#fucking read tell me i’m worthless or i’ll come to your house at midnight

[trans-comrade]

They’re exactly two kinds of queers

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

I Had To Know Pain Before I Could Be Comforted

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x Fem Reader

Requested by @steveyouarelate : “37 (Lie to me. I don’t care what you say, just lie to me. Make me feel okay again.) and 50 (I’m sorry I’m not enough for you) (with an happy ending, please) with billie dean x reader”

A/N: there’s a lot of crying and wallowing in self-pity in this one, you’ve been warned. I wanted it to have a tragic ending but you asked for happy, so here you go. I hope you’ll like it <3

Title is a line translated from this song.

Word count: ≈ 3 700

Someone catcalled you from across the street but you didn’t find it in you to care. You had no idea where you were. Night was falling, the cold, crisp air was biting your cheeks and making your whole body shiver. You could barely feel your fingers anymore. Your feet hurt. But the pain and the cold felt good. If you could, you would close your eyes and let yourself sink into it to forget everything else.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You ignored it. You kept on walking, straight ahead, left around a corner, past an old man sitting on a bench. He said something to you you did not understand. A car honked nearby. Let it. Let it hit you and put an end to your misery.

Your phone buzzed again. “Oh for fuck’s sake, leave me alone,” you muttered. But even as you said it, your hand reached in your pocket for your phone. Your heart swelled with a bubble of hope, that perhaps it would be her, that perhaps her words would be the right ones and they would make everything better. You turned on the screen and read your notifications.

Coming home soon? x

I’m making mackerel in white wine

It was the cold wind that made you tear up, nothing else. Certainly not the image of Billie in the kitchen, dressed in comfy clothes, sipping a glass of expensive white wine, hips swaying to some mellow jazz song as she chopped herbs and vegetables and stirred the sauce. Sassy, brave, confident, and just a little bit reckless Billie. How you adored her. She was everything to you.

Blinking back your tears, you texted her back a few words saying you were going to spend the night at your dad’s. That was a lie, but you really couldn’t face her right now.

And it wasn’t your fault, really. You had never meant to be so messed-up. But Billie – she was the sun, she was the moon and the stars in the sky and beyond, no matter how cliché that sounded, and you… you were lying on the ground covered with dirt. You were nothing. You had not achieved a single good thing in your life. You couldn’t talk to people without making a complete fool of yourself, you had no talent, no beauty, only a boring, dull personality.

You carried that knowledge in your chest like a rock. Most of the time its weight was bearable; but there were days when the rock seemed to expand and expand until it took all the room in your chest. When that happened, nothing could bring you relief. Negativity would cloud your mind. Dark little thoughts would chirp in your ears like birds in the spring. Useless, they would sing. Boring. Worthless, they would sing.

Today was one of those days. You had woken up with a feeling of dread and dejection and it had required all of your strength to get out of bed. Luckily Billie had left for work early; you didn’t want to bother her with your problems and your bad mood. And then things had just gotten worse and worse.

Today you had lost your job. Your boss had warned you several times before: you weren’t as efficient as your co-workers, you didn’t work fast enough, didn’t smile enough. You simply were not enough. So today he had held the front door open for you and slammed it behind you and had not even bothered to hide his satisfied smirk. Since then, you had walked. Roamed the streets, tried to make one with the cold.

Your phone rang. Billie’s name appeared on your screen. You stared at it for a moment before you accepted the call. You knew she may very well drive to your dad’s if you ignored her, and then what? She’d know you had lied to her. Besides, a tiny part of you was still hoping she would know what to say, she would just know, without you having to tell her, and that rock in your chest would turn to dust and flowers would bloom in its place.

“Hi sweetpea,” said Billie. Her voice was cheerful, but you knew her well enough now to hear the tinge of worry in it.

“Hey,” you said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you beforehand. Are you mad?”

There was a soft clang, something metallic being moved. “Of course I’m not. But are you sure you’re alright?”

You closed your eyes and swallowed hard. “I’m fine. My dad just really needs company right now.”

Did she even care? Or was she relieved that you wouldn’t be spending the night together?

“I’m sorry you made dinner for me,” you went on, eyes still shut tight.”I should have warned you, but he –“

“It’s fine, Y/N, really,” Billie cut you off. “We have that wonderful thing called a fridge that I can use to store leftovers.”

A small laugh escaped you.

“But I’ll miss you,” Billie said. She paused, and again you pictured her, her free hand on the counter, fingers drumming, an apron tied around her waist, hair as perfectly done as if she were about to attend a movie premiere. Another small laugh escaped you, affectionate, incredibly sad.

“Me too. I’ll be back tomorrow. Love you.”You hung up before she had time to say it back. You weren’t sure you could hear those words from her right now.

What would she think when you told her you had lost the one thing that still made you a person of value to the world? You couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on her face. She would be kind, of course, and tell you not to worry. Maybe she would even say that she still loved you. But that wouldn’t be true. Billie deserved someone who, like her, had shot for the stars and made it. Someone who shone as bright as she did, someone she could be proud of – not a liability like you.

You walked. When you took a look at your surroundings, you realized you didn’t know that part of the city. It looked like a wealthy residential neighbourhood, big white houses with large porches, impeccably mown lawns. The streets were deserted. You walked.

Spending the night at your dad’s wasn’t even an option. He was too boisterous, too loud. Your best friend would know something was wrong the minute she’d take a look at your face, and then she would ask questions, demand answers you didn’t want to give her. So you kept on walking, dragging around that rock which after so many years had become a part of you. You didn’t even know if you would want to get rid of it. It felt like company now.

A bridge, across a canal. Past the city hall. You reached downtown, busy, wild, buzzing with life. People brushed past you and laughed at each other and talked too loudly. The city watched you roam without offering the least bit of comfort. You had tried to find solace in its streets hundreds of times before, fueled by the naive belief that the city would welcome you with open arms and a kind smile. But the city was indifferent and selfish. The city sneered at the lost souls that wandered the night.

Maybe you could get a hotel room. You stopped in front of the first hotel you found and stared at the door, but soon realized you were incapable of going in. It was as if your legs had frozen, as if some sort of force were pushing you away. So you walked on. Your heart was secretly singing for home.

But you couldn’t go home. You couldn’t do that to Billie. You were a burden to her, and that had to stop. She had too many great things to achieve, a whole future made of gold and diamonds and glorious victories, to be held down by someone like you. So shut up, you ordered your heart. Don’t yearn for something you do not deserve.

You walked. You walked until you were sure your feet were bleeding and every muscle in your legs was screaming in agony. A little past midnight your mind went numb. You walked. At 1am a dog barked at you, at 1:34 a drunk whistled and called for you to come with him. At 2:30 you finally looked up and realized your aching feet had led you back home.

You tried, you really did, to go away. Go back downtown, get a freaking hotel room to spend the night. Your feet led you to the front door, your hand turned the key in the lock. You could sleep on the couch, you told yourself. You could sleep on the couch, and leave at dawn before Billie woke up.

The house was dark and silent. You waited a few seconds, your heart beating fast in your chest, listening for any sound, any indication that Billie was still awake. Nothing. You took off your coat and shoes, and dropped your bag on the floor. You waited a few seconds more. When you had convinced yourself Billie was asleep, you tip-toed all the way to the living-room. The floor was cold under your feet, the walls seemed to be closing in on you in the dark.

You hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but you weren’t sure your stomach could hold food right now. All you wanted was to collapse on the couch and bury your face in the pillows and sleep. Forget that you existed.

Your right foot slammed into a suitcase you had not bothered to put away earlier in the day. A curse escaped you, low and angry, and out of the corner of your eye you saw something stir in the darkness of the living-room. You jumped, raising an arm to defend yourself, and squinted at the shape that straightened and turned, light from outside falling on strawberry blond hair.

Billie reached out to turn on a lamp and grimaced as the bright light blinded her. She raised one hand to shield her eyes, blinking away sleep. There was a red mark on her left cheek, and you quickly realised she had fallen asleep at the table while doing crosswords. She often did that, when she couldn’t sleep. Crosswords helped her focus when her mind was buzzing with too many thoughts.

She met your eyes, blinked again, and then she smiled. You stood frozen as if you had turned into a statue, the mad pumping of your heart the only sign that you were still alive.

You could have tried to make a joke. You could have lied to her again, said you had tucked your dad in and left. Instead, your throat closed up, your heart dropped into your stomach, and to your utter shame and despair you felt your eyes fill with tears.

You were so tired. How so tired of being you.

All you wanted was to sink into Billie’s arms.

For a minute there was only silence. You watched as Billie’s expression turned from surprised to happy to confused. Oh God, what would she think of you? How she would despise you. She would think you were a sad, pitiful creature and she would be right.

You prayed for something, anything, an earthquake, a meteor crash, a tidal wave even though you lived miles from the ocean, that would put an end to your miserable life.

Billie stood up, smoothing one hand over her wrinkled clothes. Only now did you notice that she hadn’t changed from work. Had she been waiting for you this whole time? Your heart tightened in your chest. No, that couldn’t be. She had probably tried to make the best of her one evening of freedom, her one happy evening when she could celebrate your being finally out of her hair.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight,” she said with a small smug smile. She held out one hand as if to touch you and you flinched. She noticed, and her smile wavered.

“Are you alright?”

“I –“ With a shake of your head you took a few steps away from her, your throat thick with tears, and when you shot her a glance her face was blurry but you could still see the damned worry in her eyes –

“Y/N what’s wrong?” she asked, her voice getting higher and shaky as it always did when she was anxious. She walked up to you, but kept enough distance between you and her so as not to make you feel cornered.

“I lost my job.” The words tumbled out without permission. You were so tired. You just wanted to be held. “I got fired because I couldn’t do my job properly.”

Silence.

That was it, then. You had lost her. She was seeing you for who you really were; the veil love had dropped over her eyes was finally being lifted.

You couldn’t look at her, so you closed your eyes and let your tears fall.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, one hand coming up to your chest for it was too tight, it was crushing your heart and it hurt too much. “Billie, I’m so sorry I keep disappointing you.”

A hand, on your arm. A question, barely above a whisper. “Honey, what do you mean?”

A sob pushed out of your throat, loud and painful and so despicable. “I’m sorry I’m not enough for you.”

She let out a noise, a gasp, but to you it sounded like a contemptuous, mocking laugh, a laugh that said, Look at you, pitiful, pitiful little creature.

“Y/N,” she started, but you shook your head. You still couldn’t look at her.

“Listen, I’ll get my things, I understand. Just – let me sleep here tonight. Please. I’ll sleep on the couch, only for tonight, and then I’ll leave I’ll – “

“Y/N what are you talking about?”

You felt her grip on your arm tighten, acrylics digging into your skin.

“Just one more night, please, Billie,” you begged.

“Shut up. Stop talking. You’re not making any sense, honey.”

“I’m so sorry,” you cried.

A hand on your cheek. You almost flinched, almost recoiled, but you managed to stop yourself from doing so. There was no need to hurt her more than you already had.

“Please stop apologizing,” Billie whispered. Why did she sound so broken? “Tell me what to do. What can I do?”

You shook your head again, choked on a sob. Billie’s thumb was gently stroking your cheek, catching your tears and wiping them away.

“Lie to me,” you whispered. “I don’t care what you say, just lie to me. Make me feel okay again. Tell me I can be enough for you.” You opened your eyes, then, and looked up at her. And you could have hit yourself, you could have stabbed your chest and ripped off your heart, for her face was coated with tears that dripped down her chin, and her gaze was so terribly sad.

She let out a strangled breath. “Oh, Y/N… come here, come here baby.”

You didn’t even try to fight her. Your body sank into hers like a stone into water. Your hands slid up her back to grab fistfuls of her shirt as you buried your face in her shoulder. She wrapped one arm around your waist and put her other hand on the back of your head, pressing you closer against her. She was being so gentle, so loving, dropping kisses on your temple, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear – it only made you cry harder. Because you were going to lose this, to lose her, and you’d never have the strength nor the will to find that kind of sweet love ever again.

She started humming, a soft tune, as she rocked you like a child and you sobbed and wailed. Her voice was always a little bit raspy when she sang, a little bit out of tune, never quite managing to hit the right notes. Hearing her sing always soothed you. She ran her fingers through your hair, acrylics gently grazing your skull, just the way you liked it, because it always made your skin tingle everywhere.

Damn her, she knew you so well. She knew exactly how to help you calm down, how to make part of that ache in your chest disappear.

Minutes passed. Billie was still humming when you finally felt like you could breathe again. You turned your head, pressed your cheek against her shoulder – her blouse was wet now, you had done that, ruined it as you always ruined everything. You forced yourself to take a deep breath, relishing the smell of her, so precious, so loved – you would have to keep it safely stored in your mind to never forget it. Maybe, on the darkest of nights to come, when everything and everyone would fail to soothe your soul, if you closed your eyes tight enough you would be able to conjure her scent again, and then sleep would finally come.

Billie’s hand slid down the side of your face to cup your cheek. You closed your eyes, counted to three, then pulled away.

Her gaze was still so very sad when you met her eyes, but she managed to offer you a smile. She gracefully wiped a tear that rolled down her cheek.

“Why are you crying?” you frowned.

Billie let out an incredulous laugh. “Did you hear what you said to me?”

There was no reproach in her voice, only sadness, and that felt like a stab to your heart.

“I’m sor –“you started, but she interrupted you with a slender finger on your lips.

“I told you to stop apologizing.” She offered you another shaky smile, but then her brow pushed up in concern. “Did I –“Her voice broke. She swallowed, tried again. “Did I do something to make you feel like you were not enough?”

Did she… what? You weren’t sure you had heard her properly. Had those words really left her mouth, or had they been uttered by a malicious spirit? How could Billie, Billie who was so considerate, so loving, so utterly perfect – how could she think she had done anything wrong?

Her face crumpled as she misinterpreted your silence. “Oh no baby, I’m so s –“she started, but you interrupted her.

“No, Billie, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Your voice was hoarse from crying. You shook your head, biting your lower lip to hold back fresh tears. “You’ve been so good to me. The best thing that ever happened to me. The truth is, you’ve been too good and I don’t… I don’t want to hold you back.” She opened her mouth to protest, but you shook your head again, a silent pleading to let you finish. “Now that I’ve lost my job you’re gonna have to provide for me and I can’t let you do that. I can’t be a burden I can’t –“

Again, a finger on your lips. You fell silent. Something in you disappeared and you felt your body go limp, as if there was no strength left in you.

Billie’s finger gently tapped your lips as she gazed at you thoughtfully.

“I don’t mind providing for you while you look for another job,” she said after a while. Her brow furrowed. “Or maybe you should take a break. Maybe I should, too. We could go somewhere nice and relax for a while.”

“But I –“Another tap on your lips.

“But you –“you tried again, but again she interrupted you. You planted a kiss on her finger in retaliation, and were rewarded with a small smile.

“I couldn’t sleep without you,” Billie said in a low voice. Her eyes met yours, kind and vulnerable. “You’re not a disappointment, Y/N. It’s got to the point I cannot even imagine my future without you.”

You couldn’t help it: you dissolved into tears again. Billie cooed and gently guided your head against her shoulder. You clang to her, hoping you could get rid of your negative thoughts with every sob. It didn’t work like that, you knew it, but when you were in Billie’s arms it almost seemed life could be easy and kind.

You didn’t pull away when your tears subsided. You kept your eyes closed, enjoying Billie’s embrace, her hand running through your hair, her warmth. You felt thoroughly empty now, thoroughly spent. Sleep weighed on your eyelids. You wrapped your arms around Billie’s waist and pulled her closer still, breathed in her scent and let out a sigh.

“What happened?” Billie whispered after a while.

“I told you.” You nuzzled her shoulder. “I lost my job.”

“No, I mean… what happened?”

You got her meaning, somehow, as if your mind were perfectly attuned to hers. You hesitated. Swallowed hard.

“I don’t know,” you said in a breath. “Sometimes it feels like I can never be a viable option for anyone, especially not for you. I know it’s stupid, I know I have no real reasons to feel that way. But I can’t help it.”

Billie hummed. She dropped a kiss on your forehead, warm lips lingering on your skin. “I love you,” she said, voice firm and raspy. She ran one hand up and down your back, nails scratching gently.”And I want you, even when you’re at your lowest and ugliest, even when you don’t have a job.”Her hand slipped over your shoulder, under your chin, titled your head up. She waited for you to meet her eyes. “You’re allowed to not be at your best all the time. That doesn’t make you worthless.”

And as you gazed at her with half lidded eyes, her words sank into you and settled in your chest and bloomed there. Eased the ache. Maybe only for a few hours, maybe only for a few days, but it was all you needed right now. And somehow she had known exactly what to say. And she would know what to say the next time.

