#i feel like this should have a tw but i really don’t know

[sylvesterelle]

Meditations in an Emergency

Reader/Simon "Ghost" Riley/John "Soap" MacTavish

“Like it feels so good to get and give a compliment and we should normalize doing it more often. Strangers reaching out across the great abyss for a moment of connection,” you say, leaning back and gesturing broadly. “Ships passing in the night with naught but a toot-toot of mutual appreciation.”

“I don’t think that’s how the shipping industry works.” Or: How to live well and get railed through the power of compliments.

Part 1 of 2, 5,857 words, mature, tw: alcohol, cannabis

Read on A03

"I am the least difficult of men. All I want is boundless love. "

Frank O'Hara, "Meditations in an Emergency"

“I just think people should compliment each other more, that’s all,” you declare, biting the cherry off plastic sword that Kat, the bartender, had stuck in your Dirty Shirley. “Like we think these things all the time. Her scarf is pretty, or that guy’s got a cool haircut or whatever. We notice them, we think about them, but so rarely do we say it, you know?  Even though being complimented is the best,” you say emphatically, using the tiny sword to punctuate your words.

Kat nods and gives you a second cherry, because Kat is good people. Kat serves you doubles while charging for singles and listens to you ramble and lets you spread your notebooks and laptop on the bar when it’s slow, like tonight.

It’s early on a Friday evening which means you’re supposed to be writing. You pay the bills as a researcher and ghostwriter during the week and you like it, you do—the flexibility to work strange hours, typing late into the night, remote so you write wherever you want like coffee shops and cocktail bars and anywhere noisy enough to drown out the more distracting of your thoughts.  But you spend so much time devoted to other people’s work that you promised yourself you’d set weekends aside to work on your own ideas.

Easier said than done, when there isn’t a irate publisher on the other end setting deadlines and demanding pages. And the problem with your own ideas is that you just have so many of them; find it hard to devote yourself to one without getting distracted by another, a graveyard of drafts in various states of completion littering your hard-drive.

But routine helped, so there you’ve sat every Friday night for almost two months—even if you’ve spent proportionally less time writing than people-watching and sweet-talking Kat into making you interesting drinks off-menu (“This is a dive bar,” she’s told you more than once. “We don’t even a menu to be off of.”)

It’s not not part of your writing process, you reason. You’re a firm believer that life is stranger than fiction, and many of your best ideas have come from observations and unusual interactions. It’s what got you started on the importance of compliments in the first place, after all.

“I just think we should be more intentional about finding joy in each other. For example, what would you say, darling Kat,” you begin, batting your eyes at her sweetly, “if I told you that you look fucking incredible now and always, you’re so hot it gives me hives if I look at you straight on, and more specifically that little curl that’s coming out of your ponytail is particularly fetching and I like it a lot?”

Kat rolls her eyes, which is as good as a smile. “I would say you should slow down on the Shirleys,” she says long-sufferingly.

You wouldn’t say the two of you were friends, not really, but there was a familiarity and ease in the relationship now that warmed you. You’d met her your very first night, taking your normal ramble to learn a new town, begin to make sense of its curves and corners and spirit and mentally mark interesting places to return to. The neighborhood you’d found an apartment in wasn’t the best, but it was furnished and month-to-month and good enough for you. Best of all, you had only needed to wander in the snow a couple blocks before you’d struck gold; drawn like a moth where a plain, unmarked door had opened, spilling warm light and the sounds of overlapping laughter into the night. 

Inside it really was a dive, all sticky floors and old dollar bills pinned to the ceiling, a jukebox that took dimes and a blonde bombshell behind the counter who served with a decided lack of smile. But a week of you showing up and chattering at her had cracked that icy shell enough to get a name and a few raised eyebrows instead of complete silence. By the time you’d earned your discount as a regular around the third week, she would venture to occasionally comment on your more interesting trains of thought, offer some searing observations and insights of her own if she was in a good mood.

A couple more weeks, and you knew her well enough to bring a second iced coffee with you when you arrived for the evening, Kat already pulling a bottle of Irish cream from the well as you removed the lids in a dance that had become comforting in its routine.

Yours sat mostly untouched, abandoned in favor of the syrupy-sweet mess Kat had waiting for you, while Kat slurps the last of her own, one hip propped against the other side of the bar as she issues her verdict on your…unique compliment.

“I don’t know if I’d particularly appreciate a stranger saying that to me. Don’t want strangers saying anything to me, really,” she frowns, “but particularly the bit about the hives.”

“Okay, I might have gone too hard out the gate with that one,” you admit. “More importantly, I think you might be in the wrong profession for strangers not talking to you.”

She flips you off, heading to where two regulars had slipped into place at the other end of the bar. It was still early enough in the night that the place was mostly empty, only a few singles and two-tops stopping for an after-shift drink, giving you and Kat plenty of time to talk. It’d get rowdy enough later on, the voices louder, the jukebox queue a little more violent—but you’d found that among the chaos was often when you did your best writing.

“Hives aside, you know what I mean though, right?” you continue when Kat returns. “Like it feels so good to get and give a compliment and we should normalize doing it more often. Strangers reaching out across the great abyss for a moment of connection,” you say, leaning back and gesturing broadly. “Ships passing in the night with naught but a toot-toot of mutual appreciation.”

“I don’t think that’s how the shipping industry works.”

You ignore this, already imagining renting a sailboat somewhere sunny, tropical. “I always thought it’d be fun to be a sailor,” you say dreamily. “Kerouac was a Merchant Marine, did you know?"

Kat makes a face.

“What, you didn’t like the book?” You’d loaned her a copy of The Dharma Bums the week before, slim and beloved enough that you carried it with you instead of getting it from the local library, like you normally did. You had a collection of library cards now, rattling around in an old Altoid tin—the only souvenirs you kept from all the various cities you’d visited in your travels.

“It was fine. Good, even, if you’re into that sort of thing,” she said, swirling her coffee around. “He’s just so fucking mopey. I wanted to shake him, like c’mon man, you need to stop thinking about your life and actually fucking live it.” It was the most animated Kat got, which was just slightly more expressive than usual—eyes narrowed a little further, three degrees more derision in her tone.

Kat preferred nonfiction. History. Facts. Still read everything you recommended, but rarely had finished one where she didn’t get frustrated with protagonists making dumb decisions or whining about their life choices. And while some of the books she recommended to you were a little dry at times, they were certainly interesting—and the last one about organ harvesting had been surprisingly catalytic for story ideas.

You shrug, acknowledging the point. She’s not wrong, but you tended to live most of your life in your own head and your own worlds, so it didn’t bother you in quite the same way. Although, now that she mentions it…“You know, that’s kind of my earlier point actually, giving someone a compliment is like the ultimate shortcut to living outside your head. You’re not all wrapped up in your own issues and thoughts, but appreciating something around you. Even if you don’t say it—which you should—it means you’re paying attention. Noticing.”

You drain the last of your Shirley, swapping it out for the iced coffee and swirling around the diluted ice. “Proposal: we make a game of it, tonight. We notice.” It wouldn’t be that different from what you and Kat normally did; sharing little observations on other patrons, trading theories on this person’s job or that person’s backstory. They’d just be a little more…intentional about it. "Keep your eye out for any interesting hats or weird pins or extremely sexy noses and come tell me. That way we can both enjoy it,” you conclude, clasping your hands together.

You knew better than to suggest Kat actually compliment anyone; you were optimistic, not delusional.     

“What constitutes an extremely sexy nose?”

“Oh Kat, that’s something you feel in your heart,” you shake your head pityingly.

She rolls her eyes and heads to the other end of the bar where a nicely-dressed couple are sinking uncertainly onto the cracked vinyl stools, looking around like they might be feeling a little out of place. You meet the woman’s gaze, smiling broadly. “I love your dress,” you say, and feel the joy of her blush bubble sweet and bright in your veins.

..........

You pride yourself on having a lot of good ideas, but this is one of your best. You get more writing than usual done, unusually productive while riding the high of giving out compliments left and right. Not so many that it feels insincere and never any you don’t mean. But Baader–Meinhof was a real sonofabitch because it’s true that the more you look, the more you see to appreciate. 

Like Bobby, the union electrician with his first name embroidered on the pocket of his work-shirt. It caught your eye because it wasn’t machine-printed but carefully done by hand, illuminated when he leaned over to order a Schlitz. His wife’s work, he shares when you comment on it. She’s paid special for her embroidery, but still makes time to do his name on all his shirts, “so I can carry her love around all day,” he tells you, unabashed even when his friends tease him good-naturedly.

Then there was the lady whose cheetah-print nails matched her furry coat, who winked at you when she caught you looking admiringly from across the bar. Right after her was the burly biker who sat down to show you a Halloween photoshoot of his toy poodle when you complimented the cute photo on his lockscreen. Others in between, some you spoke to, some you didn’t—but all you appreciated in a way you vowed to do more in the future.

Inevitably, little bits of what you observe throughout the night trickle onto the page, helping flesh out bits of characters and sparking ideas you jot down for later. You wouldn’t know until later if you’d end up keeping any of it, but it’s a nice thought to know you’ll always have some part of this moment—the people, the place, the time—woven into your story. A little souvenir in-and-of-itself.

Though the night gets progressively busier, Kat swings by from time to time to share her observations: money fished from strange locations, custom bank cards, or funny pins she got close enough to read when customers leaned over the bar to shout their orders over the sounds of the music—partially your fault, after you complimented an old geezer’s song choice and spent twenty minutes with him combing through the catalogue and cackling as you fed dime after dime, queuing enough dad-rock to last a fair few hours.

All told, you’re feeling fucking incredible as it nears midnight and the synth solo from Toto’s “Rosanna,” has you wiggling in your seat. You’ve a few thousand words under your belt and the high off of all those little moments of kinship is making you feel sparkling and happy and well, which—historically speaking—is sometimes a challenge for you.

You grin at Kat when she slumps next to you, enjoying a brief reprieve from new customers.

“Whatcha got for me, killer?” you ask, fishing in your bag for a granola bar for her. She takes it with a grateful look, shoving half of it in her mouth and talking as she chews.

“You’re gonna fucking love this. A mohawk, dude. In 2024.”

You perk up, looking around the room. It was pretty packed now, but you couldn’t believe you’d missed a cut that attention-getting. “Liberty spikes?” you confirm. You adored the punks of your acquaintance; always had interesting thoughts and insider tips on the local music scene.

Kat shakes her head. “Nah, it was cut short. Gym rat type, I think. Good tip, nice accent.  Scottish,” she clarifies while inhaling the last of the granola bar. “Talked some shit about the ‘natural supremacy of whisky over bourbon’ when he ordered a Maker’s for his friend.”

You hum, still craning your head. “See where they sat?”

She shakes her head. “Asked about smoking though, so probably on the patio.”

Calling it a patio was generous—a small bit of grass with a couple plastic chairs and an ashtray, mostly. But there was a heat-lamp that worked roughly sixty percent of the time, which made the bar very popular with those in the know on cold nights like this.

“Speaking of, ‘bout time to take your break?”

If it wasn’t too busy, Frank, the doorman, often agreed to watch the bar while you and Kat split a joint in the back, sitting in companionable silence and pointing out shooting stars and passing satellites—clear skies a benefit of the city’s frigid nights. Kat knew a startling amount about astronomy but nothing about astrology; could tell you the history of the visible universe up to the surface of last scattering, but just blinked at you when you had asked if she was a Scorpio or a Capricorn.

Kat checks the clock then whistles to get Frank’s attention while you shove your laptop into your bag. You don’t bother with your coat—your cheeks are flushed the warmth of the crowded room and you don’t mind the cold, not really. 

The patio looks abandoned, silent but for the wet sound of car tires moving through the snow-choked alley. Not totally surprising; most balk at below-zero temps even with the lamp. Snow clumps heavy and wet on top of the plastic chairs and overturned garbage pail that serves as a footrest but the air is crisp and clear, a thousand tiny pinpricks of light visible in the heavens. You breathe in the cold, night air and feel clean and sweet and cracked open wide, just pouring out love into the world.

