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kaiserposting · 17 hours ago

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Michael Kaiser — Scream Blue Murder

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 6.6k TYPE: Break up & Make up, Humor primarily, Light Angst(??), Argument Resolution, Birthday and Christmas fic WARNING(S): None ?

Excitement is bubbling up inside of Ness’s whole being. Maybe this would be a dramatic sentiment coming from anyone else, but in his case it’s not an exaggeration.

The cause of this excitement is, to others, a given. But again in the circumstances of Ness’s upbringing, a Christmas celebration with actual people instead of a guilty ritual in his head is unique. Because of the overwhelming pseudo intellectualism permeating his childhood circumstances (which, while, yes, his parents are well educated scientists, and he can acknowledge their acuity to an extent, a lot of their conventions were in fact arbitrary and ridiculous), Christmas was banned in his home. Among other things.

It was very uncomfortable in hindsight and this choice led to potent social alienation among his peers, and might have even contributed to the isolation he suffered in adolescence.

There were times where, for example, before Christmas break, his class would do gift exchanges. He wasn’t allowed to participate and neither was he allowed to skip, so he had to sit there every year and endure the whole process of disappointing his Secret Santa buddy by not bringing anything — which is humiliating enough — and then carry the knowledge that he’ll have to throw out what he got later too, if found. And to be honest, Ness was the type of person who always ended up being found out by his parents.

He couldn’t even play pretend with his classmates in peace when he was in elementary school. Looking back on it, that has to be a little excessive.

But anyway. Bastard München Christmas day trip with teammates and Kaiser’s birthday all-in-one combo. Yay.

Of course, there was a choice to opt out and go back home to see family, which annoying people like Yoichi took because he presumably has a support system or whatever, but what’s important is that Kaiser is here with him on this day.

Ness doesn’t need much from Kaiser to be happy, he reassures himself, just breathing alongside each other is enough. The reason he’s pondering this to begin with is that Kaiser forbade him from even buying him a present (Ness wasn’t so optimistic to think he’d receive one, but he can’t even give?) — again, a little excessive, but isn’t everything in his life…

Since Kaiser went over to your place last night the last he heard from him, Ness is a little surprised to see you standing with your arms crossed near the bus, waiting by your lonesome. No Kaiser in sight. You look a bit grumpy and disheveled, too.

Ness decides not to think too much about it as all the attending teammates start showing up one by one.

Even Kaiser, who has trouble waking up in the morning, makes it before the designated time somehow. Though upon his arrival, much to Ness’s confusion he doesn’t look as impeccable as usual, plagued by puffy eyes and a red nose.

Is the cold being particularly unkind to him? Ness tries to explain the sight to himself.

The second oddity is that instead of joining your side like expected, he struts up to Ness and stands there. His posture is stiff and his facial expression more irritable than yours had been.

Is Kaiser choosing him over you? Is this the so-called Christmas miracle his parents didn’t believe in?

Trying to seem casual and not unhinged with ecstasy, Ness says, “Good morning, Kaiser.”

“Morning.”

“Happy birthday!”

“Thanks,” Kaiser replies in an ungrateful tone.

Well, he is not giving him much to work with, but all things in life come at a price. Ness doesn’t let Kaiser’s shitty attitude dampen his spirits. If such a thing were enough to ward him off, he supposes maybe he’d be in a better place, both mentally and in his career. But because he is who he is, he just lets his lips curl up in his usual turtle smile and stands there waiting to get on the bus, hands clasped behind his back as he gives off this vague aura of sparkling.

___

Kurona is sleepy.

It’s no good they decided to take off at five in the morning, but he can doze off on the bus, he supposes, and when he looked it up last night, it seemed that the drive would be long.

He is among the first to enter and sits down to dutifully wait for Hiori.

These plans are disrupted when you plop down next to him instead, but Kurona kind of doesn’t care enough to protest or ask you to move. You don’t talk with him much otherwise.

He assesses how comfortable the seat is while you untangle your earphone wires. It seems to give you a bit of trouble, but Kurona is too shy to offer his help, so he settles on staring at your movements deadpan.

Kaiser and Ness decide to take the seats in front, but he pays them no mind. Now that he thinks about it, shouldn’t you be sitting with Kaiser instead? He expects Kaiser to maybe make some catty remark about this transgression, yet it never comes.

Instead he peers at you from the crack between his seat and Ness’s in this unsettling sort of way. His eyes are slightly bloodshot, or at least Kurona thinks so, but maybe it’s his sleep deprived imagination. Besides, when is Kaiser not being creepy.

He crams his arm into the space somehow and puts up his middle finger.

You blink in surprise at first because of the sudden intrusion, then scowl and roll your eyes while Kaiser retrieves the offending arm and glares at you again.

“Stop making your rectal myopia everyone else’s problem,” you say as if this is some ongoing discussion and Kurona is catching you in the middle of a conversation. Which is kind of weird, since he’s pretty sure you and Kaiser haven’t spoken a single word to each other the entire morning prior to this.

“Oh yeah, and you’re The Virgin of Guadalupe,” says Kaiser with a hateful huff, before turning back around. Somehow he manages to put a lot of attitude into this motion.

Rectal myopia? The Virgin of Guadalupe?

Trouble in paradise for the couple. Tragedy, tragedy.

Despite the weirdness of what transpired, Kurona decides he doesn’t care and flutters his eyes closed without trouble. He dreams about riding a shark back to Japan.

___

The drive takes seven hours and less than thirty minutes, which according to the tour leader was ‘quick’.

Berlin seems greener and more cosmopolitan than Munich to Hiori, but then again he’s a nobody and he’s an expert in nothing, which he is also quite content with. The group makes it to the hotel they’ll be doing a one night stay in and there is scheduled rest time until some activities in a few hours.

Hiori is having to room with Kurona and Yukimiya, who decide to take it easy. In all honesty he’s a bit bored. His late nights staying up and playing online grant him immunity to this type of malaise, so he decides to go out and walk around by himself, possibly wander off outside even if it’s not the wisest choice.

This trek leads him down to the lobby, where he sees you having some long winded conversation with the receptionist. Though to her face you seem amicable and accepting of the outcome regarding whatever you were requesting, once you turn around so your back is on her, it’s obvious you are seething.

Out of boredom, Hiori approaches. Kind of gingerly as if skirting around a land mine. “What’s up? Did something happen?”

“I got put in a room with Michael and Alexis.”

“Oh, that’s great.”

“No, it isn’t. I was asking them if I can pay to go somewhere else, but the girl said no.”

“Huh? Wait, why? Isn’t Kaiser your boyfriend? Shouldn’t you be happy about that?”

“No, I'm not happy. He’s an ass, and he’s ungrateful, and he’s mean, and he looks like a mop. The first adult case of anencephaly, surely.”

Hiori blinks, continuing to smile with his insect eyes wide open and peering into your soul. “What?”

“It’s like a longer way of saying he doesn’t have a brain,” you explain in a rush. Then you wrap a scarf around your neck and move as if you’re about to leave the lobby.

“Going somewhere?”

“I will be back before the ‘activity’.”

“No power nap?”

“No.”

“D’ya wanna sleep with me, Yukimiya and Kurona in our room tonight? If you’re fighting with Kaiser and they ain’t letting you move.”

“I’ll think about it and tell you later, if you don’t mind.”

Hiori continues smiling, and sends you off with a smooth and somehow delicate wave of his hand.

___

Yukimiya is in a pleasant mood. Like, he’s not too happy, but he’s experiencing mild contentment. He’s also pretty sure Hiori is fucking with Kaiser on purpose, same deceptive and listless smile on his face as always. They’re kind of similar in that way.

They’ve gathered in a circle, the three of them because he doesn’t really get on with anyone else, waiting for everyone to arrive so they can head off to one of Berlin’s Christmas markets. Kurona is quiet as usual, not offering much to the conversation (though he doesn’t need to since his presence by itself is generally appreciated) while Hiori and Yukimiya talk. He’s not even sure Kurona is listening to be honest, but he wouldn’t blame him if he weren’t.

And Kaiser is glaring at the back of Hiori’s head.

“So they were asking to go to another room, but the receptionist refused, so I offered to let them stay with us. Y’all don’t mind, right?”

“No trouble, no trouble,” Kurona allows with a blank face and even tone, displaying his generosity.

Yeah, he’s definitely doing it on purpose. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been talking about it so much — Hiori must be getting a kick out of pissing Kaiser off. Yukimiya doesn’t believe for a second that he’s oblivious to the holes Kaiser’s staring into his head. Hiori is not stupid, and everyone can tell by now you and your boy toy have been having some kind of fight, and it’s obvious neither of you is happy about it despite clinging to the conflict.

Yukimiya closes his eyes and joins Hiori in on the blithe smiling ritual. Because he’s feeling pleasant today, and then he adds, “I guess if they accept, they can pick who to share the bed with.” Of course such a thing is unlikely to happen, but it’s not fair that only Hiori is getting to further sour Kaiser’s mood.

Yukimiya glances at Kaiser, who looks like he is about to shit himself in anger, for about a second and then focuses his attention back on Hiori in front of him. The sky is pure white and the ground is coated in snow. Today is a good day.

___

The Christmas marketplace afternoon is not turning out to be any fun. Gesner is regretting going. He’s sure everyone else is regretting going, actually — it’s like a lame school trip, but he’s not twelve anymore, so he can’t enjoy it at all.

There aren’t any baddies around to flirt with anyway, just mothers with children who probably don’t want anyone to bother them during the bustle of this commercialist holiday nightmare.

To make himself feel better, he engages in some recreational complaining about all the first world problems he’s had today while walking around all the vendors with the rest of the group.

“And I’ve got a crick in my neck because the fucking bus seats were not comfortable at all. Not to mention waking up at four is inhumane. Seriously, who funded this shit,” he says.

Grim has this solemn expression on, staring at Gesner with pensive sadness and a vague sense of understanding. If he were speaking to anyone other than Grim, maybe it would’ve been encouraging, but this is Grim’s default state of being and not a unique comprehension of how grave and serious Gesner’s frustrations are, so it’s kind of whatever.

“Also,” continues Gesner regardless, “Kaiser and the manager are being such annoying dick cheeses, arguing like little kids. Passive aggressive babies. Should’ve stayed back in Munich if you ask me.”

“So immature,” Grim says, still dour.

“I’m right behind you,” Kaiser pipes up.

Gesner clicks his tongue and talks over Kaiser, addressing Grim still. “You’re such a smegma too. Fuck you all.”

“Love is withering and fading all around on the day of the Messiah’s birth. How hilarious and yet poignant.”

“Seriously, shut the fuck up.” At the same time, “Stop talking about me like I’m not here you fucking lowlifes.”

“During my silence you will hear nature’s white noise as spirits mourn us in festivity.”

“Oh my god. You’re just saying random words, dick cheese.”

Gesner stomps away and gets lost somewhere else in the crowd. He doesn’t bother to turn around and apologize or otherwise acknowledge Kaiser’s existence.

___

It’s not the best thing in the world. Kiyora is bored, but he’s bored most days, so it’s not exceptionally horrible either. Even as a child, he wasn’t the type to get excited about Christmas, so there isn’t even any lost novelty. It’s all just bland and not special at all to him, though he admits he doesn’t mind getting free shit no matter the season.

There is an ice rink, so he thinks to try and pull off break dancing, but a dent forms in his plans when you approach him.

“I don’t know how to skate,” you say, in place of a greeting.

Not knowing what to do with this information and without seeing how it’s relevant to him, Kiyora replies with, “‘Kay.”

“Can I… Like… With you?”

He is annoyed, but doesn’t betray it with any unnecessary facial twitches or even with an attitude. Well, you’re the manager, so he supposes he can humor you.

He pulls you along with him, not letting you stay glued to the railing because then that would mean he’d have to be like that, too. Maybe if he were more considerate he’d be slow and gentle, but he doesn’t want to skate like that, so he just drags you along while you’re clumsy on your feet.

You don’t even chat. But it’s not uncomfortable or tense to be so silent — at least to him. Things of the sort don’t bother him. He’s immune to secondhand embarrassment and awkwardness. Besides, you’ve been in a mood ever since he first saw you in the morning and there has been no improvement, so he doubts you even want to talk to him.

Though the fact that it’s not uncomfortable doesn’t mean it’s fun. It’s boring like most other things. Everything’s just boring to him most of the time when there is no conflict.

Kiyora flings you into a more complex skating sequence which without much of his support doesn’t work out and you end up tripping and falling on your face. Without a care or a second thought, he skates away from you while you groan in pain to try kick spinning on ice.

___

Something that Ness always admired in Kaiser ever since meeting him is that despite his obvious unhappiness, he’s in control of himself. He holds himself with dignity, cold and calculated. Despite everything Ness really likes that difficult and aloof personality, how he can’t get quite close to him.

But he’s just- different. Nowadays.

It’s not like, a new thing. Kaiser changes all the time, if necessary, an intentional change or a product of someone else’s prodding.

Today he is mopey, bitter and annoying even to Ness’s sensibilities. It’s a big achievement, all things considered, since at one point Ness considered himself impervious to Kaiser’s faults. But Kaiser… won’t stop complaining, won’t stop talking about you, and it’s walking on his last nerve.

Why is he so fucking whiny? Like truly, why? Has he always been like this and Ness just didn’t see it somehow or what? Did you put some spell on him to make him so desperate and pathetic?!

Even now he’s trying to help Kaiser ice skate and he just keeps turning around to glare at you and Kiyora and is overall not listening to anything Ness is telling him, plagued by uncharacteristic absentmindedness, but Ness keeps his stubborn smile in place anyway. No one can defeat him when he sets his mind to do something. Not even Kaiser himself can get in his way of enjoying Christmas with Kaiser, and that’s final.

Or at least that’s what he thinks until the accident happens where you slip and Kiyora leaves you there.

Despite not having the slightest idea, Kaiser lets go of Ness rather brazenly and tries to go and help you up — maybe with the thought this would be a good reconciliation opportunity — but follows suit and falls face first even harder than you did.

Ness stares.

This is it. A monumental moment, something thought impossible before, a mark in history.

… Alexis Ness got the ick from his beloved Kaiser.

Yukimiya ends up helping you up, gallant in a way Kaiser could only be in his imagination. Of course Ness helps him up anyway (such a good samaritan, considering his earlier epiphanies), and you two end up with matching scratches over your foreheads and noses, which makes both of you look about as idiotic as you are.

Ness is fuming.

But he continues to smile — he’s getting kind of concerned for himself if he has to be honest.

___

This marketplace has the biggest Christmas pyramid in Europe inside of it. It’s the kind of thing Ness used to imagine as a kid, so he owes it to himself to go in no matter what. There seem to have been a lot of ‘no matter what's’ involved for him today, as if he’s off to a warzone instead of a fucking Christmas trip with his team, but whatever.

Kaiser doesn’t even give the giant Christmas decoration a glance, too deep into his complaining to pay attention to much of anything. “I didn’t even want to come,” he says, amid the other problems he’s verbalized (except for the most important one, of course, which is that he’s feeling like a wounded animal over whatever you two fought about).

“Then- Then why did you?” asks Ness. Though he thinks Kaiser deserves a bit of snark for ruining the whole day for him, his confusion is also genuine. He knows Kaiser prefers to be in solitude on his birthday, and he’s not festive at all.

“It was just supposed to be different.”

“Well, um, okay.” Ness shuffles in place and looks over to the Christmas pyramid again. It’s gotten dark now, so the glow of its jovial lights makes it appear even more striking. You seem to be heading there, but Ness doesn’t think much of it, trying to voice a desire for once in his life. “I wanna go in and check out the wine.”

Kaiser narrows his eyes, then does his little frown. “I’m not going. Do I look twelve?”

Ness inhales. Seriously, he just wants one thing. He gets it, Kaiser’s having a shit time, but does he need to make it sound like only a stupid child would want to go after Ness voiced the simplest, most mundane wish someone could fucking have at such an event?

Does the planet need to stop spinning just because Kaiser is in a mood?

Huffing and scrunching his nose, he says, “Well, I’ll go by myself then.”

“Suit yourself.”

And he does. In a show of independence and perhaps spite, Ness takes off into a half jog and catches up to you. Kaiser is glaring at him from behind and he can feel it, but he doesn’t care. He’s sitting down next to you and having that mulled wine and that’s final — Kaiser can throw a tantrum about it if it’s so important. Outside. All alone.

God, he’s all guilty and pitying him now, temper fizzling out, but decides to stand on his decision to leave Kaiser to sulk like a scolded puppy by himself.

Ness takes the spot next to you after getting his drink. You seem a bit surprised by his appearance, but try not to let it show and he can still tell anyway.

He won’t ask.

He’s not going to ask what you fought about with Kaiser that’s got him all out of control.

Ness clears his throat and breaks the tentative silence with an awkward question. “So, um, are you enjoying the trip?”

“It’s alright. How about you?”

“Yeah, it’s been great.”

Wow, you two are such shameless liars. Bad at small talk too.

After the initial discomfort, Ness falls into a more normal conversation with you. The jolly music in the background is pleasant, at least to him, and in the avoidance of the topic of Kaiser, he actually gets to speak with you about himself as an individual. He realizes now throughout this that he’d almost forgotten what it’s like.

___

Kaiser’s skin is flushed pink, since it’s so cold outside, and his hair looks mysteriously even worse than usual, probably because of the wind. For someone whose favorite season is winter, it doesn’t seem to do him any favors.

Whatever.

Gesner watches, mildly disturbed, as Kaiser gobbles down his third bratwurst like it personally offended him.

He takes a sip of his shitty overpriced beer that he bought from the same food stall Kaiser got his dinner from. But it’s fine, he doesn’t need to sweat how he can buy the same brand from the supermarket ten minutes away from his house for a few euros cheaper, he has professional athlete money now. No biggie.

