so. The usual barrage of thoughts and anxieties that plague your mind every night is mercifully quiet, replaced by the steady beat of his heart against your back.

You stir slightly, still half-asleep, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his chest. In the darkness, his presence feels even more profound, like an anchor grounding you to something real, something tangible in a world that often feels like it's slipping through your fingers. Your hand still grips his, pressed to your chest, as if holding on to this moment could make it last forever.

Remy shifts behind you, and you feel his breath warm against your neck as he whispers your name, so softly you’re not sure if you heard it or if it was a dream. You can tell he's still awake, his hold on you tightening just a bit, as if he needs the reassurance that you're really there with him, just as much as you need it from him.

"Y' know," he murmurs, his voice low and rough with sleep, "you ain’t gotta do any of this alone."

His words are gentle, filled with an understanding that cuts through the night, touching something deep within you.

You don’t reply, partly because you’re too tired, and partly because you know he’s right. Instead, you just press yourself closer to him, letting the silence speak for you. Remy’s hand moves from r chest to rest protectively around your waist, and you let yourself sink further into his embrace, feeling more at peace than you have in years. As the minutes stretch into hours, sleep pulls you both deeper into its embrace. The world outside fades into the background, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in a moment that feels both fleeting and eternal.

Chapter 11:

You stood on the battlefield, the students gathered behind you, ready to fight at a moment's notice. The X-Men stood on guard, a formidable wall of defense, with Remy right by your side.

His presence was more than comforting; it was the only thing grounding you in this moment of uncertainty.

Before you, Kang stood alone. His purple jacket flowed with the wind, hands clasped behind his back, a serene and confident smile playing on his lips.

"I thought he would’ve brought an army," Logan growled, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the solitary figure.

You didn’t break your gaze from Kang, your voice hardening with disgust. "Kang doesn't need an army," you replied, bitterness seeping into your tone. "He has me. It’s always been me."

Beside you, Remy reached out and took your hand, his fingers interlocking with yours. The warmth of his touch contrasted with the cold dread creeping up your spine. When you turned to meet his gaze, his eyes were intense, filled with emotions that words could never convey in such a fleeting moment. His love, his fear, his desperation—all of it was there in the way he looked at you.

"I know," you murmured, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, though the words were as much for you as they were for him.

You reluctantly let go, stepping forward to meet Kang in the middle of the field. His smile widened, pleased at your approach. "I didn’t expect such a large welcoming," he remarked, his tone casual, almost mocking. Though he appeared unassuming, you knew better than to underestimate him. You could feel his power, a dark force that seemed to resonate with something deep within you.

"They’re ready to blast you off this field," you said, your voice steady despite the storm inside you.

Kang spread his arms wide, inviting the challenge. "Let them," he replied smoothly, pausing as he studied you. "But you won’t."

"What do you want?" you demanded quietly, the words laced with suspicion. "It's been you, hasn't it? Those dreams I've been having... you've been planting them."

Kang shook his head slightly, a knowing smile on his lips. "They’re not dreams. They’re memories. Your memories. Of a future you haven’t yet lived."

A frown creased your brow. "How can they be memories when there’s only one of me?"

He wagged a finger at you, teasingly cryptic. "Yes, this is true. But some things must remain close to my chest," he whispered, stepping closer until his face was inches from yours. "Those memories happen. I lay waste to every single person in this school. Every child, every mutant, every human." His gaze drifted over your shoulder, settling on Remy with a dark, deliberate intent. "Your boyfriend will be the last to go. That one, I'll make you watch. Unless..."

He took a step back, giving you a choice. "You come with me."

Your refusal was instant. "No."

Kang smiled, almost as if he expected your answer. "I don’t expect an answer right now. But I’ll be back. This time tomorrow, I’ll be back to get you."

"You sound convinced that I’ll come," you said, your voice firm despite the unease gnawing at you.

"Twenty-four hours is all I need for you to make up your mind," he said, his smile never faltering.

"And you will come."

Chapter 12:

The room was warm, the faint scent of your body wash lingering in the air as you sat on the edge of your bed, one leg propped up on a chair, your fingers working lotion into your skin. Your hair was still damp from the shower, and you were dressed in a pair of comfortable sports shorts and one of Remy’s shirts that hung loosely on you. The fabric carried his scent, wrapping you in a sense of comfort even as your thoughts swirled with everything that had happened earlier.

The door creaked open, and Remy stepped inside. He looked tense, his brow furrowed, and you could see the worry etched into every line of his face. His grey jumper clung to his frame, making him look both effortlessly casual and heartbreakingly handsome. You could tell from the set of his jaw that he was ready to argue, and you braced yourself for what was coming.