Movement in your periphery catches your eye and oh, Kat was right, not a punk at all.

You’re not quite sure what to make of the two men standing half-shadowed near the lamp. Big is the first word that comes to mind and perhaps that’s sufficient for now, since you can’t seem to stop looking at the breadth of their shoulders and the curve of those strong thighs long enough to notice anything else. Kat had thought gym-rat but you’d put money on those bodies not just being for show—there was too much power, too much potential for carnage disguised in the plush softness that comes from muscles in repose.

“Why hullo there, barkeep,” the man with a shaggy, soft-looking mohawk greets Kat jovially, the Scottish accent just as charming as promised. “And barkeep’s friend,” he says, nodding to you as you come close enough to finally get a good look at his face. To latch on to details like the too-blue shade of his eyes and the too-sharp canines in his smile, the silvery-white starburst of a scar across his chin.

“Christ you’re pretty,” you hear yourself say. This happens sometimes, your mouth just venturing off on its own to get you into trouble.

Kat groans, used to it, as the man laughs warmly. “Funny, I was just thinking the same thing,” he purrs, propping the lit cigarette between his lips and sticking out a hand. His palm is warm and callused against your own as you properly introduce Kat and yourself.

“I’m Soap, this here’s Ghost,” the man offers in turn, nodding towards his friend who steps forward, murmuring a quiet greeting. He’s enough in the light now to reveal dark eyes shadowed under a hood, a skull-print mask balaclava pushed up far enough to accommodate a lit cigarette.

“Fuck me, that’s cool as shit,” you grin at him, immediately charmed by the weirdness of it all.

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” the man says affably, his voice a rumble deep in his chest. He doesn’t smile but there’s a little twist of his mouth that could be amused, if you squint.

“Jesus Christ,” Kat mutters next to you, eyes shutting briefly in second-hand embarrassment. “She’s on a mission about compliments tonight, noticing people,” she explains with bemused emphasis as she clears off the chairs and kicks snow off the garbage can.

“I just think it’s important to be more open with our affection, even with strangers. Especially with strangers,” you argue, dropping into one of the seats and pulling out the battered Altoid tin that holds your stash and a few pre-rolled joints. “Will this bother you?” you ask the men, holding up the joint.

They shake their heads, amused.

“Good, because it’s my fucking bar,” Kat snorts, grabbing it from your fingers and dropping into the chair next to you.

“What, you own this place?” you say, flabbergasted. “And you never told me?”

Kat holds the joint in her mouth and cups a hand around her lighter, coaxing it to life despite the wind. She takes a deep drag, tilting her head up before releasing a thick cloud of smoke into the air.

It looks wicked cool until she collapses in half, coughing a little desperately on the tail end of the exhale. You can’t fucking blame her; you’d bought it off your teenage neighbor, a science prodigy who claimed to have developed the perfect strain. Ivy League, he called it, since it had paid for his entire college fund.

Kat straightens up, red face feigning composure as she passes you the joint. “You never asked,” she finally says.

And that was just…well, fair, actually.

“Huh,” you say, trying futilely not to cough on your own exhale and kissing away any dreams you had of looking cool in front of all the fashion models around you. “You know, I did wonder when you’d ever get in trouble with your boss about the free drinks thing. And the drinking on the job thing. And the this on the job thing,” you say, frowning as you contemplate the joint.

You offer it up to the men and Soap takes it, your hands brushing long enough to send a little fizz through your blood.

“You’ve known each other long, then?” Soap asks, taking a puff. Turning a vibrant shade of red as he heroically--and futilely--tries to hold in a cough.

“Oh, we go waaaaay back,” you tell them very sincerely. “I helped her bury the body of her ex-husband years ago, a mafioso named Jimmy the Janitor because he cleaned up, if you know what I mean.”

“I met you two months ago. And I’m a lesbian,” Kat contradicts blandly.

“I didn’t know that, either!” you exclaim, smacking her in the shoulder. “What the fuck, dude, I would have been flirting with you from the start.”

“You’re not my type,” she says devastating, and Ghost snorts when you mime stabbing yourself in the heart dramatically. The joint glows red between his full lips, crossed with scars that shine silvery in the moonlight and trail up beyond his mask. Exhales in one long, smooth breath and looks suitably smug about it, the fucker.

“I do seem to remember you saying something earlier about me being ‘so hot I give you hives.’” Kat reminds you. “You telling me that wasn’t flirting?” she asks with an arched brow.

“Nah, that’s just being neighborly,” you beam.

“Then I shudder to think what your flirting does look like.”

“That’s the appropriate response, honestly.”

Ghost barks out a laugh and you shoot him a cheeky wink before turning back to Kat. “Alright killer, gimmie the goods then. What is your type?” you prod her with your foot. “Is it a black cat, golden retriever thing? I can bark, babe, just say the word.”  

Soap damn near chokes on his drink but Kat just sighs, sounding more fond than exasperated. She takes the joint and leans in, bringing your faces only a few inches apart. You watch, riveted, as she brings it to her cherry-red lips and inhales deeply. Holding your gaze, she leans ever so slightly closer, the moment stretching into eternity before she blows a slow, deliberate cloud of smoke directly into your face. You touch your mouth absently, wonder if you might be drooling.

“MILFs,” she says finally, devastatingly, before tucking the joint between your fingers and heading back inside—as good as a kiss on the mouth from anyone else.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” Soap's voice is rough and low as the door closes behind Kat.

“You’re telling me, pal,” you say, sinking comically in your chair. “I think she broke me.” You’d already been drunk off the night’s joy but now you felt lightheaded with desire, literally dizzy with it.

This is not an uncommon response to Kat, you suppose. Nor, you expect, to the pretty lads that remain.

You summon your forces and sit back upright, kicking over the newly empty chair over in offering. Ghost takes it, the plastic frame creaking under his bulk while Soap drops down on the garbage can, resting his elbows on jean-clad knees. You pass around the rest of the joint in companionable silence, and it’s just…nice, all of it. The cold at your back and the heat of the lamp on your face, the fading alcohol buzz replaced by the sweeter, steadier high of the weed, always better at gentling your nerves and clearing your head. The easy camaraderie of smokers cast out into the cold, the same thing in almost every city and country you’d ever seen. You smile, thinking back on all those shared lighters and bummed cigarettes over the years. All those ships passing in the night.

“Getting’ us a refill,” Soap finally says, standing up and snagging Ghost’s empty glass, hooking their fingers together briefly in the action. You note it and immediately drop the thought, scalded. Know you will literally, actually combust if let your brain run-rabbit imagining the two of them together. All that muscle, all that strength, curved around each other, curved around you…

“What’ll it be, bonnie?” Soap’s warm voice snaps you out of your reverie and you flush, sure from his smirk that he can read the direction of your thoughts. You were legendarily bad at poker—couldn’t keep a neutral expression if they paid you to.

“Dealer’s choice, please and thank you,” you grin at him despite your embarrassment; turning down a free drink was against your moral code.  

He gives you that shark-like smile again and Ghost tsks as he heads inside. “You’ll probably regret that, birdie. Johnny’s got atrocious taste.”

“Aye can fucking hear you, you Manc twat,” Soap calls from the door, a little extra Scottish in his snark. Ghost chuckles lowly, stretching his feet out into your space.

“It’s Manchester then, our kid?” you tease, kicking your foot playfully against his combat boot. Leaving it there when he lets you. “Whose your fighter then, Liam or Noel?”

He thinks for a moment. “Liam. I like his spunk.”

“’A man with a fork in a world of soup,’” you quote, nodding approvingly. “I get that.”

You toy with the Altoids tin and debate lighting up another one.

Ghost fishes a pouch of rolling tobacco out of the kangaroo pocket of black hoodie and holds it up, raising an eyebrow. “Clever boy,” you praise, and he leans forward to pass it to you, pale hands dwarfing your own. When he settles back in his chair, he tangles his feet with yours properly and you feel the blush rise on your cheeks.

You prep the blunt in a practiced motion, balancing the tin on your knees as you sprinkle the peaty tobacco overtop the flower. “I’ve always been more of a Blur over Oasis fella, myself,” you finally offer to distract from the weight of his gaze. “Damon Alburn, the man you are,” you say fervently.

“Oi, we talking about the Gorillaz then?” Soap calls out, juggling glasses as the door closes behind him, muffling the chatter from inside.  “Fucking choon after choon, them,” he declares, dropping back onto the pail.

He passes Ghost a rocks glass filled with an inch of amber that matches his own, gaze locked on where your tongue runs across the filter paper, wetting it. He trades you the finished smoke for a glass with something alarmingly orange in it, another plastic sword stuck with three cherries laid across the top.

You sniff skeptically, all sweet and citrusy and strong. “This must be off-menu.”

“Dive bar innit, no menu to be off of,” Soap points out, and you smile at the familiar response.

You take a curious sip, looking up in surprise when you taste a bright splash of orange and vanilla across your tongue. “That’s fucking incredible,” you say, eyes wide. “What is it and why haven’t I been having it all night?”

Soap grins at you, looking suspiciously pleased with himself. “Had a feeling you were a lass that enjoyed a slow, comfortable screw against the wall.”

Ghost groans, and you squint suspiciously at Soap. “Who doesn’t, what’s that got to do with my drink?”

Soap laughs, delighted. “That’s the name of the drink, bonnie. A Slow Comfortable Screw Against The Wall,” he says with emphasis.

Ah. Well. That’s—oh, motherfucker. “Does Kat know that?” She’s probably laughing her ass off at you inside, the sadist.

“Oh, aye. She seemed amused. Though she made an unnerving amount of eye contact while stabbing the wee cherries,” he says, eying the garnish. “Scariest fucking thing I’ve seen in a minute. Rather like someone we know, actually,” he says, giving Ghost a wry look.

Soap pulls out his own lighter to coax the blunt to life, a battered bic with his name scrawled in thick, Sharpied letters. He lets out a pleased sigh as the smoke curls through the cold air, then leans forward to rest his elbows back on his knees.

“Now, as for why you weren’t getting it slow, comfortable or otherwise before now I couldn’t say,” he says, blue eyes glinting with mischief when they light on yours. “But I think I speak for both of us when I say we’re more than happy to provide for the rest of the night. Isn’t that right L.T.?”  

“Right enough there, Johnny.” Ghost’s voice is closer to a growl, setting off a delightful curl of heat in your belly.

You nibble on your straw as if their attention wasn’t going straight to your head, twice as intoxicating as the drink or the drugs. “You know what they say about variety and spice of life, though. Might get bored with just a screw against the wall. Got any thoughts on horizontal surfaces?” you tease, enjoying the way Ghost smirks around the blunt.

But oh, is that a dimple you suddenly see carving out of one scarred cheek? Before you’re even conscious of it you’re leaning in to get a closer look, propping one hand on his knee. “I adore your dimple,” you tell him very seriously, undoing any hope you had of appearing cool and hard-to-get. “It is very cute.”

You give him a businesslike pat on the thigh and start to pull away, but he catches you gently around the wrist.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he purrs, petting over the soft skin of your wrist. You try to play your delighted shiver off as one of chill. “We’ll keep you plenty entertained, don’t you worry about that. Bored is the last thing you’ll be, right, Johnny?” Ghost squeezes gently before releasing you.

“Oh, I fuckin’ swear to it, L.T,” Soap says, winking at the other man before unfolding his big bulk from the garbage can. “We’ll give you what need, bonnie, promise. Starting with this.” Then he’s got an arm around your waist and you’re in the fucking air and—

Oh, that’s not so bad, actually.

Soap sinks into the lawn chair and settles you across his lap, surrounding you with delicious warmth and a scent like peat and sea air. Your brain goes a bit soft and cottony for a moment and you latch on to the gentle pressure of his arms. Manhandling has always been a shortcut to your most devastated self, the kind of stupid and sweet and sated that you’ve only found once or twice through chemistry or luck or sheer fucking determination, and it bodes very well for the night to come.