After some internal seething over this stupid beer he’s drinking, Gesner says, “So, why don’t you just apologize?”

“Apologize for what? I have nothing to apologize for.”

“Stop being such a dickweed. You’re making everyone uncomfortable.”

“I don’t care if you morons are uncomfortable. And why do you immediately assume I was the one in the wrong?”

“Well, we all know who the more reasonable between the two of you is, so I’m making an educated guess on who started it, whatever it was.”

“Nothing you ever do is educated.”

Kaiser rubs his forehead and sniffs as if the weather is giving him a runny nose, looking all despondent and offended at the same time. This is probably an attack to his sensibilities since he prides himself on being rational, but whatever. Gesner finds this whole ordeal so pathetic, and not in a cute way.

“Ok, do you seriously not care that you ruined it all for Ness? It’s not fun walking around with a wet jerkoff choking on his own angst all Christmas.”

“Listen, I get it, poor Ness. Whatever. But why do I need to force myself to act like nothing’s wrong? It’s my birthday. I’m not some monkey he hired to dance and smile with him if I’m not feeling it. Fuck Ness. Stop whining to me about fucking Ness. He can go fuck himself, no one made him hang around me the entire day if he hates it so much.”

Gesner rolls his eyes. “You’re so obnoxious,” he says.

“Go worry about how you hit on a single mother in front of her kid and the kid made fun of you,” Kaiser snaps.

Gesner takes one more long sip out of the beer can and stares up at the sky, trying to erase the memory of that incident from his head, while Kaiser finishes off the last of his sausage. He could abandon the conversation here, he supposes, go seek more pleasant company, but everyone’s always so acquiescent to Kaiser. No one ever gives it to him straight.

“I’m just saying- I don’t know if you get off on making yourself and everyone around you miserable or something, but this is ridiculous. It’s not making you happy, clearly, and your birthday’s ruined. Just make up with [Y/n] and apologize to Ness too. It’s not that hard.”

Kaiser heaves a theatric, long suffering sigh. “Fine. You’re right.”

Despite his bouts of pride and bullheadedness, Kaiser can admit when someone is making an actual point. Gesner never thought he’d be a name on the list of people who’ve schooled Kaiser, but it feels kinda good.

He picks his one liner to end the conversation, a final and critical utterance to symbolize his verbal victory: “Dick cheese.”

God, he loves saying that.

___

There are so many fairy lights, it’s almost an eyesore.

Grim is walking around along with you and Ness after joining somewhere along the way since Gesner abandoned him. Woe is him. He cannot even shroud himself in darkness because of holiday beautification all over the city. Such merry roistering in a place full of crisis and misery, what with homelessness being so prevalent here. Exuberance can only exist and shine off of someone else’s back…

But Grim has always been fascinated by this sort of dichotomy, the way it follows all facets of life. It’s easy for him to apply his philosophy with its flexibility when he wants to see it, which is all the time. So he also makes everything about his beliefs all the time.

So, the fact that you’ve been having this relationship drama with Kaiser today of all days, intrigues him.

He lets out a bemused wail and clutches at his forehead like a maiden, halting in the middle of the sidewalk. You and Ness stop and look at him curiously.

Grim stares into your eyes. It’s intense, but you don’t flinch. Ness drags his shoe across the ground even though nothing is stuck to it and shuffles in place, jacket making noises along with the movement.

Finally, Grim places his hand on your shoulder, gripping tight. His declaration is dramatic. “You have a kind of frigidity I admire.”

You raise a curious eyebrow.

Grim continues gazing at you with his strangely wet, dark eyes. His pensive delivery continues. “Most people don’t have it in them to ignore and shittalk their boyfriend on his birthday, but you do. You’re coldhearted.”

“Hey, don’t instigate,” says Ness with a worried frown on his face. Poor thing, probably getting irritated that this shit keeps following him around, but what was he thinking going from Kaiser to you.

“I’m not trying to be cold or whatever. I just- you know, it’s about sticking to your principles.”

This isn’t helpful information considering no one knows what this mystical argument was even about. Grim doesn’t care what it was about either and Ness is sick of it, so he won’t inquire either in his hopes of cutting the topic short.

In these circumstances, the silence festers.

Your expression mirrors Ness’s as concern seems to dawn on you while you stare at him. “It’s not too harsh, is it?”

“Well, he wasn’t handling it well,” Ness admits.

“But what am I supposed to do when he’s not budging?!” You string the words together in a haste, fishing for sympathy or confirmation that you were in the right despite what seems like a vague amount of regret setting in.

…

Grim and Ness stare.

“I can’t just let him walk over me because it’s his birthday!”

They glance at each other then back at you and start nodding solemnly in tandem while letting out a few ‘fair’s here and there.

“Maybe I could’ve been kinder, but it’s a matter of principle! I wasn’t thinking clearly, since I was angry! It’s not like Michael is the only one in the world allowed to… to get angry and stop thinking straight. And we all make mistakes. Right? Right?”

The two of them still don’t even know what you did or why you’re trying to justify it so vehemently, but Grim assumes you’re more so reasoning with yourself rather than them. Ness displays the body language of someone whose skin is crawling.

“Misery on Christmas creates such a beautiful juxtaposition,” Grim says, wiping at his forehead again even though the temperature is in the negatives.

You roll your eyes.

Ness checks the time on his phone and fakes dismay over ‘cutting the walk short’ before suggesting heading back to the group meeting spot.

___

Kaiser would never admit it out loud, but he’s quite emotionally fragile and volatile at times. He’s been on edge all day to everyone’s notice, but now even more so on the way back, preparing to apologize or to beg if necessary (though honestly pulling out all the theatrics when wanting to reconcile in kind doesn’t seem like the brightest idea).

After some reflection, he has come to terms with the truth about the argument. Throughout the day he victimized himself in his memories, but it’s not the full picture. Of course Kaiser doesn’t care about painting himself in a virtuous light to his own imagination — being that he enjoys aggrandizing himself through malice — but more so to forget how the whole thing spiraled from a pathetic, wounded kind of spot in his psyche.

He went over to spend the night at your place last night, and then you were supposed to get to the bus before the trip together, but it didn’t happen according to plan.

When it struck midnight and the twenty-fourth became the twenty-fifth you were both still awake watching some pretentious French arthouse movie about an abused donkey which he pretended he picked out at random and not from an ‘intellectual movie list’ he looked up in advance.

Your alarm went off in the middle of the circus scene, and you wrapped your arms around him, gave him a few kisses on his face, then wished him a happy birthday.

Kaiser admits that his knee jerk reaction was irritation, but he held it in and granted you an awkward thanks, squeezing your waist as he returned the embrace.

But then you went off to get the cake you got him and his gift and he kind of freaked out. Not because they were bad, but because you know he hates surprises and he hates celebrating his birthday and why he hates being caught off guard so much to begin with, but went ahead and did it anyway. And, yeah, Gesner was right, he started it — he made some disparaging remark about how you should’ve known better and kept this shit to yourself.

You started digging into him too though, for his reactions, so he bit at you in response, then you refused to back down and it escalated into one of those things where it was more of an insult exchange than a real discussion. Many times you both twisted facts not merely about this instance of disagreement but about the relationship itself, petty and mean.

Kaiser realized he was being a bit ridiculous because he was goading you, and on purpose. He could’ve stopped and done damage control, but made the choice not to. In that moment he wanted to act as ugly as he could and have you accept him and love him in spite of it, so he kept making his own grave, and the more you mouthed off to him and dissected his faults too instead of just taking it, the more he felt hurt and rejected, and the more he lashed out as a result.

Then “Maybe we should just break up then!” flew out of your mouth. He accepted it with a sneer to your face, but really he knew it was mostly his fault, so he cried all night and choked himself before he ended up hollow and empty. He felt like shit and worse, he made you feel like shit too and he let it go on for too long.

He had his reasons for his gripes about the birthday celebration, but he should’ve communicated that more sensibly instead of expecting you to keel over and praise him in the face of his berating. His behavior spurred yours and your response to him spurred him to take it further, but it doesn’t mean he was right. All things considered the beginning of the stupid fight definitely wasn’t something worth losing you over.

But how does he fix it? He said a hundred things he didn’t mean last night and toyed with your temper, tried your sense of self-respect to try and fill the black hole inside of him, always seeking affirmation and reassurance. Please never leave me. Please accept me and coddle me no matter what I do because there are times when I can’t understand anything else. Please love me senselessly.

Which — apparently you’re not willing to do, and that was the cause of his whole dramatic distress. Though it’s probably a good thing how your love is somewhat conditional. Kaiser is glad, in a weird way, that you didn’t let him trample all over you without retaliation.

Do you even want him to try and make nice with you?

He can’t stop thinking about it. To whatever extent and in whatever way he’s capable of, he’s so smitten with you, but this isn’t an oopsie daisy situation where he can brush it off to the side and hope you can forget, what with how out of line he was.

It’s not even something he wants. He wants to say sorry and make proper amends after all this nonsense.

The group is making its way inside the hotel after stepping off the bus when he asks you to stay outside and talk.

You cross your arms and look at him, not seeming too pleased, but more willing to be in his presence than before. “What now?”

“I just…” He runs a hand through his hair and looks off to the side, ignoring your vexed tone. Despite his many mental rehearsals on the ride back, Kaiser never really figured out what to say. “I fucked up so bad. You were trying to be sweet and I acted histrionic and crazy and insulted you over something so dumb, just because I hate surprises and whatever else dumb reasoning I had. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Can we just… I don’t know, talk about it? I understand if you want to split, but I don’t, and I just wanna say I’m sorry for being unreasonable and… and fucking disrespectful and an ingrate too.”

A flash of surprise appears on your face, as if you hadn’t expected him to apologize, let alone to approach you first about it. Outside of that, he can’t judge what you think about it. His palms are sweaty and the silence, the longer it goes on, seems like it’ll crush in on him, a metaphorical weight, as if he’ll crumble under a mass of nothing.

“Oh, so you admit you were an ingrate?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m an ingrate and you’re always right.” It sounds sarcastic, but he’s trying to have a sense of humor about it.

“Listen, I’m sorry about the birthday thing too… I know you don’t like them-”

“No, no, don’t do that. It doesn’t matter how much I hate them. I could’ve said that like a normal person. Really. I’m sorry.”

“Alright, and… and, uh, I said some nasty things too. About you.”

“Yeah but, fuck, I was insulting you first. I don’t even care anymore, honestly. About you making me a surprise when I hate them and about whatever you said. I didn’t even mean all that shit I was spewing at you, I just- felt hurt and wanted to hurt you back, and it was fucked up of me, and I’m sorry.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry for hurting you by disregarding you saying you hate the birthday celebration stuff and for doing too much with the insults too. I guess, I don’t know, it would’ve felt wrong to me not to give you anything for your birthday, but I should’ve listened to what you wanted anyway. It’s not like I know what you need better than you do.”

“That’s whatever. I’m over it.”

Kaiser stares at you because he doesn’t know what any of this means. You’re not accepting or denying him, just talking about what happened, and your expression is calm. The circumstances are completely unlike last night.

He’s not good at this substantial kind of talk, so he continues to stare, awaiting some kind of divine sign like maybe for you to robotically announce you forgive him, then you’ll interlace your fingers together and run off to skip in a field of flowers together or some such.

“You have a runny nose,” you point out.

“I know. Ignore it. I’m not doing the cocaine sniffle anymore, it’s getting old now.” Kaiser takes a step closer — not enough to encroach, but still desiring more proximity. “Listen, you can throw me a hundred surprises if you want, or hit me or scream at me or insult me for days on end, I just want you to know I really do regret it all. And… Please, don’t let me go.” The last bit is humiliating to speak and his cheeks heat up accordingly.

You step forward too, in his direction, once and then twice, before leaning in to wrap your arms around him, very gently. Relief floods his muscles, which had been tense all day all over in your absence, and Kaiser clings onto you tighter, tries to pull you closer. In the event this is a parting hug, he tries to memorize this sensation. Your warmth, your skin.

“Listen, I don’t want to leave you. Not really… I just don’t want this to be a thing. That you do. You get what I’m saying?”

“No, no, yeah. No more of this, I promise. I want to do right by you.”

Kaiser feels surprised that he means it.

“I love you, so I don’t really want to break up,” you whisper. It’s not your first time telling him you love him, but this instance is fragile and hesitant as if it is a novelty, though to be fair hearing it from your lips always makes his heart flutter.

He kisses you on the forehead and tells you he loves you too, which he means more than anything as well. Kaiser doesn’t think he’ll be pulling that shit anymore and so lightly either, not when it could cost him so much. The two of you hold each other in the snow for a few minutes longer, not wanting to move and disrupt your own reunion.

Kaiser can’t help feeling a bit happy and self-satisfied since he’s prevented you from moving to fuckass Hiori and Yukimiya’s room. They were totally taunting him earlier and he hopes they never score regular spots ever again.

___

Today’s main event for the trip is visiting something called ‘The Christmas Garden’.

Kurona examines the flowers, because what else is he supposed to do in a garden? Meanwhile Hiori’s watching you and Kaiser, seemingly enjoying each other’s company again despite yesterday’s malaise. You’re even holding hands and all.

“I think they made up,” Hiori says.

“Yesterday it was a calamity. Calamity.” Despite calling it a calamity, he doesn’t sound particularly invested when he replies.

“I was telling Isagi about it over LINE. He was happy Kaiser got dumped, but I guess no. Must’ve been just a fight then.”

It’s not interesting since you’re no longer wanting to beat each other up with hammers, so Hiori redirects his gaze back to Kurona again, who’s watching the fauna in total disinterest. So then Hiori also fixes his face into one of neutrality and starts watching the fauna in total disinterest too.

They are so bonding right now without Isagi’s interference!

“I would’ve liked it better if we got to see sharks,” says Kurona.

“There’s an aquarium, so maybe we can sneak off there after this.”

“No, no. I mean here in the garden. Lately I’ve been getting really into sharks in unusual places.”

“… What?”

___

It's the 25th where I am now so happy birthday to Kaiser!!!

#michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #kaiser x reader #bllk x reader #michael kaiser x you #blue lock x you

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bad268 · 3 days ago

Text

MercDuo Pt. 2 (Andrea Kimi Antonelli x Mercedes Strategist! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 1

Requested: Yes by @f1fan123 (hehe I love this so much) (SURPRISE!)

Warnings: None (some slander against barbeque food)

POV: Second Person (You/your/They/them)

W.C. 1285

Summary: Kimi's maiden win comes in probably the worst place to celebrate it: Texas.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

<-Part 1

~~(^Pinterest)

“Radio check, Kimi.”

“Loud and clear. What is my incentive for winning this race?”

“A paycheck.”

“Maybe if I had a real incentive, I would actually win instead of collecting all these podiums.”

“Maybe if you didn’t need an incentive to win a race, you would be in contention for the championship this year, but no. We’re here arguing about this. Focus on the damn race, and we’ll see if you actually get to sleep in the bed tonight.”

“Now that’s a reason to win!”

“Kimi, just focus on the lights.”

“And here I thought my wife and I argued a lot,” Jenson laughed after the Mercedes radio cut out of the broadcast. “These two just like to be at each other, but Y/n keeps Kimi in line. Their teamwork has found Kimi on 15 podiums in the 18 races so far this season, and as we head into qualifying for the American Grand Prix, everyone is interested to see how they shape up on this circuit.”

“Indeed, everyone knows that this track is notorious for overtakes, and it will be interesting to see how the young Mercedes duo shape up against the rest of the field after topping the practice session, qualifying third, and finishing second in the sprint, ” Danica Patrick said monotonously.

“Yeah, they showed great pace this weekend,” Jenson cheered, taking over as he subtly glared at Danica. She disregarded it before taking the mic again.

“The new upgrades on the car seem to suit Kimi’s driving style more, and Kimi himself is becoming more confident in the car,” She praised, which was rare, causing Jenson to look at her wide-eyed. “He’s getting comfortable, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this weekend he gets his maiden win. In his rookie year, no less. He has shown that he can run with drivers like Charles Leclerc, Lando Norris, Max Verstappen, and Lewis Hamilton. He’s proving that he deserved that seat, and he’s showing that Toto made the right call.”

“It’s a team effort, you know. Y/n is just as much to credit for his performance. They have been putting in the hours to find the best strategy, working out the effects of different tyre compounds on the cars, and ways Kimi could improve his driving style. Y/n is a big part of why he drives that way.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“With that, let's take it to anyone else. Nico?”

The race itself was probably one of the easiest ones, strategy-wise. It was a straightforward race, and you had been letting Kimi take more control of what he wanted with the pitstops, opting to run quick calculations as the race went on. It seemed to be paying off as you and Kimi climbed up the stairs to celebrate his maiden win.

It wasn’t the way you imagined celebrating his maiden win, but you would take it any day. You glanced to the side and smiled at Kimi as he stood on the top step with George and Lewis on either side of him. It was a Mercedes 1-2, and you stood off to the side, representing the team. As the Italian and German anthem played, you couldn’t help the tears in your eyes as you were so proud of your team and how far you had come. This was cause for celebration.

Well, you may have gotten ahead of yourself because if you were in Europe or something, you would be able to go out partying, but no. Kimi had to win in the United States, where the legal drinking age was 21, which neither you nor Kimi met. You still encouraged the rest of the team to go out, saying you and Kimi would find your own way to celebrate. After glaring at a few team members who were going to comment on your verbiage, you left to find Kimi wrapping up his media duties.

“Ah, just in time. We’re almost done,” Kimi said as he looked back at the interviewer before he chuckled nervously. “Eh, what was the question again?”

“Do you think you would have won with a different strategy?” The interviewer repeated with a bite in his tone. “That strategy was sketchy, to put it lightly. Surely put together by your underprepared race engineer, I bet.”

“Woah, wait a minute here,” You started to defend yourself, but Kimi simply put a hand on your shoulder.

