#i thought i was fine and then my card declined at therapy and at first i thought they were letting me stall payment until the next session

[andi-o-geyser]

not to interrupt my lotr queue but wtaf is going on with jjk. i feel like ive been given cursed knowledge. my friend convinced me to binge the whole thing and i finished 3 days ago. and now this. what the fuck.

[crowandthefics]

Leslie’s slow decline into madness

A Toa fic

All parts!

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Hi, my names Leslie papadopoulos. My favorite jolly rancher color is red, I love mythomagic, and my brothers identity was stolen by a god.

Pretty wild, right? On my 14th birthday my brother, Lester went out and didn’t come back. I remember it well:

“Be back by 3 Lester, you wouldn’t wanna miss your sisters party,” Mom says, as Lester opened the door

“don’t worry mom! I’ll be back in time.” Lester huffs as he steps out.

Lester didn’t come back that day, or any other day. I spent the whole party saying

“I’m not doing that till Lester’s back!”

It was a rather sad party as you can imagine.

My mom made me blow out my candles before all my friends left. by then I had already figured out Lester wasn’t coming back any time soon.

My wish as I blew out my candles was for Lester to come home but the next time I would see him wouldn’t be for a long time.

Well, I never actually SAW him again, but one day he was on twitter for doing something stupid. I don’t even remember what, I just remember going to my mom all excited, and very scared because my brother was alive! And all the way in the way in LA… why was he there instead of at home? Why did he leave on my birthday? I thought we were close?

I cried that night.

Chapter two

I spent the weekend after my birthday crying. But alas I had to return to school on Monday.

I hardly payed much attention in class, how could I? My brother was gone! Why am I supposed to pretend like everything’s fine?

He was declared missing and I started believing he was dead if it wasn’t for all the images of him circling the internet.

Over the weeks my friends decided that I was to much work to be friends with. I don’t blame them, but it will always hurt.

I didn’t really make any new friends per say but this senior, Percy Jackson hung out with me. He could relate to losing people so he understood my pain as well as anyone could.

We weren’t friends but he shared my lunch period and didn’t have anyone else to sit with and neither did I. sometimes he shared his cookies with me!

The months were a blur. I didn’t know what to do so I retreated into fantasy. I already liked mythomagic but now it was my sole coping mechanism. As a result I started reading about the Greek gods.

Funny ain’t it? My brother was taken by the Greek gods and what did I hyper fixate on to escape reality? The Greek gods.

I collected every card and figure and knickknack that mythomagic made. It was all I could do to not to break down.

Then I started seeing things.

Chapter three

I started seeing things. The birds were huge monsters, a dog running down the street could look like hellhounds from my mythomagic cards, I saw teenagers holding swords.

I tried to ignore it for so long, what was I supposed to say?

“Hey mom that kid over there has a sword on his belt!”

Hell no, they’d put me in a mental hospital I’m sure!

…and my parents already lost a child, I can’t make them live with a mentally unstable child.

So I pretend everything’s normal. I don’t see weird things and I’m not breaking apart. But I learned quickly, it’s hard to hide that stuff.

“Leslie! Leslie, are you listening to me?” My mom asked frantically.

I had started crying in the living room, I couldn’t handle all the stress anymore. My brother was missing, I’m failing my classes, and on top of that I’m hallucinating now!

“I want Lester back!” I say through tears.

The rest of that night is spent like that, I wouldn’t listen to reason at.

The next week my parents put me in therapy at the first place they could find. I like to say it helped, all I really did was talk about Lester though. By this point he’d been gone for four months.

It wasn’t long after I started talking about seeing things that I was diagnosed with schizophrenia.

I thought I had things figured out on that until one of the ‘hallucinations’ attacked me, like physically hurt me.

I was out for a walk, my therapist told me getting outside more might help.

I fell to the ground before I could think or react. I couldn’t see the monster so I didn’t know what it was, all I could do was scream.

Then there was just dust and an arrow. A girl with green hair walked up and retrieved her arrow. She looked at me and shook her head, muttering something to herself before telling me: “you should get as far from downtown as you can.”

I didn’t ask questions. I got up and left.

What? Did you expect that I’d stay and find out what was going on? Hell no when straight home and pretended nothing happened, I told my mom I fell to explain any injuries. Apparently the rest of everywhere did to because I saw nothing online about monsters or archers in downtown New York.