Besides, for all he wears only a bomber jacket, the Scotsman is radiating heat like a furnace and it’s the perfect sensory foil to the plummeting temperatures, a few clouds beginning to fleck the sky.

“Saw you shiver. Couldn’t let our girl be cold now can I?” Soap says, chucking you under the chin like a kid. Should be stupid but you fucking like it, can’t help but smile up at him. Can’t remember the last time someone treated you so sweet, like you were something to protect. To treasure.

Ghost’s eyes are fond on the both of you, reaching out to trap Soap’s feet the same way he had yours a few moments before, big hand reaching out to cup possessively around your knee.

There’s no reason it should be as easy as it is, getting all wrapped up in each other as the night stretches on and the clouds continue to gather, chatting quietly and smoking through the rest of the blunt and finishing your drinks just as the first fat, fluffy flakes of snow begin to fall.

You watch, delighted, as it comes down in a sudden flurry, a magical, glimmering coat that turns the world into one whole thing. Untouched and perfect and silent except for the tides of your breath and the slight hum of the heat lamp, small sounds within a vast, quiet night.

You sigh in Soap’s arms, totally and unexpectedly content, luxuriating in the way your blood hums in anticipation of the night’s inevitable conclusion.  

People asked if you got lonely, sometimes, travelling the way you did. Never staying anywhere for more than a few months, only occasionally breezing through past towns for a few effusive, loved-up reunions before the wind starts pressing at your back.  

And though it’s true you’ve been seeking a place of your own, a place where you could belong, this, too, means something. To have these beautiful, fleeting moments of connection with once-strangers, to lose yourself completely in the headiness of such quick intimacies, no less passionate or kind or devastating for their brief duration. All those countless moments of connection—romantic, physical, platonic—coalescing into a kind of soft sweetness to hold on to long after you’ve forgotten a name or had a face grow fuzzy with memory.

All of that sweetness is swirling inside you as you nudge Soap’s chin with your head, drawing his attention from where he’d been conversing softly with Ghost, his hand petting gently, absently, along your waist.

“Take me home?” you ask softly, and his eyes melt at the question, his hand coming up to thumb a little desperately at your mouth.

“Oh, the Cap’n would love that,” Ghost snorts. “Fall arse over tits over a sweet thing like you walking through the door.”

“My home,” you clarify, though you’re not opposed—especially if their friend (captain?) looks anything like them. “I live like four blocks that way,” you say, chucking a thumb over your shoulder.

“Well why didn’t you say so, darlin’,” Soap says, standing up and dumping you on your feet. Before you can be too offended, he grabs your chin and presses his lips firmly against yours, searing hot and leaving you breathless when he pulls away. You look up at him a little dazed and he pets his thumb across your chin, grinning. “Ghost is right. Too sweet for your own good, bonnie. T’wouldn’t be right for us to let you walk home alone, sweet thing like you. Not in neighborhood like this.”

“Au contraire mon frère, I’m fast as shit,” you tell him. This occasionally happened when you got crossfaded in particularly the right way—went tearing off down the darkened street, drunk on the feeling of wind against your face and your heart hammering in your chest. Feeling like you could fucking fly. “No bad guy’s gonna catch me, no way.”

“That right, little rabbit?” Ghost moves as silent as his name, a sudden warmth at your back without you even noticing he left his chair. He curves that big body around you, nipping at the soft skin at your neck and caging you in against the firmness of Johnny’s chest. “Gonna let us chase you?” he teases.

The thought sends goosebumps rising along your arms. To be wanted, to be chased, to be caught. You shiver again and Ghost groans when you lean back against him, tipping your head back to nip at his jaw in return. “Home. Now,” he commands lowly, pulling down his mask.

You can’t help your shit-eating grin as you tug them both through the door and through the thinning, late-night crowd to collect your long-abandoned things from the bar.

Kat eyes the three of you suspiciously. “If I find cum anywhere on that fucking patio I will have your balls in a bear trap,” she threatens.

“No promises,” you wink at her, laughing as she flips you off. You shrug on your coat and pick up your bag, but Ghost immediately appropriates it, slinging it over a shoulder. Ignores your amused tug on the strap, already looking over your head presumably to plot the swiftest exit.

“Don’t wait up, babe!” you say, blowing a kiss to Kat as Ghost tows you and Soap toward the door.

“Call me if you need help burying the bodies,” Kat offers in response, and you cackle at the uncertain looks the late-night crowd shoots you both.

And then it’s just the three of you and the cold and the night, pressed together like you’re one body in the snow-crowned streets. 

[benispunk]

Who's That Girl?

Chapter 13: Broken-Hearted

Wade finally meets up with Vanessa and realises she moved on. Some pills are just harder to swallow.

logan howlett x reader

TW: language, D&W.

A/N: hey everyone!!! so...hope you're not too mad at me with the previous chapter...and that you will not be more mad with this one...you know, sometimes everyone needs to be a little sad to feel better the next day. and I'll guarantee you that. this chapter is focused on wade BUT it still helps our hopelessly devoted lovebirds...enjoy!!

→ this fic is inspired by the TV Show New Girl, Wade and Logan aren't Deadpool and Wolverine (no powers/mutant gene etc) but I did take most of their character traits and storyline!!

Masterlist /Previous Part

The apartment was quiet, save for the soft rustling of papers. Y/N and Logan sat across from each other at the dining table, grading papers from their respective schools. It was a normal night, the kind they’d had countless times before, but there was a palpable weight in the air tonight. Logan hadn’t been himself for days now, distant in ways Y/N couldn’t quite explain.

She tried to focus on her grading, but her gaze kept drifting to Logan. He was here, physically, but it was like his mind was somewhere else. She could feel it, the space between them growing despite them sitting so close.

She cleared her throat, breaking the silence. "Logan, are you... okay?"

Logan didn’t look up right away. "Just need to focus," he muttered, his voice a little more tense than usual. His eyes flickered to hers for just a second, but it wasn’t the same warm look she was used to. "Sorry."

Before she could respond, a buzzing sound sliced through the quiet—Wade’s phone. Y/N watched as Wade appeared in the doorway, holding his phone tightly in his hand. He looked like he’d just been hit with a tidal wave of emotions, his eyes wide and his breathing shallow.

"She messaged me," Wade said in a rush, his voice a mix of panic and excitement. "Vanessa, she wants to meet. She wants to catch up, I—I don’t know, it’s been so long."

He was talking faster now, words spilling out in a jumble as he paced back and forth, phone still clenched in his hand. "What if she just wants to catch up? What if—what if she’s moved on and wants to be friends, or what if she wants more? I don’t even know what I want, or what she wants. What if she’s with someone? What if she just—" Wade stopped, clearly on the edge. "I don’t even know what I’m doing. I’m freaking out here."

Y/N was quick to move in, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him. "Wade, slow down. It’s okay. Just breathe."

Logan, having watched the whole exchange, now stood from his chair. His voice was low, but firm, like he was trying to help ground Wade. "Is this what you want? To meet her?"

Wade stopped pacing, but his eyes darted to Logan, confusion and anxiety swirling in them. He opened his mouth, then closed it, not knowing how to answer. "I don’t know. I—I don’t even know if I should. But she said... she said she didn’t like how we left things. Maybe it’s just for closure? I don't know."

He shook his head, his hands restless at his sides. "But what if she wants something more? What if this is... I don’t know, a chance to get back together? I can’t go back to that. I—I don’t even want that. But—" He faltered, staring at the phone as if it held the answers he needed.

Y/N stepped closer, her voice soft yet steady. "Maybe you need closure, Wade. You never really got that, did you?"

Wade laughed bitterly, shaking his head again. "I don’t know if I need closure. I don’t even know what I need. I—I can’t keep running from this."

Logan crossed his arms, eyes locked on Wade’s, his expression unreadable. "Then you have to do it. But you have to be honest with yourself about what you want, too."

Wade let out a long, shaky breath, looking at both of them, then at his phone. He didn’t know what the hell he was doing, but he knew one thing for sure—he couldn’t keep avoiding this. Not anymore.

"I’m gonna answer," Wade finally said, his voice barely above a whisper, a mix of determination and fear. He tapped out a quick reply to Vanessa, the words coming out clumsily as his fingers shook.

"Okay," he said, glancing up at Logan and Y/N. His expression was conflicted, as if he was asking them to reassure him, to tell him this was the right thing to do. "Is that the right thing? To answer her?"

Y/N gave him a small, comforting smile, her voice gentle but full of support. "Whatever happens, we’re here. You’re not alone in this."

Logan nodded, his gaze softening. "We’ve got your back, bub. No matter what."

Wade nodded in return, his chest tight, but for the first time in what felt like forever, there was a small sense of relief. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to take the first step.

He hit send, and the message was gone, leaving the room to settle back into a tense, uncertain silence.

———

The next afternoon, Wade stood at the entrance of the coffee shop, his hands trembling despite his best efforts to look composed. He had imagined this moment countless times over the years, yet now that he was actually here, all those fantasies felt hollow, empty. His heart was pounding in his chest, and the nervous energy radiated off him like heat from a furnace.

He hadn’t seen Vanessa in six years—well no, technically he had seen her a few months ago but it had been so fast and panic had flooded his system… He just hadn’t had the chance to truly look at her. Back then, he thought he was fine, that he'd moved on. But now, standing here with his breath short and his thoughts jumbled, it was clear that he hadn’t. Not really. Not when the idea of seeing her again made everything feel raw and unresolved.

He swallowed hard, pushing the door open. The soft jingle of the bell above the entrance was a signal that he couldn’t turn back now. The coffee shop, with its warm, earthy tones and soft hum of conversation, felt like a strange contrast to the storm inside him.

Vanessa was already sitting at a corner table, and when she looked up, her eyes instantly lit up. She looked almost the same—her hair, her smile, the way her energy seemed to fill the room—but it was as if time had left her untouched, while he felt like a completely different person. The years had worn him down, had changed him in ways he couldn’t put into words.

Her smile stretched wider when she saw him. “Wade, it’s so good to see you.”

Wade blinked, his smile tight, forcing his hands to steady as he walked over. He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest.

She was already talking—chattering away, as if no time had passed. She filled the air with updates on her new job, her new apartment, the places she had traveled. Everything was light, surface-level stuff, the kind of conversation that didn’t invite depth, that didn’t invite the truth. Wade let it wash over him, nodding when appropriate, keeping his responses polite and simple.

It was like being in the past, and yet, at the same time, it wasn’t. The distance between them felt vast, and with every word she said, he felt more and more like an outsider in his own life.

And then, as casually as if she were mentioning the weather, she dropped the bomb.

“Actually,” she said with a smile, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her cup, “I’m engaged now. My fiancé and I are planning a wedding for next year.”

Wade’s breath hitched in his throat. His eyes flicked down to her hand almost immediately, where a small, gleaming diamond ring sat. His world tilted. He had to swallow against the tightness in his throat, the sudden lump that had formed there, threatening to choke him. Vanessa was engaged. She was moving forward. She had moved on, and there he was, stuck in the past.

For a second, everything in the coffee shop went silent. The sound of the barista making drinks in the back seemed to fade, and all he could hear was the pounding of his own pulse. His chest tightened painfully, but he forced himself to breathe, to keep his face neutral, as if nothing had changed. But it had.

He cleared his throat, his hands suddenly clammy, his palms pressing against the edge of the table as if to hold himself together. “That’s... that’s great,” he said, the words coming out too quickly, too strained.

Vanessa didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she did, but she didn’t acknowledge it. She was already talking about her wedding plans, what kind of venue they were looking at, the kind of flowers they might have. She was excited, and he could hear the happiness in her voice, but all he could focus on was that damn ring, glittering under the light, a constant reminder of everything he’d lost.

His thoughts spiraled. What had he done wrong? How had they ended up here, so far apart, when they used to be so close? Why had he let it all slip away?