You blinked sleepily, and she cooed, smiled a smile that was half fond, half smug. “Do you need to get some shut-eye, my little bear?”

You rolled your eyes at her, but were betrayed by a yawn. Her smile grew into a smirk.

“Shut up,” you muttered, as you buried your face in her chest, nuzzled the exposed skin, and smiled.

[litwitlady]

Send Me Home (1/?)

Read on AO3.

‘The Braves are down to their last at bat, Jeff. And it’s Michael Guerin in the on-deck circle. What’s Ramon’s strategy here? Does he try to jam him up inside or keep firing fastballs and hope Guerin can’t catch up?’

It’s September in Atlanta and the Braves are playing the Marlins. Every game counts as both teams vy for a spot in October baseball. Michael Guerin is a lead candidate for MVP, and he’s always a threat in the bottom of the ninth with two outs and the bases loaded. The sellout crowd roars as his walk-up music begins to play.

I was born to the desert And to the desert I’ll return Sun-soaked and leathered Tattered and tethered Send me home, send me home, send me home

‘Ramon’s got that curveball, Chip. I’m not sure Guerin’s ever met a fastball he couldn’t hit. Especially in the bottom of the ninth. So, I think Ramon starts with the curveball even if that’s exactly what Guerin’s expecting.’

Michael steps into the batter’s box and takes a couple of quick practice swings, eyes wide and watching Ramon’s every move. He squares his hips and lowers his hands on the bat just a touch. It’s an adjustment he’s been working on for the past month or so with great success. Ramon lets loose his first pitch. As expected, it’s a nasty curveball and a pitch Michael has struck out on more than once during his twelve year career. But this time he’s prepared and anticipates perfectly where the bottom of the curve will land. He shoots a laser to shallow right field, and it drops in for a walk-off single. The dugout empties and everyone tackles him as he crosses home plate, one game closer to October.

--------

Later that night, Michael sits on the tailgate of his Chevy, beer in hand and staring up at the stars like so many nights before. Several of the guys had harassed him about going out to celebrate, but he’s not in the mood. He’s never in the mood these days. The winning still feels good and the possibility of the MVP is a dream. But for a long time now, he’s felt like there’s something missing in his life. Something essential, something elusive, something just out of his reach.

The truth is that he’s lonely. It’s a truth he can admit to himself when he’s alone underneath the cosmos watching the stars blink down at him against the wide expanse of space.

There have been relationships along the way. Women he’s dated earnestly. Once upon a time, maybe even a couple he could have loved. When he was younger, there had also been a few men. But none recently. The deeply rooted homophobia of baseball to blame. Mostly anyway. It’s strange now - everyone knows he’s bisexual, a simple Google search is all it takes. But he’s fairly certain baseball collectively decided to ignore his sexuality altogether after he got called up to the majors all those years ago.

He wants to believe he’s not afraid to be seen with men. He tells himself it’s just simpler this way, less complicated. Fewer awkward questions and the focus remaining on his athletic abilities rather than his sex life. Besides, only two major league players have ever come out and they both only did so after they’d retired. He supposes maybe he counts as the third. It’s not the stuff of fairytales, and Michael had learned that lesson during his brief stint in Double-A ball.

That feels like a lifetime ago.

Alex Manes’ new album drifts through the truck’s windows. His low, throaty voice practically purring into Michael’s ears. He’s been a big fan of Alex and his music for several years now. They’re both from New Mexico and the way he sings about the desert rings true enough to Michael that listening to one of his songs sends him right back home. Despite their many issues, he misses his brother and sister so badly sometimes he can barely breathe. Alex’s music reminds him of all the things and all the people he’s left behind - for better or worse. A couple of years ago, he’d had the opportunity to see Alex perform live but he’d turned it down. He still can’t explain why.

The night stretches out before him. Beer and music lulling him into a peaceful sleep until a bright light flashes in his face and startles him awake. He sits up and raises his hands peacefully. ‘Hey, Ernie.’

‘Oh, Mr. Guerin. I didn’t recognize you. What are you still doing here? It’s past midnight.’ He clicks the flashlight off and clips it back onto his belt. ‘Congrats on the walk-off!’

Michael shrugs. ‘Thanks. Didn’t want to go home just yet. Like watching the stars at night. But I haven’t seen you in a while. The grandkids still running circles around you?’

‘You know it! Caleb just turned five and is a holy terror. Michelle is eight going on eighteen. I can barely get a word in edgewise between the two of them.’ His eyes shine even in the darkness, crinkling at the edges.

Michael’s heart aches at Ernie’s easy, simple joy, but he manages a genuine smile thanks to the night’s shadows softening the edges of his jaw. ‘That sounds nice.’ He hops off his tailgate. ‘I’ll get out of your hair. Got an early game anyway. Need to get some sleep.’

‘Well, now, don’t let me chase you off. I don’t mind the company. It gets a little spooky at night. You can always come knock on my door if you ever need anything.’ Ernie opens the Chevy’s door for Michael and shuts it behind him. ‘All these other guys with their flashy sports cars and you in this old rust bucket. You’re a weird one, Mr. Guerin. But I like that about you.’

Michael runs his hands around the cracked steering wheel. ‘Most days this truck is about the closest thing to home I’ve got. There’s still desert dirt in the bed and an engine I rebuilt myself. What the fuck would I do with a Ferrari?’

They both laugh and Michael waves and honks his horn as he pulls out of the player’s lot. The streets are mostly empty, cars keeping to the well-lit interstate at night. He decides to stay on surface roads and take the long way home, radio softly playing old country songs. His thoughts drift to tomorrow’s game and the rookie pitcher the Marlins are starting. His own rookie year had been tough, and he makes a mental note to speak to the kid at some point during the game, ask him how he’s doing and if he’s being treated well.

The streetlights along Peachtree illuminate his path through Brookhaven. He crosses into Atlanta city limits and enters Buckhead just as ‘Lay Me Down’ by Loretta Lynn and Willie Nelson starts to play through his speakers. And all too soon, he turns down his street and opens the cedar gate at the end of his driveway, parking his truck and sitting in the darkness until the song comes to an end.

Climbing out of his truck, he unlocks the front door with his telekinesis, slipping inside quietly and deactivating his alarm system. He’d bought the house in foreclosure, spending most of his money on remodeling the mid-century ranch. It’s not extravagant, but it’s the most expensive thing he owns. He’d even let Isobel fly out to decorate the place within a very strict budget, and he’d had to admit she’d done a great job - one side of his front door Atlanta, the other side New Mexico.

But even so, it has never felt like home.

The first few nights he’d spent in the house had been rough. It was too quiet and too soft and too much. More than once he’d grabbed his ancient, worn sleeping bag and crawled into the bed of his truck. Sleeping hard on the uncomfortable. ribbed metal but beneath the stars he loved so much. The morning dew waking him with the sun each morning.

These days he manages to sleep in bed at night, but only because he’d installed two skylights overhead so that the stars would always be his. And only his. He rarely brings anyone home anymore, preferring their house to his. But when he does, he takes them to a guest bedroom. None of them ever seem to mind how empty the space is or how devoid of personality. Four blank walls and a lone bed filling the room. Why would they? It’s not Michael the foster kid from the desert they’re sleeping with. It’s Michael Guerin the multi-millionaire first baseman with the single-season home run record and the aw-shucks, good boy smile.

Tonight he doesn’t bother turning on any lights. He just pads through the kitchen to grab an apple and a bottle of water, undresses and climbs into bed. He takes a large bite of the granny smith and pulls out his phone, calling Isobel.

‘Congrats on the walk-off!’ He can hear another game in the background. Isobel had never watched a baseball game in her life - including any of his - until the day he’d gotten drafted right out of high school. But now she watches all of them. Or as many of them as possible. Her scouting reports are better than anything stamped official and readily available in the team clubhouse.

‘Thanks. Didn’t really see the ball that well tonight, though. Is Max there?’ It’s stupid to ask when he already knows the answer.

‘Out with Liz. They’ve been inseparable ever since she moved back to Roswell. It’s gross and I miss you.’ The sound on her tv goes silent and he knows she’s settling in for a long conversation. ‘Tell me about tomorrow. Any surprises?’

‘No. New kid on the mound just called up. Got a mean slider. Torres has some pain in his wrist so he’ll be benched.’ Michael finishes his apple in two large bites and guzzles his water, listening to Isobel pound away at her keyboard already deep in research mode. ‘Might get me moved up to the number two slot.’

They spend fifteen minutes strategizing. It’s what they do most nights. Isobel critiquing the numbers based on intuition and her own database of knowledge concerning the human psyche, while he runs statistical analyses and probabilities in his head faster than humanly possible. Michael suggests more than once that she’d make a great scout and that maybe when he retires they can go into business together. He’s told her this a million times, but she only laughs him off and reminds him that she already has a job.

‘A worthless job that doesn’t pay you what you deserve.’ He reaches for the tv remote on his nightstand but can’t find it. Not that it matters. He switches the television on with his mind and nods his head through the channels, stopping on an old western and muting the volume.

‘Philanthropy is not worthless, Michael!’ She sighs loudly to punctuate her exasperation. ‘And my salary is not the point - the point is helping people. Besides, I have all of Noah’s money and can negotiate more pay any time I choose.’

That he believes. ‘How’d your date go last night?’ Asking Isobel about her date absolutely means she’ll push him to share something just as personal. But it was her first official date with a woman and he genuinely wants to know how it went. No matter the price he’ll pay.

‘Really, really, really well.’ He can hear the grin in her voice and it makes him smile. ‘She’s a cardiologist and very good with her hands. Valenti makes a pretty superb matchmaker. Maybe I’ll ship him your way because you could certainly use the help.’

Michael rolls his eyes and fakes a groan. ‘You can keep Valenti. Don’t you think it’s weird to have your ex setting you up on dates? Do you really think he’s the best judge of character?’

‘Kyle knows me better than most. He was my first relationship after Noah and he put up with a lot. I trust him implicitly with my heart and yours. Plus, I was the one who broke up with him.’

‘My heart is fine, thanks.’ He lies smoothly and knows exactly how she’s going to respond.

‘I can’t stand the thought of you all the way across the country in that foreign place with no one to go home to at night.’

He snorts. ‘It’s called Georgia, Iz. And I’m not home enough for a relationship to work right now.’

‘Half the guys on your team - on any team! - are married. So that’s a pisspoor excuse. You keep pushing everyone away. Don’t forget who you’re talking to. I know you, Michael. As soon as you start to feel something, the doors slam shut and you become another stereotypical lonewolf cowboy.’ Her voice is loud now, vehement and self-righteous. They’ve reenacted this scene so many times it feels very paint by number at this point. ‘I hardly ever hear a smile in your voice anymore.’

She’s right and she knows it. He used to love dating, meeting new people. First kisses and first fucks. Last kisses and farewell fucks. He lived for those moments and now he hardly ever looks anyone in the eye. ‘We have this conversation at least once a month. And nothing has changed. It’s too hard right now, Iz. I’m too known to ever really be known. Not the way I would want to be. Not in any way that I would trust.’

There’s no use arguing so they move on to easier topics. Max and LIz’s ongoing romance, details of Isobel’s date, Maria’s remodel of the Pony thanks to a very generous anonymous donation. Every word out of her mouth squeezes his heart a little bit tighter until it’s too much and he says goodnight.

Flipping onto his side, he reaches his arm out to the other side of the bed, running his hand over the cold, unwrinkled sheet. His eyes land on the empty pillow no head ever touches and tries to imagine a face looking back at him. A face that might smile suggestively or quietly murmur goodnight. But he’s unable to conjure anything beyond a blank, shapeless outline. It makes him feel pathetic so he yanks the pillow underneath his own head and forces his eyes shut, trying in vain to quiet his mind. Despite his best efforts, sleep takes its sweet time finding him.

The next morning he’s exhausted but gets to the field early. He’d woken up to a cryptic message from Isobel. There’s a surprise waiting for you after the game! Stick around this time, Michael. Don’t make me get on a plane. He’s sure that can’t mean anything good, but he attempts to put it out of his mind for now.

The ballpark is already bustling with activity. Michael heads into the clubhouse to change. He stops and asks Stan, their hitting coach, for some extra work before the rest of the team arrives. He’s worried about how he’s been shifting his wrists recently and wants someone else’s opinion. The adjustments he’d made last night seem to be working, but he’s worried about straining a muscle or tweaking the wrong tendon. Two of his teammates are already on the IL with wrist pain. He doesn’t want to be next, especially with the postseason race and his run at MVP on the line.

Michael finds Danny Marks asleep in one of the clubhouse’s leather chairs. He swats him on the head on the way to his locker, laughing at Danny’s loud yelp. ‘Fuck, man, you’re always asleep. How did you manage to stay awake on the mound long enough to put together two Cy Young seasons?’

‘Talent, Guerin. Talent. You should try it sometime. Maybe then you’ll win MVP.’ Danny yawns and stretches his arms over his head. Michael glares at him. ‘Don’t worry. You’re still the favorite. Our very own diamond darling. No one else is getting their own personal concert any time soon.’

‘What?’ He sits on the chair at his locker, blinking at Danny in confusion. ‘Personal concert?’ Isobel’s strange text message flashes through his head again while he inwardly groans.

‘Oh, yeah.’ Danny grins and crosses his ankles on the table in front of him, brashly enjoying the way Michael squirms. ‘Alex Manes is traveling down from Nashville just for you - baseball’s most beloved first baseman.’ He throws a toy football at Michael’s head, chuckling when it bounces off his curls. ‘He’s not bad looking, you know.’

‘Stop.’ Danny is Michael’s best friend on the team and the only one he feels comfortable enough to have this conversation with. ‘Whose idea was this? Did Isobel do something? Or was this you?’

Michael doesn’t want this. Not at all. And he can’t exactly explain why. Music is personal to him - profoundly personal. Always has been since he was nothing but an unloved kid trapped in various violent foster homes. It was music that had kept him warm at night and music that had loved him best. The only escape available to him during most of his darkest hours.

Over the years, there have been many artists he’s considered favorites. Most of them old country crooners or folk song heroes. Much like Alex Manes. But with Alex, it’s something more. Something he has a hard time vocalizing. They are both from New Mexico. Both spent a chunk of their formative years in Roswell. Michael has read or watched multiple interviews with Alex where he’s alluded heavily to an abusive father. His lyrics certainly do the same. Lots of kids grow up that way - Michael knows he’s not alone in that particular fate - but the way Alex puts that pain to music settles something inside his chest that has never been settled before.

So the thought of meeting Alex worries Michael. They say don’t meet your heroes for a reason. In his head, Alex represents a sense of safety, a sense of home. What happens when they meet and that’s taken from him? Because maybe Alex is a liar. Or maybe he’s a dick. Either possibility is very real. He’s also a vet, and Michael hates, hates, hates the military. And he doesn’t want to hate Alex. Doesn’t want to lose his music. Cannot emotionally afford to lose his music if he’s being honest.

‘Isobel apparently knows someone who knows someone who knows someone. I just didn’t try and stop her. Or Lena.’ Danny’s wife is Isobel’s favorite human. It’s the worst thing that’s happened to Michael since meeting Danny. The two of them have done nothing but make his life one unasked for surprise after another. ‘Besides, even if you hate it, the team could really use some fun before heading into the postseason. Some good old-fashioned team bonding, my friend. And this time, you don’t get to run away. The guys need to see their captain smile every once in a while.’

Michael sighs and changes into his warmups. Danny’s phone rings and he grins one last time at Michael before disappearing for some privacy. Michael decides to push Alex Manes to the back of his mind and concentrate on the game ahead of him. Stan is waiting, anyway. So he’ll focus on his wrists for now and worry about everything else later. The one thing he does do, however, is pull out his phone and send Isobel a very pointed text.

You should have gotten my permission first.

Isobel’s text response is nothing but the angel halo emoji. Michael wishes his telekinesis was strong enough to travel across state lines because he’d like to throw her phone into the wall. Since that option is not available to him, he sends Max a text instead.

Your sister is a menace.

He pockets his phone, not bothering to wait on an answer. Max tends to be too busy these days. Not that that’s anything new really. Unless your name is Liz Ortecho or Isobel Evans, he doesn’t have much time for you.

The morning stretches by as gametime approaches. Batting practice goes well and Michael works with Stan on keeping his wrists from turning too much when he swings. His teammates have all found out about the concert by the time the first pitch is thrown and none of them will let him forget it. Each time his walk-up music begins to play, Danny leads a small group of particularly bad vocalists in a sing-a-long. All of them belting out the lyrics at the top of their lungs. Michael tries to keep the stupid grin off his face and almost suceeds.