It was calm for a while. Until mid June.

Chapter 4

Mid June. They found his body near the Empire State Building.

It was red and brunt, painful brunt. My brother had burned to his death.

He wasn’t crispy the way you’d expect from someone who burned to death, no, he was bright red, red like a cherry jolly rancher.

It confused people. He evenly brunt all over, how was the burn so uniform? It was mystery. A mystery I didn’t want to think about.

My mother tried to calm me down, I was screaming and crying. She offered my what was supposed to be my favorite candy, a red jolly rancher.

“Red red red red no that’s what Lester looked like!” I had cried

Red used to be my favorite color, now I can’t look it and not cry.

I tried to stay calm, I really did! But I couldn’t, my brother, Lester, my dumbass brother who played piano and was late to everything and used to think you eat sunscreen was dead and I wanted him back.

All I could do was sob, my father pulled me away from the scene and took me home. My mom stayed to handle things.

I sat in the center of Lester’s room, just talking as if to him.

“Hey Lester did you know that though Demeter has the worst attack power she has the unrivaled defense?”

“Lester Lester will you play Mary had a little lamb?”

“I’m boreddd Lester… I miss you”

It helped calm me down in the afterwards. His funeral would be the next week but I wasn’t ready to see him again.

Until then, I talk to the walls.

Chapter 5

I stare out the car window on the way to the funeral.

It wasn’t raining, it was bright and sunny. Lester would’ve been sad to know his funeral was on a sunny day. He always wanted a funeral in the rain, for dramatic effect.

At the funeral home I saw way more people than I expected. People I never met.

I was anxious around the people but I tried not to pay attention. Instead eating strawberries. They had been Lester’s favorite snack so we had tons of them.

I ended up talking to one of the people who I didn’t know. He introduced himself as lyre.

“I’m sorry about the loss of your brother,” lyre said, he looked almost guilty. I wondered why.

“No, don’t apologize. You didn’t kill him.” I slightly laughed. Coping with dark humor.

Lyre glanced around nervously before laughing as well, he looked rather awkward.

“Well, still. I hope you’ve been holding up alright,” lyre responded.

“Does talking to walls count as alright?” I ask, to which lyre only shrugs.

The conversation ended there. I felt a bit weird about lyre but I just moved on, I felt weird about a lot of things right now.

I talked to a lot of people who I didn’t know. A set of siblings: will, Austin and Kayla. They were sweet, but Kayla looked familiar to me and I couldn’t figure it out. I ignored that weird feeling too.

I talked about the concept of death with someone named Nico. He was actually really helpful and helped me calm down even in the slightest. “Death happens eventually to everyone. I know it’s so cliche, but it’s gonna be ok eventually. I know how it feels to lose a sibling.”

He also played Mythomagic to so we talked about that for a while. It was something I understood like the back of my hand and it helped to talk about something I understood.

There was a little girl, said her name was Meg. She put a hyacinth on Lester and gave me a potted plant; “so you won’t be as lonely, it can’t replace your brother but it’s something at least!” She told me. It was also a hyacinth.

I held that plant the whole day.

I certainly watered it with my tears.

I can’t remember his service, I just know I cried the whole thing.

I had written out a poem he liked and placed it in his coffin along with my mythomagic figure of his favorite god, Hermes. He liked him because tricks and pranks and shenanigans were some of his favorite things.

At the graveyard I helped shovel the dirt over the coffin.

Staring at his grave I broke down again. Seeing his name in stone made it real.

Long after the funeral was over I sat talking to the grave. As if having a conversation.

Then lyre was there, He just appeared.

“Oh- uhm- sorry hi.” I scrambled to form coherent sentences.

Lyre just sat next to me. After a few minutes of awkward silence he started talking: “I am responsible for his death.” He said.

I blink, “what?”

“Earlier you said not to apologize because it wasn’t my fault, but it was. My name isn’t Lyre, my name is Apollo, and I am responsible for the death of lester.” He took a breath. “I don’t usually tell Mortals about the world of gods, but your life was ruined by it so you are owed an explanation.”

I stare at her. “Explain,” I say sharply.

“I am the god Apollo. I’m sure you know what that means from your little card game-“ I cut her off, “mythomagic.”