“So... how have you been?” Vanessa asked, her voice softer now, her smile more uncertain as if she sensed the shift in the air.

Wade hesitated, his throat dry, his thoughts scattered. He didn’t know how to answer. "Oh, you know," he said, plastering a grin on his face that felt more like a mask than anything real, "same old. Gigs here and there, still bartending, you know, the usual. Nothing too exciting."

He didn’t tell her about the nights when he couldn’t get out of bed, the overwhelming loneliness that had settled over him after their breakup, or the days when he’d gotten so lost in his thoughts he couldn’t remember how to breathe. The depression that still clung to him, like a shadow, was something he never wanted her to know about. Not now, not here.

Vanessa gave him a knowing look, a flicker of concern in her eyes, but she didn’t press. Instead, she smiled faintly, her eyes scanning his face like she was searching for something, though she didn’t say what. Wade looked away, focusing on his coffee, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart.

The minutes stretched on, each second feeling like it might drag him under. As they finished their drinks, Vanessa stood, smiling at him warmly. "It was really good to see you, Wade," she said. "I’m glad we could catch up. I missed you."

Wade stood too, but he felt a strange heaviness in his chest, like something he hadn’t expected was settling inside him. He managed a tight smile, his voice shaky as he responded, "Yeah, me too. I—I missed you too. It’s... it’s been good."

She gave him a quick hug, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to hold still. He inhaled the scent of her hair, the familiar warmth of her body, but it was different now. She was different. He was different. They were different.

As she walked away, he stayed rooted to the spot, watching her go. Her silhouette disappeared out the door, and Wade felt the weight of everything he hadn’t said—everything he couldn’t say. The image of the ring still burned in his mind, and for the first time in years, he allowed himself to feel the depth of the pain.

He stood there for a long time, feeling like he might collapse right there in the coffee shop. She was gone, and the world was moving forward, leaving him behind. He had no idea what he’d wanted from this meeting, no idea what he’d expected.

But whatever it was, he hadn’t found it.

———

The door clicked behind Wade as he entered the apartment, the sound too loud in the stillness of the room. His chest felt tight, like it was being squeezed, and the quiet hum of the apartment only made it worse. He hadn’t known what to expect from this afternoon, but the reality of it was worse than he could’ve imagined. Vanessa was happy. She was moving on with someone else, and he was still here, stuck in the past, wondering what went wrong.

He didn’t immediately step further into the apartment. He stood at the doorway for a long moment, his shoulders hunched, his hand clutching the doorframe like it was the only thing holding him up. He couldn’t face Logan and Y/N. Not yet. Not after everything. The last thing he wanted was to break down in front of them, but he knew that’s exactly what was going to happen.

Logan was already on his feet as soon as he saw Wade step through the door. Something was wrong. Wade wasn’t talking—wasn’t even looking at him. His shoulders were hunched, his eyes fixed on the floor. He moved like a ghost, like someone who wasn’t really there.

“Wade?” Logan called, his voice careful but firm as he approached him.

Wade didn’t answer, his silence speaking volumes. Logan placed a hand on his shoulder, gently turning him around. Wade still wouldn’t meet his eyes, and that’s when Logan saw it— the glassiness in Wade’s eyes, the way his jaw trembled as he tried to keep it all together.

“Oh, man…” Logan breathed, his heart sinking.

Wade looked up at him then, his voice breaking as he whispered, “I just wanted to matter to her.”

The words cut through Logan like a knife. He felt the weight of them, the raw pain behind them. This was Wade—his best friend, the guy who never let anything keep him down—falling apart in front of him.

“Hey,” Logan said softly, his voice barely above a whisper now. “It’s gonna be okay.”

But Wade just shook his head, his lips trembling as he tried to hold back the tears. Logan let out a heavy sigh, gripping Wade’s shoulder tighter, grounding him. “I’m here, man. Just… let it out.”

Wade didn’t answer with words. Instead, he collapsed against Logan, clinging to him like a lifeline as the dam finally broke. Logan stood there, solid and steady, letting his best friend cry it out.

From down the hall, Y/N had heard the sound of Wade entering, but she hadn’t anticipated the commotion that followed. She was sitting in her room, organizing some papers when she heard Wade’s strangled sobs followed by the soft murmur of Logan’s voice. She froze for a moment, unsure of what was happening, but her heart began to race.

She stood up quickly, moving toward the door almost immediately. When she opened it, her heart nearly stopped at the sight of Wade clinging to Logan, his entire body shaking. She hadn’t seen him like this. Not ever. Wade was always the one cracking jokes, always the one keeping the mood so bright, but now… now he was broken.

Logan looked up when he noticed her at the doorway. His expression was a mixture of concern and helplessness, and when their eyes met, he shook his head ever so slightly. The conversation with Vanessa had gone horribly wrong, he assumed.

Wade looked up when he heard her approaching, his eyes red and puffy, his face streaked with tears. He pulled away from Logan, trying to force a weak smile, though it was obvious that he wasn’t fooling anyone. "I’m not stealing Logan from you, I promise," he said with a sniff, his voice wavering.

Logan rolled his eyes. "You’re an idiot," he said lightly, though the words were filled with affection. "Unbelievable…"

Y/N stepped forward, offering a gentle hand to Wade. "Come on," she said softly, guiding him toward the couch. "Let’s sit down for a bit."

Wade stumbled as he followed her, his feet dragging, his exhaustion visible. When they reached the couch, he collapsed onto it, the weight of everything pressing down on him. Y/N sat beside him, giving him a moment of silence. She didn’t rush him, didn’t press him to say anything he wasn’t ready to say.

Logan disappeared into the kitchen and returned a few moments later with a glass of water and some tissues. Wade didn’t look at him, didn’t acknowledge him. He just stared at the floor, his body tense but too drained to protest.

The room was quiet for a long while, the sound of the TV almost drowned out by the heavy silence. Wade finally broke it, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’m sorry," he muttered. "I don’t know what I’m doing. I thought... I thought I was okay. But I’m not. She’s gone, and she’s happy with someone else, and I just... I’m here. I’m a dumbass stuck in the past."

Logan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "That’s not true, Wade. You’re just... processing things. That’s all."

Wade sniffled again, wiping his nose, then looked over at Y/N and Logan. "Are you guys tired?" he asked randomly, his voice still shaky. "Maybe we should watch a movie. I don’t know... something to distract us."

It was obvious to everyone in the room that he was trying to change the subject, but no one called him out on it. They all knew he just needed to escape, even if only for a little while.

"Yeah, let’s watch something," Y/N said softly, her hand resting on Wade’s shoulder.

They all settled in, the TV flickering softly in the background, casting muted shadows across the room. None of them were really watching. Wade, utterly drained, fell asleep almost immediately, his head leaning against Logan’s shoulder. Logan and Y/N stayed awake, though neither spoke, the silence between them heavy with things left unsaid.

Logan’s eyes lingered on the TV screen, but his mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t shake the weight in his chest. Every glance at Y/N only made it worse. He’d been avoiding her for weeks, telling himself it was the right thing to do, that it was easier this way. But sitting here now, the distance felt unbearable. His feelings weren’t going away; they were only getting harder to ignore.

Y/N shifted slightly, her hand brushing against the necklace she wore—a small, unconscious gesture. Logan noticed it out of the corner of his eye, and the pang in his stomach hit like a gut punch. That necklace. That moment. He could still remember how her face had lit up when she opened the gift, how she’d thanked him with such sincerity it left him breathless. He knew then he’d made a mistake—pulling away from her, shutting her out. And yet, here he was, doing it still.

The silence stretched between them, unsettling and thick with unspoken tension. Logan felt the words bubbling up in his throat, but they caught there, stuck. He couldn’t keep hiding, but he couldn’t tell her, either. Not now. Not like this.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and rough. “Thanks for being here for him,” he said, glancing at Y/N. “I don’t know how I would’ve managed that by myself.”

Y/N turned to look at him, her expression soft. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself, Logan,” she said gently. “We’re all here for him. We’re all here for each other.”

Logan nodded, though he didn’t meet her gaze. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach for something—anything—but he kept his hands still. “I know,” he said quietly, his eyes flickering back to Wade, who was breathing softly against him. “It’s just... I’m not great with this. With emotions.”

Y/N gave a faint smile, her voice calm but steady. “You guys need to stop beating yourselves up,” she said. “You’ve helped me so many times, Logan. You’re incredible. You always are.”

Logan swallowed hard, her words hitting him in a way he wasn’t prepared for. He wanted to deflect, to make some dry remark, but nothing came. Instead, he just looked at her, his throat tight. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. “For being distant these past few weeks. There’s just... a lot on my mind.”

Y/N’s expression softened even more. “I’m not forcing you to talk to me,” she said. “But I’ll be here when you’re ready. Always.”

Her words were simple, but they carried a weight Logan couldn’t ignore. He looked at her then, really looked at her, and he felt that pang in his chest again, sharp and insistent. He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to say how much she meant to him, how much it killed him to keep his distance. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not like this.

“Thanks,” he said instead, his voice quieter this time. He glanced at Wade, his heart heavy. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll stay here with him.”

Y/N didn’t move, her gaze steady. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said simply.

Logan didn’t know what to say to that. He just nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly. The weight of the night, of everything he was holding back, pressed down on him. And yet, her presence was a balm, even if it made everything more complicated.

The three of them stayed there, the room quiet except for the faint hum of the TV and Wade’s soft breathing. Y/N stayed close. Logan couldn’t stop the feelings stirring in his chest, no matter how hard he tried.

Eventually, exhaustion caught up with all of them. Wade slept soundly, Logan’s shoulder still supporting him, and Y/N curled up on the other side of the couch. Logan sat there for a moment longer, staring at them both, his heart full of emotions he couldn’t name.

For the first time in weeks, he let himself breathe. And even though nothing was resolved, for now, this was enough.

XXX

[sashi-ya]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤAs cold as your heart ･:*:｡𓏲ּ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤDr. ishida uryu x f! reader

Chapter 2: sorrow. what happened three days prior their encounter?

❄ a/n: yep, I created a loop. But believe me it is worth reading to understand a little more about Uryu's inner turmoil. I know the cliffhanger is basically the same, but don't panic! you'll have the update before the year ends (haha) ❄ tw: not much, VERY angsty for now. I am taking my sweet time because I really wanna explore Uryu's feelings. He is a very complex character that deserves all the love. I want this to be a sweet love story that will -of course- contain smut as we go further into it. btw: Ichihime mentioned, they are getting married soon. I must warn you, there will be a "wedding chapter" so if you don't like the ship (i am just playing with the canon) you've been noticed. ❄ read here ➡ Chapter 0/1: back in town

Tossing and turning, that’s how his old bed found the young doctor. Uryu’s deep blue orbs fixed into the ceiling of his room, long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, blurry vision as his glasses had been left aside. 

Coming back feels painful; from memories of his mother kissing his forehead goodnight, from the day she was gone… and then, your smile. That beam he hurt; he broke. 

“She hasn’t left?”  “Hm… how could she? You idiot”

Ryuuken’s words torment Uryu’s mind; why didn’t she move on? Why did she have to stay? 

He clenches his fist, hitting the wall next to his bed. His eyes, shifting to the dance of falling snow on the window above, fill with tears of immense sorrow. 

Sudden images of the past arrive, to make it all even worse… a teenager's love, the thrill of the first kiss, the pain of the last.

“Name…” the current king of the Quincy exhales, wishing he hadn’t come back. 

A sudden sting hits his body; something far from auto control takes over, making him stand up and grab his glasses. 

Uryu flops down his bed back; “I can’t… I can’t go after her, there is no need to turn her life to shambles again…” 

Like that, fighting against selfishness, he fell to the side. No emotion showing on his pale façade, but inside, for the very first time, he damned the Quincy cross burned in between his pecs… 

The scent of sweet bread, freshly baked, wakes Uryu up. “Young master, breakfast is ready” the soft voice of a woman eases the sleepiness away. 

Right, back at home there is domestic service. How could he forget? Especially him?