“I made the call, they ran the numbers and said if I was comfortable with it, I could try,” Kimi explained condescendingly. “This badmouthing about it being a bad strategy because they made it is completely false. Y/n has worked very hard to get here, and they deserve their spot. They have proven this time and time again. If you are going to come at her because of a risky strategy I suggested, come at me, and we’ll see who comes out on top.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No, it’s a promise. Don’t talk bad about someone if you don’t have all of the facts. Isn’t that the first rule of journalism?” Kimi replied lowly as he ended with a chuckle, “Isn’t knowing the facts and not spreading lies part of your code of ethics?”

The interviewer shut up after that point and turned around, leaving the pen quickly. You quickly pulled Kimi aside away from prying eyes before you pushed him against the wall and smashed your lips against his.

“Not that I’m complaining about being kissed, but what was that?” He asked breathlessly after you pulled away.

“You’re so hot,” You sighed, pulling him back in for another kiss.

“When I defend you?” Kimi asked again after you got a moment apart.

“Sempre (Always),” You exhaled as you leaned into his body.

“And you’re so hot when you speak Italian,” Kimi smirked, this time pulling you in.

“Really?” You questioned, feigning innocence.

“Sempre,” Kimi finalized, planting one final kiss to your lips.

“Okay, loverboy,” You said as you reluctantly pulled away, patting his chest before grabbing his hand and turning to start heading to the car park. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”

“Late for what?” Kimi asked as he followed behind you.

“Our celebratory date night. Duh.”

The drive to a nearby barbeque restaurant was filled with music and horrible singing. Barbeque was not your typical choice for celebratory dinner, but when in Texas, you have to partake in the local cuisine.

“I don’t know how I feel about this,” Kimi admitted after he took his first bite. “I don’t know if it’s the sauce or the pork, but I don’t think it should be pulled like that.”

“I’m not feeling it either honestly,” You chuckled as you put your ribs back on the plate. “We could always head back to the hotel and get room service. I’d rather be cuddled up against you with a bowl of pasta or gelato while a movie plays in the background.”

“That sounds so much better than this,” He sighed as he called your server over to get the bill paid. Once it was all settled, you wasted no time in driving back to the hotel. It didn’t take long since the restaurant was nearby, and there was a noticeable lack of traffic. You both walked up to the hotel entrance hand-in-hand just as most of the Mercedes engineers were making their way out.

“What are you guys doing back so early? Wasn’t your reservation for 7?” One of the engineers who recommended the place asked as you stopped to greet them.

“Yeah, but we don’t like barbeque, so we came back for pasta and a movie,” You explained and Kimi nodded along.