“-yes that. How do I put this… I recently went through ‘trials’ of sorts, my father, Zeus made me mortal in the body of Lester papadopoulos. Which is why he disappeared and eventually died. When I ascended to Olympus I can only assume his body couldn’t handle the amount of divine power and burnt to his death. So, young Leslie, I can do nothing but apologize to you,” lyre- Apollo explained to me.

“… with all the weird monsters I’ve been seeing I can’t even say I don’t believe you,” I say, dumbfounded.

Apollo sighs. “If I could bring Lester back, I would, but I can’t.” He takes a breath. “I must be leaving now, goodbye, Leslie papadopoulos.” And he disappears in a puff of gold.

I was mad. Horribly mad. I look at my brothers grave. “Lester. I will make sure he doesn’t just- just move on without caring about what. I swear that to you. I love you.” I hug his grave.

And thus begins my insanity.

Chapter 6

I’m tired. I don’t want to deal with this anymore. I curse the heavens but there’s nothing I can do.

I hate the sun, I hate archery, I hate music- I hate everything Apollo stands for!

I tore apart my Apollo card, I tore a lot of my Mythomagic cards. I wasn’t thinking straight. I was scared and tired and angry, so angry.

Once I came to my senses I shoved the rest of my set in a box into the closet.

I went to my brothers grave so often. One day I was just talking to him in ramblings.

“Ya know what if I summoned Satan? Maybe if I do that I can trade my soul and everything will be fixed.” I laughed, leaned on his grave.

“How hard is it to kill god, do you think?” I asked him.

Things went just like that til I met Anne. Anne was a child of Apollo as she said.

“I fought against the gods in a war a few years back. The second titan war.” She explained to me.

Most importantly about Anne, she was willing to help me make sure Apollo never forgot what happened to Lester.

Anne and I became good friends quickly. And by August we had our plan.

Then, Anne and my plans were found out by a god.

Anne was killed by the gods.

I tore up the paper plans and sunk them in the water. I deleted any digital plans.

I removed all evidence of Anne from my life. I pretended none of that ever happened.

I decided I’d move on from the mess that has happened the last 9 months of my life. I had school to finish, I could make my life a life again.

But things could never be how I wanted them anymore.

My name is Leslie papadopoulos. I hate the color red, my Mythomagic set is long forgotten in a closet and my brother was killed by the gods.

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[spaceorphan18]

Head Over Feet (2/14)

After Kurt and Blaine broke up the second time, they went their separate ways, living their separate lives in New York City. Fifteen years later, a retirement party brings them back together into each other’s orbit, with surprising, for both of them, consequences. Are they able to fit each other into their already complicated and messy lives? And are these newfound feelings real? Or just echoes of a past relationship?

Canon Divergent after Season 5.

Ao3 Link

A/N: Since the first chapter seemed to be such a huge hit - I'm dropping this today. This was all originally supposed to be the first chapter anyway! Going forward, I'm going to try to update once a month. Thanks for reading - and I hope you enjoy! :)

Thanks to @snarkyhag for the beta. :)

***

Chapter 2: Loser Like Me (Part Two) 

Kurt Hummel loves sex.  He loves the feeling of strong hands holding his body, rough lips against his skin, and a hard cock buried deep within him.  And that morning he had woken up feeling particularly horny.  He isn’t sure what exactly he had been dreaming about but his dick aches to be touched.  And luckily he shares his bed with a very hot guy who doesn’t mind taking care of it for him.  

He and Ian have been together a little over a year now, though this moving in together thing is new and still taking time to get used to.  Sex, however, is not an adjustment they need to make.  Ian doesn’t seem to mind Kurt waking him up with a hand on his cock, desperate to be fucked.  Ian might be a little slow to wake, but not long after they start, Ian’s already pulling Kurt to a quick orgasm; Kurt spilling all over Ian’s fist as Ian pumps his hips into Kurt from behind.  

The thing is, as much as Kurt loves sex, he’s not one to draw it out.  Kurt finds himself holding steady onto the bed frame, staring at the wallpaper, as Ian takes his time fucking him.  And the wallpaper is incredibly ugly.  Seriously.  He knows that Ian isn’t the one to have picked it out, but it’s a striped puke-green, burnt-orange, and tacky-gold, left over, most likely, from a renovation to the old building from the sixties.  It’s a travesty that it’s remained on the wall so long, and if Ian would just fucking come already, he wouldn’t be forced to stare at it for so long.  