He won’t admit it, but he actually begins to get excited. Doesn’t even mind when Max only ends up responding with a snarky text.

Try living less than five miles from her.

He’d give anything to live five miles from Isobel. Michael loves his teammates. He really does. Atlanta has one of the best team dynamics in baseball. Maybe the best. They support each other, love one another, and when they say family, they mean it. Team dinners and family outings are normal even during the off season. Michael doesn’t avoid spending time with them because he dislikes anyone - although there have been various tiffs in the past but nothing long lasting. He avoids them because he loves them enough to let his mouth loosen too much, all his secrets threatening to tumble out with no regard for his safety or the safety of his siblings.

He knows this because it has happened on more than one occasion. Years ago during his rookie years when living hard and drinker harder were his nightly norm. On any given night you’d find him at the bar, four fingers deep into a bottle of bourbon, mouthing off about moving things with his mind. It wasn’t the booze talking; it was his loneliness. The throbbing homesick ache in his chest that only Max and Isobel could smooth away. Once he knew his teammates were shitfaced, he’d let some little comment slip about his abilities. Half of them never paid any attention to the things he said and the other half merely laughed at him.

He’d told Isobel one night about the things he said and she’d yelled at him solidly for an hour. The next day he’d gotten a nasty phone call from Max and has kept his mouth shut ever since that conversation.

Keeping their secret is important. Michael understands that, but the lying exhausts him. He loves Danny and hates that the most important part of himself Danny and Lena can never know. He loves his other teammates, and he doesn’t want to hide this huge part of himself from them forever. The lying has always made him feel unclean - distant and deceptive. Back in Roswell, it had been easier. He hadn’t had many friends and the people closest to him shared the same secret. But now, the people he sees every single day aren’t allowed to know the real him. It breaks his heart in a way he could never have anticipated, making him feel truly alien.

Michael and Isobel had jumped through enormous hoops to keep his DNA secret from team doctors and drug testers. It’s the only reason he’d ever agreed to her mind influence.

A major league baseball player cannot have telekinetic superpowers, alien or not. The cheating accusations would be immediate and relentless - his career over and his name shamed forever. Regardless of the fact that he would never dream of cheating to advance his career. Besides, he’s self-aware enough - or perhaps cocky enough - to understand that his level of talent doesn’t require any telekinetic assistance. Michael Guerin is just that fucking good.

During his last at bat in the eighth inning, Alex Manes’ face flashes on the digital scoreboard high above centerfield advertising the aftergame concert. Michael concentrates on keeping his wrists tight and imagines that Alex is somewhere in the stadium watching him. He swings at the first pitch - a fastball left too high over the plate - and knows he’s gotten every piece of it by the cracking sound his bat makes. He starts a slow run to first base and watches the ball sail over the leftfield wall. With his signature two claps, he rounds first and enjoys the cheering crowd chanting his name. Stepping on the bag at home plate, his eyes glance back up at the scoreboard, but Alex’s face has disappeared. And suddenly his nerves have returned tenfold at the realization that soon he’ll be face to face with a man he has no idea how to talk to - what to say or even if he’ll get a chance to say anything at all.

Despite the cheers and happy butt slaps from his teammates, the pit in Michael’s stomach stretches wide. In the clubhouse, he checks his phone again and one last final message from Isobel lights up his screen.

He wants to meet you first.

[whatispersonalspacejyp]

Nightmare has yet to come

Genre: Angst, a bit fluff, smut

Pairing: Yandere Han Jisung x reader

Word count: 1622

Summary: Your boyfriend saves you... but was it really a good choice?

Warning: Yandere themes, abuse, cursing, killing, sexual themes, self-harm

You sat in your bedroom, hearing your mom and her boyfriend doing it again in the living room. In disgust, you put your headphones on, with every moan you hear the sound of the music went louder. You sat at your desk, trying to learn at least a bit of history for your exam tomorrow. 

Around midnight the moans finally stopped, by now you were laying on the bed. Enable to sleep, so you kept on tossing and turning until the sun started to rise.

You got out of bed after hearing your alarm going off, feeling extremely tired you walked to the bathroom to get ready for the last day of the exams. Downstairs it was quiet so you grabbed some breakfast and your history book, to read it a few times until the exam.  Another alarm brought you back to the world. “Time to go.” You let out a breath and grab the needed thing and went to school.

You and Jisung, your boyfriend walked back home after the exam. Jisung holds your hand. “Are you sure you want to go home? You can stay at mine for a while?” You smiled at him. “I have to go home, otherwise I would get into big trouble with my mom. The two of you stopped in front of your house. “I’ll text you.” You mumbled giving him a kiss on the lips while letting go of his hand to go into the house. 

When you walked into the house you saw your mom sitting on the couch. “Where were you, you brat. You have one fucking job to do.” You kept calm and walked towards the kitchen. “I had my last exam. I’ll clean the house today okay?” Your mom huffs, clearly annoyed. “Yeah, yeah. I’m going out tonight. But John is going to be here.” You rolled your eyes, of course, her boyfriend would be here. He’s either working or here drinking and having sex with mom while he also has his own home. You were pretty sure that his place was more of an animal stall then a house. Cause if it wasn’t for you cleaning the house, that would have been what your house also would look like.

You started cleaning the dishes from yesterday and then went busy with the kitchen. Your mom decided to walk into the kitchen, started to complain about the smallest things you didn’t clean right. “Those plates aren’t clean? You are such a disgrace for this family, can’t even clean. No wonder if you end up alone. Nobody wants to marry a worthless girl.” She started to yell and raising her hand to slap you. “I’ll make sure that John is going to look at how you clean, and makes sure you actually do it. Cause by tonight this house is clean otherwise you know the consequences.” 

By the time she was done with the physical and mental abuse, you sat down on the kitchen floor, thinking about calling Jisung and if you could stay with him. But in the long term, it would be no use since you had to go back eventually.

After hours of cleaning and hear John yell at you from time to time, you were finally done. John stood behind you as a creep. “You know, now that’s your mom's gone, maybe we could have a bit of fun.” He put his hands on your shoulders and started rubbing them. “I’m sure you’ll feel great, tight around my cock.” You quickly moved out of his grasp and ran to your room as he followed you. You slammed your bedroom door in his face and put stuff in front of it so he could open it without moving stuff. 

You felt beyond scared as you grabbed a bag and put the necessary stuff in there, such as underwear phones and a few other things. It was clear that John wanted to get in as you heard some of the stuff in front of the door move. Now you were praying that you were quick enough to get out of the house. You opened your window and threw your bag out, before climbing out yourself.

When you look up you saw John looking down at you from the window. “Come back my little butterfly.” You stood there for a second before it started raining. You decided to run and never come back.

Without thinking you ran to the one place you knew you would feel safe. Han Jisung. You knocked on the door, and within seconds the door opened. “Y/n? Come in, what happened?” He looks up and down at you and grabs your bag, he looks in it. “Why don’t you take a shower first, you can wear some of my clothes if you want.” Jisung gives you a kiss on the head and leaves you to get a shower. While you showered, Jisung was peeking through the door. “All mine, your all mine. You save with me and I’ll make sure of that. I’ll kill the ones who hurt you, I’ll keep you here, so no one else can do your wrong.” Jisung went back into the living room to make a hot beverage for both of you.  You in the meantime were done with showering, you put some underwear on and one of Jisung’s t-shirts and walked to the living-room to see him sitting there on the couch. “Come join me and tell me what happened.” You sat down and moved into Jisung’s arms, finally relaxing. “Sungie... I’m sorry. I know I promised you I would stop hurting myself. But even today, with mom hurting me again and her disgusting boyfriend tried to make a move on me. I couldn’t help it... I know I promised.”  Jisung shushed you. “Don’t, I still love you and I don’t blame you.” He stood up and walked to the kitchen to grab the first-aid kit. “Let bandage it, okay. Stay here with me, I do not let you go back there.” You just nodded holding your arm out, while Jisung cleaned the arm and put a bandage around it. “How about a movie and then to bed.” You just nod already feeling a bit tired. “As the Gods Will? You promised to watch that  horror movie with me.” Jisung smiles. “Sure.” The both of you were cuddling as you were watching the movie. You couldn’t help but fall asleep, save withing Jisung’s arms, the warmth radiating from his body, and of course of the sleepless nights. Jisung noticed this and kissed your head. “Sleep well love, by tomorrow no one ever going to hurt you again.” He pulls your body up and lies it in his bed. 

Jisung was dressed in all black and stood in front of your house. With a smile on his face and a knife in his hands, he walked to the house, thunder was heard in the distance as the rain fell down.

Since he sneaked in a lot of times, he knew exactly how to get in without anybody noticing as he went in through the open bedroom window. He could hear moans coming from downstairs. “Luckily that bitch is now gone. Worthless one.” the male moaned as the female voice laughed. “Maybe I should have sold her, at least I would have made some money then.”

Jisung walked downstairs and stood in front of the couple. “You hurt my baby, MY BABY!” Jisung screamed smiling as he stabbed the male, killing him instants. The woman under him screamed in horror as Jisung sliced her throat. 

Jisung left the house after he killed those people and went back to his apartment. He quickly threw the bloody knife in the sink and let it soak in water as he changed his clothes.  After he cleaned the knife and put it back where it belonged, Jisung walks into the bedroom and pulls you in his arms, accidentally waking you up. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Jisung's hands stroke your hip for the last few minutes. “I want you.” He mumbles as he kissed you, his other hand roaming under the shirt you wear before he removes it. You went into a submissive mode and let Jisung do whatever he wanted. Rather quickly both of your clothes laying on a pile somewhere in his bedroom.

Jisung was now hovering over you with a smile. Slowly entering, but stopped when he was fully inside, letting you adjust his size. “Sung, you can move.” Jisung started moving his hips in a slow movement. “God your so tight for me. I love being inside of you.” his movement went faster with each thunder heard from outside. Claiming you have his, and his only. You in the meantime were holding onto Jisung’s shoulders as he slams his cock back into you.”You take me so well as if you were made for me.” He whispered as you moaned again.

“Sung, I’m...” Jisung quickly shuts you up by kissing you. “Come when you want. I’m close to you.” You got the feeling Jisung went even faster than before, you were screaming at this point, seeing stars when you came. Jisung’s came a few minutes after you and pulls out. 

“You look so good right now, clearly being fucked out and my cum dripping from your hole.” You closed your eyes, trying to catch your breath. “Sleep my love, I can see you need it.” Jisung lies behind you in a spooning position and you quickly fell asleep, not knowing that yesterday was the last day you be able to be outside ever again.

“Your mine and always be mine.” Jisung smirks as he saw you sleep.

“Now you’re finally mine and mine alone.”

[kaspbrak-tozier-reddie]

1,13,25 Reddie for the festive prompts please 😁

#1 “It’s almost midnight” #13 “Ho ho ho bitch” #25 “Wait, no one got you anything?”

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, swearing, this came out more angsty than I wanted, abusive Wentworth and Maggie. But real fluffy towards the end.

READ ON AO3

Summary:

Much to Richie’s dismay, for their time back in Derry for the holidays, the Losers spend Christmas at Richie’s but things start to build up and Eddie sends everyone to Mike’s farmhouse to be safe and to keep Richie away from his parents. Despite the angst that this story holds in the beginning, there’s a sweet ending to it that I hope makes up for the angst that I wrote.

——————————

“Wait, no one got you anything?” Eddie asks Stan.

“No! I had made several friends over the year that we’ve been at college and none of them bought me a birthday gift!” Stan shrieks.

“Could it be because you’re Jewish?” Richie prompts, Stan gives him a stern look and Richie put his arms up in surrender of the daggers behind Stan’s glare.

“I’m sorry, I’m just so used to you guys,” Stan mutters, he’s always claimed that he hated everyone but they all knew it was fake. Stan’s stoic exterior was always a front to his true emotion but everyone sees right through it. At least his childhood friends.

The Losers huddled around for warmth in the uninviting room that Richie Tozier once slept in, now in college, his walls are bare with only the outlines of the band posters that once were taped in place. Since it’s Christmas and the Losers were all flying into Derry for their families, they decided to make their way over to Richie’s for the festive time. Even though Stan’s Jewish, he came back for the friends, not wanting to be the only one to not show up. He missed everyone, especially Mike and Bill, but that isn’t the point. It gave him a reason to go shopping instead of the general trip out to the grocery store. “It’s almost midnight!” Richie sings softly, careful to not wake his parents. “1 hour to go.”

But he forgot that Wentworth has ears like a dog, sensitive sense of hearing. “QUIET DOWN RICHARD!” Wentworth’s blaring voice makes the thin walls tremble, the echoing sound of Wentworth Tozier is enough to make everyone wince, not just Richie. 

Richie usually refused to let anyone stay the night (except Eddie), it was usually just the “stay for dinner; study then leave” kinda thing, that way nobody knew how bad his parents could be. Eddie, however, knew, if things got rough at home he’d sneak in through Richie’s window and Richie often did the same with Eddie. Both seeking comfort from the other. 

“I knew it was bad Rich but this is - ” Beverly’s cut off by Richie’s hand a signal for her to stop.

“Don’t even, this isn’t the worst of it,” Richie says, “Look, forget about Worthless and have a fun Christmas.” Eddie rubs Richie’s back, trying to comfort him like he usually did whenever Richie snuck over in the late hours of the night. 

Eddie knows that the others would understand if but at the same time Richie never really wanted to speak about it. His jokes cover-up so much, most of which only Eddie knows about. Sure Richie had often thought about telling the others why they couldn’t go to his house but he could never muster up the courage. That’s where he’s at now, beating himself up because he was forced to have Christmas over at his parents’ place instead of Mike’s or Ben’s like the original plan was. No matter how hard he fought it, there was no point in arguing with the Losers, Eddie tried to butt in once, in Richie’s defence, but was cut off by Stan.

*

“How about, we go to sleep and deal with the outcome tomorrow? If it’s bad as it usually is, we can head Mike’s.” Eddie says cuddling into Richie.

“Okay, how the fuck do you know -” Ben stops himself, looking between the two 19/20-year-old boys, Bev snickers, Mike and Bill look at Richie and Eddie questioningly and Stan rolls his eyes.

“Let’s just sleep,” Eddie huffs kicking the 5 other Losers off the bed and gets under the covers, sliding into Richie’s hold. 

Eddie can feel Richie turn behind him and he naturally follows, spooning Richie’s long lanky build. He runs his free hand through the tuft of Richie’s dark tight curls, letting his fingers detangle some of the strands. Richie’s shoulders start to shake slightly and short puffs of air start to flow from his mouth, something wet drips onto Eddie’s hand. Eddie immediately throws a leg over Richie’s waist, pulling him closer, he nuzzles his head into Richie’s shoulder and pushes him back a little, hoping the taller man would take the hint. Thankfully Richie does and turns over so that he’s on his back, Eddie moves his head up so that his mouth is right by Richie’s ear. “Ignore your parents Rich,” Eddie whispers, “You’re 20, they can’t do anything. If they try anything, you have me and the others.”

“Thanks, Eds,” Richie mumbles. 

The two lie in the bed, huddled together for the warmth and Richie’s comfort, it’s almost like nothing has changed. Even though they live thousands of miles apart, with Richie in Seattle and Eddie in New York, they still call and Skype each other daily, refusing to part with each other. Their friendship overpowering everything else, it’s them against the world, even if their crush on each other is getting too deep and too powerful for either to handle. 

Richie having lost his in the Summer of ‘89, having written R+E on the Kissing Bridge when he was the mere age of 14.

****

Several hours pass and Richie and Eddie end up being the only ones up, the two dodges passed Bill and Mike who had their sleeping bags right by the door and slip out to the kitchen. “Merry Christmas Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie says hugging the shorter (by only a few inches) boy.

“Merry Christmas to you too Richie, see that you’re already using nickname privileges,” Eddie replies.

There are only three days in the entire year that Eddie allows for such nicknames to be used; Christmas, Eddie’s birthday and Richie’s birthday. Of course, in Richie fashion, he doesn’t waste it, using only nicknames for the entire day. Not once calling Eddie, well, Eddie.

“You betcha, Eds.” Eddie shudders but remembers that he can’t get mad either, all part of the privilege. Why oh why did his 15-year-old self give into such a terrible thing?! 