“God, you two are so Italian.”

~~~~~

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katiascraft · 24 hours ago

Text

✐ᝰ "You knew all too well i was right where you left me" | CL16 ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊

parings: retired!charles leclerc x writer!ex!reader

series summary: It’s the story of a woman frozen in the moment her world fell apart. A perfect dinner ended with, “I met someone else,” and while everyone moved on, she remained stuck in that instant, unable to let go of the past. A poignant tale of heartbreak, grief, and the weight of being trapped in a “forever” that never was.

‎[one / two / three / four / current / six...]

chapter five

"there'll be happiness after you but there was happiness because of you too"

word count: 6k.

BLOG MASTERLIST - series masterlist

⋆˚࿔ i did something bad 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The kiss that started sweet and gentle turned into a passionate and steamy kiss in a fraction of a second. Franco felt kind of desperate. And to be fair, he was. He has waited his whole life for this moment to happen. Or at least all of these years since he met you. But he was convinced he won’t ever feel like this for any other girl in his entire life. He dated girls, fucked a few, played with them sometimes, tried to make it work. But none of them felt like you, laughed like you, thought like you, joked like you. None of them were you. And what was the craziest thing to him was that he had never tasted you. Not like this. He felt raised to heaven blessed by the gods. He felt like a kid who behaved properly and Santa brought him all of the presents he asked for during the year. A dream came true.

His hands were all over your back and hips. His touch was warm and determined. He felt like he wanted to remember how you felt, the shape of you under his touch, how your skin felt, how warm he made you feel.

His kisses were tracing a road down your neck. His lips were soft and wet. They made your skin crawl. Your fingers in his hair and shoulders trying to remain stood under his embrace. His skin was soft and his perfume was leaving you drunker by its whiskey scent. That smell defined him very well in your opinion. His skin was on fire. You couldn’t help but feel things you aren’t supposed to feel with your best friend. Well, you were doing things you’re not supposed to do with your bestie either.

Your breath was heavy. Your heart rate elevated. He came back to your lips and the way he kisses you gently again burnt your body. You felt a heat you haven’t felt in a long time for anyone. If you didn’t remember to be this intense before. Franco was franco. And that implied that everything was different. Unique. He wasn’t like other guys. I mean, he was the most cheerful guy you have ever met. You couldn’t stop laughing around him. It was impossible not to or have a serious conversation. But at the same time he was such a great listener. When you told him about Charles that you ended up crying, he was the most comforting person. You knew at that moment your friendship made a turn. A turn into one of the most precious relationships you have in your life. He was so comprehensive. It is actually so rare to meet someone like that in this fucked up society these days.

And for some reason or maybe for all of those reasons, this felt really wrong. You didn’t want to hurt him. You always knew he liked you, of course you did. It was obvious. The way he looked at you. All out of context presents or compliments. All of his invitations to every grand prix during the year. The facetime calls at random times in the day just to check in. and you liked all of that but always tried to make sure you didn’t play with his feelings. Respecting spaces and distances. Codes. He was really important to you, you just couldn’t risk him just like that. Just for a kiss or sex. He deserved to be so happy with someone 100% into him. And you kinda hated destiny for making him like you when you were stuck with Charles and always into someone else (even failing every time).

But now you hate yourself even more. Not only because you liked to torture yourself in a really twisted way. But also because you were actually kissing him and touching him in not a friendly way. Not the way you’re supposed to touch him. Or to kiss him. Or to spend your time with him. This was so wrong. You knew this would lead to drama. And the worst part is that you couldn’t stop. And maybe you didn’t want to. And why didn’t you? What is your brain planning to do? Making every situation you’re in worse than the previous one.

And it was the worst scenario possible. You don’t know how you both ended up in Franco's room. His shirt was already off. Your lips were kissing his stomach going down. It was the best situation for him, that’s for sure. You promised to never get this drunk ever again. You stood up after reaching his boxers with your lips. And kissed him again like you wanted to rescued yourself from fuck it all up but at the same time not stopping at all. You were driving Franco insane and for a moment he felt a bit empty. Was this the beginning of something? Or was it just a once in a lifetime night? Thinking about all of this started hunting him. You have never given him signs that you liked him back. But you were one of his best friends. His hands grabbed your head possessively bringing you closer to him starting to lead you to his bed. You followed him, letting him do whatever he wanted with you.

Were you ready to do this again?

Surprising as it may sound, you haven’t had sex in a very long time. You liked to have fun with yourself and explore yourself. But it was hard for you to feel something towards someone and desire them this way. Because the only one who used to turn you on was charles. And there he was again in your head. He was always there hunting you. Franco pushed you softly into his bed climbing up on you. And that’s when you woke up from this trance you couldn’t quite comprehend. He was about to undress you when you pushed him again as softly as you could because you were now exasperated about the situation you put yourself under. Franco looked at you scared. He felt he has really fucked it up.

“y/n i’m sorry, please. Perdon, I didn't mean to.. I’m sorry” he said, getting up and pulling his shirt on again as fast as he could. You tried to adjust yourself heading out the bedroom. You couldn’t face him now. You felt terrible about yourself. You didn’t know how to handle this situation. You were too drunk. But you also knew you wouldn’t know how to deal with this sober either. “y/n wait, please. Let’s talk” he could grab your hand to stop you from leaving the bedroom making you face him. You felt so embarrassed. You felt like a monster. You looked at his face. He was such a good guy and yet here you are about to break his heart. Why didn’t you stop? Why did you let him do this? You knew it was not only your responsibility, it was his as well but still.

“I'm sorry fran, this shouldn’t have happened. I'm really sorry” when you said those words you could see how his face changed into a one that even broke your heart. He dropped your hand. He knew. He fucking knew you didn’t like him. Then why would you do this? And on his birthday?

You sprinted out of that room immediately. We can say you almost ran away from him. But the reality was that you wanted to run away from yourself and your stupid ass decisions who fucked everything up each single time. The hallway down to where the party was being held never felt so infinite. You knew your anxiety was becoming a bit too much for you at that moment. Catastrophic scenarios were playing on and on in your mind as you took each step down the stairs. The pressure in your chest increases when you see the people at the party. You felt like they were looking at you, judging. Laughing in your face. Howpathetic could you be? Not getting over your only ex fro more than 10 years, then almost fuck your friend thhat you wasn’t sure if you liked him like that for real or not, then wanting to be over everything and then fucking everything up. You didn't know how to handle these situations. You felt like a teenager again. Too many mistakes. Too confusing. That made you feel ashamed of yourself. You were a 32 years old woman, acting like 17 years old, fucking up friendships while you couldn’t stop thinking of your ex. And that’s when you wanted to throw up.

You didn’t want to find your friends. You didn’t want to tell them how you fuck it up with the one guy (once again) that is good for you. How you wasted his time and feelings. You felt like a monster. Like you played with him on purpose even if you actually didn’t want to. You were way too harsh on yourself sometimes. You needed to get out of there just like you got away when you first saw Charles again in that restaurant (or well, now it’s a coffee shop).

It was running away from your fears, you couldn’t confront them. It was running away from you. You hated yourself. You couldn’t think straight and clear about yourself most of the time. The only moment you trusted yourself was when writing. And you also doubted yourself very much on it. You couldn’t win. Your self-confidence didn’t exist. You were sure about it. People were dancing while you were pushing them a bit to walk through the party out to the garden. You need fresh air in your brain as soon as possible. Or you were about to become insane if you didn’t. People said things to you but you didn’t hear. Your eyes locked on the floor. Your stomach was in your throat. The image of Charles stuck in your brain.

I met someone. I met someone. I met someone. I met someone. I met someone.

His lips moved, pronouncing those damn three words to your face. As if they were nothing. As if you were nothing at all for him. And maybe you were. You couldn’t imagine Franco saying those things to you, for example. Or maybe men were equal? Maybe you needed to experiment with girls. Maybe they are less complicated and more open. But maybe you were the problem. Too many thoughts per second. You jumped out of every single boat you ended up in. You didn’t know anymore. In your brain, things are too complicated and you know all too well you will need years to repair the damage made to it. From your dad and mum, to Charles and every single other guy you mate. To Franco and to this balcony where you would find someone maybe ready to love you like you matter, like you deserve to feel loved, like you’re amazing and beautiful. Then you were sure you were completely insane. There was no way you were always thinking about someone saving you from yourself. But there you were hoping to meet the love of your life in that gallery outside the party in Franco's house. Maybe writing and your imagination was rotting your brain. You thought about retiring and working in a library as a normal person would do. You didn’t know why you were thinking all of these things suddenly.

Maybe you were tired and frustrated. You just gave up when you finally got to the garden. The cold air of London fills your lungs, helping you with your anxiety. Your body heat dropped. Your sweaty hands got dry and cold. Your nose is red. Your eyes closed. You were doing your breathing meditation. Your heart palpitations didn’t stop though. And they were fast. Faster than Charles getting over you and everything you built. Faster than you ruining the friendship with franco. Faster than you waiting for someone to save you. Your life sucked. You really didn’t want to think about it like that. But you did. Most times you just couldn't see positive things in it. You felt like a failure. A loser. You didn’t have a lover nor a family. A loser that’s what you were. A complete failure. You had almost no family as well. No father, no mother. Just a brother and a sister who lived on the other side of the world and barely talked to you. Your only family was agostina, your best friend. And she was everything you were not. She has the perfect lover with whom she built a beautiful family of five. Her kids were lovely. She was gorgeous and the greatest person you knew. She was exactly everything you were not. But you didn't hate her. Of course you didn't. You would never think of her like that. It made you as sad as happy for her. Sad for you. Happy for her.

Why can’t you live something like that?

“Hey, you okay?” you jumped a little scared because of the sudden interruption to your thoughts and sadness. You turned to your side to find that guy. I think it was Lando's name or something like that Nikola said a few hours ago. When he brought you back to reality you realized you were crying hard. Your face bathed in tears. Cold and puffy. His face was concerned. His eyes are shiny, so blue and green. You found his face so pretty to look at. Alcohol was still in your veins, otherwise you wouldn’t be here crying so dramatically. You would try to hide it. Always.

⋆˚࿔ let it happen 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Your eyes were on his eyes. Yours were red and puffy. His red is tired and shiny. You stayed in silence for a moment. You answered his question when he saw your face. Something in him cracked for some reason. Oh, he did know you very well. He saw you on that balcony and now that he has you right in front of him, he couldn’t believe you being more beautiful than on that day, but you actually are. He promised Charles he wouldn’t even try but he talked to Carlos about it. Carlos wanted Charles to move on but he was making a move on you and was crossing the line.

He looked down to his water bottle on his right hand. “Do you want some? Maybe you feel better” he said with a deep voice. He was nervous as hell. Alcohol in his veins as like in yours. He saw your smile. Your face was so pretty. You looked so cute with the boca juniors shirton. He had one as well. He didn’t think they were his colors, blue and yellow, not his thing. But you looked so pretty in them. All of the girls at the party were dressed looking hot as hell. But you and your friends looked cute. Relaxed outfits for the win. And that made you look all so attractive or at least for him. He recognized you a few hours ago. He was kinda shocked to see you there because he has never seen you near franco like ever. You didn’t go to the races nor comment on Franco's posts. Or anything at all. Then here you are. He saw kissing him. He saw you two going up the stairs. Alcohol didn’t let him analizy things properly even if he tried his best in doing so.

Your fingers that grabbed the bottle from his hand, brushed his sending electricity throughout his arm. He smiled gently at you watching you drink from it.

“Thank you, and sorry you had to see me cry” you told him, giving his bottle back and he smiled so pretty, shaking his head. You found him so attractive. You were just trying not to be so obvious. Also, you were worried to look like a slut if he saw you kissing Franco before. But why did you care so much? Why were you thinking all of these things about him?

“Oh no, don’t be sorry. You still look cute tho” he said giggling a bit making you laugh a bit as well. You shook your head not agreeing with him.

“Thank you again, but no need to lie about that tho” you told him a little funny.

“I promise I'm not lying. You're pretty even crying” he confessed, making you blush. “You okay? Need to talk or something?” he asked to checkon you even if you were strangers. “Im lando by the way” he introduced himself so this wasn’t that weird.

“I’m y/n. Nice to meet you. I think I'm better now, I just made a lot of stupid decisions throughout my life that now alcohol just reminds me how much of a loser I am” you were honest. More honest than you would be with anyone. You just blamed the alcohol.

“Hey, I don't think you’re a loser y/n. I mean, I know we don’t know each other at all. But for me, you don’t look like a loser at all” he expressed. You looked out to the garden in front of you a bit ashamed.

“Appearances can lie, you know? I’m a loser, I promise you. I’m still stuuckin a fucking restaurante knowing all too well i should’ve move on years ago. But here I am. Fucking up friendships and any opportunity i have to get better and be happy. I just hate myself so much. I won’t ever be happy” you gave up. You no longer cared about what people would think. You didn’t care if he thought you were crazy for telling him so much private stuff. You barely know his name. But there you were comfortable enough to confess your depression to him. He analyzed you. Every detail of your face. Each word you used to describe yourself.

“I don’t think that makes you a loser still. I think you’re brave enough to tell a stranger how you feel and in my opinion, that takes strength and confidence. And i think you will be happy, you just need to let yourself be” his words hung on the air between you two. Why was a stranger talking to her? Why was he saying things she needed to here? Why his words were important? You were sure he knew how much of a mess you were. It shows. You were sure. But still he was here. Right when you want someone here waiting for you ready to save you. Is this who will save you? Are you out of your mind for thinking like this about him?

Delusion was thinking he will be just like charles wright? You had no idea who this guy was but still you compared him to charles. Because you didn’t want to date Charles again or anyone like him. Or did you? You didn’t know how you felt about all of this. About charles. About yourself. About this guy you don't even know and you want him already to save you just because he called you brave and strong and pretty. Was that really enough for you? Was that the standard you had for yourself? He could be a serial killer right? But you could save him. He could love you. And you would forget about charles. About his touch. About his voice and laugh. About his jokes and moans. About his perfume. About his family and friends. About his cars. About everything related to him.

But was it fair to love someone to stop loving someone else?

Did you still love Charles?

You looked at him again. Your eyes connected. He smiled shyly. You did as well. Maybe you could let this guy ruin you just like Charles did, just because of his face, and his voice and what he said to you without even knowing you. You should get your shit together. You still reeling that fucking monaguesque guy. But at this point you didn’t care anymore. Or at least that’s what you thought. He got closer and kissed your cheek, that took you by surprise but you liked it. Probably way too much.

“I know without knowing you that you’re amazing. You just need to believe it. I’m sure you’ll find someone who sees you” he added and your smile became wider.

“Thank you, lando.wow. Any stranger said so many nice things about me” you half joked shyly and his cheeks went red. His giggles were the cutest sound you have heard lately. Where was this guy?

Then you remembered Franco and that this guy probably is his friend. And your back at your self hate again.

Why did everything have to be so difficult?

Why do you have to make so many mistakes at once?

“y/n, we need your help” Dottie's voice interrupted you two. Her voice seemed worried. “Betty is way too drunk, it’s better if we go home now” she explained, a little suspicious of your both body languages. You nodded.

“Alright, let’s go. Nice to meet you Lando, hope to talk to you another time though so it’s not that depressing. I promise im fun” you said a bit funny but hurried. Your friend first, always. You kissed his cheek quickly. He laughed about your comment.

“Oh yea, she is,” Dottie added, supporting you in a smile.

“Hope to see you again sometime, Y/n. good luck with your friend” he said to both of you and after smiling at him you went into the party again.

“D, I think I'm in love,” you said excitedly.

“What?”

⋆˚࿔ it’s time to go 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⋆˚࿔ the fucking tuesday 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Arriving in monaco again at 11 am has never felt so good in your entire life. A trip that started like a dream to remember, turned into a nightmare you couldn’t forget but all you wanted to was to forget about it. Just pretend it never existed and erase everything you did wrong that Saturday night.

You missed your house (your safe place),and you needed its comfort more than you would like to admit. Your brain was a mess. You couldn’t stop thinking about charles driving you to your friend’s house then the memory just fading away and inturning into him saying non stop i met someone. You felt you were going insane when you remembered Franco's skin on yours and how good and warm it felt. How you kissed his abs. And then how you got so scared. His face was printed in ink in your subconscious. You could only see sadness, shame, and a bit of hatred. You were sure at that moment he hated you. Like you humiliate him a bit. You felt so bad about it you couldn’t even face him. You really wanted to say sorry but you just didn’t want to see him straight in the eyes. Shame was tattooed all over your body. How could you?

Then your mind was reminded of Lando's existence and you just wanted to punch yourself in the face. What the hell happened with you at that party? Was the fernet that Franco prepared? You wanted to blame anything except yourself. You didn’t understand yourself either. Like your feelings and thoughts couldn’t agree on anything. Like you had split personality issues.

Yes, you liked lando way too much probably in those few minutes at the gallery. But then there was Franco that you now were confused about how you felt about him. Because you really liked to kiss him. To touch him. To feel him close to you in that way.

And then there was still charles.

You were really tired of thinking already you just had to put taylor swift on your headphones.you took the bus that left you one block away from your house. You don't want to call anyone to pick you up. You texted A and she told you that. You didn’t understand why she did it. But it overwhelmed you for sure. You just wanted to retreat from life like forever.

When you finally got home you went straight into bed. When you touched your pillow you started crying. And that’s how you fell asleep scared to have another nightmare.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Charles watched Carlos leaving his phone on the counter with a weird face “everything alright mate?” he asked. Carlos nodded and smiled.

“Yeah, did you send the invitation to everyone you know?” he asked, grabbing the box with vodka bottles and taking them to the fridge.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be a crazy wild night” Charles said excitedly trying to not let his anxiety control his mood right now. He wanted to have fun and purposely forget about everything with alcohol. A lot of it. As much as possible.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

The music was so loud that Charles could barely listen to what the blonde girl in front of him was talking about but he didn’t care that much. He was already bored by the third girl Carlos introduced him to. He knows Carlos just has good intentions but he was already convinced no one will captivate him the way you did. Not even if they tried to imitate you. Since he saw you again he couldn’t forget your scent. The way you smiled to your nephews. How you treated them and how he was confused for a moment if they were your children. He always knew you wanted to be a mother and for what he saw he was sure you would be the best one out there. He wanted to forget about you he really did. But he was also sure life hated him. He wanted to rebuild his life and leave behind the damage he caused, but then there was you again in that fucking restaurant. And in that moment he knew all too well it would drive him insane. And he felt like it. He believed it.

The girl notices he wasn’t paying attention to her. Charles was playing with his glass of whiskey. Her face looked annoyed and disappointed. Charles didn’t care. She told him she needed to go to the bathroom and disappeared for the rest of the night. He drank his whole glass in one take. He just wanted to drown in alcohol right there and vaish from life. From everyone who knew him.

He saw Carlos dancing la macarena with his group of spanish friends that came for the holidays. He was enjoying himself around. Rebecca, his girlfriend, was there as well, matching hia freak. And for a moment he felt something he never felt before and he didn't like it at all. He felt envious. He wanted to have his life. Be him. Have the girl of his dreams dancing around with him. His friends were here but not with him. And he didn’t even like to dance. And don't have anyone to have sex with. Then he felt miserable. Angry with life itself.he was disappointed. He felt he let down everyone in his life. And the proof was that damn book she wrote. He was a coward. And everyone knew about it; they just didn't know it was him all along. And when the truth comes out then his life will be ended.

He swallowed hard and stood up to grab more whiskey. This time he was drinking from the bottle. He pushed himself aside from the party and sat near the pool even if he was freezing. He didn’t care anymore if he got sick or died. He was extreme. He looked at your balcony and wanted to cry. He wanted to cry like a child. Throw punches and scream. He felt there was no way to fix his life. He regretted breaking you so much. He always knew this was everything to you. You were so caring and always there for him and his whole family. He also knew he broke his mum. She loves you deeply. You were like her daughter, the one she never had. The one he and dad would have loved to have if they could choose the sex of their children. Remembering his dad broke him. He started crying. If he was here he knew he would be disappointed in him. Not because of his career (he made history) but because he isn’t with a good woman. He doesn't have kids either. And he now believed he didn't even have a future.

He looked again at your balcony. The lights were off. He didn’t know if you were there or not. If you had a lover. Or even if you have him blocked on social media. And that’s when curiosity won over him. What if he tried to search for your name on instagram? He was sure someone he knew, knew you as well. Monaco is too little to not have those coincidences on the daily.