Kurt fucks his hips back a little, hoping that Ian will pick up the pace.  He leans back for a kiss (that wallpaper is seared forever in his head, god) and gives out a little moan.  It’s a tiny bit performative, but it seems to do the trick, and Ian’s hips finally begin to snap, pushing him to his own orgasm.  

“Fuck, Kurt, I could wake up this way every day for forever,” Ian says, sucking a kiss to his shoulder.  

The word ‘forever’ echoes in Kurt’s brain uncomfortably.  Kurt turns in Ian’s arms, quieting him with a kiss.  “Happy to oblige.”

Ian goes in to deepen the kiss, but Kurt pulls away.  Now that he’s feeling a bit satisfied, he wants nothing more than to take a shower and get ready for the day.  He’s got about a thousand things to do, and he’s eager to get started.  Ian tries to keep him close -- he’s always wanting to make out after sex -- but Kurt manages to slip out of Ian’s light grasp.  

“Shower time,” Kurt says, wiggling his eyebrows.  

“Mmm, let me join you.”

The thought suddenly makes Kurt twitch but he tries not to show it.  What is wrong with him? His incredibly handsome boyfriend, with his disheveled dark hair and playfully pleading light eyes wants to join him in the shower for a possible part two of morning sexy times.  But having Ian shoved in next to him in their tiny shower stall makes him feel claustrophobic.  

He pushes past his discomfort to allow Ian to join him.  He even gives in to a little light making-out.  But there’s no way sex is happening in that bathroom.  

They do their morning routine together, bumping into each other in the tiny bathroom.  The sink is covered in bottles and sprays, creams and soaps, razors and combs, and they have to reach over each other to grab what they need.  Kurt is normally a very organized person, and when he moved in, he took the time to organize a side for each of them. But since then, Ian’s stuff has slowly migrated over to his side, and Ian’s slowly been using the products on Kurt’s side.  And mostly, he’d be fine with the sharing if things would just keep their place.  However, he doesn’t say anything, enjoying Ian’s good mood.  

Ian suggests breakfast, wanting to go to the little bagel shop a few blocks down.  He asks Kurt to walk with him but, just wanting a few minutes to check his emails alone, he declines.  Ian throws a look of disappointment but heads out, stating he’ll bring Kurt something back.  Kurt tries not to feel guilty about it, and reminds himself that there’s nothing wrong with wanting a few minutes to yourself.  Besides, Ian’s still excited that they’re living together.  He’ll calm down.  Surely.   Right?  

Ian being gone gives Kurt a few minutes to pick up the apartment.  There are clothes discarded in the living room, where they had been left after starting sex on the couch the night before.  There’s an old pizza box sitting on the coffee table, a few mugs with half-drunk tea, and a scattering of papers.  And underneath a pile of Ian’s sheet music is the mail from the previous week, most of which is Kurt’s.  He clenches his jaw as he goes through it, annoyed that he’s just now seeing it.  

There are a couple of old bills in here that need to be paid, as well as a bright red envelope that looks like an invitation sent from McKinley High.  He looks over the invitation with curiosity, though something else quickly catches his eye.  It’s a jewelry catalogue sent to Ian.  Specifically, a men’s jewelry catalogue.  And Ian doesn’t wear jewelry.  Highly suspect of it, he looks it over, and a growing anxiety starts to spread.  This could not possibly mean…

The door slams shut and Kurt jumps from his spot on the couch.  It’s just Ian home from the bagel shop.  

“I got your favorite, multigrain with that fancy whipped cream cheese that you like,” Ian says.  He hands him the bag and gives him a kiss on the cheek before sitting down next to him.  

“You didn’t give me my mail,” Kurt grumbles, taking the bag.  Then adds a quiet, “thank you.”  

Ian shrugs it off.  “I figured you’d see it eventually.  I’ve been wondering when you’d open that red envelope.  I wanna know what it is.”

“Oh,” Kurt places the bag with his breakfast on the coffee table and picks up the envelope from his lap, opening it.  He gives it a fond smile.  “I guess my old choir director is retiring.  There’s a party for him back in Lima.”  

“Well, that’s cool,” Ian says, grabbing the invitation out of his hand.  “Quaint.  I’m guessing you aren’t going?  I mean, other than mentioning your dad, I’ve never heard you talk about your time in Ohio.  Hell, I’ve never even heard early New York stories.  All I know is one day you walked into my piano bar, a full grown man, mysterious and sexy.”  Ian wiggles his eyebrows.  “Hard to imagine you in high school.”  