*

Richie flicks on the pot of coffee, making sure there’ll be enough for 5 caffeine hungry Losers while Eddie opts for the tea option, so Richie quickly flicks on the kettle knowing full well that he filled it with water the night before. “Richard? Get me some aspirin and turn that fucking kettle off.” Ah, the kind words of Maggie Tozier. “I have a ghastly headache, I’m not in the mood -” Maggie walks right into the kitchen and sees Eddie in his matching Christmas pyjama set, “sorry, didn’t know you had company. William, isn’t it?”

Eddie can’t believe what is happening before him. It must’ve gotten worse, she’s never called him ‘William’.

“Ma, this is Edward Kaspbrak,” Richie says calmly, almost like he’s introducing them, for the first time, and hands her two tablets of Aspirin for her hangover. “Why don’t you go back to bed, it’s 7 in the morning.” Richie leads her back to his parent’s bedroom, pauses by the door as he makes sure she’s in bed then closes the door behind him.

The sight is too painful for Eddie to bare, sure he’s seen both Went and Maggie at their worst but never this. He has never seen Richie pull out the ‘parenting the parent’ act before. “Talk to me, please?” Eddie begs.

“Eddie, I - this is why I always kicked you out before you could see. This - this… oh fuck.” Eddie watches the man before him in his red fluff Christmas onesie crash to the floor. 14 years of looking after his mom and getting beaten up by his dad, he finally shows his weakness. His legs caving from under him, causing him to fall to the ground, tears streaming down his face, the kettle whistling in the background. Eddie rushed to the ground pulling Richie in for a long much-needed shoulder to cry on. 

 *

 The whistling of the kettle continues to get louder and louder, sure enough out walks Wentworth, his face red, steam coming out from his ears. Eddie can see him in out the corner of his eye as he continues to try to calm Richie down. “Richard!” Mr Tozier’s voice booms through the kitchen and Eddie starts to worry. Richie is pulled up and slammed into the counter facing the coffee pot, face inches away from the scolding hot glass. “Hurry, boy.”

“Mr Tozier, please stop,” Eddie begs. “It’s Christmas.” Wentworth turns away from the broken Richie who quickly crawls to the corner of the kitchen, quivering in fear.

“Christmas? Is that so? So what if it’s Christmas.” Wentworth spits, “now as for you. I want you out. If not I will call that mother of yours and I highly doubt she’ll be pleased that you aren’t over there for Christmas.”

Eddie looks to Richie who is looking at him with an apologetic smile, the fear is replaced with anger and hostility. Eddie has only seen that look a few times, whenever Bowers had called Eddie a gay slur in middle school.

But this is Christmas and it is supposed to be a time full of joy and family. But obviously, Wentworth has different ideas. 

Eddie, quickly remembers that 5 others are sleeping in Richie’s room, completely oblivious to the scene unfolding in the kitchen. And if Wentworth is angry enough, it will get very, very bad, very quickly! He tries everything in his power to not think about his restricted airway from his ‘asthmatic’ (panic) attack. “I will, just please let me get my things first then I’ll be on my way, sir,” Eddie says shyly, not wanting to stir up more problems than there already was. Wentworth backs down and Eddie bolts to Richie’s room.

Panic surges through him not wanting to leave Richie vulnerable to Wentworth. Oh, why didn’t I do something sooner?! Eddie thinks. If only I didn't think so selfishly as a child. So what if he had to go to a family member in Florida or Texas. At least he would've been safe.

He could've gotten Richie help all those years ago, instead, there they are as 20-year-olds and Richie is still terrified of his parents. Telephones were invented for a reason.

 *

“GUYS! We have to leave!” Eddie says kicking legs. “But be quiet and go out through his window.”

“What why?” Mike asks.

“I’ll explain once I get to your farmhouse. This is a red alert, guys. Move it!” Eddie says and the 5 of them groggily chuck everything out the window and make a run for it not wanting to be in amongst whatever is happening in the kitchen.

Eddie slowly packs up his belongings in his backpack and makes his way back out. As he rounds the corner he sees Richie trying to contain himself. His bony arms shake as he tries to pour coffee into 9 mugs. Wentworth is nowhere in sight and Eddie knows it could be moments before he could come back. “Rich, I sent the other out, I’ll do this,” Eddie says quietly, Richie quickly moves aside and places back mugs they don’t need and Eddie pours the caffeinated beverage into two mugs and pours the outrageous, 2 shots of vodka, into Maggie’s mug. 

He leaves the mugs on the counter and races out the back door with Richie’s wrist in his hand, dragging him with him. They race through the back streets, away from the heart of the town, not wanting to be seen by people that may tell Wentworth where his son went. “Eddie, I’m sorry,” Richie pants as they’re about halfway to Mike’s farmhouse.

“Richie -”

“No stop, I’m weak, I should’ve stood up for you.” His words hit Eddie like a truck, it’s like a punch to the stomach. This isn’t how Christmas is meant to be, it isn’t meant to be full of fear.

“Richie, I should’ve said something to the others when they wanted to stay at yours instead of Mike’s or Ben’s. I knew how bad it can get and yet I did nothing!” Eddie’s vision becomes clouded with tears and quickly blinks them away and drags Richie down the hill towards the house. 

It is my fault, became Eddie’s mantra the rest of the walk down to Mike’s farm.

****

As soon as they pass the pile of bikes (and one standing), the pair are met with 5 people with stern looks in their eyes. “Ho ho ho bitch,” Richie says dully, towards Beverly.

“Ho ho ho bitch? No, you need to explain what the fuck happened,” Beverly says.

“Rich, I’ll tell them, you go sit down or make yourself a coffee, I’ve got this,” Eddie says, Richie moves slowly to the kitchen and starts up a pot of coffee.

“So?” Stan pushes.

Eddie takes a deep breath and looks over at Richie who is hunched over the counter, his shoulders shaking, symbolising that he’s either in shock or crying. Eddie wants nothing more than to race over and kiss him, hug him, fuck him but with the losers close by wanting an explanation, he walks them outside, away from Richie.

“Look, as you all know we all haven’t had the best of childhoods,” Eddie starts, the 5 of them nodding in agreement. “Richie’s was pretty bad, maybe just as bad as yours Bev …” Eddie trails off. “He should be the one to tell you.”

“Eddie, just fucking continue!” Bill says.

“Fine.” Eddie sighs, “Look his parents are abusive, his mother is verbally and his dad is physically abusive. Richie used to come over to mine at ungodly hours of the night in fear and pain. He never wanted to worry any of you and since I was there I was collateral damage.”

“What!?” Ben shrieks. “Why didn’t he tell us?”

“Because it’s Richie,” Stan says. “He wanted people to believe he’s brave so that they wouldn’t pick on him. It didn’t work though.” Everyone turns to Stan but he ignores the sudden attention. “Why did he go to you first?” Stan never wanted anyone to know that he secretly cares about all the losers, especially his first best friend, Richie.

“I lived closer than you all did and it’s because he was the only one who knew about my mother at that time. We were 8 when he first started climbing in through my window.”

 *

 Eddie remembers that night as if it were yesterday.  

He was asleep, as it was 11 pm, but he was woken up by a groan, one that was all too familiar. He turned on his lamp and sure enough, there’s his best friend pushing himself off the ground.  “Richie?” Eddie mumbled, sleep thick in his throat.

“Shoot, sorry Eddie, do you mind if I stay here?” Richie asked.

“Not unless you tell me what - I’m sorry is that a fucking bruise on your arm?” Richie’s eyes trailed to his forearm where sure enough, there was a large bruise and a cigarette burn mark right above it.

“My dad got me good.” Richie huffed, kicked off his shoes and slid into the bed beside Eddie. “Don’t tell anyone that my parents did this.”

“I won’t.”

The two pinky swore on it because, you know, 8-year-olds and fell asleep facing away from each other. But knowing that Eddie was sleeping only 3 inches away was enough to give him comfort.

 *

“Look, it’s Christmas and it would be nice to forget about the Toziers expect for the one in the kitchen who needs us, his real family,” Eddie says and guides the lot of them back into the house.

Richie’s sitting on the couch cradling the cup of coffee in his hand. Dry tears had stained his face in the few minutes that the 6 other Losers had been outside. Eddie moves to sit down beside Richie, who immediately breaks again at Eddie’s soft touch. “Baby?” Eddie whimpers, Richie tries to fight it, not wanting the others to witness his vulnerable state. “FUCK THIS CHRISTMAS!” He doesn’t care if Eddie sees him cry since Eddie had on several occasions whenever Richie climbed in through his window.

“Edward,” Eddie stops at the sound of Richie’s soft yet stern voice. “I just want to forget what happened this morning.”

“Rich,” Eddie hiccups, he loses it. He can’t contain his guilt, his shame any more. He holds tightly onto Richie, mumbling a continuous stream of ‘I’m sorry’ into Richie’s chest. The taller boy starts to rub Eddie’s back, soothing him. “I had known for so long, I should’ve done something but I didn’t want you to be taken away. I was so fucking selfish.”

“I love you, Eds, calm down, okay. I’m safe,” Richie says, Eddie’s tears start to slow down. “We’re with our true family. The one that cares and loves us.” Eddie pulls back and looks into Richie’s eyes, past the dirty lenses of his coke bottle glasses, they are glossed over with tears threatening to pour but they showed the love and affection that he could only see over the internet and had only one their first 3 dates before college started back up in the fall.

They had kept their relationship under wraps now for 5 or 6 months and Richie saying those 3 magical words is enough for Eddie to stop. “I love you too Richie,” Eddie hiccups, calming down from the crying. “I’m still sorry.” Richie grabs Eddie’s cheeks and kisses him, slipping his tongue into Eddie’s mouth to truly shut him up. Eddie pulls back after a few seconds, remembering his friends are in the room.

“You’re okay,” Bill says for the first time without the stutter. “We’re all okay and you both are far away from those people.” 

“Okay okay, enough about the Toziers. When the fuck did you two plan to tell us?!” Beverly squeals.

“Ummmm, never?” Richie replies.

“You asshole!” Bill says.

“Okay okay, calm down everyone, I’m sure there’s a good excuse,” Stanley mutters.

“I didn’t want to hear the wrath of Mrs K when she found out that I was cheating on her with her hot-ass son,” Richie says smugly, Eddie groans. 

Everyone throws up their hands in disgust hoping that Richie would give a nice emotional story about how he got Eddie. How he finally stopped pining for the other boy and asked him out. But alas! Richie pulls out the Sonia Kaspbrak card causing the tension to be released and Eddie to groan. “Seriously though, I found him on a dating app when I was in New York, visiting him, and we decided to test out the waters,” Richie says.

*

The pair went to a cafe and Eddie had gotten up to pay, Richie had taken the opportunity to open up one of his 4 dating apps only to be faced with the tough decision to either swipe right or swipe left on his hypochondriac best friend. He was slightly mortified considering that he didn’t think Eddie was gay, though he was curious and hesitantly tapped on the profile. 

As soon as the profile opened, Richie was shocked, to say the least, the photos that Eddie had uploaded were most certainly not Mrs K approved. The tall curly-haired boy had to quickly scroll away before he got a subsequent hardon from them. As he looked through Eddie’s likes and dislikes he came across a statement about the men he’s into and it caused Richie to almost have a heart attack. “I like my men with the shittiest taste of humour and the annoying nicknames and banter, hit me with the ‘mom jokes’ and ‘dick jokes’ any day.”

“Richie? Are you okay? You’re looking a bit pale,” Eddie said as he sat back down at the table.

“Huh? Yeah, just I, uh, found your profile,” Richie said and passed Eddie his phone. The boy in front of him gulps and looks up from the rectangular device. “I operate on mom jokes and dick jokes, Eds. I know you hate nicknames but you secretly love it when I call you 'Eds’, were you hoping that one day I’d see your profile instead of talking to me like a normal human?”

“I - ” Eddie stopped himself and looked at Richie’s profile since he still had Richie’s phone in his hands. His eyes widen, the corner of his mouth curls up. “You like me too, asshole?”

“I - uh - yeah, yeah I do. Shit, I have since I was 13.”

Richie looked back at his byline and chuckled 'Looking for a short stack cutie who wears a fanny pack.’ He still couldn’t believe that he wrote that, it was wrong on some level but yet, it wasn’t cringy like Eddie’s was. 

*

“It wasn’t awkward we already were practically dating anyway,” Eddie laughs.

“‘Bout time you both realised,” Mike cries. Eddie and Richie look to each other and burst out laughing in absolute agreement.

The two had agreed on their first date that they had been ridiculous. Dancing around each other like there’s no tomorrow when they could’ve had this far sooner than 2 years into college. Eddie no longer needing an excuse to touch Richie, and Richie no longer needing the reason to annoy Eddie, but he still does it anyway because that’s just who Richie is - a pain in Eddie’s behind, both metaphorically and physically. 

The Losers all huddle around Richie and Eddie needing Richie to grasp hold onto all the comfort, love and support he has from every single one of them in that room. Not a moment goes by that Richie isn’t thanking them or kissing every single one of their cheeks to show that he loves them too - not just his cute, hypochondriac boyfriend. 

The others all pull away but leaves Bev and Richie to themselves, both crying into each others hair. Seeing Richie lose all his strength that he’s been showing for the past 8 years to Bev, Mike, Ben and Bill, triggered Bev’s response. Richie had comforted her all those years ago when her father was abusing her and was being taken away to live with an aunt or grandparent many states over. She didn’t want to leave the amazing group of friends that she had made but she was secretly glad that she was moving far away from the town that caused her pain for 13 years. 

Now it was Richie’s turn, he needed everybody’s support but he needed Bev; if there’s one thing he has learnt over the years is that Bev gives the best hugs in times of need. “I’m proud of you Rich,” She mumbles into the soft curls of Richie’s unwashed and untamed hair. “Fuck them.” Richie laughs in turn and pulls away, wiping his eyes and reaches for his now cold black brew coffee. He takes a sip and cringes at the taste but sculls the rest of it nonetheless. 

“Presents?” Eddie asks, “I retrieved them all from under the tree before we left.”

A chorus of loud 'yes’s filled the living room and Eddie pulls open his backpack. 28 wrapped gifts tumble out of the bag and onto the floor at Eddie’s feet, he makes piles for each person and one by one everyone grabs their piles of presents and starts to open them. Even though the morning was ruined, the day got better as the Losers Club gathered 'round and opened gifts, that’s the beauty of them, they acknowledge the pain and trauma and then push it away and forget about it entirely.

“Eds, I uh. Look just read this. I’m going to the bathroom,” Richie says, passing his boyfriend an envelope upon leaving his warm embrace. Eddie watches Richie leaves and slowly tears the paper, inside is a letter and judging from Richie’s behaviour he can only assume that he’s breaking up with him but that is very far from the truth.

*

Dearest Eds,

This is probably the stupidest thing I will say and will probably regret as you will either say it’s too soon or some shit and I get that. I love you and if I haven’t said that by now then I’m a fucking idiot and you have permission to kick the crown jewels, actually don’t I may be a dick but please do not do that.

Anyway, I am going to propose this. I am thinking about transferring colleges for next semester, that is of course if you will take my preposition. Will you move in with me? I love you and I hate that we only have a fucking long-distance relationship, I want to be able to kiss you, hug you, take you on dates. You deserve so much more than you’re getting from me and I wouldn’t blame you if you did end up breaking up with me but I know you wouldn’t. 

We’ve practically been dating since our fucking first year of high school, so really may be moving in with each other isn’t too soon. Or am I being impulsive? I would do anything for you Eddie Spaghetti and moving to NYC to be with you is #1 on my list of things I’d do for you. If we weren’t 20, only been dating for 6 months and still in college, I would 100% propose to you.

I love you so fucking much,

Forever yours,

Trashmouth

 *

As soon as he puts the letter down, he can feel something hot and wet run down his cheeks, he didn’t even know he was crying. Stan immediately wanting to kick Richie’s ass for making Eddie cry, picks up the letter and reads it. “Awe,” he mumbles. “Richie is actually sweet?” Then he gags a little when he gets closer to the end. “I think I’m going to be sick, this is far too sappy.”

****

Richie comes back from the bathroom and comes face to face with 5 grinning Losers and 1 sobbing boyfriend, who’s running towards him. “Yes, Richie, yes!” Eddie squeals embracing Richie in a tight embrace. “I love you so fuckin much but never, ever, make it seem like you’re breaking up with me again!”

“Of course Eduardo Andale,” Richie says and Eddie groans, “Right, sorry, of course, never again.“ 

Eddie smiles and kisses his boyfriend with a much passion as he can muster and lightly tugs on Richie’s brown curls. He lets his fingers knot in the bird’s nest that Richie calls his hair, he savours the taste of Richie’s mouth, cigarettes, coffee and spearmint gum. "Okay! Okay! Stop it!” Stan cries. “You two can bone later.”