He searched the first letters of your name and then saw that his ex, alexandra followed you. He felt weird about it and his face showed confusion with his eyebrows. He clicked on your profile and started stalking you. You still paint and have a piano. You used to play piano together. Actually, you taught him. You were the best professor he had ever had. He smiled looking at pictures of random dogs you found on the streets and with your nephews. You built a new family away from your actual family. That made him happy for a second. He knew after both of your parents died, you didn’t get along so well with your siblings. But he didn’t know if it was still like that. He saw how successful you were. How your book was a bestseller and how it would be a movie produced by universal. He was surprised. He would have never expected this outcome. Back in the day you were an art teacher for children and had a studio where you gave those lessons. Children loved you so much. He remembered their bright smiles when the parents came around to pick them up. He admired you so much for it. He even fantasizes that one day that face so bright and happy will be the one your children will have everytime they look at their mother. He wanted to be a father with you. But then alex came around and fucked it all up. Or well he actually did. And he still couldn’t understand why he did it.

Alex Was beautiful, he couldn’t deny that. She also loved him dearly. She was in love with him. And he thought he was with her. But then everything spiraled down and collapsed. He met her at that partymax verstappen threw to celebrate he was an official f1 driver for red bull. He invited everyone he ever met along his life. You couldn’t go because you had to take an exam the following morning. And that’s when it happened. She was dancing with her group of friends. She also had a boyfriend. And we talked and sparks were there. And then Charles got all confused. And they kissed. And he had already cheated by the time he realized that it was wrong. And then he couldn't stop. And his life went to shit.

He didn’t realize he was sobbing until he felt his teardrops stain his creme pants. He was using a fancy outfit. He looked really good. But as everything he touched, he also ruined that too in that moment. And because he was so busy feeling miserable, he didn’t realize the police were already at carlos’ door wanting to shut down the party. I mean, it was a tuesday night of a working week after all.

⋆˚࿔ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

When Charles got closer to Carlos, he was already shouting at the police officers like a crazy man. He was drunk for sure and the policeman knew about it too. No perfume will ever smell like that. Not in Monaco of course.

“Then tell me, who will call? I need to know who to call. I never do parties and then once I do I can't and it’s not fair. I need to know who called you, it's my right as a citizen "Carlos was verbose and angry.

“Carlos it’s okay, how much should we pay you to let us have a party?” Charles intervenes trying to look not drunk at all but failing in each word. Police men looked at each other, annoyed by these two men.

“That would be a crime, sir” the police officer with a beard that looked disgusting in charles’ opinion, answered him. He kind of felt offended.

“Then who it was!!” Carlos was losing it and Charles was scared they would take him to jail right there.

“Your neighbor” the other one talked now pointing his fingers to his right. His right.

Your house was at his right. You called the cops. At that moment he felt he was about to faint. He was sure he was white. The policemen looked at him weird. Carlos then started walking. If you were in a cartoon show he would have smoke coming out his head right now. He walked fast towards your hose. Charles panicked and followed him desperate. Carlos started banging your door so he could tell you things.

“Carlos, nono. Let’s just go home, c’mon "Charles tried to convince Carlos but he was determined and ignored him. He won’t let you ruin his party. His celebration. His opportunity to present a woman for his friend to be happy. The one he taught you ruined. Becausehe couldn’t be over you. And he saw all of this as if you were now not letting him be able to in a very twisted way.

Charles was scared and worried when he saw your light turning on by the minute. His eyes wanting to leave his face when he saw you in your marvel pajamas again. Your hair was a mess and your face had the darkest circles under your eyes. Your face puffy as if you were crying or you did before you went to sleep and then they woke you up. No he felt as guilty as when he realized he left the love of his life stuck in that fucking restaurant you both loved so much.

“What the fuck is wrong with you bitch? Huh? Stop torturing my friend!” carlos said aggressively the moment he saw you when you opened the door.

⋆˚࿔ TO BE CONTINUED 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

chapter six: coming soon.

tag list: @a-beaverhausen , @annaluna12 , @thehoplessromanticclub , @emryb , @hadids-world , @kaztheemyth , @freyathehuntress , @diorbrxtz , @theseerbetweenus , @sie17136 , @leila-030304 , @charlesgirl16 , @ricciardosheart , @weekendlusting

author’s note: hope you all have a merry christmas ❤️ and that you like this chapter as much as I do !

thank you everyone for reading and sharing what I write. I really really appreciate it!

if you wanna be part of the tag list just leave a comment!

see you on the next chapter :)

Don’t forget to like, reblog or comment! And follow me so we can be friends! (And drink mate together) <3

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holmesianlove · 3 days ago

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Chapter 23 - Ice Cream

John was grateful to return home to an empty flat. He had spent a long day at the clinic - a genuinely unfair return to reality. Two and half days away followed by a couple of very strange, quiet days at the flat with Sherlock and he was almost eager to get back to work. But once there, he was definitely regretting it. He felt like a fish out of water now. The clinic felt like an irritation. God, he hated the clinic work. And he hated himself for hating the clinic work. It was supposed to be noble, honest work. John felt like a bad person when he disliked his clinic work so much. But he'd discovered a different world with Sherlock Holmes. He was tempted to open a fake email account and make up a case just to email Sherlock and give them and excuse to escape again. He longed for the buzz he had while they had been on the trip, the thrill of the chase, the excitement in Sherlock’s every word, in every expression on that perfect face of his, when he was being inspired like that. But Sherlock had seemed a little quiet, introspective, unsure since their return. Possibly, he was also sulking about no case work. But it all left John feeling flat. Out of place.

Maybe the suit had been a step too far? Maybe Sherlock’s behaviour wasn’t at all an appreciation, but an aversion? He had seemed more receptive to John over the last week, but maybe John had started to get the wrong idea entirely. Was this Sherlock pulling back because he had seen John's feelings and didn't want to give him the wrong idea? Whatever was going on, since returning home, it was like a really bad sugar crash. All that chocolate had clearly given him some kind of delusional high.

He was craving sugar after his shift too. He had gone to the local shops to pick up something easy to heat up for dinner. There was no way he would be cooking tonight, and Sherlock never wanted to cook. But when he got to the shop, John had been completely uninspired. He knew there were eggs at home, he could always make some later, but what he actually wanted, what he decided upon finally, was a large tub of creamy chocolate ice cream. He had that sugar craving to satisfy, after all. Despite the cold weather, he was feeling bereft. Of what, he didn’t know. And the only thing that made him feel better when he felt like that, was ice cream.

“Ice cream for dinner? John Watson you are really reaching new levels of pathetic,” he sighed to himself as he stood in the aisle second guessing his decision. The sugar craving won out of course.

He couldn’t very well come home and admit how he was feeling to Sherlock, though, so it was a huge relief that the flat was empty and he was alone. He would put on some crap telly, his comfortable pyjamas, and sit with his tub of ice cream and a spoon, and just eat the entire tub, guilt-free, disposing of the evidence afterwards. Possibly even make some toast later so it looked like he’d eaten real food. After all the nagging he constantly gave Sherlock, his flatmate would probably be horrified to see John had devoured a whole tub of ice cream as his dinner. Still, it wasn’t going to stop him. Maybe an entire litre of ice cream would fill the hole in his chest that seemed to be there now, with no hope of a remedy.

John was rendered speechless, not long after settling in, when Sherlock burst through the door, part way through his 'dinner'. The man stood stationary in the doorway for a moment, as if he was taking the temperature of the flat, of John, before speaking. It was odd. John scoffed to himself and finished sucking the ice cream from his spoon. Sherlock wrestled his way out of his coat and dumped it across the arm of his chair, toed off his shoes on the spot and threw his phone and keys down on the seat of the chair without a word. He unravelled his scarf and played with the fabric for a moment before he finally padded over and collapsed onto the sofa beside John.

Without words, or eye contact, he simply stared at the television, trying to register what it was that John had chosen to watch and the plot of the episode. He couldn’t for the life of him figure that out. So he finally turned his head to look at John, to see how he was feeling about this viewing situation and then he saw the ice cream. John tried very hard not to blush under the scrutiny. He could feel Sherlock looking him up and down. He always imagined Sherlock like the terminator when he did that. As if, inside Sherlock’s head, a little computer was spitting out information in his field of vision. John Watson. Flatmate. Idiot. Doctor of something or other. Military injury. Cooks that thing with peas. Hates shopping. Depressed about being at Baker Street with no cases. Has chosen chocolate ice cream for dinner.

Sherlock shuffled closer, turning to face John, and crossing his legs. “What have we got here, then?” he asked playfully.

John’s spine straightened, his pride ruffled, and he finished his spoonful before shovelling it down into the remaining ice cream. “Dinner,” he finally admitted, without turning his head to acknowledge how close Sherlock was sitting to him.

“Right,” Sherlock said. Without hesitation, he reached out and grabbed the spoon and scooped some up for himself.

John’s head snapped around and he opened his mouth to argue but Sherlock simply polished it off, before pushing the spoon back into the tub again. “Mmmm, you got the good stuff. Must have been a really horrid day,” he said simply, without further judgement.

“Mmmm,” John agreed with a hum. He paused, still embarrassed for a moment and then his taste buds screamed at him to get another spoon, so he did. The same spoon Sherlock had just put in his mouth, and slid ice cream from. With his tongue. John felt himself flush slightly at the very thought, but the idea of getting up to get another spoon was far too much effort and so he grabbed it and partook in another spoonful. “Been out?” he asked casually. All the while, focussed on the fact that this spoon had been Sherlock’s a moment before and it felt sinful all of a sudden.

“Had to fill Mycroft in about the case. He was in fine form.”

“You probably need this more than me, then,” John suggested. This time, he simply handed the spoon directly to Sherlock, finally making eye contact. Sherlock smiled and grabbed the spoon from him.

“You may be right.”

Sherlock adjusted his position, uncrossing his legs and shuffling his hips closer, until they touched John’s. This time he lifted his knees up and put his feet on the sofa, so he was folded up, leaning his weight slightly against John as he grabbed the next spoonful. John wished he could fold himself up like that. Sherlock certainly seemed comfortable.

“What are we watching?” Sherlock asked, as he finished his spoon of ice cream and passed it back to John.

“Love Island. You’ll hate it,” John said simply as he ate and passed the spoon back, a new routine established.

There was something incredibly sensual about licking off the spoon and sharing it with his friend in that way. It created a whole new closeness. And the way Sherlock was sitting right beside him, watching this television show, which John knew perfectly well, Sherlock would never agree to watch normally. It was quite… nice. The two of them, together, sharing in a moment like this. Sharing a spoon, though? That wasn’t normal. Was it? Where had that come from? John couldn’t help turning his head with fascination, when Sherlock took his turn, watching the way he fed the spoon into this mouth, the way he sucked the ice cream from it and then licked his lips in a little dance. He couldn’t take his eyes of it. But he flicked his eyes back to the television before Sherlock could catch him.

“Mmm, this is one of my favourite brands,” Sherlock said quietly to himself.

“Well, it was a rough day. It required top quality chocolate,” John said, without looking at his friend.

“Not as good as Belgian chocolate, though,” Sherlock said.

“Well, no. You have a lot to answer for,” John teased. “I think I may have an unhealthy addiction. Now I’m going to have to travel there again, you realise. That makes it expensive bloody chocolate.”

“They do sell some of it here, you know,” Sherlock said, chuckling happily. “Do these people really think they’ll find a relationship like this? In their swimwear?” he added.

John burst out laughing, and grabbed at the spoon again. “I think they’re mostly in it for the fame, but I like to think that occasionally there’s someone with good intentions.”

“Ah, Dr Watson, always an optimist at heart,” Sherlock teased with a little nudge, taking the spoon from John. “I didn’t take you for such a romantic.”

John turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”

Sherlock paused, realising he might have said the wrong thing. “No, I just mean…” He paused, spoon caught in mid-air as he thought hard. “Well, come on John. You have to admit you’ve been…” Sherlock scoffed, and looked at John expecting he would understand. “… a little lost in love.”

John grabbed the spoon off him, suddenly offended. He sat up straighter, breaking their nice, warm contact. “Says the perpetually single man who thinks people in love are idiots?” John scoffed, digging in for a particularly big scoop of ice cream.

“Oh come on John, don’t be like that,” Sherlock whined.

“No, that’s just great, Sherlock. I share my depression ice cream with you and you give me shit about my dating life,” John said angrily, standing up.

“John.”

“Do you really think that’s me? The idiot who dates all the women unsuccessfully? Is that what you think?” John asked, turning on Sherlock.

Sherlock was left looking a little shocked. And John felt guilty for ruining the moment. They had been having such a nice time, he thought. They often ribbed each other, particularly about John’s ridiculous dates. But today, he was feeling so very sensitive about the thoughts in his head, the things he felt for Sherlock right now, that all those women had been a distant memory. His womanising ways long forgotten in recent months. It was not something he wanted to have brought up in his face like that. By Sherlock of all people. He stood there, shaking his head, regretting so many things.

“John, come on," Sherlock said gently. "Sit back down. I didn’t mean anything by it. I was just…”

Sherlock looked really upset by John’s reaction, and patted at the cushion, to entice him back. And for once, John decided to listen. Not to run away. He stood, watching Sherlock for a moment and finally sat back down with a sigh. He flopped back on the couch and Sherlock settled close to him again. They both sat there in silence and then Sherlock, boldly, grabbed the spoon to get another mouthful.

“Sorry,” Sherlock said under his breath.

“I don’t…” John sighed. “I know there’s something quite ridiculous about me and all those dates... that I’m unsettled in the world. I know to you, it might seem… farcical…”

Sherlock shook his head. “No. No, John. Not at all. You don’t have to…”

John grabbed the spoon back from him. “I lost my way. I know that,” he said angrily. “I haven’t always been quite so…” He didn’t finish the thought. He just ate some ice cream and settled back properly, watching the television again in silence for a while. “God, if I end up like these people, do put me out of my misery, though,” John finally said a little more light hearted, trying to change his mood.

Sherlock laughed. He hugged his hands around his legs, and after a moment, he rested his head on John’s shoulder, in a gesture of apology, letting out a little, satisfied sigh. “Promise,” he said.

John smiled to himself as he finished his ice cream with Sherlock Holmes resting against him peacefully.

@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart

@givemesherbet-blog-blog @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @peanitbear

@starlitkeys @lumilama @yorkiepug @talkativeanxiousturtle @kettykika78

@kittenmadnessandtea @whatnext2020 @egregiously-chuffed @chriscalledmesweetie @catlock-holmes

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@otter-von-bismarck @silvergoldsea @calaisreno

#sherlockbbc #bbc sherlock #johnlock #fanfic #angsty #ao3 fanfic #sherlock fandom #sherlock holmes #john watson #holidaze2024 #December prompts

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takescrackseriously · 3 days ago

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Nevermore Crack theory except this time it actually doesn't make any sense and is poorly thought out and in all honestly it just copy paste form the Discord Server

The greatest Nevermore plotwist would be that Will is actually the Deans in disguise.

Think about it, in the story William Wilson is talks about doubles or something, you know what else is double? The Deans.

Image of the William Wilsons

Now, you must be wondering 'why would they disguise themselves as a pathetic background character' well we already know that the Deans (or atleast Merry) like entertainment, so maybe the do this so they can get a closer look at the students without the students acting differently because a Dean is there. Kind of like role playing a character for fun.

Also, out of all Nevermore characters, he is the one with the least backstory revealed, what if the reason he has no backstory, is because he is one of the Deans!?!? Seriously, with every other character, we either rgot a flashback, or something heavily alluding to their backstory (except Morella somewhat. Morella secretly a Dean too?)

Even in the original William Wilson story, the Main character's actual name (as specified in the beginning) isn't even actually William Wilson, it's just an alias he uses.

And his double is meant to appear when he acts 'less than moral'. More proof of this theory is when the Deans at the dinner, announced how only one person can get the second chance at life, we saw all the characters reaction except for Will (now keep in mind, he didn't dissappear or anything, in fact in the next few panel we literally see him again) but what if the reason we don't see his reaction isn't because he was a waste of nine months, but actually because why would he need to have a reaction if he is just one of the Deans?

Now, as we have seen with Nurse Dolly and Miss Poppet, there are doll versions of them. Guess who's spectre looks like a doll? That's right, it's good ol William. Plus, Dolly and Poppet have unique facial marking, and who's spectre has just that?

What these Dolls of the staff were? I personally think it's like an object that controls them because I doubt they are actual people, but because this part is very much just speculation, ignore it for the most part.

Although, this leads into a similar theory of Will not being the Deans but simply working for them, similar to the staff. And what staff member would Will be? That right, The maid!!

Real reason that closet was dirty, Will was too busy being Monty's mop to remember to do his actual job

Thank you everyone for reading this theory. It was honestly made as an excuse to draw Willy in a maid costume. For wasting your time, here, take a poorly drawn Will

#nevermore webcomic #nevermore webtoon #edgar allen poe #nevermore #nevermore will #will nevermore #william wilson #crack theory #this is a joke #unless...#if this ends up being anywhere close to canon i want a brownie

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fieldofheathers-stuff · 3 days ago

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The Silco Saga, Part Two*: Vander and Silco haunt the narrative (and are kinda gay for each other)

*This is the second (well, actually third) post in a series I’ve lovingly dubbed “The Silco Saga, a retrospective after Season 2”. It’s halfway between flow of conscience, meta, headcanon and review, spawned from my Arcane brainrot (and recent S1 rewatch) and vaguely aimed at trying to reevaluate the entirety of Arcane with a focus on my Main Man™ Silco. Here is Part 1 (on how S2 handled Silco and Jinx’s relationship) and Part 1.5 (miscellaneous thoughts regarding timeline issues and Silco’s actions towards the kids in S1ep3).

Please feel free to comment! I love hearing different perspectives on this show.

Also, quick disclaimer (just in case it wasn’t clear from the title of this post): I ship them. Don’t like, don’t read. And I swear to God, if I hear anyone say “but they’re brothers!!!1!”, know that I’m going to curse your entire genome until the thermal death of the Universe. Bye.

——————————————————

Vander’s original sin

The portrayal of Vander that emerges from S1 and S2 is that of a man who is trying to do good by his people, but is plagued by guilt and shame due to the horrific acts of violence he committed in the past. S2 clearly shows us that the events of the Day of Ash and the subsequent attempted murder of his best friend/comrade/homoerotic situationship (I’m looking at you, Brokeback Mountain jackets) were intensely traumatic not just for Silco, but for Vander as well. I’ll admit I didn’t much care for him in S1 (mostly because of his goody-two-shoes aura which most of the fandom seemed to latch on to), but I think the elements S2 added to his backstory turned him into a wonderfully complex and contradictory character. It cements something I already kind of sensed about him in S1: that there’s a distinct layer of hypocrisy in Vander’s strict adherence to pacifism (to the point of inaction), which is not really a byproduct of a deeply held personal belief about the ethics of non-violence, but instead a way to cope with his guilt about Silco and the other victims of the Day of Ash revolt. Vander chooses to “atone” for his sins by suppressing all forms of violence, both internal and external, thus generating a safe but stifling environment in which the Lanes survive, but arguably cannot thrive long-term. And in line with Arcane’s tragic narrative, he gets ultimately punished for it: he’s forced to loose all that he holds dear (Silco, the kids and his peaceful little world) and to ultimately embody what he hates and fears most about himself (being a violent monster only capable of destruction).

During my first watch of S2 I couldn’t really figure out whether I liked or not the fact that Felicia’s death was the reason for Vander’s “betrayal” of Silco (it felt a bit contrived and love-triangle-y), but after giving it much thought I have decided that, in fact, I quite like it. It plays heavily into the theme of guilt being central to Vander’s character, and how this guilt really ends up snowballing into something completely unmanageable. Guilt about Felicia (and probably many others that died on that day) leads him to turn on Silco; and later, guilt about Silco ultimately makes him give up all violent means of revolution because he’s too afraid to harm the people he loves. Guilt also becomes a motivating factor for his adoption of Vi and Powder, since we now know he’s not just selflessly picking up two strays, but acting on a promise done to a dear friend who’s just died because of him. The fact that the details of his “betrayal” of Silco are kept pretty much a secret also reeks of guilt and shame. There’s this layer of selfishness and cowardice to his actions that I find very refreshing for a character that’s introduced to us as the closest thing to a paragon of virtue in all of Arcane.

It’s deeply tragic how his inability to properly deal with his past impacts the rest of the narrative; perhaps, had he told Vi the real reason for his unwillingness to rise against Piltover, and not the wishy-washy “violence bad, be responsible” speech, she would have been less rash and black-and-white in her thinking.

I wish S2 spend more time on the two sisters reflecting on Vander and Silco’s relationship. While it’s natural for us to draw parallels between the dyads Vi-Jinx and Vander-Silco, in reality their situations are quite different. There was no ‘betrayal’ between Vi and Jinx, just two grief-stricken children unable to handle an immensely tragic situation; but, due to the ‘lessons’ imparted to them from their ‘parents’ (lessons which themselves were distorted due to their own inability to deal with their past), they are led to believe their situation is as hopelessly unsolvable as it was for Vander and Silco.

The letter