“I’ll be ready in a moment” he comments, with raspy voice, and sleepy lids. Taking his glasses, he is able to see around, it’s painful to remember he is back in town. 

As the young doctor goes down the stairs, he can tell the atmosphere feels different. More than one reiatsu waits for him at the dining room; in fact, he is able to tell who those spiritual pressures belong to. 

“ISHIDA-KUN!!!”  “Ishida… you are back” 

A blast of love surrounds his thin frame, as the burnt orange princess weaves her arms around him. 

It’s always comforting, almost like healing, to feel Orihime’s hug. It is also comforting to see Ichigo’s deep eyes; a friend whose blood hides the same powers as his own, a friend who never gave up on him. 

“Hi…” Ishida stutters, with hints of shame and guilt. 

“We’ve missed you so much! And, you are just back in time! We’ve come to bring you something special” Inoue chimes, showing him a little envelope in between his pastry knitting hands. 

Uryu smiles, knowing exactly the content of such envelope. “Finally, Kurosaki. I’m glad you took the courage to propose” 

For a moment, and after a couple of -typical- discussions between Ichigo and him, the morning felt like everything was ok. This, until the inevitable question arrives… 

“Have you seen (Name), yet?” 

“No… and I don’t think I should. In fact, I won’t”

Orihime felt taken aback, how come after all this time? She knows more than anyone how much you’ve been waiting, patiently, for him to come back. 

“But… but she…”

“I am sorry Inoue. Those are my last words… I won’t”  

The ginger couple finally leaves. Inoue’s eyes still sad, Ichigo’s telling Uryu that the conversation isn’t over just yet. 

Uryu comes back inside; the freezing cold outside makes his nose a little red and runny. He fixes his glasses still thinking of you, of how less of a man he feels. 

He drags himself back to his room, remembering the little box he kept under his bed. It took a lot for him to leave it there and not take it with him when he left, but he decided to forget about those old memories. 

With little hopes of finding the box after so long, he kneels down and probes under the bed. The tip of his fingers reaches for something, and almost like regretting it, he takes the box. 

Dust flies around as he opens it to find a picture of both; still young, two high schoolers. Your arms surround him from behind, a smile as big and bright as the sun. His body, tense… oh, but his eyes… so full of love. 

Behind the old polaroid, something written by you:

Quincy boy, I have a crush on you. 

(Name) 💖 ~

Uryu sighs, and all those tears he couldn’t shed up until now, were now sprouting like waterfalls. He couldn’t notice, but the day went by with him crying, with him feeling miserable, with him carving the Quincy cross into the flesh of his palm… 

Two days passed by almost flying. Uryu didn’t notice, though. He only focused on two things; being miserable and ultimately fighting his father as he insisted on him working on his hospital from then on. A word that should describe Uryu the best could be “stubborn”

Kurosaki: pick you up at 10.

Uryu: for what? 

Kurosaki: bar. Chad coming after training. 

Uryu: k-

“I’m amazed you aren’t wearing a white coat” Ichigo jokes about Uryu’s clothing. He hasn’t stopped loving white, but he still thinks wearing white around his friends might make them uncomfortable. 

“Thank you, I’ve been well” Uryu answers, as sarcastic as always when it comes to his friend -and probably more like a brother- Ichigo. 

“I’m glad, because we need to talk” the substitute Shinigami fights back. “Inoue has been eating my brain with that, and I frankly think the same… what the fuck is going on with you and (Name)?” 

Uryu sighs, his forehead plastered against the cold window of the passenger’s seat. “Nothing. It’s been six years. I haven’t spoken to her in all that time, what is supposed to happen?” 

Despite trying to sound serious, those words only came as miserable to Ichigo. And he remembered how dyed-in-the-wool his friend can be… perhaps a couple of beers will make him speak, that or a fight. It isn’t new, they have been fighting since the day both met. 

Chad arrives once both have found a table on a very crowded bar near Urahara’s shop; they soon start to chat about their current lives, leaving at least for now, the “women” topic. 

However, a couple of minutes past midnight, Ichigo’s phone screen lights up. 

“INOUE 🍩 calling” 

Ichigo immediately picks up; it kinda startles Uryu, when he left Ichigo still acted a little immature towards Orihime. However, now, he showed a soon to be husband attitude. 

“Babe, are you ok?” Ichigo asks, his eyes shining when the voice of his soon to be wife let him know she was ok. “Now? yes, sure. Don’t worry, I’m going. Yep- no alcohol. Mhh, yes, Chad and Ishida” 

In a way, deep inside, Ishida feels absolutely jealous. The fact that his friend is able to talk to the woman he loves so freely, so sure. The fact that he is able to protect her, the fact that he is able to hug her to sleep every night. 

“Inoue asked me to pick her up. She went to have dinner before new year’s with the “Bakers Club”” he lets them know, and both Chad and him stand up. Uryu blinks a couple of times before following them, his friends have grown up and now he feels like he is an immature kid. Of course he would run to help Orihime, but she isn’t in danger, this is just the “daily living” of an adult couple who is about to marry. 

Chad and Ichigo chat about the following boxing matches as they walk to the car, while Uryu stays silent. He feels like an outsider, and wonders if he will be able to keep up with the speed of this new world. 

“Guys, I’m walking home” the Quincy mumbles.

“You sure?” Chad asks, noticing Ichigo already frowning at his friend’s decision. 

“Yeah, don’t worry. I need some fresh air” Uryu waves them goodbye, he doesn’t really want to give further reasons nor discuss his actions with them. 

Both friends look at each other with a worried expression but ultimately let him go. 

“He is not ok…”

“Nor he will until he sees her” 

Winter creeps through Uryu’s hands, he hates the fact he didn’t bring gloves. But he hates having come back the most. 

Closer, the blueish lights of the Karakura General Hospital shine. He takes a swift look at his father’s hospital, the one he is being pushed to attend as a doctor. Full of questions, he asks himself whether it would be good or not to become a pediatrician there knowing that would mean staying in Karakura to live. Is he ready to live there again? to potentially prescribe meds to your future children? 

The image of you having babies only made him more depressed. It is true Ryuken told him you haven’t moved on, but what exactly he meant with that he didn’t know. 

The sudden vibration of his phone breaks his attention from his miserable thoughts. A text from his father letting him know he is about to finish his shift. 

Ryuken > “I’m about to head home, did you eat?” 

Him > yep, walking home rn 

Uryu sighs; it seems as if Ryuken wanted to act more like a father than before, though he is still a little hesitant to engage in such mental energy drawing activities. 

A cold drop hits his pointy nose; a little snowflake melts on his pale skin competing for which one is whiter. 

“Ah… I’m gonna catch a cold, definitely” Uryu grunts, looking up at the blackest sky. 

“Shit, shit, shit” you swear, running under the falling snow, learning that your Karakura General Hospital nurse uniform isn’t warm enough. The shift is over, and you insisted on going home walking instead of letting Ryuken take you… now, you are actually regretting it. 

You bump into a man’s silhouette, falling back on your ass into the sidewalk. 

He turns around quickly.  The time freezes, as both word “sorry”

Those blue orbs; his black hair; the shine of his silver glasses. His handsome features, his hands, everything you’ve always loved, right in front of you. Again. After so long. 

“You- You are back. Uryu you are back” you whisper, standing up in a matter of seconds and running towards him. Like attacking him, you hug him with such strength that could crush his bones. “six years, six years… I’m so happy to see you, I’m so happy to- to-“ 

He pushes you away, detaching your body from his in an unfriendly manner. 

You are out of words; why would he…? 

“(Name), don’t do this” he spits; the venom in his words reminds you of the time he sided with Yhwach. 

You remain silent, searching for words everywhere inside you with no positive outcome. 

“Move out of the way, please” he continues, trying to pass by you, avoiding eye contact. His hair falls on his side, covering -conveniently- the incipient tears flooding his eyes. 

You watch him walk by, walking away from you… your legs fail you, letting your weight hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. 

“Stop, stop please… stop ignoring me! This is hurting me!” you plead, knees hitting the ground, drawing blood out of them, allowing the cold cement underneath to soak into that crimson fluid of life…

[to be continued]

you can: ➡ read chapter 0 if you haven't yet ➡ wait for the next chap

[solar4seekstron]

They’re Hot!

TFRID2015!Bumblebee x Cybertronian!GN!Reader One-shot

Content: 16+, Bee loses his memories and Reader sees a side of him where he’s more open. Reader and Bee reconnect in the end where their relationship has grown.

TW/Tags: Angst, relationship problems, Bee neglecting reader, child bee showing his true feelings, argument at end, more angst again. Have fun crying you simps.

Notes: Reader is slightly taller than bee and reader has a very grabbable waist.

It was a normal day at the junkyard. It was getting late and Bee was still on his patrols with the others.

You stayed with the humans and Sidwswipe.

You have been super busy lately and honestly, you’ve needed a recharge. And so when the humans and Sideswipe noticed you were struggling to stay awake.

Sideswipe letting you know they’ll be fine and to go to sleep. You were hesitant but agreed. You can't keep doing this to yourself. So you stood and walked to your sleeping quarters.

It always felt cramped when in your alt mode.

For you at least and so Danny created a shack for you and your Conjunx bee.

You sent a message through the bond. But he doesn’t respond..

You soon fall asleep once lying down and Bee can feel your warmth once asleep through the bond.

And so you went to sleep. Only to be awakened by a light sound of talks and a bit of arguing. You were lying on your side when the door opened. You then heard the door locked and steps being made to you while you kept your optics closed.

Then you fell a cervo on your side. Digits gently rubbing your frame.

You’d then feel Bees dermas on the side of your neck as he lays behind you.

Spooning you from behind. He then spoke while his arm now wrapped around your waist and you felt his helm pressed against the back of your neck. He finally spoke in a gentle whisper. “Sorry for waking you. And keeping you waiting, Sweetsaprk.”

You let out a soft sigh and responded. Your frame moves only a little to get comfortable as you respond. “How was the patrol? Steel jaw still at large?”

Bee lets out a hum. Thinking back to when you last fought. Bee was so angry with how he flirted and even held you in a way that only Bee should be allowed to. Then again you were captured. So you couldn’t do much,

Bee finally responded. “No luck with even finding their base…” He remained silent.

You two as you looked down. He then spoke once more. “I missed you. Why don’t we..Go for a drive tomorrow? What do you say?” You can feel his stare behind you.

Finally speaking. “Sure. It’s been a while..Sweetspark.” You turned your helm a bit once you said that last word. His optics staring at yours as you glanced at him. You had a smile on your dermas. He has a much smaller one.

And so you both fell asleep together.

The next day when you were getting ready for your patrols and watching that cartoon Grim likes. Something about colorful horses who use magic. Not something you’d watch but you like seeing the big silly bot get excited over the songs and all.

You were then walking to the entrance waiting for Bee until he walked up to you. His face is neutral and he gently took your cervo.

Telling you there’s been a site of a Decepticon on the loose and how you need to stay here to protect the humans just in case. You were disappointed but understood. He understood this feeling through the bond. He apologized and kissed your forhelm before then pressing his own against yours. Making optics contact then leaving with the others.

Who said their byes to you. You let out a sigh and stayed waiting and waiting.

When they returned, you were looking over a data pad and heard the others drive in through the front. It wasn't even past the afternoon to evening yet. You also didn’t expect to see Bee with a large grin.

Something he didn’t really do before. So you know something happened.

You listened as Strongarm told you what happened. You then nodded and told her you understood. You all then are left with how to handle the matter.

As time passes, you continue your evening walks around the base to make sure everything is in order and normal. You didn’t know Bee was pranking the others. You made your way to the center of the junkyard. You were confused for a moment since you heard nothing. Usually, the others are here.

That’s until you then felt two cervos on both sides of your waist. You then feel them lifting you and when you are in the air looking back. It was Bee.

He had such a large grin on his dermas while he stared up at you.