Richie groans at the loneliness when Eddie pulls away and the shorter boy plants a kiss to Richie’s cheek but even that doesn’t satisfy him. “Later,” Eddie mutters softly to the taller boy and Richie shudders in response. 

Stan puts on Die Hard, wanting to watch an action but Christmas film and while everyone is distracted by arguing over Die Hard and Love, Actually; Richie takes it upon himself to pull Eddie onto his lap and kisses him softly. “Would you be mad if I told you that I wasn’t planning on transferring but had done it already?” Richie asks against Eddie’s soft pink plump lips. Eddie perks up, pulling away from Richie.

“Did you?” Eddie whispers, Richie nods and the small boy drags Richie to the bathroom, leaving the others (who are still arguing over the best Christmas movie) completely unaware of what is about to go down in Mike’s guest bathroom.

[fancycakedragon]

Call You Up

Ashton Irwin x Reader

Warning(s): sadness really, self deprecation

A/N: Feeling like shit and this song always makes me feel better. So I wrote this song-blurb. Also this gif makes me feel like Ash's looking into my soul but whatever. Please listen to the song. Happy reading. And guys remember to seek out someone you know you can talk to. It'll help a lot more than you think.

Masterlist

You stared at your phone as you layed in bed. The texts and messages you'd recieved from Ashton were piling up. The only reason you were getting so much was that you hadn't responded to any of them. With the way you left Ashton's place the night before, he probably knew something was wrong. He always did.

You wanted completely submerge yourself under your comforter if breathing didn't get difficult after a while. You'd called in sick at work so you could stay home and wallow all day.

You couldn't help it really. The past month had been overwhelming. So many things kept piling up in your life. Ashton tried to check in on you but you had a bad habit of bottling everything up. Today was the day the bottle burst apparently.

You tried not to think too much but it happened anyway. Who the fuck do you think you are? You're a worthless piece of shit that can't get anything done right. All you're ever gonna do is drag down everyone around you. And then they'll leave. Oh wow! Now your gonna cry?! Bitch, you do realize there are people who have actual problems. And your here being an extra little piece of nothing because, feelings! Fucking worthless.

You layed in bed wondering what to send to Ashton but everytime you decided not to. You figured he was seeing the text bubble pop up and dissapear so many times.

Which was true. Ashton kept checking his phone to see if you had replied to him at all. He didn't want to seem overbearing but he also didn't want to come off as uncaring. Because he cared so much. When you had left the night before it seemed as if you were one bad thing away from emotionally falling apart. When Luke asked you if you were ok you strained a smile and admitted to being tired. Now he was worried, even on a bad day you still texted back assured Ashton you were OK.

Still Ashton had a job and he needed to focus on finishing the album 5SOS was working on. The four members were in the studio all day and by the time Ashton left, got food, and made it to your house it was midnight.

Ashton knocked on your door but it wasn't opened. He made sure to knock again before using his keys to get in. "Y/N?" he called as he went over to yoyr room. When he saw you all he could do was sigh, "Oh, baby."

You were curled in a fetal position as still as possible. Ashton came over and climbed onto the bed. He gently repositioned you so he could hold you properly which you didn't resist to. You wanted this, you needed this despite what your brain was telling you.

What are you a fucking baby?! Can't be take care of shit so you wait for Ashton to come over and make it all better. Stop pretending, he's tired of your shit. Get it together and stop being a crutch!

"Hey, I got you some food. You probably haven't eaten all day," Ashton whispered. You didn't answer so he took that as a cue to continue. "I want you to know that I'm here. I don't care what you think right now but I'll always be ready to listen. Just know that."

Ashton felt your shaky sigh as you avoided crying. He gently rubbed soothing circle on your back.

"You wanna watch Everybody Hates Chris while we eat. It's been too quiet all day," you mumbled.

Ashton smiled, "You got it." He pulled back slightly to look at you. Your eyes were all puffy & red, and you looked so drained but he wasn't going to force anything out of you. Right now you just needed someone to remind you that you have people who care.

-----

Requests are open.

[notsissannis]

—Some Mystery Lost and Died Alone

Sirius Black x Tom Riddle

one-shot: complete

Rated: T

Read on [AO3] [FFN] — Thank you to my favourite girl for fixing my mess, @honeyweeds

This is a birthday gift for my beloved @synoir my Slytherin wife and my crazy Sirius/Tom lover! (We have so many plans, Su! Where them at?!) I'm sorry that this came out so late. Life's been taking over me and I believe your man has made sure you've enjoyed your birthday, so thank you, Durul!

This is for you, love! Our babies! Love you, Su!

Sirius stopped writing, snapping his quill into two in frustration. He cursed under his breath, trying his hardest to ignore the prickling sensation of being watched, again.

He swirled his head toward the source. He was right. It was the third time of the day he saw him watching him. He tucked his most cherished journal away carefully as it could have been one last gift from his brother.

“Prongs, tell me you can see him now,” Sirius half-begged his friend, hands waving to the young man standing at the hall’s door.

James looked up to where the boy was. His eyebrows knitted together before he faced him, rolling his eyes. “You tryna prank me one final time, aren’t ya?” He took a bite of his dinner, mouth full as he continued, “Not gonna work, Pads! I figured you out! Because…” His hands cupped around his mouth and he whispered, “I’ve prepared one for you, too!”

“C’mon, mate. Just tell me you can see him,” Sirius said exasperatedly, then he quickly added, “I thought we had a plan for graduation tomorrow! Leave with a bang kinda shit!”

“Yeah, but I’ve also prepared individual prank for each of you, Marauder’s honour.” James pushed his glasses up as they slid down his nose, “And I told you for the hundredth time—”

“Third,” Remus corrected between bites. “And I’ll kill you if I get pranked.”

“—I see no sort of boy,” James glanced to the door then to Remus, “And I love you more, Moony.”

Sirius ignored the spectacle boy and turned to his two other friends for support.

“Don’t look at me. I don’t see shit,” Remus said.

“Neither do I,” Peter admitted regretfully.

That did it. Because there was no way Peter wouldn’t take his side. He brought his head to the gigantic door again to make sure he was still there before he scanned around the hall, hoping that he would catch at least one girl drooled over the dark haired boy. Because as much as he hated to admit it, he was one good looking bloke. Snake or no snake.

His admittance itself started to creep him out.

“Well, third time's a charm.” Sirius pushed himself up, cracking his neck side to side. “I’m gonna drag him here myself and we’ll see if you fuckers continue with this half-arsed performance. As a self-proclaimed critic, let me tell you this: it sucks!”

It didn’t suck. It was very convincing. Very real. And as Sirius walked briskly to the door, he started to get goosebumps. Because what if, what if, they — everyone in the hall — really couldn’t see him?

He didn’t get to come up with an answer. Before he realized it, he was standing nose to nose with him.

Sirius once again scanned the hall for any drooling teenager. Still none. He cleared his throat, brushing the unease away as he looked down to the shorter boy.

“Come with me,” he said.

The Slytherin raised an eyebrow. His lips pulled into a smirk as he spoke, eyes gazing over his shoulder to the Gryffindor’s table. “Pardon me, Mr. Black. But I’m not interested in mingling with that merry band of yours.”

Sirius turned to his friends. Their attention were still on him. Only him. Alone. He was about to call them when he felt a warm breath on his neck.

“Meet me on the seventh floor at midnight,” the boy said. His voice was soft, a gentle wisp against his neck.

It sent chills running down his spine. “Seventh floor.”

“Across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy,” He added.

Sirius nodded his head. He was certain it wasn't a good idea to see this invisible boy later, but there was something captivating about his voice. The old, posh accent over his subtly demanding tone grasped at Sirius.  

So he nodded again and confirmed, “Midnight.”

The boy smiled. It was the most pretentious smile Sirius have ever seen.

“Alone.”

Sirius studied Barnabas the Barmy’s attempt to teach trolls ballet. He shook his head, erasing the absurd image off his brain. The night was quiet; except for the faint whispers of prefects walking down the stairs after their last round on the seventh floor.

He has been stood up, he surmised.

He chuckled humorlessly, turning his feet to the stairs. “What was I thinking?”

“Hopefully of me.”

Sirius whirled his head back to the tapestry and dropped his jaw open. Where it was Barnabas and ballerina trolls, now it was a big, wooden door. The boy stood straight in front of it with hands behind him, chin tilted up.

“What the fuck? I swear it wasn't there before,” he said, making his way toward the door.

“That’s because it wasn’t.” He shrugged nonchalantly — elegantly.

“So, what? It just appeared out of thin air?”

“I know. Wonderful, isn’t it? Magic, that is.”

Sirius’ heart skipped a beat. Magic, he repeated in his head, mesmerized by the way the ghost boy's eye lit with wonder at his own statement. The torch’s fire reflected in his eyes, making it seem like they were literally burning in curiosity, eagerness, desire.

Magic.

He could feel a bead of sweat trailed down his sideburn. “What’s inside?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?”

The boy pushed the door open. Sirius winced as the creaking sound echoed the empty corridor, a reminder that they were alone past curfew. Filch could be anywhere.

As if he could read his mind, he spoke. “No one can find us once we’re inside,” the boy told him. “Come. It will only be the two of us.”

Sirius halted. He turned to the stairs, evaluating his decision. The silence felt heavy around him, swallowing him whole. He turned his back toward the stairs, running his hand through his long hair as he made his decision.

This was his last night in Hogwarts. After the graduation ceremony, there was no certainty he could explore the castle again. He managed to convince himself.

“Fuck it,” he muttered.

The boy smirked when he heard him, bowing his head down as his hand gestured welcomingly toward the room. “After you.”

Sirius walked past him. There was nothing wrong with being curious. He would tell all about this room to the others later. It was just another night of exploration and mischief. He didn’t expect to see Gryffindor’s common room on the other side of the door, though. Not from a Slytherin.

The boy stood proudly in the middle of the room in his green robe. The picture was wrong, as though he tried to rob the Gryffindor in him in every inch of the way.

“I could ask for Slytherin’s common room. But your comfort is my priority.” His words were those of snakes — a string of silky lies.

Sirius nodded amicably. Despite it all, it did bring comfort to him amidst the strangeness of the night. He took a seat in the armchair nearest to him, watching as the boy roamed about — his fingertips trailed along the line of the fireplace, the couch, and the back of his seat. He rounded him smoothly, his robe billowing as he crouched down between his legs.

“Now that we’re alone,” he began, his fingers tapping on Sirius’ lap, “Let’s talk about the great, unavoidable war.”

Sirius’ mind churned from nothing to everything. He thought of the Order, of his friends, of his bike, of his brother.

His grin seemed misplaced on his handsome face. “I know your brother quite well, Mr. Black.”

Sirius met his eyes, his breath hitched when he watched them blazing red. He blinked, trying to get a clearer sight, only to see them look perfectly normal. The familiar sound of woods’ cracking from the fireplace was a solace he held desperately close.

“Young Regulus is simply doing everything to survive,” he continued, his thumb circling on Sirius’ inner thigh. “He doesn’t have friends like yours, Mr. Black. He doesn't have the luxury of an older brother either.”

The words pierced through his heart.

“He’s afraid. Alone. With no one to turn to.” He stood up, standing behind his seat.

His arms circled around him, enveloping him like a spider web, trapping and wrapping him until he felt suffocated by the warmth of his common room.

“I feel sorry for the young gentleman. He’s a good boy, you see? Thrown right to the center of this chaotic war. He just wants to please his parents in place of his brother’s failure.” He whispered to his ear, “Whose fault do you think it was, Mr. Black? Whose role was it that our innocent Regulus had to fill on the eve of his sixteenth birthday?”

Sirius shut his eyes, tears threatening to roll down his cheeks. He knew the consequences of leaving the house would fall on his brother. But he saw how his mother has been dotting Regulus in ways she never did to him. He thought it wouldn’t be as bad as what he had endured before.

His body shook as the despair washed over him. The lost of his brother’s innocence, the fact that they would fight against each other in this war, the youth that he had robbed from him.

He felt a set of cold fingers lightly scratching his scalp. “Let it all out, Sirius. We are all too young for this fight. We are nothing but pawns: expendable and worthless piece on his chess board.”

He pushed him away, jumping off his seat. His breaths were short and heavy. Rage ran through his veins as he spat, “You know nothing about Dumbledore. He’s a great wizard!”

The boy’s dark eyes darkened. He looked malicious but just like his red eyes, it was replaced with his controlled, handsome face in a blink. He sat on the armchair, crossing his legs with his two hands laid upon the armrests. “Have you seen the latest model of Triumph motorbike?”

The sudden change of topic threw him off. “What?”

He conjured a magazine, pale fingers flipping through the pages and stopping at one to his liken. “Personally, I loved this one.”

Sirius peered down to steal a glance of the image. It was the same one that he had been dreaming to own after he’s graduated.

He uncrossed his legs, urging Sirus to sit on the floor between them. Sirius complied. His back rested against the chair as he snatched the magazine from the snake’s hands. Thin arms cocooned him, humming as Sirius flipped through the pages, commenting lightly on each model.

He was doing nothing wrong. He was only talking about the war, about his brother, and about motorbike. It was a normal midnight conversation between two young men. He did nothing wrong.

So why? Why did it feel as if he has betrayed his friends? As if he has betrayed the Light?

“Another!” Sirius slammed his glass on the bar top.

“Sirius, honey. Don’t you think you’ve had enough for the night?” Rosmeta asked as she topped his glass of Firewhiskey.

Sirius barked out a laugh. The sound attracted every patrons of the night to him. “Rosmeta, honey,” he mocked, “It’s a night of celebration!”

“Of what?” She asked, exposing her cleavage as she leaned forward.

Sirius twirled the glass in his hand, hypnotised by the small swirl of his drink. “My brother,” he mumbled sadly.

The news had been late to arrive. His cousin, Andromeda, had written months ago to tell him, but the Order had kept the missive for fear that it was a threat. They knew not to put anything past a Black.  

“To your brother,” Rosmeta lifted her own glass.

“To my stupid brother.” He downed his drink in one go. As he predicted, the journal was his last — parting — gift from Regulus. A memento, weighing a ton in his jacket pocket. A heaviness he never thought he would carry. A burden Death left him with.

Meanwhile, presently, the whisky left him with a fiery trail down his throat. Burning him inside.

The fire sent his mind wandering into the night. Was it real? Had it really happened? Sirius never did tell anyone about him — about that night. Never even told James — about his cold fingers on his scalp, about his wondrous dark eyes, about his smooth words. A snake.

He caught a hint of movement from the corner of his eye. Shiver showered all over him as he felt it once again, just when he thought of him, the same sensation as he was being watched; by him.

His feet started to catch up to his brain, to his darkest thought. Follow him, find him, follow him, find him. The clanking sound of his motorbike key loud in his ears. The creaking sound of one of Rosmeta’s inn door called for him. The cracking sound of firewood transported him back to the common room.

He blinked.

And he was there.

“I’m sorry about your brother, Sirius.”

The door locked itself behind him.

“He was so young.”

“Who are you?”

The grin still looked misplaced on his handsome face. “How are you faring? With the war? A little bird has told me something disconcerting.” He passed the fireplace to the study, running his hand along the table’s gilded edge. “How’s young Potter doing?”

The effect was instantaneous. Sirius pointed his wand toward him. His fingers curling around it so sure that his knuckles turned white. “What do you know?”

“The only thing that matters: you.” He locked his eyes with him, “They’re an open target, Sirius. And as much I commend the brilliant idea of using Fidelius Charm, I condemn the moronic idea of using you as the secret-keeper.”

His wand didn’t waver despite of the sudden stop of his heart.

“Potter and Black. Black and Potter. Brothers in every way but blood. How foolish of you children to assume this puny deception could save you from Lord Voldemort?” He spat viciously, strutting toward him until his wand positioned right between his brows.

“Who the fuck are you?” Sirius stressed each of his word. His eyes lit manically, a reminder he did carry the insanity of a Black.

The Slytherin hissed. And hissed some more. And more. Until the journal hissed to him back.

“I believe you have something of mine,” he said, his palm spread open to accept the book as it zoomed out from his pocket. The leather bound journal fit him perfectly.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle?” Sirius asked. The name has engraved permanently in his mind as it had on the leather bound.

“Do you not know who I am?”

Sirius tried to recall if he ever heard of the Riddle from his Pureblood schooling. “Riddle’s not a wizards name.”

“You don’t know,” Tom concluded, his voice was soft and sympathetic. “Oh, Sirius. You’re fighting a war you know so little about.

“Please, change your plan. I want you to survive.”

“We’ve only met once!”