I still haven’t decided on whether the letter would have worked on Silco or not. I think timing plays a big factor. The Silco we meet in arc 1 of S1 probably wouldn’t have been swayed; he’s already too set in his “rebirth” mentality, and the new man he has become doesn’t care about Vander’s sentimental platitudes. A younger Silco, with less time to crystallize into his new identity… maybe. I think the Best Timeline of S2ep7 (yes, that’s what I’m calling it) sort of implies that Silco got the letter almost immediately, given the state of his wound (and the absence of Shimmer).

I wonder if we are also meant to implicitly understand that his use of Shimmer in the Worst Timeline (a.k.a. Arcane, the Netflix show) had some kind of negative influence on his psyche. After all, Shimmer does seem to impact the emotions of its users; if it did influence Silco’s radicalization, it would make his story doubly tragic. I’ve always found his use of Shimmer an interesting tidbit in S1, and the fact that the show doesn’t explain it very much beyond using it to show the amount of trust between him and Jinx has always been very intriguing to me.

Anyway. I think that, in any case, the letter would have been only the first step in Silco and Vander’s trajectory towards reconciliation. They both have a lot of issues to unpack; I love the headcanon going around that one of Silco’s prerequisites to their “peace treaty” is for Vander to rejoin the political fight for Zaun. It sounds just so… in character for Silco to demand something like that; it acts as both a justification and a shield, preventing him to expose himself too much at the beginning, while ensuring that he and Vander remain close.

I think it was already clear in S1 that they both secretly craved to be close again, especially Silco, given how hard he still tried to convince Vander to work with him in S1ep3. (Which is kind of insane of him, if you think about it, but I guess working closely with the man who tried to murder you — and almost succeeded — kinda fits into his whole “almost dying turned me into an Übermensch” philosophy?) Now, with Vander’s letter in S2, we know for a fact the feeling was mutual. Which is, again, horribly tragic for them both, because they’re both so set in their respective ways that actual reconciliation is made impossible.

And they were miners (oh my God they were miners)

Since we’re already kind of on the topic of whether or not Zaundads is real (or just the fruit of our collective hallucination), let’s give to Caesar wha belongs to Caesar: I don’t think the writers meant for them to turn out that way. Their dialogue doesn’t particularly strike me as hinting to anything beyond a very close friendship.

… The animators, however? Those French fucks (affectionate) knew what they were doing. The imagery of the jackets stored one inside the other cannot be a coincidence. There’s really no other cinematic parallel I can think of that doesn’t ultimately lead back to Brokeback Mountain. They were insane for that, and I’m deeply thankful to their perverted French minds (extremely affectionate) that they had the balls to just… put it there. No further comment. Just a glaring nod to the gayest movie ever.

(Also, Brokeback Mountain’s most iconic quote — “I wish I knew how to quit you” — perfectly applies to Vander and Silco. They just can’t seem to let each other go. Silco is still harping on about Vander years after he died. Vander can’t even bear to mention Silco in S1, and the moment they meet again the first thing he blurts out is “I’m sorry”, right after Silco murdered his friend — RIP king Benzo, you didn’t deserve it — in front of him. They match each other’s freak so well, I tell you.)

And then Silco’s scene in the Best Timeline. Just… the touching. The tenderness. The affection. Benzo going “ack!” at them while they gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes. It’s just… chef’s kiss. No further comment. Is it, perhaps, self indulgent? Yes. Is Silco’s line about forgiveness cheesy and a bit out of left field? Yes. Do I wish Ekko had more time to ask him what he meant by that, and get in on their backstory (since it would have been deeply meaningful for him too, given how much he idolizes Vander)? Yes.

(Someone please write me fanfiction of this scene. I beg you. I would do it myself but I lack the talent.)

Would I also watch 10 seasons of them being gay married and doing the most irrelevant domestic nonsense? Shamelessly. My poor blorbos deserve it.

#heather's ramblings #silco #vander #zaundads #meta #vanco #arcane #arcane season 2

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 1 day ago

Text

Merry Christmas, baby.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader Rating: just a little tiny bit of smut so still +18 but it’s mostly a huge pile of angst and fluff soooo Words Count: 10669 😵‍💫 Tags: POV second person, reader wears dresses, skirts, blouses and heels, she uses make up, she’s a journalist and a writer, no physical description of her is given besides having hair, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, loss of a parent, infidelity, divorce, mention of food, alcohol consumption, both reader and Pike are bad at feelings, swearing, slurs, dirty talk, quarrels, reconciliations, funeral, sharing a bed, kissing, sad thoughts, casual encounters, mention of coffee, mention of spring break activities, geography probably a bit random (but I looked at the maps, don't jump down my throat, I did research and I've actually been to Boston many years ago, I tried my best lol), brief mention of Teresa. I hope I haven't forgotten anything, if so I'll add it immediately. A/N: Written for @pedrostories Secret Santa event, hello @letsgobarbs, I’m your Secret Santa! 🤶 Happy Christmas Eve, I hope you'll have a wonderful holiday season! 🎄 I hope you enjoy this story and I hope you find the angst, yearning and pining you wanted. Among the characters you had indicated as favorites there was Pike and I liked the idea of trying to write him for the first time, he is so sweet and cute and he deserves to be happy, I hope I gave him an ending worthy of him 🥹 I apologize if you find any mistakes, English is not my first language and I don't have a beta so I did it all with just one pair of stupid and tired eyes 😵‍💫

A huge thanks goes to all the lovely people who supported me through the process while I was having a full crisis about everything in this fic 😂 @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @arcanefox207 @joelmillerisapunk I love you all, happy holidays 🥰

1990

“So what do you think?”

“Um...you're good” You've just heard the ugliest Take on Me cover ever, but you can't tell the guy standing in front of you and looking at you with hopeful eyes.

Marcus is your best friend, you've known him for a couple of years, since both of you were two dorky freshmen at your new school. You were looking for the literature room and wandering lost in the hallways when Marcus asked if you needed help. You bonded right away because you didn't know anyone else, you had just moved to Sacramento because of your father's job and he was from Texas, so it had seemed natural to lean on each other.

Over time you had become such good friends that he had met your parents, he would often stay for dinner, and your dad would let him use your garage to rehearse with his band.

Marcus had put up flyers at school and enlisted two other boys, Timmy and Dave, who became the guitarist and keyboardist of Rocket Baby Doll. The name of the band was terrible, they were terrible, but you had never had the courage to tear them down in the face of Marcus's enthusiasm, he was sure that by continuing to rehearse they would make great progress.

With his smooth talk, Marcus had managed to convince the committee to let them play at the freshmen's Christmas dance.

“You'll see that one day we'll be on the cover of Rolling Stone,” Marcus joked. Or at least you hoped he was joking because otherwise you wouldn't know how to talk him out of it.

Marcus was a dreamer and he liked to do it big. He wanted to be a musician, or maybe an FBI agent, he told you. Two careers that had nothing to do with each other, but you knew that if anyone could afford to have ambitions it was him. Marcus was tenacious, persistent, dedicated, and never afraid to work hard to get what he wanted. He certainly wasn't going to end up on the cover of Rolling Stone, but in your heart you were certain he was going to accomplish something important.

He was the kind of boy mothers liked, in fact yours loved him. When you needed math tutoring, he would come to your house totally for free and explain whatever you didn’t understand.

When Molly Preston wanted to exclude you from the winter dance because her ex-boyfriend, Ryder, had asked you out, he had been the one to give her a speech.

When you had a bad day Marcus would take you to get your favorite ice cream, you would talk for hours, and in the end he was the only one who could cheer you up.

Whatever problems you had, Marcus was there for you landing an helping hand.

You knew your mother not too secretly hoped you would get together but it never happened, Marcus was your friend, just a great friend.

“Come on, my mom made cookies for everyone,” you told him as he continued to fantasize about what you might do. You would be their manager and you would both become rich and famous. He just couldn't keep his feet on the ground, even though he was a very good student and even had better grades than you.

You were 17 years old, your whole lives ahead of you, and you hoped that you will remain friends for many years to come.

_____________________________________________

1993

“What do you mean there is only one room available! We had booked two!”

Marcus had yelled at the front desk of a motel where you stopped for the night.

The owner, a rather creepy guy with a long scar on his right cheek, slumps in his shoulders, heedless “If you want number 12 is free, otherwise you can take your asses somewhere else for all I care.”

Marcus was fuming.

It was spring break, any hotel was totally booked, and the possibilities were already significantly reduced given your pockets.

You didn't even want to come; you had just broken up with Derek, your college boyfriend, and were back at your parents' house with the intention of spending your vacation there healing your wounds. Vegetating on the couch, reading books, watching movies, just relaxing. That was what you wanted to do. But Marcus had insisted, “Erik, Alice, Kate and Robert are in San Diego, let's join them!”

You had shaken your head and declined “No way, I've seen enough wild college parties and besides, I'm not really in the mood.”

“Oh come on, you don't want to spend Spring Break crying over that jerk,” he had said, shrugging and looking at you with his big brown puppy-dog eyes.

“Marcus, I really don't feel like it.”

“Come on, please do it for me! You'll see we'll have fun, they're nice!” Surrounding yourself with drunk and stoned 20-year-olds was the least of your desires.

But on the other hand you felt you couldn't say no to him, it had been months since you had seen each other, your relationships had been reduced to long letters and phone calls telling each other about each other's schools.

You had chosen different colleges, Marcus had been accepted at Berkeley in California and you were at Boston University. You had changed coast, climate, everything. You were content but adjusting the first months had not been easy, you felt homesick and you missed your best friend. You were happy for him, you had known since your senior year that you were going to separate but that hadn't made it easy for you.

You had only seen each other in person at Thanksgiving.

He had been forced to go to his relatives in Nevada for Christmas.

So you got dragged down to San Diego, because deep down Marcus was right, brooding all vacation about the relationship with Derek would not be good for you. You had had other guys before him but Derek had been special, until you found out he was cheating on you. You cried for hours on the phone with Marcus and he listened to you the whole time so maybe you owed him a little too.

After insisting on getting at least a room refund, Marcus had turned to you displeased “apparently we have no other choice.”

“We'll adjust” you had smiled, but you couldn't deny that you were a little nervous.

Once in the room he, too, seemed self-conscious.

There was a double bed with a hideous floral bedspread in the middle of the room, brownish carpeting on the floor, dingy pictures hanging on the walls, and an old dresser on the opposite side of the bed with a rickety TV on it.

A smell of cheap deodorant with a musty undertone wafted around. It was the worst room I had ever set foot in, but at this point there was nothing you could do but make it okay. Sleeping in the car didn't seem so appealing.

You had set your bags down and looked at each other awkwardly “This room is awful,” Marcus had whispered, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand “I'm sorry, it didn't look that bad from the brochure.”

“It's not your fault, I bet those pictures were taken at least 20 years ago” you had laughed ”it will do for one night”

You had retrieved your pajamas from the suitcase and went to the bathroom. The light blue tiles made it look like a hospital, there was an old plastic curtain in the shower and the sink looked like it had been through a war but at least it looked clean. There was a strong smell of disinfectant that made you a little nauseous. You had changed quickly and returned to your room to Marcus who was sitting on the bed intent on calling his parents “Yes mom, everything is fine, we will be back tomorrow. Yes, sure, don't worry I'll definitely say hello to her, she's in her room now” You had noticed that he had not said anything about your misadventure, you had sat down smiling on the opposite side of the bed trying to be silent.

Marcus had rolled his eyes closing the call “she is so old-fashioned.”

You had laughed “I find her lovely”

Marcus had chuckled “we'd better sleep, we have a lot of driving tomorrow. Are you okay with that side?”

“Yes, it’s fine” you had nodded ”however I'd rather get this bedspread out of the way, it gives me nightmares even when awake”

Marcus had observed it agreeing that yes, it was rather eerie.

You had taken it off and laid it on the dresser before slipping under cold, scratchy and wrinkled sheets.

You looked at each other and burst out laughing, the situation was comical to say the least. “God, I think I won't forget this bed for a long time,” Marcus had said.

“It feels like being in a burlap sack.” You had laughed.

“Could you not squirm like that?”

“Sorry, I'm just looking for ways to be comfortable,” you had said, ”Mattress is lumpy.”

You had laid on your side with your back to him and closed your eyes, trying to sleep.

“So, did you have a good time?” you had heard Marcus whisper.

“Yes” you had replied “thank you” And it was true, his friends were really nice. You had bonded with the girls and exchanged addresses and phone numbers “you were right, I needed a vacation”

“I know, I'm always right” he had sentenced from the other end of the bed.

You had turned to look at him "oh sure, like the other night when we ended up at that beach party and you said it was allowed and then we had to run away because the police were coming?”

“It was just a little misjudgment!” He retorted.

You had burst out laughing again “come on, sleep, Mr I know everything”

Marcus had turned off the lamp on the bedside table, next to the phone with which he had just called his mother “Hey...I need to tell you something” you had heard him say.

“What?” the tone had suddenly changed and you felt confused, you looked over your shoulder at him in the dark.

“I kissed Alice the other night” he seemed awkward in telling you and you didn't understand why.

“Oh. Well, good for you. She's a lovely girl” he was your friend, you were happy for him.

If it weren't for the fact that you secretly hoped he would kiss you. You'd been thinking about it for a few days, ever since you'd seen him come out of the water while you were at the beach.

It had seemed to you that everything had started moving in slow motion, your eyes glued to his tanned skin, to his broad shoulders, to the way the water slid over his chest in little droplets that died on the waistband of his swimsuit. It was a feeling you had never experienced before in five years of knowing him. You had never seen Marcus as anything more than a friend, but in that moment, with his hair disheveled, his skin wet, a smile plastered on his face as he told you and the others that ocean was great, he had seemed like a vision, and you had felt your cheeks heat up.

Where on earth that attraction came from you didn't know, but it had hit you hard and clear, like a bump on the head that had suddenly awakened you. You had convinced yourself that your brain was doing this to protect you from painful memories with Derek, lingering on your closest friend who had never let you down. Your trust in men was at its lowest, and Marcus had always reassured you, kept you out of trouble, and he was most reliable guy you had ever known.

He said he would do something and he always, unfailingly did it. You could not say the same about Derek or any other guy you had ever been with.

You had tried to chase that feeling away, burying it in the corner of your mind for all the following days; you didn't want to ruin the friendship between you, and you were pretty sure he didn't feel the same way about you.

Sure, you thought you kissed him on your 18s birthday while you were drunk, but the next morning you were so ashamed that you hadn't even told him about it, pretended you didn't remember anything and that it had never happened. Marcus had done the same, and everything had ended there. Two years had passed since that night, you had gone to college, you had both had more or less long relationships.

That one kiss was now so far away that you had listed it among “once-in-a-lifetime mistakes.”

"I wanted to tell you, that's it. Friends tell each other everything, right?"

“Yes, of course, you can tell me anything, I’m happy for you” you replied

You had listened to Marcus talk about the girls he liked dozens of times and you had never cared, you would have certainly forgotten it, it was just a passing crush, you told yourself. That annoyance you felt, that bitter taste in your throat, would disappear after a night's sleep. Your friendship was more important, you wouldn't have ruined it just because your brain had thought it interesting to make it something more.

Yet when you had tried to sleep all you had seen was Marcus kissing Alice. You had not seen them, fortunately, but it was not a hard scene to imagine, and unfortunately it was now implanted in your brain. His strong arms holding her, his soft lips resting on hers, her surrounding his neck with her arms, her pelvis rubbing against his. Suddenly you couldn't stand it. You had narrowed your eyes, cursing your creative mind, grunting in frustration.

“Hey, is everything okay?” had asked Marcus from the other side of the bed.

You had lied, of course, but you had kept brooding until you fell asleep exhausted by the workings of your brain.

In the morning you had woken up confused, not at all rested, and in his arms.

Your face was resting on his chest next to your hand. How had you ended up there like that? You didn't know. You felt like you didn't know anything anymore.

He was blissfully asleep. He seemed unaware of anything as your throat was dry, your head ached, and your pussy throbbed. Yes, throbbing, desperately. The warmth of his body, the scent of his skin, that knowledge you felt inside that this was exactly what you wanted and you couldn't even quantify how long you had wanted it.

And the panic that had seized you immediately afterward. You were convinced it was a mistake, the most terrible mistake you could make. So why did it feel so right? Why did his body feel like it was made for you? Oh no, no you couldn't allow that. Certainly he had no idea whatsoever about the situation, there was no way he was aware and let you do it, it was all your fault.

You were going to ruin everything, your friendship, your relationship with the one man who really seemed to understand and support you. And for what? To fuck him once? It wasn't going to work between you romantically. You were going to have to spend two more years away seeing each other only during the holidays to begin with, and then you were both stubborn, too proud...no, it was wrong, you didn't care what your body told you, you had to let your brain prevail.

You slowly slipped away, back to your side of the bed, practically holding your breath, cursing yourself and your heart that wouldn't stop hammering in the middle of your chest.

He had woken up shortly after, acted as usual, getting up, stretching in his T-shirt and basketball shorts, mumbled good morning to you and locked himself in the bathroom.

Your eyes had slid lasciviously over his body, stealing glances of his exposed skin between his T-shirt and shorts, of his broad shoulders stretching the fabric, of his thighs...

All while you wanted to sink into a black hole and disappear forever. You sank your face into the pillow to keep yourself from screaming.

And what was worse was that you had to carry the burden of what you felt alone because the person you would normally talk to about it was the one you were longing for. Wonderful, a wonderful situation.

When he had come out of the bathroom, with his beautiful smile and that rough voice that he always had early in the morning you almost lost control. You were about to beg him to join you in bed. Ugh, your 20s, uncontrollable, stupid, senseless hormones.

“What are you waiting for? Come on, go get dressed, we have to leave,” he had told you, in the same friendly and vaguely mocking tone as always.

“Oh. yes, thank you, I promise I will be quick.” You had stammered.

You got up, grabbed some random clothes from your suitcase, your beauty case and went to the bathroom to shower and change. He would be ready in 10 minutes at most so he would always let you go to the bathroom first, to give you time to do your makeup and fix your hair. Marcus knew that about you, too, and he was okay with that.

You closed the door behind you, feeling the tears stinging your eyes. You had managed to hold them back until that moment, but in the shower, covered by his of the water, they had flowed copiously and salty down your cheeks.

____________________________________________

2000

“Hey! How are you! My goodness, long time no see!”

You had met him at the supermarket, as you were going around the shelves intent on shopping for your mother.

You were back at your parents' house for Thanksgiving with your husband, John.

The last person you thought you would see was him.

“Marcus!” you had squeaked.

“I am fine! How are you? And Danielle?”

Your mother had taken it upon herself to inform you that he had also married, had no children, and had become a detective.

“Danielle is just fine, she is right there down the aisle picking potatoes according to my mother's exact instructions,” he had rolled his eyes, chuckling.

Damn, you had thought, he's breathtakingly handsome.

You hoped that in all the years you had lost touch with each other he would have lost at least some of his hair like his father, but apparently he had not inherited that gene. His hair was thick and healthy as usual, he wore a gray T-shirt under a black leather jacket and a pair of dark blue jeans. You hated the way he could put on two random things and look so damn perfect while you felt like you had spent your whole life in front of your closet wondering what to wear. And even more you hated his smile, so friendly and sweet, that it hadn't changed at all.

He seemed genuinely glad to see you.

You had lost touch with each other after graduation, despite the advent of cell phones, computers, and email. Your friendship had survived handwritten letters, postcards, prepaid phone cards but still crumbled eventually. You were on the opposite coast, intent on your master's degree, dreaming of becoming a writer; he was hooked on a career in law enforcement.

The letters had become fewer and fewer, as had the phone calls, and eventually what was there had simply slipped away as the months passed, the commitments increased, and each of you tried to become the adult you had dreamed of being.

You had thought it was much better this way, you had stifled your feelings for him for another four years before accepting that nothing would ever happen. You had dated other guys in the meantime, but Marcus had always remained in your mind as the perfect guy you could never have. It was only when you had met John that you had allowed yourself to think that maybe it could work with someone who was not your old friend. He was understanding, sweet, supportive, present and caring with you. John was a really good guy and so you had finally decided to marry him. He had asked you one spring day at the Public Garden, while you were eating a lobster sandwich under a tree in front of the pond, watching the swans. Your offices were close by, so you tried to spend your lunch break together as often as you could. You had gotten a job at the Boston Globe, were in charge of the wedding column, and wrote romance novels in your spare time, sending manuscripts left and right in the hope that some editor would notice them. John was a stockbroker, pragmatic, punctual and very thorough in his work as much as he was sweet and attentive with you.

“How about we get married?” he simply had said to you, with his mouth full. You had laughed, thought he was joking, until you noticed his serious and hopeful look and exclaimed “oh my God, yes!” throwing your sandwich in the air and wrapping your arms around his neck. That was all you wished for. You had moved in together in a beautiful house downtown, not very big but lovely, you had fallen in love with it as soon as you saw it. It was bright and warm, the right place to start your life with John.

You had, of course, sent an invitation to Marcus as well, but he had declined, saying he was very busy with work. You had kind of tied it on your finger and so you had decided that he might as well get out of your life after all. Times change, people change, all I can do is move on and try to forget how I feel about him by devoting myself to my relationship with John, you thought.