You both heard Strongarm alongside Sideswipe speaking to Bee. Bee soon had a frown on his dermas while you remained in the air. “Sir, No! No bad Bee. Put them down right now!”

Bee stood there for a moment. Slowly putting you down but before your pedes ever touched the floor, he then lifted you once more and started to run with you.

Basically Bee giggling like a child while holding you above his head like you weigh nothing. The others chasing you both through the junkyard. Bee then yelled out with excitement. “Haha, I got a hot bot and you doooooooon’t!” You honestly didn’t even know what to do. You just have a ‘I’m so done.’

It soon got late and eventually, you were able to get down while the others got left behind on the other side of the junkyard. You then placed your cervos on his shoulders while he kept grinning. You then spoke.

”Bee come on now. You’re causing enough trouble already for everyone.” He then started hugging your waist. Taking you by surprise. He then spoke with a cheerful tone. “But I wannaaaaaaa play! Plus you're hot so a hot bot needs a hot gal in My Arms!”

You were surprised. Wondering if these are his true feelings. Maybe?

You then asked in curiosity. “So you find me cute Bee?” He giggled and spoke.

“Yeah! You’re hot! And the bond we have is making me wanna smother you with hugs and kisses even more. Even if it is icky!” He grinned.

Honestly.

You blushed a bit. Bee hasn’t given you a genuine compliment for such a long time. It was…nice honestly. Putting a genuine smile on your dermas. But you also remember this is him…fully. So you had to think fast to fix the situation. Maybe this is a sign to finally have a serious talk with Bee. You then spoke. Gently holding his shoulders.

”Bee, why don’t we play a……game? You be good and not prank the others then….I’ll um.”

He had a frown at first until he soon had a grin. Then speak to finish your sentence. “A kiss?”

”On the cheek.” You finished. Having a small grin on your dermas. He cheered like a little kid who got a lollipop. But then he said he got bored and drove away. Yelling as he got further. “See you later, Hotstuff!”

You let out a sigh as you turned away a bit. Holding the bridge of your nose.

Later that night Sidwswipe and Russel decided to babysit Bee. You leaving with Strongarm and Grimlock to deal with a Decepticon. Before you both knew it when you both saw the police. Knowing this might be harder than you thought. You three then heard Bee speaking.

Be then tried to make his way to the police until Strongarm gave the order for Grimlock to watch over him.

You and Strongarm making your way to the police.

When they were clear. You and Strongarm got to work with dealing with elephants. Everything else was kinda a blur since you were too tired. But you do remember Bee somehow getting to you and Bee riding on Grimlock.

You though were able to catch the Decepticon. Bee later joined you in the weird bouncy house place. Though you did struggle to keep your balance. “Bee! Stop goofing around and try to get him!”

Bee just ignored you and continued to have his fun. You have to step out to catch your breath.

When you walked back with the others. Bee was able to miss the quills and the Decepticon got hit instead. You and Strongarm stared at Bee in shock while he remained energized.

Strongarm then later gets the idea to strap him up somewhere. Strongarm then glanced at you for your opinion. You thought for a moment. Then looking at Bee. He then had his arms open trying to get closer to you while making kissing sounds.

Your cervo holding his face while his pedes keep moving.

Creating a line in the dirt while you remained still. You then let out a sigh and looked back at Strongarm. Speaking you then moved Bee around and held around his waist with your arm.

”Alright Strongarm. What’s your first order.” This caused her to grin and speak with enthusiasm. “Alright, everyone. Let's get to work!”

Should smiled at her then at Bee. Who looked a bit scared nod started to struggle to get out of your grasp. You and Grimlock getting to work with timing up Bee to this tower. You guys then tell him it’s a game.

The next morning, Strongarm and Grimlock went back to the base.

They were exhausted and you offered to stay behind. Napping against and sleeping elephant until you and the poor elephant then heard Bee shouting.

” Whoever did this! Is getting a large scolding when I get down!”

You let out a soft chuckle and then stood up. Stretching your arms then yelling to him. “I’ll get you down Bee. Just hang in there.”

You chuckle. Able to get him down soon while he grumbled and tried his best to remember what happened. You then explained while just seeming upset. “So instead of dealing with the Decepticon first. You decided I was more important? What were you thinking, Y/N?”

You frowned and spoke. Almost staring down at him. “You’re our leader Bee. Decepticons will always come. The same one or not. And You can complain all you wish but team or not. I’m still your Conjunx.”

He let out a sigh and spoke again. “That isn’t an excuse. Our job is the Decepticons come first and to not let foolery come first.” He almost got into your face. But only making it to your chest. You just glared down at him.

”So…if I was in danger but the Decepticon got away…” Bee seemed to be taken aback for a moment. His optics were a little wider as you spoke once more.

”Would you go after the Decepticon….even as I bleed out?” You were serious.

He just stared at you. Then turned his helm away for a moment. Trying to find his words. You continue to glare down at him. Farrowed optics and your optics dim as you stared at him. You then speak once more.

”You know the way you speak about ‘these’ Decepticons. Makes me rethink how you see me before I decided to join you on this earth mission. You changed Bee….But not for the better….I’m going home.” You turned away. Walking to the excite. But you soon felt his cervo grab your wrist.

He then spoke. “Wait. I’m sorry I didn’t mean.-“ You cut him off.

”Oh I know what you meant. But the team- family. Is everything. And I do wish to be a part of it still. But not as your partner.”

You pulled your wrist away. “We have Decepticons to deal with. Don’t want them getting away. Right?” You started walking away once more. Making it past the gate and soon transforming and driving back to the junkyard.

Bee standing there in almost defeat. Looking down with angry and upset optics.

Angry with himself he feels the bond soon break. Things weren’t the same much since then.

Oh man this one actually made me sad. Whe I realized how I wanted to end this i story while writing it. Rewriting the beginning was a bit hard. But I think I was able to make it work. If not. Oh well.

Hope you guys enjoyed this one like I did and as always a repost is appreciated. I hope you guys have a good rest of your day and I’ll see y’all in the comments!

[mercars-musings]

Market Memories

Fandom: Dragon Age - The Veilguard

Pairing- Emmrich Volkarin x TransMan!Rook {OC in particular}

TW- depicted: anxiety, anxiety attack, arguement with manipulative ex, self doubt; referenced: to childhood trauma, childhood abuse, shitty ex, manipulative ex; genre: hurt/comfort, angst, angst with happy ending, fluff.

Description- Emmrich convinces Az {OC Rook} to show him around Minrathous a little more, so he decides to take Emmrich to a small market not too far from where he grew up.

Rook's revisited these markets a few times since he moved to Dock Town and he hadn't ran into... nothing bad had happened.

So, by all means, it should have been a fun little trip! Emmrich gets to learn a little more about Rook, Rook gets to spend some quality time alone with his adoring paramour and maybe even impress him with an adorable piece of jewellery he found while he's at it!

Unfortunately, during their excursion Rook's reminded that every visit home is another visit tempting fate.

Word count- 5.4k

Read on AO3: Here!

~ ♡ ~

“I still don’t really get why you want another tour,” Rook laughs, as he guides the elder man through yet another winding back alley of Dock Town. “Neve’s already dragged us all over this place thousands of times-” Before he can continue, Rook is cut off by the feeling of a gloved hand gently being placed on his arm.

“As I’ve said before Dearest,” Emmrich starts, smiling earnestly at the Shadow Dragon. “Neve may have already shown us all there is to see of Dock Town but, I want to see what you love about this place.”

Still getting used to being the clear subject of someone’s affections, Az begins to feel a warm glow forming on his cheeks. Clearing his throat, he glances away momentarily as he tries to not feel too embarrassed.

“I… really appreciate that Em. I really do, but… well apart from missions I don’t really go out much.” The Qunari waves vaguely towards himself, particularly his horns as he lets out an awkward laugh. “I wasn’t exactly raised to be much of an outside person.”

Emmrich nods solemnly.

“My apologies, Rook.” Emmrich began, shifting his attention down to his hands in an almost embarrassed fashion. “I was hoping to learn more about you during this rare lull in our escapades, though… I’m beginning to suspect that I didn’t quite think it all the way through.” 

Rook lets out a slight, awkward laugh in response though, this is quickly replaced by a frown once he notices the genuine disappointment & guilt starting to creep their way onto the necromancer’s features.

“Well…” He pauses to think for a moment, trying to figure out the best course of action to remedy the awkward turn their conversation seemed to be taking. “I suppose there may be one place that may have fallen off of Neve’s radar.”

At this, Emmrich raises his gaze and meets Az’s eyes once again, quirking an eyebrow suspiciously.

~ ♡ ~

The pair made their way into a part of Minrathous that Emmrich indeed hadn’t seen before. It was just a little outside of their usual stomping grounds, perhaps a 10-20 minute walk if Emmrich had to estimate.

As the small distance between the two towns would suggest, there was almost no observably clear difference apart from different stalls and establishments lining the streets. Though, something about it does seem to make Rook perk up a little, he seems a little more in his element here. Albeit a bit more reserved than he is in Dock Town.

“Okay so… I know it doesn’t exactly look like much…” Rook says, turning to the professor. “But… well…” pausing, he glances down briefly as he pats an imaginary crease out of his shirt trying to plan his next words carefully. “Did I ever tell you why Neve and I hadn’t met before Varric?”

Emmrich tilts his head very slightly, trying to puzzle out where this conversation was going, but instead of saying anything he simply opts to shake his head.

“I only moved to Dock Town recently,” turning slowly Rook begins to walk towards a stall that seems to be selling some assortment of baked goods. “About… oh Gods, at this point I guess it would be about… five-ish years ago?”

Stopping at the stall Rook looks over at Emmrich. Noticing that he seems to have the man's undivided attention, he smiles & continues, “I was actually raised in a nearby town not far from it… not far from here actually.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, my dad…” Rook pauses momentarily, as if thinking something to himself before seemingly shaking it out of his head. “My dad commanded legions in Ventus, and uh, found me on one of his jobs.”

“He… found you?” Emmrich asks, the surprise of the statement helping to drag his gaze away from a very delicious looking Nevarran Torte and back to Az. 

Rook lets out a chuckle as he nods, “I know, it sounds weird. I still have no idea what a little Qunari runt was doing in the middle of a battlefield! I always asked but he never…" The sentence wanders off unexpectedly, replaced with a heavy silence that fills the space between the two men. 

It was happening again, Emmrich realized: one of Rook’s quiet spells. 

Most days Rook was so cheery, always putting on a happy face for the crew & cracking jokes faster than Emmrich could even register the lull in a conversation. Though, at what seemed to be utterly random moments, Rook would suddenly become lost in thought. He’d stop himself before he finished sentences as if he were trying to stop himself from saying the wrong things or saying too much perhaps. Emmrich always wondered what quiet disagreement was taking place in his lover’s mind to leave him looking so conflicted… so forlorn. 

Alas, there would be time for that, once their fight against the Gods was over & they could both retire from the daily life or death scenarios. 

Eventually, Rook seems to shake himself out of the thought and looks back up at Emmrich sheepishly. “I… never did quite get that story out of my parents.”

“If you don’t mind me asking my Dear,” Emmrich starts, gently taking one of Rook's hands into his own, rubbing circles into the back of it. “What were your parents like?”

Rook snorts, “Stubborn, overbearing, controlling…” the young Qunari pauses briefly, as if reassessing something. “But… I suppose they were all I had really. The only ones who truly cared. Even if they showed it in one of the worst ways possible… even if it made me hate them.”

Emmrich nods somberly, taking Rook’s other hand in his as they stay standing at the dessert stall together. Instead of pushing further, Emmrich decides to leave space for Rook to think, and to potentially lead the conversation into whichever route feels most comfortable. So, for a while, neither man says anything & simply stand in a comfortable silence together. 

Rook, as usual, is the first to break the silence between the two men.