"You can't go with him," Remy started, his voice low but insistent. "We’ll fight this, together. You don’t have to—"

You cut him off with a small smile, looking up from your task. "You look really good in that," you said, nodding toward his jumper.

For a moment, he looked taken aback, as if your response was the last thing he expected. His eyes flickered with confusion before they softened, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease.

You went back to moisturizing your legs, the simple act grounding you in the midst of the chaos swirling around you both.

"Don’t do this," he continued, his tone pleading now. "You’re talkin’ like you’re already gone. We can fight him, chérie. Together. We’ve fought worse."

You paused, your hands stilling as you considered his words. Then, without looking up, you spoke, your voice calm, almost serene. "I love you," you said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "Really, I do. I’ve been wanting to tell you for so long, but there always seems to be chaos. It never feels like the right time."

You closed the lid of the lotion container and leaned back in your chair, your gaze finally lifting to meet his. "This just proves there never is a good time, doesn’t it?" you added with a soft, almost bittersweet smile.

For a moment, Remy just stared at you, the words hanging in the air between you. He seemed stunned, as if he didn’t quite know how to process what you’d just said. Then, slowly, he crouched down in front of you, his hands resting on your thighs. His thumbs began to trace gentle circles into your skin, the warmth of his touch soothing yet filled with an undercurrent of desperation.

"Why now?" he asked quietly, his voice laced with a sadness that tugged at your heart. "Why tell me now when you’re thinkin’ ‘bout goin’? Don’t do this to me, chère. Don’t make me watch you walk away."

You reached out, brushing a hand through his hair, your fingers lingering on his cheek. "Because I don’t want to regret not telling you," you admitted, your voice softening as you looked into his eyes. "I’ve been afraid, Remy. Afraid of what this all means, of what could happen. But I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I don’t want to leave without you knowing how much you mean to me."

His eyes shimmered with emotion as he leaned into your touch, his breath catching in his throat. "I’ve known, chérie," he murmured, his voice thick. "I’ve always known. But you ain’t leavin’. I ain’t lettin’ you go. We’ll figure this out, just stay with me."

You could see the raw vulnerability in his gaze, the way he was holding on to hope, to you, with everything he had. It broke something inside you, seeing him like this, and yet it made you love him even more.

"I want to stay," you whispered, your thumb brushing over his lips. "But I have to do what’s right. And right now, what’s right feels impossible."

He shook his head, his grip on your thighs tightening as if he could physically hold you here, keep you safe by sheer will alone. "There’s always a way," he insisted, his voice trembling slightly. "We’ve always found a way before, and we’ll find one now. Please, chérie. I can’t lose you."

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, leaning down to press your forehead against his. "You won’t lose me," you promised, though you knew the words might be hollow. "I’ll come back to you, I swear."

Remy closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he tried to believe you, tried to hold on to the sliver of hope that your words offered. His hands slid up to your waist, pulling you closer as if he could fuse you to him, keep you anchored in this moment.

"I love you too," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "So much it scares me."

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him as tightly as he held you. In that embrace, time seemed to stand still, the looming threat of tomorrow momentarily forgotten in the warmth of his arms.

But even as you held each other, the weight of what was to come lingered, a shadow that neither of you could fully shake.

Remy’s hands remained on your thighs, his thumbs still gently tracing circles as he held your gaze, searching for something in your eyes. His voice was soft, almost fragile, as he asked, "Do you remember what you told me that night in the cabin? When Wade, Logan, and Vanessa were there, and I was beggin’ you to leave… do you remember what you said?"

You felt your throat tighten, the memory of that night flooding back with vivid clarity. The desperation in his voice, the way he had pleaded with you to walk away, to save yourself from the chaos that surrounded you both. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you nodded slowly, the words tumbling out of you in a whisper, "In every universe, I’ll find you."

His breath hitched, and before you could say anything more, Remy surged forward, capturing your lips in a deep, desperate kiss. It was filled with all the emotions he couldn’t put into words—fear, love, longing, and the overwhelming need to hold on to you, to keep you with him.

You returned the kiss just as fervently, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if that could somehow make the world outside disappear. His lips moved against yours, speaking a silent plea, a desperate attempt to make you stay, to make you see that he couldn’t bear to lose you.

"Please," he murmured against your lips, his voice trembling with emotion. "Please don’t leave me. I can’t… I can’t do this without you."

Chapter 13:

Kangaroo control over you was absolute, but he underestimated the power of your will and the strength of your love for Remy. Even as you endured the trials he set before you, you remained determined to find a way to return to him. The hope that one day you would be reunited, that the love you shared would be a beacon through the darkness, was your guiding light.