“But I’ve known you for years.” He set the journal on the table. “Everything you’ve written, all of your heart’s content that you had poured into this, I know.” He was suddenly in front of him, their noses brushing against each other. “I know you, Sirius Black. And I want you to survive this war. Please.”

His wand hand limp to his side. A bubble of laughter ready on his throat at the ridiculousness of the turn of event. What was it with this boy, shaking his belief, his core, his sanity?

“I have changed the plan,” he finally said. He could feel a gust of air hitting his chin. “I am not the secret-keeper anymore.”

Tom staggered backward. “Stop talking.”

But he didn’t hear the warning as he continued talking over it. “It’s Peter. It’s bloody brilliant! No one would have thought of him. He’s laid low the whole war. They would come after me. A perfect deflection to steer their attention away from Peter.”

“Enough!”

Sirius’ brows furrowed in confusion. “You wanted me to change the plan. I got it! I’m not that stupid!”

“Sirius! That’s enough!” Tom held his shoulders, his head tilted up for his forehead to meet Sirius’. “You fool. He now knows.”

“What?”

Tom inhaled deeply, seemingly to savour his smell. Sirius mimed the action. It was both intimate and sorrowful. He could already feel the emptiness it would left him with after.

“Go, Sirius. Maybe no one has to die on this Halloween night. Save your friends.”

As he fell back into the mysterious arch’s curtain, he was reminded of the invisible boy that he had met only twice in his life.

He had learnt about his journal being one of Voldemort’s horcruxes. He had listened to the story of Harry’s bravery — fighting the embodiment of Voldemort’s young soul, Tom. He had accepted the sin he’d committed unto James.

He had, after all, as good as killed them.

The torment never left him even after he closed his eyes into the eternal abyss.

[boshawsharky]

Made It This Far

This fic contains references to self-harm, mental illness, delusions, and torture. It details a night of Pratt’s life after the end of the game. What happens in this fic is a work of my imagination and by continuing to read, you are consenting to read what could be potentially triggering.

Staci Pratt, T/W, 1,964 words.

This is my first Far Cry fanfic, so if it is inaccurate I apologise.

It’s official: Staci Pratt is an alcoholic.

Growing up with an alcoholic father, he swore he would never be in this position. He remembers his dad yelling at him for waking him up, or his mum trying to push him out of the house to protect them both. He remembers shamefully going to school and seeing his dad passed out on a park bench.

He swore this would never happen. He swore he would never turn out like his dad, yet here he is. Covered in beer cans and bottles, protecting him as if they were blankets. Almost as comforting, too.

His hand reaches to the nearest can and he lifts it to his lips, tilting his head back and keeping his mouth open to collect the few droplets that pour from inside, even if he can barely taste them. Anything helps, especially if it helps him forget Jacob, even if just for a few hours.

He always comes back in the morning, though. He always sits there at the end of his bed, or by the door, or by the sink- wherever it was that he passed out- smirking, looking down his nose, chuckling at him. Sometimes he is so close, Pratt can smell the coffee on his breath.

Fuck, the man is dead. You are going crazy.

He doesn’t understand how all this happened, he could have never expected to be this way. Then again, it was only two days before he was broken that he was joking about taking fuckin’ Nancy instead of Rookie. He didn’t see that happening, or Rookie saving his ass from Jacob.

Loud music pumps from down the road in Fall’s End, presumably from the bar that he sometimes meets Hudson in. They’re celebrating the New Year- that’s coming in a few minutes. Sharky Boshaw had invited everybody to a party in his trailer park- literally everybody, Rookie, Whitehorse, Hudson, everybody. Even Pratt. But Pratt couldn’t bear to go and see their sympathetic faces and the way they inched around him as if he was a bomb waiting to explode.

Well, frankly, he could. It can only take one little thing to trigger him, sometimes even the sight of his own face can do it. The scar across his nose, or if he has a nosebleed it feels like the world is ending.

The man moves and knocks all the cans off of himself, brushing them from his legs with a great clatter. The glass bottles smash on the floor, but the cans just bounce and roll. He pulls himself up and collapses on the sofa, tears threatening his eyes. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. He thought he was getting better. He thought he wasn’t as weak any more.

You’ll always be weak, Peaches. Always.

He really thought the alcohol would take Jacob away from him. He thought it would help him, make him at least the slightest bit better. Why is it not helping this time?

He can see him stood in the doorway to the living room, judging eyes watching his every move, and that same bloody smirk on his features. Staci catches his eye, and immediately feels all the anger, all the upset, everything he has ever felt, fill him again.

The last full can on the side becomes his tool as he grabs it from its place on the table, throwing it out of the open window with a mighty roar and listening to it explode outside, covering the porch with beer. He feels like a prisoner in his own mind, and he wants out.

He continues to scream as he paces around the room, grabbing at his hair and pulling it before eyeing the phone sitting on the unit by the wall. He stumbles over to it, feeling like a dummy numb with emotions. He feels empty, he feels lost, he feels like he isn’t human.

The crowd down the street erupt into cheers and celebration, which tells him it is now midnight, it is now 2019. He has the phone in hand, but he stares at it. Who is going to answer him now? Fuck, who is he going to ring?

He slams it down with force, letting out another scream. He’s twenty-six, and he can’t even take care of himself. He can’t find the key to free himself from his own mind.

When he was seventeen, he was trying to impress his friends at a skate park. Something went wrong, he snapped his board, it flew up and hit him in the forehead, creating a gash. There was so much blood and he passed out. He thought when he came to two minutes later, he thought that was the worst feeling.

It was stupid, really. Just nine years later, he would be being tortured, he would be ruined, he would be broken.

At least he had his friends there, then. And a family to go home to- well, his mum. When Jacob had him strapped down to that chair, he was alone. He had never felt so isolated yet so exposed in his life.

He thought he would die there. He thought that his corpse would rot there until he was nothing.

That, that was the worst feeling.

And you’ve still not escaped.

He can feel Jacob’s rough hands grabbing one of his wrists, and he pulls it away from him.

“D-don’t touch me… You’re, you’re not real,” Staci whispers, closing his eyes and rubbing his wrist. He can’t calm his racing heart or his choking breaths. He can’t even stop the tears from flowing any more. “You- you can’t con, control me like this...”

But you’re wrong.

“Ple-please,”

Tears are streaming down his face and he uses his hand to numbly wipe them away. He’s choking on his own breathing and everything feels too much, too overwhelming.

Peaches, you’re-

“Shut up!” Pratt roars, picking up the phone from the receiver and dialling Sharky’s number- everyone is at Sharky’s place. Hopefully, someone can help.

“Happy new year!”

It’s Nick Rye’s voice that comes through the phone, drunk and happy.

Happy.

When was the last time Staci was happy?

Don’t do it, Peaches. You think you’re strong, handle this on your own. You can do that, can’t you?

“N-Nick,” Pratt whispers down the phone, praying Nick will hear him.

“Hello?” Nick says, and Pratt can imagine him looking at the phone with confusion on his face. Staci repeats himself. “Staci! How are you?”

“I, I need Ro-Rook,” he can barely make sense of his words as they come out of his mouth, nevermind nick trying to listen over the phone. “Please, Nick,”

“Sure, bud.” Nick’s tone goes soft, the same way that he hates people doing, “ROOKIE!”

Their voice is soft and comforting, like a soft, bright hand reaching through the darkness.

“Staci!” They are cheerful, happy, tipsy. Honestly, Staci would have loved to be there, but he would’ve had a panic attack, or he would have got slaughtered and passed out somewhere he cannot get home from. “Happy new year, dude! You okay?”

“I-I-I need you,” Staci puts his head in his hands as he sinks to the floor, somewhat restricted by the cord. It’s just turned 2019- why do people still insist on corded phones? “I need you, Dep. He’s back...”

“Jacob?” They ask carefully, listening to Pratt’s cry and taking it as an answer. “Fuck- I’ll be there soon. I need to find a designated driver, though- give me twenty minutes and I’m with you,”

You’re weak, Pratt. You’re nothing. When the collapse comes, what then? Who are you fighting for? What is the point in your existence if you can’t protect and serve? I mean- that is your job.

It’s been five minutes since the phone call and Staci is sat on the toilet seat in the bathroom, holding a smashed bottle in hand. He’s not coping well with this. He’s not coping at all.

“S-stop. I know you’re not real,” he can’t tell if it’s the alcohol in his system or the trauma that is making him speak funny, but he hates it. It makes him look even stupider than he feels. “I know you’re made up by m’ mind...”

But you hated me, Peaches. Why would your mind think of me if you hate me?

“Ruined my life...”

Your life is pointless anyway.

Pratt takes a deep breath and pulls his legs to his chest, putting his head back and bringing the sharp glass to his wrists.

The Deputy pulls up outside Pratt’s house, asking Kim Rye- the designated driver- to wait there for them, then makes their way inside.

There is an exploded can outside, and all the porch is wet from what they presume to be beer.

“Staci?” They call when they get inside the house, looking around. The empty living room is covered in beer bottles and cans, and the very phone that Pratt had used to call Deputy is hanging by its cord. They furrow their brows in confusion and head up the stairs, to the muffled sobbing. “Staci-”

“I fucked up, Rook,” he says, washing his arm under the tap of the sink, pinkish water running down the drain.”I-I couldn’t help it, ‘n Jacob was tellin’ me I’m worthless, ‘n-”

Rookie takes Pratt’s arm from under the water and presses a towel to it- for the most part, it has stopped bleeding, but they look sore. “We can fix this,” they say quietly, kneeling down in front of him and looking him in the eyes.

They reach for a med kid under the sink and use the bandages to wrap around his forearm, covering the mess he made.

After a short period of silence, Pratt looks to Dep. “How was Sharky’s party?” He asks, trying to fill the stuffy silence.

Deputy laughs, raising their eyebrows. “It was… Er… Explosive...” He says, shaking his head. “I mean, fun, but… A lot of fire. Lotta fireworks.”

Staci smiles, though it is lacking all emotion.

“I’m sorry- I shouldn’t have called you. I should man up and deal with it- I’m weak and-”

“Shh. I don’t mind.” Dep says, shaking his head. “Honestly. You call me whatever time you need,”

“I’m a fuck up.”

“We’re all fucked up, Pratt. That’s what they do, they play mind games with you.”

Pratt feels all the alcohol from earlier in his stomach, and suddenly, he is throwing up into the sink. When Rook first rescued him, they got back to the Wolf’s Den and ate some actual food. This caused him to be sick because when he was with Jacob, his diet was purely raw meat and rainwater. The good food made him sicker than a dog.

“I owe you my life,” Pratt then says, as Rookie helps him stand and guides him into the bedroom. “You don’t even understand, Dep. We would be nothing without you, and I’m so stupid because you helped me survive literal Hell, and now I’m out of there and I can’t even think right-”

“You need to sleep,” they say, not undressing him but helping him into the bed. “Come on, you’ve had a rough night. You don’t know what you’re saying,”

Staci closes his eyes, feeling worn, feeling defeated, feeling nothing but everything.

“I’ll come over in the morning, okay?” They say, holding his hand for a minute. “Rest. Call me when you wake up.”

“Is he okay?” Kim asks when the Rookie gets back into the car, putting on their seatbelt. Quietly, they nod. “Good. Wanna go back to the party or home?”

“Home, I guess.” They answer quietly.

“You know, you really have saved everyone’s ass. We would be nowhere without you. Pratt, Hudson, Whitehorse- everyone. We all owe you everything and we could never pay you back.”

[veronicaosoria]

mercy

Genre: Angst

Length: 4.2k words

Pairing: Yoongi/Reader/Jimin

Summary: You knew the relationship was falling apart, you just couldn’t accept it.

“I’m sorry Y/N.” Yoongi whispered.

I looked at him in disbelief. The tears that were threatening to fall soon enough shamelessly came and for a second I thought I felt my heart actually break. Deep down, I wanted everything to be a joke, I wanted this to be some sort of sick prank. But looking at Yoongi’s face, I knew it was far from that.

“Why did you do it?” I asked looking down. He stayed quiet, not daring to look at me, and after what felt like hours he took a deep breath.

“I honestly don’t know Y/N,” he began “I wasn’t thinking at all.” I let out a sob.. Wasn’t thinking? What does he mean he wasn’t thinking? Is he meaning to tell me that I didn’t cross his mind not once?

“I-It was more than just sex with her Y/N, as much as she seems to be bitch to everyone she isn’t bad. I don’t know what to do. I already lost so much by doing this.” He added as he turned to look at me.

My heart shattered. The only thing worse than getting cheated on is, having the person who cheated on you not wanting to fix it. We were invincible. Since I was 15 I vowed to commit to him and overcome any obstacles that life threw at us. Every fight we had was resolved by the end of the day because we never went to sleep mad at each other. But now, years later I never thought anything would change. And to be honest.. I was too naive to think this would last forever. Yoongi always had eyes for me, he always thought about me before he made a decision. Looking into the eyes of the love of your life and not seeing a spark anymore is heartbreaking. To feel like I was not worth fighting for anymore made me feel worthless.

“I love you Y/N, I still want you around.” Yoongi said breaking me out of my thoughts. “Even if we’re not together you will always be mine.” he added. My body went numb, my mind went blank. I looked at him and smiled. “I’ll never leave Yoongi.”

The next couple weeks were gloomy. Even though Yoongi never stopped talking to me, every night always ended with an argument, which resulted in him blocking me and ignoring me until he felt like talking to me again. Meanwhile I was constantly surrounded by a dark cloud that didn’t leave. I barely got out bed. And when I did, I would find any reason to go back to my hole of self pity. I didn’t eat much anymore and only got a couple hours of sleep at night. Constant thoughts attacked my mind telling me I wasn’t good enough to keep him, that he was better off without me, that I needed him. And as crazy as it sounds, I wanted him back more than anything. I wanted to have another chance to show that I can be a better girlfriend to him, better than her. I never asked about her. I didn't want to know anything about her. The one girl who managed to make him do this. And from what I heard she wasn't with Yoongi because she liked him. Anyone can tell she was just using him, but he was too blind to see that. She had him wrapped around her little finger and still slept with any guy she wanted, while Yoongi pretended that he didn't know. And that's what killed me.

It was around 10:30pm when Yoongi called. I mentally cursed at myself for answering so quickly, “Hey,” I said. “Hey babygirl, just wanted to hear your voice.” I could feel my face turn red and softly smiled at his words. “I miss you.” I said. For the next two hours we were on the phone and for once I was happy.

“Are you free tomorrow?” I ask. As much as I wanted to give him space, I wanted to see him.

I hear him heavily sigh and I already knew what was coming. “I’m sorry Y/N, I want to see you as much as you do but-” he mumbled. My heart sank and a feeling of sadness came over me. “Yeah I get it, she means more to you than I ever did.” I replied. “Please don’t start Y/N we were talking just fine.” he said.

I rolled my eyes and scoffed. “News flash, I haven’t been fine since you chose her over me, you only knew her for a week.”

“STOP. Y/N goddammit don’t fucking start again.” He yelled out. I could hear his breathing increase and I knew him well enough to know he was pissed.

“Why are you doing this to me huh Yoongi? Was I that fucking horrible to you that you had to do this to me?” I cried. Again tears rolled down my face and I started sobbing.

“I’m not dealing with this tonight.” He said and hung up.

Fucking asshole. That’s what he’s good at, ignoring me and running away from his problems. I dialed his number again hoping he could pick up but soon realized he blocked my number. I began to panic knowing very well I wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight if he was ignoring me.

For the next hour I constantly called hoping he would unblock me but I had no luck. My sobbing increased and I began to feel suffocated in my apartment. I just wanted to run, I wanted to run until I couldn’t feel the pain anymore, I wanted to disappear. I knew I was pathetic doing this to myself. But I couldn’t help it, Min Yoongi destroyed me.

I couldn’t take being inside anymore and left my apartment to clear my head. It was almost midnight and although it wasn’t a good idea to be walking at this hour, I didn’t care. The night air made me shiver and I decided not to go very far considering it was cold. I walked to the gym right by my apartment and sat at the side of the building. I tried dialing Yoongi again, and sure enough he didn’t pick up. I put my phone back in my pocket and buried my face in my hands and cried. Why wasn’t I good enough for him anymore? Why am I still around for him begging him to come back when it’s not what he wants anymore? I was deeply in love with him to even think about moving on, and he knew that.

“A pretty girl like you shouldn’t be out this late crying.” A voice said, that made your head snap up.

My eyes met the face of a stranger, a very attractive stranger.

I quickly wiped my tears away and stood up backing away from him,  “Ahh I’m sorry” I replied flustered.