Now that you had him in front of you again though, he looked the same as he always did, only grown. And your heart had skipped a beat the instant you recognized his voice greeting you.

“How long do you plan to stay?” you had asked out of pure courtesy.

“About a week, we were able to take a few days to relax a bit. We're always working like crazy, you know, we both needed to get away for a while. How about you?”

“Yes, us too, by the way if you remember Sunday is my father's birthday and my mother really wanted us to be there.”

“I guess. By the way, I'm sorry. My mother told me when we arrived.”

Your father had been ill for several months and unfortunately there was little left to do at that point. He was slowly fading away and it would probably be the last Thanksgiving you would spend together.

“I thank you. Oh here's John. John this is Marcus, an old friend of mine. Marcus, this is John, my husband.”

“Nice to meet you, Marcus,” John had said, shaking his hand.

“Honey, I'm done, shall we go?” had chirped Danielle's voice as she approached you.

“Yes love, but first let me introduce you to an old friend of mine and her husband” Marcus had told her softly.

“Oh it's you! Marcus has told me several times about you! It's nice to finally meet you in person.”

Danielle was beautiful, dark hair, blue eyes and delicate features, a little nose that looked as if it had been drawn by an artist, full lips, high cheekbones and a well-proportioned chin. Her voice was melodious and sweet and she looked at you with an excited and surprised expression, " He didn't tell me you were so pretty!"

“Oh, thank you, you are too,” you had said, slightly embarrassed by such kindness. At that point John had held you proudly, as if you were his greatest prize. His arm had wrapped around your waist, and his eyes looked at you lovingly "didn't she? I'm lucky that she married me."

Danielle had laughed graciously and shook his hand introducing herself, while you and Marcus looked at each other almost studying each other, as if you were both trying to figure out how happy you actually were in your marriages.

That habit of worrying about each other had not gone away; after all, you had been close friends for quite a few years, and your friendship had faded not because of a quarrel, but because of distance and becoming busy adults. And because you had to get over the crush you had on him, of course, but you had never told him that.

“Well, we have to go now, anyway come and see us if you can. My mother would love to see you again,” Marcus had said before offering to push the cart full of food that his wife had left beside you and start toward the checkouts.

“We'll try, thank you,” you had nodded. You definitely should have helped your mother, tried to soothe her at least a little from the strain of caring for your father 24/7; you didn't know how much more time would be left for other things.

You had watched them walk off together from behind, down the canned food aisle where you had retrieved the ready-made cranberry sauce you would never have time to prepare.

They were a good-looking couple, really, attractive, well-dressed, Danielle looking impeccable in a pair of jeans that bandaged her while highlighting her curves, a red blouse that matched her complexion, and a pair of vertiginous heels on which you didn't even know how to walk. She seemed to do it without any problem.

“We should go too, honey” John's voice had brought you back down to earth.

_________________________________________

Once home John had announced to your mother that you had met your old friend at the supermarket, and of course she was thrilled, “Oh, he's such a nice guy, I saw him and his wife the other day walking downtown, they are such a nice couple, aren't they?”

John had agreed, taking a beer from the fridge “really”

“Well, like you, of course” your mother had added, looking at you softly.

And it was true, you were fine with John, he was a good person, a hard worker, he treated you like a princess. What more could you want?

Yet since you had seen him again, Marcus's face had made room in your mind. The intrigued way he had looked at you, as if trying to understand everything that had happened to you in the years you had not been in touch, the way his arms were reaching out to embrace you when John had arrived, a barely imperceptible movement that only you had noticed because you knew him better than the palm of your hand, the dimple that had popped up on his cheek as he smiled at you, the usual one you had grown to love so much.

You had pinched the bridge of your nose as you tried to drive it from your mind “Are you okay love?” had asked John immediately.

“Yes, I just have a little headache, I'll get something later,” you had lied, hurrying to put away the rest of the groceries.

What annoyed you the most was that it seemed like not a single day had passed since you were in your twenties and you had woken up hugging him in the bed of that dingy motel. It was absurd. You had worked so hard to move on and now it felt like you were back where you started.

You couldn't let that happen, you wouldn't let your marriage be disrupted by a casual 10-minute meeting with him.

You would not have gone to his house, no matter how much you would have liked to see his mother who had always been so kind to you.

You had other things to think about anyway; your father was stuck in a hospital bed that you had managed to get him to be more comfortable. He had been put in the guest room on the ground floor, next to the bathroom, he couldn't do the stairs, and it was also easier for your mother to accompany him. The strong and generous man he had been was wearing out before your eyes, and it was a terribly painful image. You knew he had little time left, and you didn't want to waste it chasing the ghosts of the past when you had a husband who was helping you and hugging you every night trying to lessen your pain.

Your Thanksgiving dinner had been unique to say the least, each of you shuttling from the dining room to your father's to spend some time with him, making sure he had everything he needed, helping him eat and drink. You had marveled at how gentle and patient John was with your dad, the big man you had married, one with two shoulders like a football player, feeding your father fruit jelly almost more gracefully than you.

You knew how fond he was of your dad, they had hit it off right away, but you didn't know how much he was willing to sacrifice for him. You were moved.

___________________________________________

Your father was gone four days later. You and John were supposed to leave for Boston the next morning instead you had to call in to work, cancel your flight, call your trusty neighbor Marge to ask her to look at your house, pick up your mail, and water your plants.

You were crushed and at the same time overwhelmed with bureaucracy so you couldn't stop. You had forgotten to eat breakfast that morning, got dressed in a hurry to go to the funeral home to deliver the suit with which you had decided to bury your father, then went to do some paperwork with the insurance company and finally to the church to arrange with the pastor the time of the service and the proceedings. When you left the church you felt an emptiness in your stomach, your head was spinning, you had eaten barely a sandwich in the last two days.

You knew you were about to collapse, saw a café across the street from the church, and went inside to get a croissant and cappuccino to go.

When you came out you found yourself in front of Danielle. She was so sorry, of course your mother had informed Marcus's mother and they would be attending the funeral. Danielle hugged you as if you were her sister, telling you that she understood you because she too had lost her father a few years earlier and even though you didn't know each other well you could have called her if you needed anything.

You had thanked her and headed for the car, locked yourself in and took a couple of minutes to chug your croissant and drink your cappuccino. At least partially regenerated from the late breakfast you had headed back home, where John and your mother were waiting for you.

In the car you had been thinking about how kind Danielle had been and how lucky Marcus was to be with her.

The next day you had put on a sober black suit that you used for the office and probably wouldn't be able to wear again after that day, put on just enough makeup, helped John put on his tie, and headed for church with him and your mom.

All three of you were exhausted, grieving, trying to hold the pieces together as best you could with each other's help but your dad's absence was hard to bear. You wished you could have woken up and found it had been just a nightmare, you wished you could have hugged him and talked to him and he, as he had always done, would have found the words you needed most.

There was only one other person who could soothe your worries in the same way your dad could, and that person was Marcus.

John had been able to be there for you anyway, with actions more than words, taking tasks to take away from you, relieving you of burdens you could not carry alone, and for that you were infinitely grateful. He was a good husband.

After the service, under his arm, you left the church behind your mother. You had lost count of the number of people who had come to hug you, faces you had never seen, work colleagues of your father's whom you had never met, old childhood friends, the church was full of people who had come to remember him fondly. This pleased you, but it was strange to you at the same time. You wished you had some time to yourself, alone, to try to catch your breath and rationalize at least some of what had happened, that blender of emotions that had shaken and sucked you in.

You had made your way to the cemetery, walking along the path that led to the family grave where your grandparents were buried you had felt like you were in a muffled bubble where everything moved in slow motion, barely sensing John's presence beside you.

When you had arrived, you had looked up for only a moment and before you had seen Marcus's. You had not noticed his presence in the church, busy as you were with hugging and greeting, you had seen only his mother but he had remained in the background, respecting your grief. Just as you wished others had done. There was nothing more to be said, he always knew what you needed, no matter how many years had passed, he could still read you like an open book just like when at 18 he had realized that your highest aspiration was to become a writer without even the need to make it explicit in words.

His eyes were swollen and reddened; it was obvious that he was moved. Beside him was Danielle with a pair of dark glasses covering her face, clutching his arm elegantly and dignifiedly.

You had smiled weakly at him, thanking him with your eyes, and he had smiled back, looking at you with the sweetest, sorriest eyes I had seen that day.

___________________________________________

You had stayed behind to watch the final burial operations, while John had driven your mother back to the car, who had burst into convulsive tears, crushed by the realization that she had lost forever the man she had loved most in the world.

You had felt a hand barely graze your shoulder, you had turned around and saw Marcus standing there on the grass “hey” As soon as you had seen him the impulse to hug him had come to you spontaneously, he had welcomed you into his arms, stroking your head, wrapping you against his chest, trying to comfort you.

Being close to him still felt like home, his warmth immediately made you feel calmer, less alone, and not that John couldn't do that but with Marcus it was different. He had always been different in a way that was impossible to explain but that you felt hammering hard in your heart.

“Thank you,” you had whispered, with the tears you had finally allowed yourself to shed wetting your cheeks and his shirt.

“Don't mention it,” he had whispered, continuing to hold you close.

You had lingered a little longer in his embrace before pulling away and asking where Danielle was.

"She went home with my mom. I stayed in case you needed anything.”

“It's okay, thank you, there was no need,” you stammered lyingly. Yes you needed him, now more than ever, and he knew it well.

“Your mother and John?”

“Aunt Maggie drove them home, they left my mom's car with me.”

“Do you want me to drive?” she had asked and all you could do was nod ”please. But then how are you going to get back?”

“I'll call Danielle, don't worry” she had encircled your waist with an arm as she walked you to the car. She had opened the door and helped you get in, even buckled your seat belt no matter how hard you had tried to insist you could do it yourself.

Marcus did not spare himself when it came to caring for others.

He had climbed up on the driver's side and in a rush had hugged you back, there, inside the car, whispering, “You don't know how sorry I am, baby. Your father was a great man.”

You had looked at him gratefully, amid tears that had begun to flow profusely again "thank you"

He had kissed you, right after that. And the instant his lips had rested on yours, you had felt that you could not help yourself no matter how hard you had tried to bury your feelings all those years. There was something inexplicable that united you, a way of understanding each other that needed no words, as if you were made to recognize each other, to see inside each other's souls. You had read in his eyes that day in the supermarket how much he had missed you, and he had read the same in yours, and just before that you had felt the same need to have him near, in spite of John, Danielle, and anything else that told you it was wrong. Deep inside you had always known it was right, you had felt it from the moment you first met him. You had been crowing for years about people talking about soul mates, meetings of destiny, and things like that. But now you knew you had felt it. His soft lips on yours were like honey to your soul, you wished you could sink into that feeling, drown in that sea and never rise again.

You couldn't leave John though. Not after you had built a life together in Boston, not after he had supported and cared for you all those days. Not after all he had done for you.

As much as it hurt to do so, you pulled away from his lips. “I’ve always thought about you, all these years,” he said. “I’m sorry, you know, I didn’t realize it before, that maybe we could be something more. I never told you, but I remembered that kiss we shared when we were 18 very well.” Marcus was a torrent of words and was saying everything you’d always wanted to hear. “And I remember the night in that motel, too, how you held me in your sleep. I…” You knew he was about to say something like “I love you” “I’ve always loved you,” and so you cut him off. “Marcus.” He paused, his mouth half open as he looked at you in shock. “It’s too late. We can’t. Maybe there was a chance a few years ago, but now? We’re both married, we have responsibilities, we have to be realistic. It’s not fair to Danielle and John. And I have a job and a life in Boston, I can’t just leave everything all of a sudden.”

“But I…” and you knew he was about to say those words again. “Please don’t say that. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

Marcus had fallen silent, looking down at his hands draped over his lap, and then said sadly, “I understand.”

You had just lost your father and now you were losing him too. It wasn’t fair, but it was the only thing to do. “Take me home, please.” He would have started the car without saying anything, driving to your house without looking at you again, perhaps afraid that he wouldn’t be able to let you go if he ever laid eyes on you again.

You got out of the car just saying thank you, without hugging him because you knew it would have hurt even more.

____________________________________

2008

When John had told you that you should move to Washington DC, you had not taken it well. You did not want to leave Boston, the bright home where you had begun to build your new life, that city that had welcomed you. Starting all over again somewhere else, in a city you had never been to, seemed too much.

In the end, however, you had accepted it; leaving John seemed even worse. And he had continued to be a good husband, so you saw no reason to part with him.

After all, he had received a good promotion, he had rented a house where you had found a familiar light again, it had big windows, high ceilings, big rooms. John made good money and had tried to accommodate you in everything.

He had made it worth it all the way.

You had been struggling a bit to fit into the editorial staff of the new newspaper you had found work for. You were aiming for the Washington Post, but they had totally bounced you, which had been no small disappointment to digest.

However, after all, your life had regained some meaning.

It was now six months since you had moved, you hadn't heard from Marcus in eight years. And this time it was not because of distance, but because it had really hurt you to find out that he felt something too but it never seemed to be the right time for you. It would have been in 1993 perhaps, if you had had courage, if you had taken the risk of exploring your feelings together. He hadn't had the guts to tell you anything, you were too afraid, and when you had found common ground it had immediately collapsed.

John had noticed that something was wrong, even he knew you well enough to know that it pained you not to hear from your friend again, and at times he had even urged you to call him. You had told him that he had said something unpleasant about Danielle while you were in the car and you had felt sorry for her, from there you had started to argue. It was a really boorish excuse and you were pretty sure John hadn't bought it but had played it off for the sake of quiet life.

“Can you stop by the bank to deposit this check this morning?” he had told you that morning before leaving the house. You were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and enjoying your day off.

“Sure,” you had answered him, ”I'll go there before I go to the laundry to pick up my dress for tonight.”

“Mmm the burgundy dress with that dizzying neckline?” he had told you as he leaned over to give you a kiss

“Just that one” you had smiled as you returned the kiss and caressed his cheek ”you like it huh?”

“I'm looking forward to tonight” he had chuckled before leaving the house with his briefcase ”I'll be home at 7 o'clock okay?”

“Perfect, I'll be ready” you had thrown him a kiss and then curled up in your chair, finishing your coffee and admiring the view of the waking city outside.

It was your anniversary, and he was going to take you to dinner at a French restaurant you had heard about in enthusiastic tones from your discerning colleague who was a food and wine critic.

You had dressed quietly, gone out to do your chores, had a manicure appointment, then gone to pick up your dress at the dry cleaners and finally to the bank.

As soon as you had left the bank you had bumped into a guy.

You had looked up and been stunned.

Marcus.

How was that possible?

“Oh shit,” he had exclaimed.

His hair was slightly longer, he had grown a mustache and a beard but it was him, there was no doubt about it, you would have recognized him in a thousand.

"What are you doing here?" you had asked him, widening your eyes, without a hello or how are you or anything else, you were too shocked.

He was the last person you expected to see on your anniversary.

Marcus had brushed his hand behind his neck, the gesture he always made when he was embarrassed “I got a big promotion” in a tone as if to apologize for existing in the same state as you, in the same city as you, for coexisting in the same environment as you.

“Whatever...I have to go, anyway, have a nice life,” you had tried to say quickly, to disengage yourself from that surreal situation.

You had already turned your back on him when you heard him say “no wait...please...would you like to have a cup of coffee?”

You had turned silently to look at him. He couldn't have been serious. Yet he was.

And looking into those big brown pleading eyes, for some reason you had not been able to say no.

“All right,” you had replied with a shrug, ”I'll give you half an hour, then I'll have to go home.”

You went to sit in a café around the corner and ordered a cappuccino.

"So how are you?" you asked absentmindedly.

“Danielle and I broke up last spring.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.” It was like a blade through the chest to hear his voice again, to hear him say that he was single again and that his marriage was over. Somehow it made you feel guilty even though after eight years it was unlikely that the main reason for their breakup was you.

“Yeah...she wanted children and for a while we tried but...”

“Marcus please, I don't care, it's your business because it's over,” you cut off.

You didn't have to get involved again. When you had thought back to your father's death and how he had confessed right afterwards you had been angry with him. Why had he done it at that time when you were so particularly vulnerable? It wasn't fair.

"Sorry I-" he had babbled.

“Never mind, never mind,” you had interrupted him again with a hand gesture. “Look, let's talk straight once and for all” you didn't know where all that aggression was coming from but it was growing inside you inexorably, like an infection ”why the hell are we here?”

He had lowered his gaze to his cappuccino, then brought it back to you and stared at you in a way that made you feel naked and helpless. He still had an effect on you, and it pissed you off. “I miss you,” he had admitted under his breath, ”I miss talking to you and I miss having you around. I miss everything about you. When I saw you I couldn't believe it. But I know I can't let you leave without clearing things up.”

“There's nothing left to clear up. It's over Marcus, can't you see that? There was never a right time for us.”

“That's not true, I-”

“Stop it! Look, I'm trying to live my life, you do it too,” you had screeched

“But-”

“No 'buts'... Marcus, I'm tired. I'm tired of this running into each other and don't tell me it's fate because it's just pure randomness. John was transferred for work, now we live here, end of story. I'm still with him, okay? And I'm happy, so please leave me alone.”

You could see his clenched fist on the coffee table, his eyes glazed with tears, his Adam's apple jumping as you mentioned John. He looked devastated. It was no longer your business anyway, so you had gotten up and made to leave, leaving a bill on the coffee table. “Don't look for me anymore.”

Marcus had jumped up, his chair had fallen back crashing onto the pavement, and he didn't even seem to notice as he tried to stop you.

“Please” he had grabbed you by the sleeve of his jacket ”please.”

You had turned back to him and looking into his eyes you had seen the little boy who asked you if he would ever be famous, the one who helped you with your homework, the 20-year-old who had involved you in the craziest vacation of your life, and then the adult who had broken your heart.

“No.” you had whispered, ”no fucking way.”

Marcus' face was a grimace of pain, as if in physical pain from your rejection, his shoulders hunched and his hand not letting go of you. He was pathetic and sweet at the same time.

His eyes were fixed in yours as he told you loud and clear, “I love you.”

I love you.

You had longed to hear it come from his lips for so long that now it was like a lash that burned against your skin. You had stopped feeling like you were glued to the sidewalk, unable to take a step forward “What the hell! Did you have to tell me that? Was it necessary after I told you that I am still with my husband? Fuck, your timing is the worst thing ever. Do you know what day it is today? My wedding anniversary.” you had thrown up words at him angrily, feeling a knot in your stomach that nauseated you.

“I don't want anything from you,” he had replied, his voice trembling, ”I just wanted you to know.”

“And now that I know according to you what have we solved? What have we gained? I'll tell you, absolutely nothing Marcus.”

You had turned around and left, yelling at him, “I'll tell you again, don't ever look for me.”

You had come home and taken a long hot bath, cried your last tears for him, and then decided it was John you had to think about, your special day. Marcus wasn't going to ruin it for you. You had prepared yourself carefully, put on the dress he liked so much, your favorite perfume, and waited for John. When he had come home you had driven out to a restaurant, had had a delicious dinner, sex as soon as you got home, and fallen asleep in his arms feeling that it was right.

___________________________________

2010

“Love don't wait up for me, I'll be back late. I am so sorry, I love you.”

It was already the fourth time in a week that he sent you such a message, by now John spent more time in the office than anywhere else. He had been given another promotion and was now mainly in charge of foreign exchanges, so he went to the office at impossible hours, came back later and later, and you barely saw him in the morning getting out of bed to jump in the shower. You hadn't had sex for at least a month, in those days you had talked more often with the mailman than with your husband.”

Finally a publishing house had noticed you and they had published your book, you had gotten a chance to continue working for the newspaper by writing your articles from home so you could work on your second novel.

You had huffed, looking at the screen, by now you were going to your friends' dinners alone, in those two years you had bonded with some couples in your neighborhood, and with a colleague from the newspaper and her husband. Every time you had been invited in the last three months John had declined, saying he had to work.