Weeks turned into months as Kang tightened his grip on you, gradually molding you into the weapon he needed to prune timelines and eliminate events that didn't align with his grand vision. The sterile, emotionless halls of his stronghold became your world, the metallic coldness seeping into your bones as time wore on. You were no longer just you; you were a tool, a means to an end in Kang's relentless pursuit of power and control over the multiverse.

At first, you resisted with everything you had. Each time Kang commanded you to alter a timeline or erase a pivotal event, you would argue, plead, or defy him. You challenged him with questions—what right did he have to dictate the course of countless lives, to snuff out entire realities just because they didn’t fit his plans? Your defiance was met with cold indifference or, worse, twisted amusement. Kang would listen to your protests with a slight, condescending smile, as if your resistance was nothing more than a minor inconvenience, a fleeting rebellion that he knew he could crush.

And crush it he did.

Kang was patient, methodical. He knew that breaking you wouldn’t happen overnight, so he chipped away at your resolve, bit by bit. He exposed you to the horrors of unchecked timelines, showing you visions of chaotic futures where unchecked power led to devastation, where the worlds you once knew lay in ruins. He presented these visions as proof of his necessity, as if the atrocities he forced you to commit were somehow justified in the name of a greater good.

The first few times you were forced to prune a timeline, the guilt was unbearable. You would stand on the precipice of a world, staring at the people who lived there, the moments they cherished, and the futures they hoped for. You would see yourself in them—ordinary beings trying to find their place in the universe—and you would feel the weight of what you were about to do. Kang’s cold voice would echo in your mind, urging you to complete the task, to erase these lives as if they were nothing more than glitches in his grand design.

The act of pruning was excruciating, a deep violation of everything you once believed in. You would watch as entire timelines—whole realities full of people, hopes, dreams, and histories— were reduced to nothingness. The first time you pruned a timeline, you collapsed afterward, the enormity of what you had done crashing down on you like a tidal wave. You wept for those lives, for the universes that would never be, and for the person you once were, who would have fought to the death before allowing such an atrocity.

But Kang knew how to erode that person away

Chapter 14:

Remy’s voice, soft and laced with concern, pulls you back to the present. “You hungry? Thirsty? Anything you need?” His question is tentative, like he’s trying to find some way to make you comfortable again, to bring you back to this reality where you’re safe, home, and with the people who care about you.

You look at him, then at the rest of your friends standing around you, their eyes filled with a mixture of hope, worry, and love. You smile softly, trying to reassure them, even as your emotions churn inside you. “I just… I just need a minute,” you say, your voice steady but quiet.

Without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and walk toward the living room. The familiar space feels both comforting and alien, filled with memories of a life you’ve been disconnected from for so long. You sink down onto the couch, your hands gripping the fabric as if anchoring yourself to something real, something that won’t slip away.

Logan appears in the doorway, his presence a steadying force. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he just walks in and takes a seat beside you, giving you the space you need to gather your thoughts. The silence between you is comfortable, a reminder that you don’t always have to fill the void with words.

“It’s okay to take your time with all this,” Logan finally says, his voice low and rough, but gentle.

He looks at you, his expression understanding, patient. “Ain’t no rush to figure it all out. You’ve been through hell.”

You sigh, rubbing your hands together as if trying to warm them. “I don’t feel like I belong here anymore,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “Not after everything I’ve done. I don’t even know where to start.”

Logan watches you carefully, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s always been able to see through the bullshit, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. “You belong here, kid,” he says, his tone firm but not unkind. “You think you’re the only one carryin’ around guilt? You think we haven’t all done things we regret?”

You open your mouth to protest, but he holds up a hand, stopping you. “Let me finish,” he insists, his voice softening. “When you were gone, it messed Remy up. The first few months… hell, the first six months, he wouldn’t leave the house. He barely left your room. He was holdin’ on by a thread, waitin’ for you to come back.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, the weight of them sinking in as you picture Remy, alone, refusing to leave the space where he felt closest to you. “Then it changed,” Logan continues. “He started avoidin’ the house altogether, doin’ anything to keep busy, to keep his mind off the fact that you weren’t here. But even then… even when he started actin’ normal again, he still wasn’t the same. He was still missin’ you, every day.”

You bite your lip, the guilt gnawing at you. “But it’s not just him,” Logan adds. “Wade and Vanessa—they moved in here. Gave up their apartment. They didn’t want to leave him alone, didn’t want him to fall apart without you. They’ve all been waitin’ for you to come back, hopin’ for it. Those aren’t the actions of people who don’t have your back. They’re with you, through thick and thin, no matter what.”