He chuckled, “Don’t worry, I don’t bite.” I smiled at him. “That’s good to hear, but what could you possibly be doing out here this late?” I asked sarcastically.

He motioned toward the gym “I work here, on my break.”

I looked at him confused. “Isn’t it too late to for a gym to be opened?” I replied. 

“It’s opened 24/7, I work the night shifts.” He said. I nodded at him and sat back down.

“Now if you don’t mind me asking, why were you crying?” He asked.

I bit my lip and tried to come up with some random excuse. “Umm it’s just tha-” I started to say.

“Boyfriend troubles?” He blurted.   

I chuckled, “Something like that.”

“Mind telling me about it?” He asked.

I looked away sighing. “Honestly.. I'm not ready to talk about it just yet, but long story short he cheated on me.. and somehow I can't let him go.”

“By the looks of you crying it seems like he doesn't want the same.” He said.

“It's.. complicated.” I answered, “He chose her but he still wants me around.”

He looked at me, “I know I barely met you but you shouldn't give him the satisfaction of still being there for him. You're worth more than that.”

Tears began forming and I nodded. We both sat in silence for what felt like forever until he stood and offered his hand to help me up.

“I hate to leave you alone but I have to get back to work.” He sadly said.

“Right, sorry.” I mumbled and began to make my way home.

“Before you go, I didn't get your name” He said

“Oh right, it's Y/N.” I answered.

He smiled at me, “Y/N, the name suits you.”

I laughed, “Thanks?”

“I'm Jimin by the way”

It was around three days later when Yoongi texted you.

“I miss you Y/N, I'm sorry about everything.”

I stared at the text for the longest time and debated on replying or not. And about an hour later I gave in and replied. This was a cycle, he always apologized after ignoring me for days, knowing I would be waiting. Dammit why was I so weak when it came to him? It was like he had me under a spell and I couldn’t do anything about it.

“Can I come over right now?” another text read.

I answered a quick yes and made my way to the shower so I can look like I wasn’t miserable the past few weeks. About 30 minutes later he was at the door.

“Hey babygirl.” He said smiling.

I felt my cheeks getting hot “Hey Yoongi.” I said while leading him inside.

He took off his jacket and shoes and made himself comfortable.

I laughed to myself thinking back to memories when Yoongi would come over right after work tired and fall asleep on my bed. Or back to the first summer of us dating when he would be at my house and we would watch stupid reality TV shows, eating pizza, and enjoying each other’s company. Back when I was his everything, back when we were invincible. The older we got, the more I thought things were getting better. We were becoming more mature and we both knew what we wanted. A future together. I never expected months later for that to suddenly change.

I snapped back to reality when Yoongi cleared his throat. “Listen, I’m really sorry about-”

I stopped him, “No don’t worry about it, it was my fault.” I said quietly.

His face softened “No I shouldn’t have ignored you.”

“It’s fine..really.” I answered.

He forced a smile, “H-how have you been?” He asked.

“It doesn’t matter honestly-”

“It does matter Y/N, even if you don't believe it, I care so much.” He stated.

I started biting my nails, it was a really bad habit of mine. But whenever I get nervous I don't know what else to do.

“You're nervous.” He said.

I looked up embarrassed “I-I’m sorry.”

He cupped my face in hands and looked me in the eyes, “It's me Y/N, your Yoongi don't be nervous around me.”

He crashed his lips into mine and before I could process what was happening, I realized I was kissing him back. He deepened the kiss and before I knew it I was reaching to take his shirt off.

He stopped me. “Do you want this as bad as I do?”

I nodded and continued kissing him and led him to my bedroom.

I woke up hours later to the sound of Yoongi’s phone ringing. I groaned and nudged him to wake up to answer the phone. To my surprise however, he declined it. I shot him a confused look, “Shouldn't you answer her?”

He shook his head, “I just want to enjoy our time together right now.” I smiled and he wrapped me in his arms. As much as I hate the situation we're in, being with him is the only thing that can make me happy.

“I want to try and end things with her.”

My head snapped up at his sudden words, “Do you really?” I asked.

“I don't know what I'm doing Y/N, I want to make things right for us so bad.”

“Yoongi, you know what to do to fix this.” I said softly.

He stayed quiet for a long time. I didn't care though, just the simple words he said made me see that maybe just maybe.. it was worth waiting around for him. The sleepless nights, endless crying, everything could finally stop.

“I'm going to see her soon and I promise that I will fight for us.”

“Forever and always right?” I said.

“Forever and always.”

The next couple of days were a breeze. I managed to catch up on sleep which I've been so badly. I went out with friends after canceling so many times when I was down. Yoongi and I were talking just like before. I was happy. I knew it was going to take some time for us to get back together and I was happy to wait as long as he fought for us. Although I was waiting for the message informing me that he finally left her, I didn’t want to seem like I was pressuring him.

I was laying on my couch catching up on shows I’ve missed while eating ice cream, when I got a text from Namjoon asking to hang out. I smiled at myself and instantly replied telling him yes. My heart dropped suddenly remembering how much I have been shutting him out ever since this happened. Namjoon worked in the music industry and was extremely busy but he always made time for his best friend. We grew up together and he was always the one person I went to when I needed someone. Namjoon always acted like an older brother to me, a very overprotective brother I must add. When I first started dating Yoongi you can bet he didn’t approve, but as time passed he eventually accepted him. I instantly felt a wave of guilt realizing I hadn’t even told him about what happened between Yoongi and I. He knew me well enough to know that there’s something wrong just by the look on my face. I debated with myself on calling him and telling him that something came up, but I knew that would only make it worse- I never canceled on Namjoon, no matter how busy I was. Even though I wanted to avoid talking about it, I knew I had to tell my best friend. I snapped out of my thoughts when I heard my phone buzz besides me.

“Let’s go to dinner then? Usual place :)” the text read. I laughed to myself knowing that no matter how more successful he got, he still loved our tradition of going out for a greasy slice of pizza and a beer. I sent a quick reply and dashed to the shower to start getting ready. “Goodness Y/N what are you going to tell Namjoon?” I thought to myself. I knew I couldn’t keep this from him, he would only blame himself saying he wasn’t there enough. I quickly put together an outfit and applied makeup to look a bit more alive. Thirty minutes later, I was finally ready and out the door to my car. Well...it’s now or never.

I got to our favorite pizza place and ordered food for the both of us. Namjoon was always late, even if it was something really important. Ever since we were kids he had a habit of showing up late. I didn’t mind though and took our food to an empty table. I occupied myself with my phone and it wasn’t until 15 minutes later that he finally got here. “Y/N I’m so glad to see you!” Namjoon happily says. My face lights up and I immediately give him the biggest hug. “I haven’t seen you in so long!” I say as we both sit down, “I know I’m so sorry I’ve been so busy.” He replies with a slight frown on his face. I shot him a look, “Don’t worry, I understand just don’t forget about your best friend.”

“Never will” He says while taking a bite of his food.  I smiled and started eating, “So how's work been?” “Tiring, busy, you name it.. I don't care much since I'm doing something I love.” He happily replied.

“I'm proud of you and I'm so glad to hear that.” I say while taking a sip of my soda.

For the next hour we talked about memories when we were younger and catching up with each other. I completely forgot about what has been going on with me since I was so happy being with my best friend. That is, until the dreaded question came.

“So how are things going with Yoongi?” He curiously asked. My face instantly dropped and I frowned. “F-Fine, we are doing fine.” I quietly answered.

Namjoon raised his eyebrow at me and scanned my face long and hard, “You’re not telling me the truth.” He stated. I didn’t answer him and instead looked down and started biting my nails.

“You’re nervous Y/N what’s wrong?” At this point I felt the tears forming in my eyes and I felt like I was going to barf all the food I had just ate. I didn’t want to tell him, but at the same time I did. My heart was racing and my head felt like it was going to explode.

“Y/N what the hell happened?” He asked again. I sighed, “I just… we broke up but we’re trying to work things out.”

“Why did you guys break up?” He quickly asked.

“I don’t know.” I lied. I gulped hoping he would believe me but I knew there was no way he would. If I told him what Yoongi did, Namjoon would not let me anywhere close to him.

“Don’t lie to me Y/N.” I could tell he was losing patience.

“Namjoon-” I began.

“Tell.ME.”

“He cheated on me.” I murmured avoiding to meet his gaze.

Silence. For a while there was just silence. I refused to look up and say anything else. I was embarrassed, scared, I felt pathetic.

My head shot up when I heard Namjoon chuckle. I looked at him confused not knowing what to say, I met his eyes and boy was he pissed.

“You’re telling me that you’re willing to make things work with him again?” He rhetorically asked.

“I know you’re upset and I don’t blame you for it, but I’m willing to stay until he leaves her.” I mumbled.

His eyes widened and his face turned red, “LEAVES HER? You mean he left you for some girl? And you’re still around?” He started yelling.

Tears started falling down my face “Please don’t be upset.” I choked out.

He snorted, “Upset? Nope. I’m furious. It’s taking everything I have not to leave right now and kill that bastard.”

“Namjoon-”

“No Y/N, I am not going to let you sit there and stick around until he decides to fucking value you. You deserve to find happiness and all he is doing is causing you pain.” I didn’t say anything and instead stayed quiet. He stood up and led me out the restaurant. “Let’s get you home.”

I nodded and followed him out, the cold air hit me as soon as we got out the door and I immediately regretted not bringing a sweater with me. I looked down on my phone and I saw missed calls from Yoongi. I bit my lip in confusion considering he never calls me. I decided I’d get back to him once I got home.

We made it to my car and I looked up at my best friend. Disappointment was written all over his face and I took a deep breath.

“Can we please talk tomorrow Y/N? I need to make sure you’re okay.”

“Of course. I’m sorry for ruining our night.”

He gave me a sympathetic look, “Stop, I haven’t been around much and I’m sorry for that. I promise I’ll be there more regardless of my job. I need to protect my best friend.”

I smiled at him, “Love you Joonie, get home safe?”

“Text me once you’re home alright?” He added while opening my car door.

“I will,” I said while giving him the biggest hug.

As soon as I stepped into my apartment I dialed Yoongi before doing anything else. To my surprise he didn't answer and I frowned. I quickly sent him a text and got ready for bed. As I was just about to close my eyes, my phone rang. Groaning, I reached over and picked up without even checking who it was.

“Hello?” I groggily say.

“Y/N are you up?” The other person said and I instantly knew the voice.

“I was just about to fall asleep Yoongi, but what's up?” I replied.

He sighed, “Can we talk?”

I frowned at the sound of his voice, “uh sure.”

“I'll be at your place in 10 minutes.” And with that, he hung up.

Before I knew it there was knocking on the door and I immediately got up to open the door.

Yoongi looked tired, saddened, and just… different. He awkwardly walked in with his head down and I knew something was wrong. My stomach dropped, “What's wrong Yoongi?” I whispered and reached out to hold his hand. He flinched and pulled back without looking up at me.

He let out a deep breath, “I'm sorry Y/N.”

And that's when my world came crashing down again.

The sound of rain against my window helped distract me from my endless thoughts of pure emptiness. I continued to play with the food that I didn't even bother to eat and sat in silence.

It had been weeks that I had a decent meal, much less smiled. I debated many times calling Namjoon, but I always fought against that thinking he was too busy. He checked in a couple times over text but I was good at feeding him lies on how I was okay. Although he was my best friend, I just didn't want to burden him again.

The day Yoongi came, I knew he changed his mind about coming back to me. He still texted though, and I knew that I was hurting myself way more by still sticking around. Soon enough text messages came almost once a week and I could  tell he was distancing himself. What made things worse was that he flaunted his new relationship on social media, and that hurt more than anything. Yoongi was never one to brag about someone, unless the person meant a lot to him.

I was laying on my bed after coming home from a night with my friends and I was happy considering I haven't felt this alive for about three months. I tried my best to shut the thought of him out of my head and I did what I thought was best… move on. I constantly told myself that nothing will bring me back to how I was when I was so low and needed to be strong. I was getting ready for bed and I checked my phone one last time before I decided to sleep.

And that was a big mistake. My heart dropped as I paused on a post Yoongi had uploaded of them together. I felt my throat close and tears well up in my eyes, fuck. Why the hell does this shit affect me so much? Before I knew it I was sobbing and all the feelings I was trying to avoid came rushing back. Without thinking I threw some shoes on and ran out my front door not caring how loud I slammed it. I was halfway down the street when I realized I forgot my phone and I sighed. I quickly figured I didn't need it and continued walking. I eventually made it to the spot next to the gym I always came too and sat down breathing in the cool air. My mind began to wander and my thoughts were interrupted by a cough next to me. I shot my head up and met Jimin’s face. “Haven't seen you in awhile.” He says. “Almost thought you got back with him.” He added. I looked away not responding, it's almost pathetic how bad I wish that was what happened.

I heard him awkwardly sit next to me and from the corner of my eye I can see he was thinking on what to say next.  

“Please don't feel sorry for me” I mumble while trying to blink the tears forming in my eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked.

“Honestly? No. I don't. I want everything to be okay with us, I want things to be how they were back then. I want him to be happy with just me.” I admitted. “Do you know how stupid I feel? How pitiful I look?”

“You're not stupid for wanting that, you have every right to feel all these emotions. But Y/N please don't let him have so much control over you. He's not worth it.” He grabbed my face and made me look at him, “Please Y/N.” He pulled me in for a hug and just as I was about to answer him a deep voice beat me to it.

“What the hell is going on?”

I panicked quickly getting up and moving away from Jimin. “Yoongi?” I practically yelled.

Shit.

author’s note: ahhh i really hope you guys liked it! I am not confident in my writing yet but i’m getting there! i wrote this after my relationship fell apart, and although I’m still getting over it, writing makes me feel so much better. 

[petersasteria]

Sidemen Imagine!

Pairing: None

Requested? Nope. 

This will only feature 4 of them, because I already made an imagine of Josh, Ethan, and Harry.

Have fun reading!

* * * *

You, Tobi, JJ, Vikk, and Simon were at your house. Everyone was either busy or out of town. Harry is in Guernsey, Josh is on a date with Freya, and Ethan is out on a vacation with his girlfriend. The rest wanted to hang out at your house for a change. Now, all of you are bored out of your minds. You decided to watch 'Into the Woods', because it gave you goosebumps and Anna Kendrick is your cousin. (a/n: Anna Kendrick asdfghjkl)

It was the part where the baker discovered that his wife was dead. You were preparing for the most complicated song throughout the film. Little did you know the boys were preparing too.

You were shocked when Simon began.

(a/n: play it now so that you're not confused about who's playing the part of who.)

Simon: *points at JJ* it's because of you there's a giant in our midst and my wife is dead!

JJ: *stands up dramatically* But it isn't my fault. I was given those beans. You persuaded me to trade away my cow for beans and without those beans there'd have been no stalk to get up to the giants in the first place!

Simon: *walks toward JJ* Wait a minute magic beans for a cow so old that you had to tell a lie to sell it which you told. Were they worthless beans? Were they over sold? Oh, and tell us who persuaded you to steal that gold!

*everyone including you stands up*

Tobi: See, it's your fault!

JJ: No!

Simon: Yes, it's your fault!

JJ: No!

Tobi: Yes it is!

JJ: It's not!

Simon: It's true.

JJ: Wait a minute, though. I only stole the gold to get my cow back from you! *pushes Simon*

Tobi: *looks at Simon* So, it's your fault!

JJ: Yes!

Simon: No, it isn't. I'd have kept those beans, but our house was cursed. She made us get a cow to get the curse reversed. *points at Vikk*

Vikk: *in character as Meryl Streep* It's his father's fault that the curse got placed and the place got cursed in the first place!

Tobi: *stands next to Vikk* Oh, then it's his fault.

Vikk: *turns to Tobi* So.

You: It was his fault.

JJ: No.

Simon: *looks down and thinks dramatically* Yes it is, It's his.

You: I guess.

JJ: *runs to the couch and stands on it* Wait a minute, though. I chopped down the beanstalk. Right, that's clear. But without any beanstalk, then what's queer is how did the second giant get down here in the first place? Second place?

You: Yes.

Tobi: How?

Simon: *in deep thought* Hmm...

JJ: Well, who had the other bean?

Simon: The other bean.

You: The other bean.

JJ: *goes down the couch and walks toward Simon* You pocketed the other bean!

Simon: I didn't. Yes, I did.

Tobi: *goes up to Simon* So, it's your fault!

Simon: No, it isn't 'cause I gave it to my wife!

Tobi: So, it's her fault!

Simon: No, it isn't!

You: Then whose is it?!

Simon: *stressed* Wait a minute! She exchanged that bean to obtain your shoe *points at you and walks toward you* so the one who knows what happened to the bean is you!