You were beginning to feel really alone in your marriage, but you knew you had to try something. You still cared about John; you didn't want everything you had built together to be ruined. Sure, since he was earning more money he was showering you with unexpected and expensive gifts that certainly didn't make up for his absence, though. You had never been a materialistic person, no matter how beautiful the diamond bracelets and pearl necklaces and expensive shoes were, you missed falling asleep cuddled with your husband, feeling his caresses, having breakfast with him in the morning, spending a weekend together on the couch watching TV cuddling, simply spending time with him. For the past few weeks you had failed to write a word, you had hastily completed articles for the newspaper just to meet deadlines but your novel had stalled. You were busy cleaning to take your mind off things, you had joined the gym to force yourself to leave the house but then you would go back and find yourself spending entire evenings lounging around, not knowing what else to do.

You had decided that night that you had to take matters into your own hands, put on a pretty dress, fixed your hair and make-up thoroughly, and then went out with the intention of surprising him. You were going to bring him his favorite dishes from your favorite Chinese restaurant to the office.

When you had arrived at his workplace, you had looked up from the car window and seen the light on in his office.

You had come down loaded with Chinese noodles and dumplings, and as you walked toward the entrance you had noticed his car parked not far away.

You had taken the elevator with your heart in your throat, looking forward to seeing his happy face as he enjoyed a hot meal. The elevator had opened on the floor and you had started down the hallway leading to his office. There was no one there, everything was quiet and still, but the closer you got to his office the more you heard strange noises. Bellowing, hushed voices.

The door was pulled over, you had pushed it slightly, and the scene that unfolded before your eyes was unsettling.

Veronica, a married colleague of him whom you had met at the firm's Christmas party a few months earlier, was bent over John's desk, her skirt up, her panties down, her long legs covered by black hold-ups, her stilettos sinking into the Persian carpet under John's desk. And your husband holding her hips and sinking into her from behind.

His shirt was hanging off his shoulders, his hair was disheveled, his neck tense and sweaty, as he stood there with his cool wool pants down, fucking his colleague.

He grunted some words that you had never heard him say when you were having sex “Yeah, bitch, you like that huh? You like getting pounded by my cock huh? You're such a dirty slut, do you feel how wet you are for me?"

You couldn't believe your eyes. Your sweet husband, the one who had stood by you so devotedly…where had that man gone?

You dropped the bag with the Chinese dinner on the floor, the boxes had opened, and the noodles had spread all over the hardwood floor. “What the fuck?!”

John had turned around shocked, still with his cock inside his coworker “Oh shit. No, wait, honey I-” he had stepped out of her and tried to pull up his pants awkwardly ”please-fuck-I can explain.”

“There's nothing to explain, you piece of shit!” you had yelled at him as he approached trying to stammer out some stupid excuse and had slapped him open-handed across the face as soon as he got in front of you ‘don't bother coming home’ you had added contemptuously.

“But love I-” he had pranced rubbing his cheek ”please-”

“NO!” You had yelled “No, I don't want to hear your bullshit excuses, I don't want anything more to do with you, you disgust me!”

Veronica was standing in the corner buttoning her blouse and pulling down her skirt without meeting your gaze, her face hot and guilty.

Everything that you had sacrificed for that relationship, how you had followed him and reinvented your life for him, adapting to his needs, trying to build a happy nest for the two of you in Washington, all had been swept away. He had stomped on your marriage, your trust, your heart.

You had driven home crying, risking missing a red light, had nailed down at the last moment with your heart bouncing inside your chest like a jackhammer. You had walked into the house throwing your purse and coat on the floor, throwing your shoes in the middle of the hallway and throwing yourself on the bed, hiding your face in the pillow with your head bursting, a sense of helplessness and defeat enveloping your temples, your chest, your stomach.

It was over.

John had never come home, you had learned through his lawyer that he had rented an apartment near his office, and a week later he sent three big guys from a moving company to pick up his things.

You couldn't stay in that house anymore. Everything reminded you of him, the lies he had been telling you for months and what was even worse, all the happy moments you had lived in there in spite of yourself.

You were dragging yourself from room to room without strength, you hadn't written anything anymore, you had told the editor of the newspaper that you were sick to have an excuse to delay the deadlines for your articles.

You were tired, you were angry, you lacked the will to do anything, after three days without seeing you leave the house your friend Denise, who lived across the street had called you alarmed to see if you were all right, and hearing your dejected, fading voice had decided to use the keys you had given her in case of an emergency to come and check on you in person.

You had not been able to lie to her; you had burst into tears and told her everything as soon as she asked you where John was.

From that day she had been by every day bringing you dinner, making sure you ate, forcing you to shower, tidying up. You didn't know what you had done to deserve Denise in your life but you were incredibly grateful that she was there.

Gradually you had forced yourself to take charge of your life again, started going out again pushed by your friends and even moved house, encouraged by them. You couldn't turn over a new leaf without getting out of there.

And you had especially realized that you could walk with your head held high; you were not the one who had to be ashamed.

And looking back on it, you had really overcome a lot in the last few years. The loss of your father, Marcus, your husband. All the men who had meant something to you in your life.

You could have been proud that you did your best to stay on your feet.

________________________________________________________

2011

It had been a year since you had discovered John screwing his colleague.

You had tried dating men, without success, but things were going very well professionally. You had finally managed to finish your second book, and the publisher had been extremely pleased, so much so that he had arranged a series of meetings for you at bookstores around the country. You had just returned from Ohio when you got a call from your mother inviting you for Christmas.

You had no desire to return to Sacramento, but how could you say no to your mom? She was left alone and it had not been easy for her. Your aunt and uncle lived nearby and took care of her but she had said she missed you a lot.

And she was so proud of you, she had asked you for copies of your books to give to all her friends, she was your biggest fan. You were happy to see her and spend time with her.

And so, there you were at the airport, with a big suitcase, ready to get on yet another plane and fly across the country.

You had just gotten an upgrade to business class and were in the private lounge of the area airline ordering yourself a martini when you heard a familiar voice behind you calling your name.

Marcus. Again.

“I swear I'm not following you,” he had raised his hands in surrender.

“I know. I haven't seen you in three years, and we live in the same town.”

You had smiled; it wasn't bad to see his face again after all.

“Martini?” He had asked pointing to your glass

“Yeah. Can you please make another one?” You had said turning toward the bartender.

You had sat at a small table with your cocktails “Are you going to see your mother?”

You had nodded, “You too?”

“Yes, my parents were very insistent. Where is John?”

“I have no idea,” you had squeezed into your shoulders taking a sip of your martini.

“Oh, did you break up? I'm sorry, he seemed like a good man,” he had said.

“Apparently he wasn't since he was cheating on me with one of his colleagues.”

“You should have better judgment anyway, aren't you a detective?” you had asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at him wryly

Marcus had burst out laughing, “You're right, I should.”

And he had told you about the time he had fallen in love with someone named Teresa, a colleague of his, and had been left like a poor idiot the previous year, without realizing that she was in love with someone else.

“It wasn't your fault, you know,” you told him sweetly, ”I know how you get when you have a crush.”

“How do I become?” he had asked you with a sigh.

And you had replied with a smirk “Well, if you must know...naive, head in the clouds, like you live in a world of unicorns and fairies”

“Really? A ridiculous clown? Is that what I become?” he had chuckled and then turned serious again ”Not with you, I hope”

You had laughed, you could have laughed at that point. Or maybe it was just the martini clouding your mind.

“Whatever,” you had rolled your eyes.

“Well, I'm sorry,” he had muttered.

“It's okay” you had smiled ”Really.”

At that moment they had announced boarding for your flight, so you had hurried to the gate together.

You were both in business, so eventually you had sat next to each other and continued chatting.

And it was nice, really nice. You were both single, more aware, you had reached an age where you could be honest with yourselves and you could joke about your dramas.

“So you had noticed that I had hugged you that night huh?”

“Sure. You pounced on me in my sleep and woke me up. I didn't want to embarrass you so I played it cool” she had smiled ”I thought you were sleepwalking and dreaming of hugging Keanu Reeves or whatever.”

You had burst out in the loudest laugh you had had in years and then covered your mouth embarrassed that you had disturbed the other passengers. Fortunately those in your vicinity all had headphones on and were watching a movie.

“Oh, come on” you had tapped his shoulder and then taken by you don't know what courage-probably the second martini you were downing-you had said ”the only one I dreamed of hugging was you.”

“I didn't realize this until later...Now is there anyone you would like to hug by any chance?” he had whispered in your ear.

“Actually...yes”

And there, in that plane, you kissed. For the first time without hindrance, without remorse, without drama, without fear. “I love you” he had whispered on your lips, and you had responded, finally free to say it ”I love you too.”

“So we'll try this time?” he had caressed your cheek, sliding his hand down your neck.

“Yes” You had said ”definitely yes.”

“Your mother will be delighted” he had smiled, kissing you again “it's going to be a great Christmas.”

“Well, Merry Christman then” you whispered as your mouth moved down his neck.

“Merry Christmas, baby”

#pedrostories #pedrostoriesgift24 #marcus pike #Marcus Pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fic #ppcu fics #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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morganski-19 · 3 days ago

Text

Chills Right to the Marrow Part 62

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 59, part 60, part 61

the first part takes place somewhere between parts part 37 and part 39, the second part takes place during part 40, and the last part takes place sometime between part 40 and part 41.

“No, no, no,” Steve complains as the radio just keeps talking. He had switched it to the game while he was making dinner, seeing if it was anything worth watching. “Come on.”

Considering how bad they were losing, it might give him more stress to watch it happen.

“Something goin’ on,” Wayne asks, rummaging around the fridge to find something to eat before going to work.

“Nothing serious. Just a bunch of idiots who can’t seem to actually score anything good.”

“Listening to the game?”

Steve laughs. “Yeah. Might just turn it off, it’s pissing me off.”

“Oh, I know the feeling. I normally listen to the game on my way to work, find myself turning it off when I can’t take it anymore.”

He turns to stir the stir fry he was making in the pan. Lowering the heat so it doesn’t burn. “If there’s nothing good in the fridge, you can have some of this. I made too much for myself anyway.”

“Thanks.” Wayne grabs a bowl. “If it won’t piss you off too much, we could go and watch some of the game before I have to leave.”

Something in that makes Steve freeze for a moment. No one ever offers to watch the games with him. Nancy would sometimes, back when they were dating, but was never really into it. Back when he was friends with Tommy and Carol, they would sneak off halfway through. And just the mere mention of watching it now makes Robin gag, and Dustin roll his eyes.

The only person he can remember watching it with was once with his dad. He was seven and his dad called him into the living room, made him sit down. Asked somewhere between the fifth and sixth inning if Steve ever wanted to play. He knew, then, that if he did, it would make his dad proud. He said yes.

He never liked playing baseball as much as watching it, though. He switched to basketball and swimming in middle school, played that the rest of the way through high school. But that moment was one of the only nice memories he had of his dad.

“Yeah,” he says. Trying to play off whatever he was feeling. “That would be nice.”

Wayne walks away, waiting for Steve as he searches for the channel on the TV. Steve sits down on the other end of the couch. Watching the train wreck of a game, but that’s not what he was focusing on anymore.

It’s stupid, he knows. But somewhere, right now, that hole in his chest fills a little bit. For a moment he can pretend that he’s seven years old again, watching the game with his dad. It’s better this time, though. Now it’s with someone who cares.

“If you ever wanted to make this a little sweeter, a small bit of honey goes a long way,” Wayne offers during a commercial break.

“Really.”

Wayne nods. “Just a little bit, don’t need to go wasting it. But it just adds a little more flavor to it.”

Steve smiles. “I’ll have to try that next time.”

. . .

Steve’s out in the garage when he hears it. Someone in the house calling out his name. The closer he gets, the more distressed it sounds. He tries to remain calm as he finds who it is, but the panic is there.

And then he realizes that it’s Dustin, and everything starts to crumble.

“Dustin,” he says, trying to mask the panic in his voice.

Dustin’s just standing there in the hall, tears streaming down his face. He opens his mouth to try to say something, but all that comes out is a sob. His knees buckle and Steve rushes forward to catch him.

“What’s wrong,” the panic asks. “Are you hurt?”

“You—” is all Dustin says, the words broken off with another sob.

Steve holds him upright and brings him to the living room. Gets him to sit down, calm down. When he starts to breath less frantically, Steve leaves to go get some water from the kitchen. He finds Dustin’s backpack, the radio inside going off like crazy.

“Dustin,” Mike’s voice cracks through. “Dustin, do you copy?”

He finds the walkie. “It’s Steve, he’s at my place.”

“Oh thank God. He just ran off; we didn’t know where he went.”

“Is he ok,” Lucas speaks over Mike to ask.

“Doesn’t look like he’s injured, I’m pretty sure he had a panic attack, though. I’m making sure he’s ok.”

“Ok. Thanks, Steve.”

He returns to the living room, finally gets Dustin to tell him what happened. All of this started because Steve wasn’t at work. Because he called out. The panic on his face says something different, though. Something deeper.

“Dustin, talk to me,” he tries to coax. “What’s going on?”

“No one tell me anything,” Dustin practically yells. “I have to find out everything from someone else, or days, or weeks later. I never get told anything by the person themselves. I’m always the last to know.”

“Dustin—” Steve tries to explain.

Dustin doesn’t let him, though. “No. I’m tired of the excuses. I’m tired of you saying that it’s not my thing to worry about. Because I do. No matter how hard you think you shield me from it, I worry about it. Every day I wake up and wonder if your head is killing you. If when I see you later, you’re going to be how you were before, or a ghost of yourself. If I’m going to look at you push yourself for my betterment. When I know that you’re in pain.”

Stupidly, Steve thought he was hiding it well enough. There was that little bit Dustin saw last week, but that was a one-time thing. He didn’t need to know more; he didn’t need to worry about Steve.

“You’re like a brother to me, Steve. You’re family. I don’t know why you think you can just get away with hiding this from me, but you can’t. Because I love you and all I’m asking is to know what is going on with you. Is that such a big thing to ask?”

Brother, family. Hearing those from Dustin hits Steve harder than he thought they would. Because, deep down, he knew that. He knew that him and Dustin were close, and that they acted like brothers would. There was just that voice in his head that told him it was all fake. That Steve couldn’t really mean that much to Dustin, not when he had a family of his own.

Steve pulls Dustin into a hug, holding him closer than he needs to. But really, he does need to. “I’m sorry.” It doesn’t feel like enough, but it’s a start. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

. . .

Steve shoots out of his sleep, sitting upright. Breaths leaving his lungs faster than he can suck them in. Heart beating so fast, it could run right out of his chest.

A trembling hand reaches out to click the lamp on his bedside. Three things. The swim trophy he won in his senior year. The picture of the party on his desk. His overflowing laundry basket. All things that can’t be in that place. They are all too new.

He wasn’t there. He was home.

In for four, out for eight. Until his breathing slows, his heart calms. The jittering comes to a steady pace. He won’t be able to go back to sleep. But he’s at least not panicking.

Well, not as much as he was.

Because he needs to do something, he stands and grabs the laundry. Takes it to the laundry room and throws it in. Stops to go and change his clothes, before shoving them in the washer too. It isn’t enough.

He heads to the kitchen, pulls out a book and opens the dog-eared page. Begins a recipe that he probably knew by heart by now, but needs to read. Because the steps, the simplicity, the method, it was calming in a way he couldn’t voice.

Robin was the first person Steve ever baked with. She had come over one day back in the summer complaining that her mom was trying this new health trend, and refused to buy any chocolate chips. And well, since he had an empty house, and at that point a hefty food budget from his parents, he offered to get the stuff to make it.

At first, they used the recipe on the back of the bag. Spent most of the time laughing, and spilling half the ingredients on the floor. He didn’t care. It was the first time that the house felt alive again.

What he didn’t realize, then, was how calming baking could be. How following a recipe precisely could calm nerves. Place the fear into something productive, and give it away. Steve didn’t make much, sometimes he would stray from the simple recipe, but nothing brough comfort like homemade chocolate chip cookies. Nothing reminded him how much he wasn’t alone.

“We have to stop meeting like this, Steve,” Eddie’s voice echoes through the kitchen. He walks over to the island, taking a seat. “What will the town say?”

Steve smiles. “I don’t care for what the town says about me anymore.”

Eddie stares at him for a moment, thinking that Steve doesn’t notice. He does. It was painfully obvious, but Steve didn’t care. It’s been so long that someone stared at him for who he is, instead of who they want him to be. The look made Steve feel alive, in a way, like he was still capable of something.

And really, if Steve wanted to push, it could mean that the ignited heat that traveled with each stare might lead to something. Because, if his peripheral wasn’t fooling him, Eddie looked at him with such adoration it made Steve simultaneously melt and feel like a phony. How someone as amazing as Eddie looked at him like that, he didn’t know. But he felt like he didn’t deserve it.

“What are you making,” Eddie asks as Steve cracks the second egg into the bowl.

“Chocolate chip cookies.”

Eddie hums. “Didn’t take you as much of a baker. Especially a midnight baker. There’s a backstory to that one, I’m sure. Let me see.”

He does this thing, sometimes, where he just goes off on a tangent of one thought melding together with the next. Creative thoughts stringing together in one story, much larger than it needs to be. Steve likes listening to it, though. It’s kinda cute.

“So either,” Eddie continues, “you are so ashamed of your secret love for baking that you only allow yourself to partake in such activities in the dead of night. Or. You are secretly a night owl, which is why you are so perky in the morning. You’ve already been up for hours, and are not tired.”

He laughs. “I’m not that perky in the mornings.”

“If you smile at me before eight am, that therefore makes you perky.”

“Maybe I just like smiling at you. Ever think of that?” He looks at Eddie when he says that. Sees the teasing smile turn into shock. Unexpected shock, but not unpleasant.

Steve’s reckless with his feelings sometimes. It makes him say things like that. Makes that beating of his heart come back. But instead of fear, it pumps him full of something else. Something terrified him in a way he was comfortable with.

And it meant that Eddie looked at him like that, and let Steve know it. It made Steve think that maybe, just maybe, he isn’t crazy for this. He hasn’t lost his mind. He isn’t making a stupid mistake. He might just be making the right decision for once.

The oven beeps that it’s done preheating, breaking Steve away. He hopes that it doesn’t mean Eddie does too.

“How’d I do,” Eddie asks as Steve starts to place cookies on the sheet pan. “With my guesses.”

“Not entirely wrong, I am up for longer than you think I am, sometimes. But not because I’m secret night owl.”

Eddie reaches out and steals the spatula. Hesitating for a moment to see if Steve would stop him. He doesn’t. “Why then?”

“Nightmares.”

The room falls to silence except for the clicking of the scoop.

Steve sighs. “When I get a bad one, I need to do something to get my mind off it. If it’s light out, I go for a run, or a drive. If it’s night, I bake. Sometimes I clean, but that never really helps as much as baking does. Not sure why that sticks so much.”

“I get it,” Eddie almost whispers as Steve slides the cookies into the oven. “Before, when my hands didn’t actively hate me, if I couldn’t sleep, I would play something on my acoustic. It helped calm me down. Playing songs I knew by heart, feeling the motions of my hand playing the notes, it was the most calm I ever felt.”

He wishes he was there to watch Eddie play. He could only hear it, just slightly able to differentiate the live playing from the recording. Steve can imagine what he looked like, but he wished he didn’t have to.

“You’re going to be able to play again, you know.” He doesn’t know what compels him to say it, but he really believes it. “With your determination, I think you could do anything.”

Eddie scoffs, rich in pain. “I wish I was as optimistic as you are.”

“Just because you think that it won’t ever happen again, doesn’t mean it won’t. That pool out there, I haven’t been able to fill it for two years. Something happened in there that made me never want to fill it again. But I did. And maybe when I stop thinking something’s going to pull me into another dimension, I’ll be able to swim in it again.” He turns to look out the kitchen window, seeing the moonlight reflect on the water. “I used to love to swim.”

He did. Before the upside down, when it was just a normal life that were giving him problems, he would swim lap after lap. Until his muscles were sore and his body still felt the waves of the water even when on land. Each time his arm crashed into the water, his frustrations melted away.

“Maybe both of us could find a way to love what we used to again,” Steve finishes.

He turns back to look at Eddie, seeing a mix of emotions in his face. The thing that stands out the most is the want to believe him. The want to believe that the weakness in his hands won’t stop him from playing again. That somewhere in the future, it could be possible to.

Steve really believes that it’s possible. It will just take time. Far too much time, creating nothing but frustration and anger. But it is possible. He believes that. And maybe, just maybe, if Steve could still be lucky enough to have Eddie in his life, he could witness it happen.

If the secondary look that Eddie’s giving him is any solace that what Steve feels isn’t one sided, maybe it could guarantee that. Maybe, if Steve could find the words and tell him, or lean forward and just take a chance, he could see if it’s possible.

The timer beeps, breaking whatever moment they had. It’s for the best, really. Steve can’t lose a friendship over the possibility of maybe. He’s lost too much already to that.

apparently my goal when writing this is how much I can make myself cry, because that bit with Wayne and Dustin definitely got me there

tag list (closed): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondespresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

#chills right to the marrow fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington #steve pov #wayne munson #dustin henderson #eddie munson #pre steddie

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