You nod, swallowing hard as tears prick at your eyes. The weight of their love, their loyalty, presses down on you, making it harder to breathe. You’ve been so focused on your own guilt, your own pain, that you didn’t realize how much your absence affected them—how much they’ve been hurting too.

Logan leans back, his gaze still fixed on you. “Look, you’ve been through a lot. We all have. But that doesn’t mean you don’t belong here. This is your home. We’re your family. And if you’re feelin’ lost, we’ll help you find your way back. But you gotta let us in. Don’t push us away because you’re scared of what you’ve done. We’ve all got blood on our hands, but that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve a chance to make things right.”

You wipe at your eyes, nodding slowly. “I don’t know how to make it right, Logan,” you admit, your voice thick with emotion.

“We’ll figure it out together,” Logan says simply. “One step at a time. But don’t shut yourself off from us. You’re not alone anymore.”

His words sink in, and for the first time since you walked through that door, you feel a glimmer of hope, a tiny spark that maybe, just maybe, you can start to heal. You’ve been through hell, but you’ve also found your way back to the people who matter most. And they’re willing to stand by you, no matter what.

As you and Remy make your way down the hallway to your bedroom, the house feels strangely familiar yet different, like you’re seeing it through the eyes of a stranger. Everything seems both the same and completely new, as if you’ve been gone longer than just a year. The walls hold memories, echoes of conversations and laughter, but now they seem quieter, waiting for you to fill them with life again.

When you reach your bedroom door, Remy hesitates for a moment, glancing at you before opening it. The room is just as you remember it—your things exactly where you left them, your bed neatly made. But there’s something different about it now, something that makes your chest tighten with emotion.

“I’ve been sleeping here,” Remy says quietly, his voice breaking the silence. “But I’ll clean it up for you before tonight. I know you probably want some space.”

You look at him, seeing the weariness in his eyes, the weight of everything he’s been carrying since you left. He’s trying to give you the room you might need, to be respectful of whatever boundaries you might have now. But that’s not what you want. Not at all.

A small, genuine smile forms on your lips as you shake your head. “You don’t need to clean anything up, Remy. You can stay in here as long as you want.” Your words are soft, almost tentative, but the meaning behind them is clear. You’re asking him to stay with you, a silent plea that you hope he understands.

Remy’s eyes widen just a bit, a flicker of surprise passing through them before he nods, the corners of his mouth lifting in a gentle, almost relieved smile. He knows what you’re asking, and he’s not going to make you ask twice.

You move over to your wardrobe, intending to grab some clothes to change into. As you rummage through the hangers, your fingers brush against something soft and familiar. You pull it out and see your old SHIELD jumper, the one you haven’t worn in years. It brings a wave of nostalgia, memories of a time when things were simpler, when the world made a little more sense.

For a moment, you just stand there, holding the jumper in your hands, your mind racing with everything that’s happened since you last wore it. The pain, the loss, the unimaginable choices you had to make. But also the love, the connections that have brought you back here, to this very moment.

You close the wardrobe, holding the jumper close for a second before setting it aside with the clothes you’ve chosen. “I need a shower,” you say, your voice steady but laced with the weight of everything you’ve been through.

Remy watches you closely, his eyes filled with an intensity that makes your heart ache. He doesn’t move, just stands there, as if he’s trying to memorize this moment, trying to etch it into his memory.

“I’ve missed you,” he finally says, his voice low, almost reverent.

Those three simple words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, you feel the tears welling up again. You’ve missed him too—missed everything about him. The way he looks at you, the way he’s always there, quietly offering support and love without asking for anything in return.

You nod, swallowing hard as you meet his gaze. “I’ve missed you too, Remy,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but you know he hears it. He always hears you.

There’s a silence that stretches between you, filled with all the things that don’t need to be said.

You’re both here, you’re both alive, and that’s what matters. The rest—the healing, the rebuilding—will come in time.

Finally, you turn towards the bathroom, your hand brushing against his arm as you pass by him, a silent promise that you’ll be back, that you’re not going anywhere. As you close the door behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, trying to steady yourself as you prepare to face the reality of everything that’s happened.

The water runs warm as you step into the shower, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, you let yourself relax, if only for a few moments. The water washes away the grime, the tension, the pain, leaving you feeling a little lighter, a little more like yourself.

But even as you try to find peace in the simple act of washing away the past, you can’t help but think about Remy, just on the other side of the door. Waiting. Ready to pick up the pieces with you, no matter how broken they are.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you can find your way back to each other. One step at a time.