“Anyway, I didn’t bring you here to listen to my sad shit,” Looking up at Emmrich with a large {albeit half fake} grin, Az turns around to continue guiding his paramour into the rest of the market. “There’s this stall I think you’ll really like! Y’know, if it’s still here…”

“Oh?” Emmich asks, curious as to what the man could have planned to show him. It’s not as if they hadn’t already perused many Tevene establishments for magical tomes & items dozens of times prior.

Rook doesn’t answer, instead he continues to scan the stalls that surround them both with such dedication you’d think he was hunting an enemy in the middle of battle. 

“Aha!” Rook exclaims abruptly, rushing over to what seemed to be a small jewellery stall towards the back of the row. Hanging from the top of the stall are long rows of necklaces, all adorned with various jewels that were no doubt enchanted with some form of warding magic or glamour spell. Though, instead of setting his sights on those, Rook’s eyes instead scan through the display cases of rings and brooches on the table below.

After a few more seconds, Az picks up something small and presents it to Emmrich excitedly. Attracting the attention of the stall owner as he does, suspicion clear in her gaze as she watches the exchange cautiously. Probably to make sure the pair don’t run off with the item.

“I… I know it's not as fancy as your Nevarran stuff,” Rook mumbles, “but during our dinner the other night, something you said reminded me of this.”

Presenting the piece to Emmrich, Rook's hands seemed to shake lightly. It wasn’t so bad that it obstructed the item but  it was enough for Emmrich to notice. The sight of Rook’s nerves simultaneously warmed & pierced Emmrich’s heart. It was endearing to see that his Dearest cared so much about Emmrich’s opinion of him. Though, the frequency of the nerves did always leave him wondering: What in Thedas had this poor boy been subjected to previously? For him to be so nervous at any attempt at a genuine display of true affection?

The questions stung Emmrich every time they surfaced in his mind, so as usual he pushed them away for now. Instead of ruining the current moment, they would be something else that would keep him awake on particularly reflective nights. Until he could coax the answer from Az once their relationship wasn’t so… new and nerve wracking that is.

Once the thoughts subsided, Emmrich took a closer look at the piece of jewellery. It seemed to be a small collar pin, not so dissimilar to the skull one that Emmrich already frequently wore but there was something different about it.

Upon realization, Emmrich could have sworn that his heart skipped a beat: the collar pin was a tiny metallic lilac.

“Now - I know favourite colour isn’t exactly the same thing as favourite flower, but Lilac still is a type of flower! And to be fair to me - you still haven’t exactly told me what your favourite flower is! So I tried for the next best thing - Of course, If you don’t like it then that's fine! I can just find something in the style of your favourite flower instead! If you tell me what that is, I mean! - l um…” Rook pauses for a second, realising he’s starting to ramble. He takes a moment to take a deep breath & tries to refocus the conversation. “Anyway, sorry this is probably pretty silly isn’t it?” 

Rook lets out a small, nervous laugh as he glances away, embarrassed. Though this is abruptly stopped by Emmrich’s free hand which has seemingly made its way to his chin at lightning speed. 

“My Darling Boy…” the necromancer begins, guiding Rook’s eyeline back to his, a large & genuine smile on his face. “This is absolutely wonderful, and it truly warms me to know you brought me all this way to see it.”

With that smile, Rook feels the warm fuzzy feeling that always seems to sneak up on him whenever Emmrich’s around. His shoulders relax, his head begins to feel oh so free of the ever crushing stress, his eyes soften and he feels his body begin to feel lighter. Every time this happened, Az felt like he could lose himself in his beloved’s eyes for centuries. Seeing the warm, genuine care and affection within them could, for just a second, make him forget who he was, where they were… the fact that he was always one misstep away from utter heartbreak. 

He felt this way during every conversation, every flirtation, every amazing night they spent together. He adored it, he reveled in the way it made him feel like maybe, just this once things could finally be different, be lasting. 

Though, the joy always swiftly dispersed once he walked away from these encounters. Without Emmrich in view, he couldn’t stave off the doubts any longer… nor the memories. These moments were when the truth of the world came flooding back & he was reminded of the inevitability of betrayal which always plummeted him back down to earth harder each & every time.

So naturally, to avoid this inevitability, there’s lines, limits that Az wouldn’t… couldn’t ever cross. There always had been and there always would have to be. For if he strayed away from the usual dance, his usual script…

“Az?” Emmrich’s warm, familiar voice pierces directly through Rook’s thoughts, the large smile still evident on his face if not now featuring a small bit of concern. “Are you alright, my love?” 

“Yes, yes. Sorry! Not sure what’s got into me today.” Rook laughs half heartedly as he pulls the collar pin back from Emmrich, “So you like it?”

“Why of course-”

“Great!” Rook turns to hold the pin back out to the stall owner, “I’d like to buy this please.”

Before Emmrich can even fully process what's happening, Rook places a small black box into Emmrich’s hands & smiles brightly at him. 

“A gift… if you’ll have it.” Rook offers, smiling sheepishly.

It takes a few moments for him to catch up, but once he does the older gentleman’s cheeks begin to burn a light shade of pink. He was flattered enough that Rook had brought him all this way just to show him something that reminded him of Emmrich! For his beloved to buy it for him as well…

“You needn’t have my Dear truly, but thank you all the same… I shall cherish it deeply.”

With that, Emmrich swiftly places the small box into his waistcoat pocket for safe keepings. 

As he stands back up, he takes Rook’s hand into his own and stares lovingly at the man, wondering how he could soon return the gesture in kind. Though, before he could say anything else, the moment was abruptly cut short by an unknown voice from beside the pair.

“Az?”

Rook turns towards the source of the noise, his blood running cold the second he notices a familiar pair of eyes.

It’s amazing how a day can turn from wonderful to awful, at the drop of a hat.

“Maker, it really is you!” A young, extremely well groomed man yells as he stands before Rook and Emmrich. 

From what Emmrich can make out he seems to be Tevene, upper class if his outfit is of any indication and about Rook’s age. Unfortunately, his examination of the interloper was cut short when the man excitedly threw his arms around a clearly very uncomfortable Rook.

“Get the fuck off me.” Az hissed, shoving the man off of him. 

The stranger stumbles backwards slightly, shock painting his features as he stares at Rook incredulously. Though, only a few seconds pass before he seems to compose himself enough to begin nonchalantly brushing a crease out of his sleeve. 

“Sorry, I forgot you’re not much of a hugger.” He laughed, a tinge of bitterness coming through.

With his feet firmly planted in place, Rook glared at the man. His jaw clenched momentarily before he seemed to muster the words that would stun Emmrich more than anything they had experienced together thus far had.

“I’m. Not. Az.”

Now, It wasn’t the aggression that had caught Emmrich so off guard. Was it was unlike Az to be so immediately hostile? Why, of course it was! But as the stranger had just pointed out: Az was quite touch averse {except for when it came to Emmrich it seemed} so this part was somewhat explainable. What had truly thrown Emmrich was that Rook had just lied about who he was. 

During his time in the Veilguard Emmrich had grown to see that Az was a man who, despite all of his self doubt and anxiety, always seemed so proud of his identity. To see him suddenly reject his name & pretend to be someone he wasn’t.. Now that was the most perplexing and unexpected thing.

“W-what?” the stranger sputtered, leaning back for a second as he re-examined Rook’s face. After a few more moments of this he finally lets out another small, albeit uncertain laugh, as he shakes his head.“C’mon stop messing around. It’s me, Ren, remember?”

Rook stays as irritated and on guard as prior, crossing his arms as he glares back at the man. “Don’t know a Ren. Like I said: you got the wrong person.”

“Kaffas, don’t be ridiculous.I just heard him call you Az!” Ren gestures in Emmrich’s broad direction, irking the professor, as if the way he had been treating Rook hadn’t already vexed him enough. He hated being spoken about as if he wasn’t even there.

“Look… Az, please.” Ren’s tone softens as he lets out a slightly exasperated sigh, “I know we didn’t leave off on the best terms but, surely it’s been long enough now? We were kids-”

“It’ll never be long enough.” Az snaps back with more venom in his voice than Emmrich would’ve ever thought possible of the man. Then, seemingly dropping the wrong person act entirely, Rook steps away from the mystery man & a little closer to Emmrich. 

After a moment of silence from all three of the gentlemen, Az speaks up again, with the righteous conviction Emmrich’s only ever heard him use on the likes of the Venitori sneaking its way into his tone. 

“I don’t talk to traitors, or blood mages.” 

“Venhedis! Will you lower your voice?” Ren hisses back, stepping closer to Rook. 

However, before he can get too close, Emmrich instinctually moves forward. Not enough to stop their conversation, but just enough to force the gap between Ren & Az to stay as it is. He may not be much of a confrontational man but Emmrich would rather die than allow Rook’s boundaries to be trampled over. Even if he is lacking an alarming amount of context for this conversation at present moment.  

Ren looks up at Emmrich properly for the first time, irritated, with a hint of confusion painting his features. After a few moments of seemingly trying to assess the situation, it looks as if he returns to his original plan.

“I am not a blood mage.” He insists, focusing his attention back on Rook, “Nor am I a traitor Az-”

“And I’m not Az!” Rook retorts, glaring daggers at the man, though seeming to be a little less unnerved with Emmrich now acting as a physical buffer between the two of them. “Now kindly fuck off before this has to turn into a scene. I know your kind don’t like that.”

Ren seems to bristle at this comment, his jaw clenching as he glances away from Rook to make sure nobody really had noticed. Luckily for him, there were only a few eyes glancing, though that was still a few eyes too many for his comfort.

Without another word Ren turned and started to walk away. Only briefly pausing to glance back at the pair, almost as if trying to figure out an angle to continue the conversation. Thankfully, he eventually gives up and simply continues to walk away. 

~ ♡ ~

The two men travel home in silence together, Emmrich had tried to broach the subject but Rook just insisted that they continue their conversation back at the lighthouse. So, after what felt like the longest, most uncomfortable journey of their lives, the pair finally arrived back home.

“Rook,” Emmrich tentatively begins as he slowly closes Rook's bedroom door. “I hope it’s not too soon but I was really hoping we could talk-” before he could finish his sentence he heard a quiet broken sob from behind him.

Shocked, Emmrich’s whirls around, his eyes shooting up as he begins searching for the source of the noise. Only to find Az, standing in the middle of the room frozen, as quiet yet intense sobs continue to rack through his body. What parts of his face Emmrich can see are completely flushed red {well as red as a Qunari’s face can get}, tears streaking down his cheeks as he covers his face in a mixture of distress & shame.

“Rook, Darling? Are you alright?” The older gentleman asked as he rushed up to Az, making sure to not crowd his lover. He did, however, stand just close enough so that, spirits willing, Az could reach out to him with ease if he desired physical comfort.

Unfortunately Rook remains completely unresponsive to anything and after a few brief moments of this, it all seems to become too unbearable for the poor boy as his knees practically give way. Dropping to his knees, Az continues to keep his eyes shut tight. The only real noise that can be heard coming from the man is a mixture of the sobs and short, quick breaths.

Seeing his Love like this shook Emmrich, more than he’d expected seeing the man upset would. It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t explosive, it wasn’t anything Emmrich was used to helping comfort in students, friends or previous lovers alike. If Emmrich was to be honest, it wasn’t clear at all what was going on. It was simply as if the charismatic, funny, intelligent, strong man that he knew had completely shut down. 

In response, the necromancer moves a little closer and kneels in front of Rook, still not touching the man but merely ensuring that his presence stays known to his Beloved. 

“Do you remember the breathing exercises I shared with you and Ballara a few weeks ago Dearest?” Emmrich asks in a quiet, gentle voice as to not distress Rook any further. Once he notices a glimmer of recognition in what parts he could see of Az’s face he continues, “Could I bother you to try to re-enact them with me now?”

Over the next few minutes, Emmrich slowly takes Rook through the simplest of the routines that the trio had discussed previously when trying to encourage some self care habits in Bellara: Breathing in 3s.