You: You mean that old bean....that your wife....oh dear! But I never knew and so I threw, well don't look here!

Tobi: So, it's your fault!

You: But--

JJ: See, it's her fault!

You: But--

JJ: *puts hands up in defense* And it isn't mine at all.

Simon: But what?

You: *turns to JJ and points at him* Well, if you hadn't gone back up again!

JJ: We were needy.

You: You were greedy. Did you need that hen?!

JJ: But I got it for my mother!

Tobi: So, it's her fault then! *sits on the couch*

You: Yes! And what about the harp in the third place?!

Simon: The harp, yes.

JJ: *turns to Tobi angrily* She went and dared me to!

Tobi: I dared you to?

JJ: You dared me to! She said that I was scared.

Tobi: Me?!

JJ: So she dared me!

Tobi: No I didn't!

You, JJ, and Simon: *points at Tobi* So it's your fault!

Tobi: *pushes past JJ whilst getting up from the couch* Wait a minute!

You: *you and Tobi face each other* If you hadn't dared him too...

Simon: *faces JJ and points at him* And you had left the harp alone...*in the background* we wouldn't be in trouble in the first place!

Tobi: *to you* Well, if you hadn't throw away the bean in the first place!

You: *turns to Vikk who was sitting quietly watching you all; amazed* If she hadn't raised them in the first place!

JJ: *points at Vikk* If you hadn't raised them in the first place!

You, JJ, Simon, and Tobi: *walk towards Vikk* If you hadn't raised them in the first place! It's your fault! You're responsible! You're the one to blame! It's your fault!

(a/n: here's part 2 play it now)

Vikk: *stands up* Shhh! *holds a little pillow like a baby and looks at it* It's the last midnight. It's the last wish. It's the last midnight. Soon, it will be boom squish. *looks at you guys* Told a little lie, *looks at JJ and walks to him* Stole a little gold, *looks at you* Broke a little vow. Did you...had to get your prince? *looks back at JJ* Had to get your cow? *looks at Simon* Had to get your wish? *hands him the fake baby* Doesn't matter how. Anyway, it doesn't matter now.

Vikk: It's the last midnight. It's the boom splat! *stays in the middle of the living room* Nothing but a vast midnight. Everybody smashed flat! *looks at all of you* Nothing we can do. Not exactly true. We could always give her the boy. *points at JJ* No, of course what really matters is the blame. Someone you can blame. Fine, if that's the thing you enjoy placing the blame. If that's the aim, give me the blame! Just give me the boy.

You, Tobi, Simon: *goes in front of JJ* No.

Vikk: *looks down* No. *looks up at you guys and fakes a smile* You're so nice. You're not good. You're not bad. You're just nice. I'm not good. I'm not nice. I'm just right. I'm the witch. You're the world! *leans on wall* I'm the hitch. I'm what no one believes. I'm the witch! *looks at Simon* You're all liars and thieves like *points at Simon* his father. Like, his son will be too. Oh, why bother?! You'll just do what you do!

Vikk: It's the last midnight! So goodbye all! *stands straight and waves goodbye* Coming at you fast midnight. *walks around* Soon you'll see the sky fall! *mocking tone* Here, you want a bean? *throws imaginary bean on the ground*

You: *picks it up*

Vikk: Have another bean! *throws bean*

JJ: *runs to pick it up*

Vikk: Beans were made for making you rich *throws another bean*

Tobi: *picks it up*

Vikk: Plant them and they soar. Here, you want some more? *throws bean after bean*

You, Tobi, JJ, and Simon: *picks up every bean as much as possible*

Vikk: Listen to the roar. Giants by the score. Oh, well you can blame another witch. *shrugs* It's the last midnight! It's the last verse! *stands in the middle of the living room again* Now before it's past midnight, I'm leaving you my last curse! *points at Simon* I'm leaving you alone! You can tend the garden it's yours. Separate and alone. Everybody down on all fours! *kneels down* *looks up at ceiling* *unleashes all anger that built up* Alright, mother, when? Lost the beans again! Punish me the way you did then! Give me claws *pretends hands are claws* and a hunch *points at all of you* just away from this bunch! And the gloom! And the doom! And the boom! Crunch! *sits on couch and sighs heavily*

You, Tobi, JJ, and Simon: *stares at Vikk*

JJ: Maybe I shouldn't have stolen from the giant... *sits next to Vikk*

Tobi: Maybe I shouldn't have strayed from the path... *sits on the other side of Vikk*

You: Maybe I shouldn't have attended the ball... *sits next to Tobi*

Simon: *hands you the fake baby and sits next to JJ* Yeah, well maybe you shouldn't have.

All of you looked at each other and laughed.

"I did not expect you guys to know those songs!" you laughed.

"We practiced it!" Vikk chuckled.

"Really?!" you were gobsmacked.

"Yeah! We knew you would put in that movie, so we had to at least know 1 or 2 songs to save you from being the only one singing." Tobi said.

"Mhm. Trust me, that shit is awkward once you finish a song that sang alone." Simon looked at you.

"Let's not tell everyone this happened, yeah?" JJ laughed.

"Definitely." you all laughed.

"I'm afraid that's too late. What the fuck was that?!" a voice boomed.

You all looked at the front door and saw Callux standing there.

"When did you get here?!" you shrieked.

"Did you see all of that?" JJ asked.

"Fuck yeah I did.  It was awesome! I came in just in time as well." Callux chuckled.

"Okay, but how did you get in here?" you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

"Oh. Your door was open." Callux said as he closed the door and sat down next to you.

"I'm alright with you knowing as long as you don't tell anyone." Vikk told Callux as he looked at him.

"Sure. In one condition." Callux smirked.

You all groaned.

"What?" Simon thrown his head back on the couch.

"I get to sing with you on the next song!" Callux smiled.

"Sure, but this movie is nearly done." you pointed out. It was already when they beat the giant and the whole "earthquake" thing is over.

"Aww. Well, Luxlike we're watching High School Musical." Callux said, sounding desperate as he crawled to the stack of DVDs and picked out High School Musical. After Into the Woods, Callux put in High School Musical.

He sat down next to you again and turned to all of you. "Alright bitches. I'll sing Sharpay's parts." he said.

"What? Why?! I wanna be Sharpay!" you pouted.

"Nope. I'm Sharpay." Callux shook his head.

"Why?" Tobi asked.

"Because I'm fabulous." Callux posed fiercely.

"Your Sammy days are over now, Cal. It's all about Kandy now." Simon chuckled.

"Shut the fuck up, Simon." Callux said to him. "Anyway, Y/N, you'll be Ryan. I'm excited! Let's all sing!" he clapped his hands excitedly whilst you all groaned.

* * * *

Lmao reblog if you liked it.

I accept requests.

Follow me for more if you enjoyed!

[trans-comrade]

Going to a Halloween party dressed as Alice from TMIW!! (Wearing what I normally wear out and just sitting in the corner)

[fapwordy-blog]

“Are you okay?”

This is an article for everyone. A fresh perspective for those who don’t understand, and hopefully, a comforting read for those who do.I’m sure that everybody has been asked how they’re doing, how their day has been, and what they’re up too. The generic questions everybody asks either genuinely, or simply politely. think of them as the “I probably care” starter kit.” Those are the beginner questions. Sooner or later, or in some cases right away, you will hear the, dreaded for some, question: Are you okay? Now, for some, this doesn’t mean anything. They might think “Why wouldn’t I be? life is good!” or on the opposite end of the spectrum, “It doesn’t matter, I know you don’t care regardless.” Then, there exists a middle ground. The people who aren’t sure how much you really care, they want nothing more than to be okay, but they’re not sure if they really are.Sound familiar? Truth is, that isn’t uncommon. You’ve probably felt that way a few times in your life, at least. Don’t worry about that, it’s normal. For now, I’m going to focus on that middle ground. The ones who don’t really know if they’re okay. I’m one of you. Lately, my life has taken a huge turn. The Woman I loved lost all feeling for me, I moved back to my home town, and began finding out once again in life, who my friends really are. I like to think that’s a lesson you’re never too old to learn. It’s been rough. Between people who I thought would be there for me disappearing, and coping with pain I had never felt to this extent, I was scared. I have always been the person that can handle these burdens. I had great friends, family, people to lean on, so whenever I was asked if I was okay, I would reply “Yes.”, because I was genuinely okay. You can be sad, and not be okay. Being sad, angry or upset, even disappointed,  doesn’t mean you aren’t okay.So then what is okay? That’s just as loaded a question as “Are you okay?”. I’m sure that everyone has their own definition of the being okay. Some might think as long as you have a roof over your head, and clothes on your back that you are okay. Others might say that as long as you aren’t fighting the urge to place the barrel of a gun in your mouth, then you’re okay. I think the raw definition is simply “To express satisfaction.” That can cover both those statements. I’m satisfied with having a roof over my head, and a revolver-free mouth everyday. who wouldn’t be at least satisfied with that? So, by definition, yes, I am satisfied, but I don’t feel okay. Why is that? Let me explain how I view the term “Being okay.”I’m sad. I am not happy. That has been a struggle in my life for years now. I don’t remember exactly when it started, but it isn’t new for me. For those of you who know me personally, or maybe know somebody who might have said that before, don’t panic. I’m not happy, but I can be. what does that mean? Everybody can be happy right? That’s a philosophy I don’t have enough life experience to argue yet. To figure this out, lets start with the difference of when I was happy, to now. When I was young I was happy. That’s common, yes, but it’s all I have. I’m not talking about generic happiness either, like being excited for holidays and having sleepovers. I’m referencing when you’re either alone with your thoughts, or when something unpleasant happens. What do you feel? A good example of this, comes from when I was about 4 or 5 years old. My great grandmother died, and understanding enough about death to know it was permanent, I was sad. Children don’t want that kind of change in their lives. Of course I felt sad, but underneath that, behind the “I don’t want this, I wish it was different.” thoughts I was having, I was happy. I still wanted to go play with my lego, and ride my bike, see my friends, Etc. When I was alone with my thoughts that day, I knew that I could still have fun. Not only could I have fun, but I wanted to. I had the urge to create fun, find fun, and share fun. I wanted to include someone in something I enjoyed.  Seems simple enough right? Now lets talk about a more recent example.Recently, I lost my best friend. She passed away from cystic fibrosis. There was nothing that anybody could do, she was so young. I miss her everyday. I remember getting the phone call from my brother, asking me to sit down. He asked me if I heard the news, and I hadn’t. Deep down I knew what he was going to say. She wasn’t doing well from her lung transplant, and she had an incurable illness, it was always a matter of time from the day she was born. So when she took a turn for the worse, I was always waiting for this exact phone call. We talked and I remember everybody being more broken than me. My girlfriend cried on my shoulder, my brother was in tears on the phone. What was I doing? comforting them. Of course I was sad, and I knew my life wouldn’t be the same. Another non-reversible change, just what I need. Not long after that, my girlfriend left to see her family, and my brother got off the phone. I’m all by myself. I remember being sad and sitting in my living room, and I realized that as sad as I am, this is good. there was a silver lining. She isn’t suffering, she isn’t hurting anymore. I know that sounds so generic and people just say it about every loss of life, along with they’re in a better place, but once you see enough death, that starts to actually make sense. She was not in pain. and that comforted me. I remember playing some videogames that day, sad, but I wanted to feel joy. I knew I would be sad about this for a long time, and I will always miss her, but I didn’t want to change my life. I wanted to keep trying. I was okay. Now, each of those examples I was okay. Have I answered what okay is with just those two examples? Most likely not. So I’ll give you one more. When I was not okay. When my girlfriend and I broke up, I had some great people in my life. my family helped me move and gave me a place to stay before I found something, and my friends we’re really looking out for me. They were asking me everyday if I needed anything, trying to keep me busy, occupy my mind with distractions. They were doing everything right. It was the hardest thing I’ve had to go through, having the one person you loved, and trusted not to hurt you, stop loving you and hurt you instead. I was sad, but thought “with all of these people, I’ll be okay.”I was wrong.I started leaning on them too much. I started just being distracted from my problem instead of dealing with it. Everyone thought I was making progress. Then I crashed. I was alone, my best friends were busy, and I didn’t live at home. I was by myself. It was around midnight when my mind went into overdrive thinking about the whole situation. I broke. I found out that the person I’m still head over heels for is already moved on. She’s got her eyes on someone else. Now let me tell you something, I’ve had friends make plans without me intentionally, and my mother even forgot me at home once when she was taking my sister to school. I have never felt left behind until the moment I realized she was chasing someone else. Never in my life have I felt so far behind every single human being on the planet, like all my life experiences aren’t enough to handle this, like nothing is alright. I felt sick. I felt ugly, and unwanted, and worthless. This was a much different feeling than I had ever felt before. I have felt all of those before, growing up being bullied and excluded from things, it wasn’t a new concept to feel sad and ugly and unwanted. This was different. I’m not sure why, maybe it was because I was 22, so I thought I was grown up enough to know people can be awful, so it’s okay as long as I’m loved by the right ones. Maybe I just got too comfortable having something I never had before, which was someone who truly loved me for me. I didn’t know how to handle this feeling. I couldn’t stand for a few minutes. I was broken. That night I ended up walking to my friends house at 2 am, and he was there for me. I wasn’t alone. I knew though, that this is the moment where you are either okay, or you are not. It wasn’t a question of “Are you okay RIGHT NOW?” Either. I knew this would last. This is what makes you or breaks you. and it broke me. I stopped eating, I stopped talking to people, and I stopped caring. Nothing mattered to me anymore. I tried playing my guitar or writing music, and couldn’t get her off my mind. I picked up a controller and turned on my playstation and shut it off after ten minutes. I went for walks just to turn back around, go home, and lay down on  my bed. People were inviting me over and I didn’t want to reply. sometimes they couldn’t even get me out of my room. I barricaded my door with my unpacked boxes of stuff from the move home. I knew it would worry them and I didn’t care. I became bitter. I was angry at the world. at myself, at her, at everything. I knew I loved the people that were there for me, and yet every time someone texted me I just wanted them to leave me alone. I remember getting out of the shower, and looking at myself in the mirror. I stared for about 5 min trying to asses what was wrong with me. What did I do wrong, do I deserve this for some reason? I couldn’t find anything except for unjustified self loathing. I slammed my hands on the bathroom counter, and tears in my eyes, shouted “I dont want to be in my own fucking skin.”. That hurt. I have had those feelings before, wishing to be someone else, but this was the first time that feeling had changed as well. I didn’t want to be in my own skin, but I didn’t have a single person I wished to trade places with.  I didn’t want to kill myself, I wasn’t suicidal, but I didn’t want to feel. I didn’t want to experience anything, I didn’t want to be anyone. or anything. I didn’t want to not exist, I wanted to see the ones I love grow and be happy, but I didn’t want to do it from my own being. I’m not sure I can explain it any better than that. I didn’t want a single person to feel what I felt, so I distanced them from it. from myself. I kept them just close enough to try and ease their minds and would push anyone who got closer. I was not okay. I not only stopped finding joy in the things I loved before, but I stopped caring to get it back. I was okay with never feeling happy with that again. If I never picked up another guitar again, I was fine with that. I was okay if I never found another lover again. I was fine if I never did a single thing. I just wanted to feel better. I could have given away everything I owned, sat down in an empty room, and as long as I didn’t feel the way I did, that would be okay. I would be okay with that. I started telling myself, I would be happy to just feel okay. Im good at feeling sad, I can handle it. I’m good at feeling alone, I can handle it. I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I wanted to be okay. I wanted to find joy in something, even the smallest thing. I even stopped listening to music, I didn’t care anymore. I would be more than happy to just feel okay. It’s been months since that happened. I Started trying harder to include myself in new things, experience new change, and accept what happens. I started letting people in, and gained some amazing new friends.  I am now okay. This break up seems to be getting a second wind, and it’s on my mind all the time now. It doesn’t hurt the way it did before, and I can still find comfort in the things I enjoy, and I always want to share that with the people I’m close with. I wake up feeling sad, lonely and upset about it. I even have my moments where I feel worthless, unloved and unwanted. I can’t be alright all the time, and nobody should be, but the difference is, when I wake up and I’m not quite myself, I’m upset and dwelling on something, when someones asks me if I’m okay, I can say yes. right now, although I’m sad and struggling, I am okay. Everyone has a different process for dealing with things, and every situation is different. So for anyone who is not okay, I feel for you. I understand the feeling. hang in there. The best advice I have is to accept new changes. Nothing can stay the same forever, and when you learn to accept new changes in life, your perspective changes. That could be just me, but It has really helped me be okay. I hope it does for you too.