Remy paces the hallway outside the bathroom, his fingers drumming anxiously against his thighs as he listens to the muffled sounds coming from behind the closed door. The running water of the shower mixes with the quiet sobs, a stark reminder of all that’s been lost and all that’s been endured. He wants nothing more than to burst in there, to hold you and offer whatever comfort he can. But he knows, deep down, that you need space right now. You’ll come to him when you’re ready.

Chapter 15:

The sun dips below the horizon, the first stars begin to twinkle in the sky. The moment is serene, filled with a sense of calm that you all have longed for.

As the sky deepens into twilight, the atmosphere on the balcony shifts to one of quiet reflection.

Remy finishes his cigarette, tossing the butt into the ashtray with a soft clink. He stretches out his legs, sitting closer to you and Vanessa, the warmth of his presence a comforting anchor.

Vanessa, always perceptive, reaches out and places a hand on your arm. “It’s good to see you smiling again,” she says, her voice gentle. “We’ve all missed you.”

You smile at her, grateful for her support. “I’ve missed you all too,” you admit, your voice soft but filled with sincerity. “And I appreciate you being here, through everything.”

Wade, ever the source of levity, interjects with a playful grin. “So, what’s next on the agenda? Do we get to pick out some new adventures, or are we just going to sit around and enjoy the view?”

Logan chuckles, shaking his head. “Maybe we’ll just focus on making sure this place stays as peaceful as it is now,” he suggests, his tone a mix of practicality and hope.

The conversation drifts to lighter topics, the camaraderie between you all easing the lingering tension. As you listen to the banter, you feel a renewed sense of belonging. The feeling of home, once so elusive, now wraps around you like a warm embrace.

Remy leans over and takes your hand, his fingers entwining with yours. “How about we just take it one day at a time?” he proposes, his gaze steady and filled with love. “I’ve got you back, and that’s what matters right now.” You nod, squeezing his hand gently.

“That sounds perfect.”

The evening stretches on, filled with laughter, stories, and the simple joy of being together. As the stars fully emerge and the night settles in, you feel a deep sense of contentment. The battles of the past seem a little lighter, the uncertainties of the future a little less daunting.

You roll your eyes, but there’s a warm smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, and FYI. Next time you fuck up my morning and ask me to take a random trip to the void to pull out some friends, I’ll kill you.”

Wade’s grin widens as he lounges casually, his hands behind his head. “To be fair, I think I’ve earned some brownie points for convincing you to rescue th he man who becomes the love of your life. You’re welcome.”

Remy chuckles beside you, his hand still intertwined with yours. “Yeah, Wade, you’re definitely on thin ice, but I’ll give you this—without you, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

Logan nods in agreement, a rare smile on his face. “Just don’t make it a habit, Wade. We’ve had enough chaos for a while.”

Wade’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Hey, it’s all part of the grand adventure, right? Besides, it worked out, didn’t it?”

The group laughs, the tension of past events melting away under the shared camaraderie. As the ht deepens, the sense of togetherness strengthens, and you can’t help but feel a deep appreciation for the people who’ve stood by you through it all

[neillium]

A courple of h2g2 doodles

[itneverendshere]

shy!sweetheart!reader being secretly a metalhead (enjoying bands like falling in reverse and bad omens). rafe finding out like 🤨

this was ridiculously cute to write😌 and i felt like it feet pogue!bartender!reader's universe 100% so i did it.....if it wasn't want you wanted IM SORRY but it's canon in my head and my fingers worked really fast to write this down lmao. thank you for the request!!🩵🫂

you're in the walls that i made - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

It had been a long day, and all you wanted to do was get home, toss on your favorite oversized hoodie, and dive into a YouTube rabbit hole of random videos on your phone.

Rafe, of course, was your ride—like usual. He’d somehow appointed himself as your unofficial chauffeur after shifts, and you weren’t exactly complaining. You were saving up for a car, and you were almost there, only a few more weeks and you’d have your baby.

But it was nice to have a reliable ride, even if it came with his very questionable music taste.

"Alright, let's go," Rafe said, pulling up in his shiny black truck as you slid into the passenger seat.

The smell of leather and cologne hit you immediately, as did the unmistakable thumping bass of whatever rap song he had blasting. The lyrics were, as usual, about women, money, and something about getting high on a yacht. You made a face without even realizing it—like you did every time.

"What's that look for?" Rafe smirked, glancing over at you as he pulled out of the parking lot.

You shrugged, hoping he’d let it slide. "Nothing. Just... nothing."

Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to let anything slide. "Nah, you do that every time I play my music.”

You bit your lip, wondering if he thought you were a snob now. “What? No I don’t.”

He shot you a side-eye, his smirk widening as he pressed a little harder on the gas. "You got somethin' better on your playlist?"