Breathe in for 3 seconds, hold said breath for 3 more and then let it out slowly over the course of a final 3 seconds. As the exercise progresses, Emmrich counts out each second that passes. Once Rook seemingly masters the current allotted time for breathing, he then encourages him to increase the length of each action by increments of 1.  

This continues until, together, they are able to stabilise Az’s breathing. This development gives Emmrich the push needed to speak up once again.

“My Dear, I am so sorry today has distressed you so…” after a brief pause, “if there’s anything more I can do… I’m right here and will continue to be so until you dismiss me.”

The room remains quiet for a few minutes as the men sit in silence, though eventually one of Az’s hands begins to lower from his face. Slowly & shyly he looks back up at Emmrich, eyes bloodshot from crying and face still a little red,

“Darling,” Emmrich starts, heart and voice swelling with pure concern & affection before he’s abruptly cut off by Rook.

“I- I’m so sorry…” Az whispers, “I thought it would be okay… I didn’t think… Venhedis I’m so sorry.” 

Taken aback by the man’s words, Emmrich wonders why in Thedas Rook could possibly be apologising. Of course, an explanation would be appreciated but an apology? He would never expect it from a situation like this, especially when his beloved is so clearly and intensely distressed.

“Rook… Dearest… you have nothing to apologise for.” The professor coos as he raises his hand to cup Az’s cheek, tilting his head to look him in the eyes. “I am merely worried for you, My Love.” 

Rook sniffles slightly as he looks up at Emmrich, welcomed back into the eyes he was so happily, so ridiculously, losing himself in just hours before. He could almost lose himself in their endless comfort once again if he wasn’t interrupted by his lover a few moments later. 

“Please… if you could. I would greatly like to understand what happened today.”

Rook’s breathing stills a little at the request, it’s as if his whole body freezes yet again at just the idea of answering what on the surface seemed like such a benign question. But… it wasn’t truly benign was it? 

Prior to this, Rook had always been able to brush off the questions he’d received from the handful of lovers who had just happened to stumble in on him like this before; they all had quickly accepted that Az wasn’t one to talk much about these types of things. Anything too intense, too real, that was a no go. And frankly none of them cared enough to try again after asking once. But Emmrich… Vashedan. 

That man cared too much and saw too much , Rook knew he couldn’t lie to him.

He didn’t want to lie to him.

“I…” Rook starts, before he’s even figured out where his sentence is going. “You don’t understand… you don’t realise what you’re asking.”

Emmrich pauses momentarily, taking his time to really think through his next steps. After a few seconds, he gestures to the empty spot next to Rook. Once he receives a tentative nod in return, he sits himself down next to his lover. 

“Then tell me; help me understand, Az.” With that Emmrich places one hand in Az’s, holding it tight as he places his other hand on top. 

They stay like this for a few minutes, both men leaning into one another in that comforting silence that Az loved so damn much. 

Rook spends the time trying to figure out what to say and how to say it. Wondering whether he should even say it at all or if he should just grin & bear it as usual. Lying through his teeth to his partner in the process. Would it allow them to continue exploring what they were to each other? Or would it destroy the small amount of trust that they had been able to foster while Rook had still been desperately trying to keep the other man at an arm's length?

The fear of the latter seemed to be the thing that finally broke through to Rook. He couldn’t go on like this if he ever wanted something real… and no matter how many times up until this point that he had told himself otherwise… Gods did he want something real. 

So, Az finally decided to be brave. 

 “Okay,” he started through a shaky breath, “I told you, I didn’t live in Dock Town till recently. And that I grew up not far from it or that market...”

“Yes,” Emmrich responded hastily, hoping to encourage his companion to continue his train of thought.

“Well… turns out everyone likes to revisit the places they used to frequent from time to time. Whether they’re a common asshole… or a Magister's son.”

At this Emmrich’s eyes widened slightly: sure the young man that had so rudely interrupted their lovely day out was immaculately dressed but surely he wasn’t… Rook loathed most Magisters almost as much as he loathed all Venatori.

Rook let out a slight, self deprecating chuckle as he noticed the look on Emmrich’s face. 

“I know… a Magister's son and a random Qunari Laetan… How could those two be friends, right? Well, contrary to popular belief: some Magister’s kids aren’t born with hate and greed in their hearts.”

“Rook… why did you…” Emmrich starts, uncertain of exactly what he wanted to ask first. 

Luckily, or unluckily depending on how you view the situation, before he could give it much more thought Emmrich was abruptly cut off by Az again.

“If I admitted who I was… if I said ‘Yes Ren, it’s me, I remember you!’ I wouldn’t have been able to… We wouldn't have gotten out of that market without me killing a Magister's son… and us needing to avoid Minrathous again… that’s not an option.” Rook pauses, breath growing a tad shaky, “I couldn’t do that again. Not when there’s so much at stake. Not just for Minrathous, not just for my home… but for the world…”

The elder gentleman let out a slight hum of understanding, starting to rub circles into the top of Rook’s hand again as he continued to leave space for Az. Not daring to interrupt the flow of vulnerability that he had honestly never thought he’d ever witness from the man.

After a few more moments of this, Rook speaks up again. 

“If it’s alright with you Emmrich,  I don’t quite have the energy to go too deep into it tonight… I can give you the short of it though… for now?”

Emmrich simply nods, pushing his questions aside for tonight as he instead continues to focus all of his attention on Az, leaving the Qunari trying not to burn up again from a mixture of embarrassment & shyness. Though after withstanding a few seconds of the intense concentration that was being directed at him, Rook seems to be able to refocus on his own words. 

“Okay, so… Ren and I were friends when we were younger… and well… I suppose at one point we were something more to each other than that. Though it turns out, the apple really never does fall that far from the tree.” Az lets out a small, bitter laugh before continuing. “Anyway, thousands of lies, 1 dead close family friend of mine & of course 1 blood magic ritual later and… well let’s just say it took me a long time to even think about going near that market again. Nevermind…”

Another heavy, still silence fills the air, though this time it’s one of shock. 

Emmrich knew Rook didn’t talk about his past much, as someone who also didn’t talk about his own a great deal, Emmrich had assumed it was for similar reasons. There were probably some painful things Az didn’t want to talk about in fear of resurfacing past upsets but… this was just a snippet and it was already so much more than the necromancer had expected the poor boy to have been subjected to.

“In any case,” Az starts again, wiping a stray tear from his cheek as he moves away from Emmrich slightly, “I suppose… as a result - I don’t really do relationships anymore… not really anyway. It’s a lot harder to have something real with someone when they realise you’ve got way more baggage than you’ve been letting on.” Rook fails to stifle a self deprecating, harsh laugh. “Even harder when you have to keep all your shit weird bottled up, pretend you’re not constantly on the edge of a panic attack and now I suppose lead the fight against a pair of Elvhen gods while a third is in your head.”

A few moments of silence fill the room as Emmrich stares incredulously at the man before him. 

Rook, Az, the unfaltering leader of the Veilguard as Emmrich had come to know him… the man who faced every single horrific, dire situation head on since the men had met. His Darling Boy wasn’t infallible after all. In fact… he was almost just as bad as Emmrich at avoiding all of his problems till they came crashing down on him in one fell swoop.

 “So… I guess what I’m saying,” Az begins again, this time in a much quieter voice. “Is, I understand if this is a bit… much. I’ll try not to hold it against you if you wanna call this off now.”

It’s as if those final words immediately snatch Emmrich out of his thoughts, his eyes snapping back up to Rooks somehow even more full of shock and concern than before.

 Surely Az couldn’t be suggesting…?

“Joking,” he quickly continues, “Sorry, I wouldn’t hold it against you at all… I couldn’t if I tried really... Y’know, If you wanted to call it quits here I mean… I- I’d get it.” He finished with as big of a smile as he could muster, turns out it wasn’t much of one and by the Gods did it look like it would break at any moment.

Without saying anything else, Emmrich simply steps closer to Az, grabbing his beloved’s chin to tilt it back towards his gaze. 

“Dearest,” he begins, staring deeply into Az’s eyes, “nothing could keep me from your side.” The professor takes one of Rook’s hands in his free one and grips it tightly. “Especially not something as natural as history, as ‘baggage’. Spirits willing Az… I will stay by your side into the afterlife, or at least for as long as you’ll have me.”

A few seconds of silence pass as Rook tries to process the words that had just left his lover's mouth. Never in a million years had he expected to find such genuine care and affection… someone that would not only see him collapse in a heap of distress but someone who would also stay with him the entire time and then accept him… with all of his ever growing pile of weird Vashedan.

Overcome with relief and an overwhelming sense of acceptance, Rook steps closer to Emmrich, crashing his lips into the necromancers. His free hand worms its way around Emmrich’s back to pull them closer to one another as the kiss is returned just as eagerly. Emmrich leans into it, releasing rook’s hand only to wrap his own arm around the Qunari’s waist, tightening the embrace further.

And they stayed like that. For as long as they could, they stayed like that.

[mandyyvibes]

okay genuinely no one should be doing this but it’s kinda nice to be working out in the sun and heat and just like. let myself get overheated. it makes me all sleepy and dizzy and it feels like my heart rate slows down and everything is like just waking up from a nap. every single cell in my body is weak and sun-warmed.

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

one thing abt being disabled/chronically ill that some people don’t get is that sometimes body maintenance that ensures you have the absolute minimum amount of function can also be something that takes away a lot of control and autonomy. you can argue till the cows come home that making those decisions to try and help yourself (or realistically to try to make sure things aren’t worse than they already are) is something that exhibits control and autonomy and stuff, but they can be so limiting in practice because they’re things that take up so much time but have to be done to do anything else

[quietlyblooms]

we’re feeling off, folks, so it’s gonna be another quiet night from me. i’m not built to socialize this much in such a short span of time 😔

[quietwingsinthesky]

Have you ever played/watched a playthrough of the game 12 Minutes? I think you'd like one of the reveals in it.

I did watch a full playthrough a while back. Unfortunately for this recommendation, I thought it was <3 stupid <3 No offense to anyone who likes it, I just thought the design of the loop in the first place was a bit clunky, the characters were sort of eh, and then the reveals themselves were, as I remember and as they played out on whatever stream I was watching, just kind of bad? A poorly put together story surrounded by poorly put together gameplay, but. like. willem dafoe was there 👍

[rosesradio]

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[b0ngwatertearz]

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[chuchayucca]

Discussions of implied fictional CSA & SA

I recently been wondering if there’s a chance Richard thinks Roy’s aggressive and distant behavior is normal and not a sign of CSA because he acted similarly to Roy when he was younger

Reasonings in the tags

[dandelionjack]

i don’t want to kill myself but looking at the future sometimes i feel like i have no other option. i fucked it up too far without anticipating consequences and it’s too late to make a change or strive towards any kind of hopeful meaningful existence. there is no way out for someone like me who has nothing going for them, squandered any opportunity, any talent, everything that was handed to them on a silver platter. no interesting personality traits, no aptitudes, nothing to make up for the gaping void where motivation and will to live and thrive and put in effort towards a goal should be. even the most basic steps are a pipe dream. i don’t want to die because i fear the possibility of hell but i no longer see any tolerable way of living.

[fireladybuckley]

Apparently I still have a lot of internalized ableism to work on in myself.

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

Do terfs know it’s possible to be like “I like girls but I’m not into dating someone with a penis regardless of gender. It’s just a personal preference. I can think that without saying that genderqueer people are invalid and dangerous” or do they live like they see with V.A.T.S. and everyone is marked as hostile?

I’m using someone attracted to girls in this example because the last one to show up in my feed was a lesbian who was VERY vocal about girls having a penis, but that can go for any gender and any orientation. You can just, not be attracted to an individual, that is very much a thing. You don’t need to find everyone fuckable. You don’t have to be so weird about it and start to get hostile towards random people for just existing. The stuff I have seen those people say unprompted is insane. They really do see things as “penis bad” and ignore everyone and everything else.

[lucysweatslove]

You would think as a person who recovered from an ED I would learn NOT to weigh myself, like, ever, but of course I keep doing it because curiosity and it only causes distress.