It wasn’t like you were embarrassed. You just didn’t think Rafe, with his expensive taste and rich boy vibes, would get it. But before you could answer, the radio cut in between songs with an ad, and you almost jumped in your seat.

“On September 6th, for one night only, Bad Omens will be performing live at the Greyhall venue on the mainland! Get your tickets now before they sell out!”

Your heart raced. Bad Omens. They were one of your favorite bands, and they were going to be right there—just a ferry ride away. You stared at the radio, gripping the sides of the seat like you were about to take off.

"Wait, what?" You said under your breath, but loud enough that Rafe noticed.

He furrowed his brow, glancing between you and the road. "You okay? What's up?"

You bit your lip, feeling the excitement rising inside you and knowing it was pointless. You couldn’t afford concert tickets, let alone the ferry and everything else that came with it. But still, you couldn’t help the tiny squeak of frustration that escaped.

"It’s nothing. Just…one of my favorite bands is playing."

Rafe’s eyebrows shot up. "Favorite bands?" His voice lilted with surprise. "You never told me you had a favorite band. Wait—what band?"

You fidgeted in your seat, the seatbelt suddenly feeling too tight. "Bad Omens."

He blinked. "Who?"

Of course. You sighed. "They're a metalcore band. Like heavy, but not just noise. They actually sing. And scream. It’s complicated."

Rafe's expression was priceless—like you just told him you were secretly a wizard or something.

"Metalcore?" He repeated, testing the word,"Wait, hold up. You’re telling me you like that screamo stuff?"

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

You? The girl who got him by the balls since he laid his eyes on you? The quiet, sweet, always-put-together girl he drove home after work, into metalcore? It was like you just told him you had a secret double life.

You shrugged, feeling yourself blush a little. "It’s not just screamo. There's a lot more to it. It's deep."

“Screamo stuff,” he repeated, trying to wrap his head around it. His eyes moved from the road back to you, still processing. You were full of surprises, and every time he learned something new about you, it knocked him off his feet. He wasn’t used to it. Most girls he’d been with were pretty predictable—into the same stuff, liked the same fancy dinners, designer bags, the whole kook lifestyle. And then there was you.

You still sounded a little defensive, your fingers messing with the hem of your shirt. “I swear, there’s actual singing and meaning behind the lyrics.”

Rafe leaned back in his seat, still smirking, but he wasn’t laughing at you. He was actually impressed. You really didn’t care what anyone thought, did you? He couldn’t even pretend to understand the music, but it wasn’t just that—it was everything about you that threw him off in the best way.

"So that’s why you’re always making faces at my music? ‘Cause it’s not—what, hardcore enough for you?"

You couldn’t help but giggle. "I mean yeah, kinda." You glanced over at him, like you were waiting for him to crack a joke or say something stupid, but all he could do was stare at you like you’d just become ten times more interesting. “What, I don’t look like someone who’d enjoy heavy music?”

He laughed, shaking his head.  “I would've never guessed. You’re always so quiet. Sweet. I thought you’d be into, I don’t know, something soft and cute. You look like you’d be into Taylor Swift, not dudes screaming about whatever it is they scream about.”

You let out a small laugh, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sound. He loved that laugh. “Well, I do like Taylor Swift. But, you know, metal is just...it hits different.”

Rafe’s face went from shock to something else, like he was putting pieces together in his head. "Wait, that explains so much. Every time I put on something with a chill beat, you look like you’re dying inside."

"I just have different taste," you admitted.

"Damn, never thought I’d see the day," he muttered, more to himself. “So, this band of yours—Bad Omens—where they playing?"

"Greyhall in September,” you said quietly. "But it’s fine. I can’t afford to go."

He frowned. "The hell you can’t. Just get the tickets."

You blinked at him. "I can’t, Rafe. They’re probably expensive, and I’ve got rent and bills. Y’know, real life stuff?"

He furrowed his brow, like the concept of not being able to afford something was completely foreign to him. “It’s just tickets. How much could they be?”

"Probably more than I make in a week. Plus the ferry, the drinks, food—it's not that simple."

He glanced at you, like he was doing the math in his head. The guy lived in a world where nothing was “that simple” because everything was already done for him. He didn’t have to think about rent or ferry costs or budgeting for groceries. That wasn’t Rafe’s reality, and for a second, you could see it in his eyes—he forgot that your world wasn’t his.

"Alright," he said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal, "I’ll get them."

"What?"

"I’ll get the tickets," he repeated, more casual this time, like it was the easiest solution in the world. "You wanna see them, right? So I’ll buy the tickets."

Your mouth fell open. "Rafe, no. You can’t just—"

He looked at you like you’d just said something offensive. "I can.”

"No, you’re not buying me concert tickets. That’s ridiculous."

He rolled his eyes, acting like it was no big deal. “I’ve spent more on dumber shit. Consider it an early birthday gift. Or whatever."

“Do you even know when my birthday is?”

He didn’t even miss a beat, "October 8th” he said, his voice so smooth and confident that it caught you off guard.

Your jaw dropped a little, and you stared at him. "Wait—how do you know that?"

He shrugged casually, but he was proud of himself. "What, you think I don’t pay attention to you?”

When it came to you, he was locked in. Every detail, every little thing you mentioned, he was soaking it up. He knew. Out of all the random things, that’s what he remembered. You never told him outright; maybe it came up once in a passing conversation, weeks ago, buried under a million other details about work or life or whatever. And yet, here he was, dropping the exact date like it was nothing. You tried to play it cool, but inside, your brain was short-circuiting. Rafe Cameron knows my birthday. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, that smirk still glued to his face. He was being way too natural about the whole thing.

“Okay,” You snapped out of it, “You’re not buying me tickets, Rafe,” you warned him, crossing your arms and shaking your head. “Seriously, I can’t let you do that.”

He barely glanced at you, too busy making a smooth turn, “You act like I just offered to buy you a house. It’s a couple of tickets, not that big of a deal.”

“To you!” You huffed, leaning back in the seat. “It’s a big deal to me. I’m not just gonna let you drop money like that. For what? For a concert that you’re not even going to?”

Rafe let out a low chuckle, which only fueled your frustration. He thought this was funny.

“It’s just tickets,” he repeated, like that was going to wear you down. “Look, if it bothers you that much, you can pay me back. And I can go with you”

You felt your heart do this weird little somersault, like it didn’t know whether to panic or be excited.

What the hell was he talking about.

Rafe Cameron, Mr. Country Club, wanted to go to a metalcore concert with you?

Your head was spinning. He doesn't even know the band, you thought, trying to figure out if he was serious or just messing with you. But judging by the way he was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he wasn’t joking.

“You’re gonna come with me to a Bad Omens concert?” Your voice came out more skeptical than you intended, but could he blame you. The thought of Rafe at a concert full of screaming fans and heavy breakdowns was honestly hilarious.

He shrugged, eyes still on the road, totally unfazed. “Yeah, why not? Could be fun.”

Fun? FUN? You were genuinely struggling to picture him, in his usual attire, khaki shorts and a Ralph Lauren polo, at a venue packed with sweaty metalheads. You almost wanted to laugh, but then again, he was doing this for you. He was willing to put up with a night of music he definitely didn’t like, just so you could see one of your favorite bands. That meant something.

You scoffed. “How would I pay you back anyway? With what? My tips from bartending at the country club? Gonna take me six months to pay off Bad Omens tickets.”

He glanced over, eyebrow raised, like he was sizing you up. “You’re seriously gonna pass up the chance to see one of your favorite bands because you’re too proud to let me help?”

You bit your lip, torn between how much you wanted to see them live and how uncomfortable it felt to accept help from someone like Rafe. He was used to throwing money around—his daddy’s money, no less—and you... well, you weren’t like that. You’d grown up on the other side of the island, working your ass off to afford anything. 

The idea of someone just buying something for you? It made you feel weird. Like a sell-out.

“It’s not about a couple bucks. It’s about you doing this because you feel like you have to or something.”

His jaw tightened just slightly, and he shook his head like you were missing the point completely. “I don’t feel like I have to do anything. I want to do this. There’s a difference.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, not letting him off the hook just yet. “Why? Why do you want to do this so bad?”

There it was. That look again. He hesitated, like he was deciding whether to be fully honest or not, then leaned back in his seat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel again, trying to play it cool.

“Because,” he started, his voice casual but his eyes were giving him away. “This is what friends do. They look out for each other. I’m not letting you miss something you clearly want.”

Saying the word made his chest hurt just a little. Friends. Right. But he didn’t let it show. He wasn’t exactly the relationship type, and everyone knew it. You probably knew it, but when it came to you things were different. And maybe the idea of spending time with you at that concert—just the two of you, no work, no distractions—sounded like a dream. How could he say that without looking like an idiot? Or worse, like a an asshole trying to buy his way into your life.

“Rafe, be serious,” you sighed. “I don’t like feeling like I owe someone.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” he said quickly, a little sharper this time. He seemed almost offended. “Why do you keep acting like this is some big favor? I’m not holding it over your head or anythin’. I just want you to go to the concert and have a good time. Is that so hard to accept?”

You did want to go. Badly. But accepting help like this wasn’t your style, especially not from Rafe, who lived in a completely different world. And yet you could feel how much he genuinely wanted you to say yes.

 “I’m being realistic.”

Rafe snorted. “Realistic? You’re being stubborn as hell.”

“I’m not—”

“Yeah, you are,” he cut you off, pulling into a stop at the light and turning his whole body toward you. His eyes were locked on yours now, serious but still with that hint of playful annoyance. “Look, I get it. Fine. You want to go to the concert. I’m offering to make it happen. End of story.”

He was used to getting what he wanted, and, right now, what he wanted was for you to take these tickets.

“Why do you care so much?” you asked, your voice coming out quieter than you intended.

He hesitated for half a second. Then that smirk of his came back, though it felt different. “Because I like seeing you excited about something. You’ve been dragging your feet every time I see you, and now, you hear some band’s coming to town, and you light up like it’s Christmas. You think I’m gonna let you miss that over a couple bucks?”

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. He was always so sincere. And it threw you off completely. Rafe was a lot of things to a lot of people—cocky, reckless, arrogant—but he wasn’t usually thoughtful. Not to them. Not like this. You seemed to be the only one who saw the good in him.

But you still weren’t giving in. “Rafe... it’s just weird, okay? I don’t want it to be like you’re doing me a favor.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. “Fine. Then don’t think of it like that. Think of it like— I’m investing in something I wanna see. You freaking out at this concert, screaming your head off, losing your voice for two days—that’s entertainment.”

 “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re difficult,” he shot back, eyes narrowing playfully. “But I’m not backing down, so you might as well just say thank you and take the tickets.”

“Or what?” you challenged, but your voice was softening.

“Or I’ll buy the tickets, show up at your door, and force you to go.”

You blinked. “You wouldn’t.”

He grinned. “Try me. C’mon,” he pushed, sensing you were caving. “You work your ass off at that club, always taking care of everyone else. For once, just let someone take care of you.”

Your breath hitched at that. He wasn’t just being cocky or trying to win an argument anymore. He meant it. You looked out the window, chewing on your lip. This was new, this was all so new to you it felt a little pathetic with how hard your heart was racing. There was a moment of silence, like you were both just waiting for the other to blink first.

Finally, you sighed, throwing your hands up in defeat. “Fine! Fine. Buy the stupid tickets. But don’t think I’m not paying you back. I’ll find a way.”

He just laughed, clearly satisfied with his victory. “I’ll take that as a ‘thank you, Rafe. You’re the best friend ever.’”

You rolled your eyes again but couldn’t help smiling a little. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Cameron.”

As the light turned green and he started driving again, you let out a long breath, not knowing why you were giving up so easily. There was this strange warmth in your chest, knowing he cared enough to go toe-to-toe with you over something as small as a concert.

“Hey, for the record,” Rafe said after a moment, glancing over at you. “I’d do it again. Just so you know.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What? Fight me over tickets?”

He grinned, looking back at the road. “Nah. Fight you over anything, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, but you were beaming like an idiot now. You felt lighter. “Just don’t think this means I’m letting you pick the music on the way there.”

“Deal,” he said, laughing as he leaned back in his seat, clearly proud of himself. “But don’t get too used to it. Next time, it’s back to rap and yachts.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Yeah, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

As he drove, you couldn’t help but peek over at him, catching the way his jawline tensed and relaxed, the way his fingers tapped the steering wheel like he was still buzzing from the conversation.

And yeah, maybe you’d heard the rumors surrounding him, believed them a little before.

Now, you weren’t so sure.

All the while Rafe felt like he’d just won the lottery. You had no idea how hard he was falling for you, piece by piece. Every small detail about you made him fall harder, and it scared the hell out of him how much he cared. But he couldn’t stop now.

Truth was, he didn’t want to.

[seeminglydark]

I had no idea u were 41 ! I'm rlly glad u decided to pursue this

42 now! That ask is a year old, someone sent it to me after I posted that one of the youth I worked with at the time bought me my very first flag cuz he couldn't believe I'd been on this earth for 41 years and didn't have a pride flag.

Doing a lot of things later in life it seems. Never to late to try 🖤

[in-case-i-die-daily]

Book

song: the main character (live at the vermont hollywood, los angeles, ca)

word: 42 / 449

[jareicanon]

my the history books forgot about us series on ao3 now has??? 40 parts???? help??????

no but what do i do it’s gotten out of control but i don’t want to end it because I have more to write pre-canon but then it KEEPS GROWING UM—

[ms-anthrope-cellaneous]

the only time math makes sense:

[days-until-good-omens-miniseries]

42