“Well, I can assure you I was anything but sexy,” Kurt says.  A flash of a memory crosses his brain - one of a performance in a warehouse, lots of boys in blazers, and a really uncomfortable situation for young Kurt.  He shakes his head, ridding his mind of it.  

“So, are you going to go?” Ian asks, far more interested in the idea than Kurt is.  

Kurt scrunches his nose at the thought.  He hasn’t stepped foot in Ohio for a better part of a decade.  There aren’t even people from high school he still talks to, not on a regular basis anyway.  It’s sweet of Will Schuester’s family to think of him, but maybe he’s better off sending a card or something.  

“I don’t know,” Kurt says, he stares at the invitation, unsure of how he feels about it.  “I don’t know.”

***

Wednesdays mean that Ian is home all day.  He is a classical pianist by trade and his day job is playing with one of New York’s symphony orchestras.  In the evenings, he usually plays gigs at local bars.  But on Wednesday, he has time off from both jobs to be home all day.  Wednesday used to be the day where Kurt spent all his time with Ian.  Now that they live together, Kurt usually spends his Wednesday anywhere but home.  

It usually lands him at his own job, running a small theater that he co-owns with his old friend, Elliott Gilbert.  Technically, Elliott’s rich grandmother’s money bought the theater, and Kurt had been brought on to manage the projects and productions that happened there.  It’s still quite a work in progress, as the building had been nearly condemned when they originally bought it a few years earlier.  But with all their hard work, they’re beginning to draw in better productions, and this might be the first year they actually draw a profit.  

When he gets in that afternoon, he finds Elliott up in the rafters, working on some of the lights.  Kurt watches for a moment as Elliott finishes whatever he’s working on.  It’s hard to say, but he has the toolbox with him, so Kurt can only guess it has to do with the lights nearly coming down the other night.  They really need to get an electrician in, but Elliott’s pretty handy about these things, and will at least try to do what he can before they have to ask for help.  

Kurt watches a good few minutes as Elliott finishes up and comes down the ladder.  

“You’re being quiet,” Elliott says, carefully bringing down the toolbox as he reaches the bottom of the ladder.  Kurt, hands in pockets, just gives a gentle shrug.  “You’re not usually quiet, which means it can only be one of a few things.  Something’s up with your dad.  You want a favor.  Or it’s boyfriend problems.”

“Well, my dad is fine, and I don’t need anything,” Kurt says.  “So….”

Elliott lets out a heavy sigh, and places the toolbox on the ground.  “It wouldn’t kill you to go to therapy, you know.”

“You’re not my therapist?”

“Alright, so this session is going to cost you three-hundred dollars,” Elliott looks at his watch.  “You have twenty minutes.  Go.”

Kurt lets out a laugh as he follows Elliott to the edge of the stage.  Elliott jumps off but Kurt lowers himself to sit on the edge, his legs hanging off.  Elliott makes a shrug for Kurt to get on with it.  

“So, I was going through some mail, and I found this jewelry catalogue.  It had a lot of men’s engagement rings,” Kurt says.  Elliott makes a face as if to say ‘and…?’  Kurt purses his lips.  “I think Ian might ask me to marry him.”  

“Have you guys even talked about marriage?”

“Definitely not.”  

Elliott doesn’t seem at all convinced.  “Maybe it was just an ad then.  I get shit like that all the time.  I somehow managed to be subscribed to a women’s lingerie catalogue for years.”  

Kurt still can’t rid himself of the low-level anxiety he’s been feeling about it all day.  “Even so, I just… don’t like the idea.”  

“I thought you and Ian were doing great?”

“We are, we are,” Kurt says.  Elliott, again, doesn’t seem convinced.  “Ian’s in the honeymoon stage of wanting to do everything together, and I don’t know.  We’ve been together for a year.  We know how we are.  Do we really need to do everything together now that we live together?”  

Elliott folds his arms across his chest.  “Kurt, if this is becoming an issue, why did you agree to move in with him in the first place?”

Kurt stares up at the ceilings.  The old, red curtains have a few fringes and tears, and Kurt wonders vaguely, if they should get new ones or if anyone would really notice.  He kicks the stage lightly as he avoids Elliott’s question.  “I mean, my apartment lease was up, and they were going to double my rent.”  

“Oh, god,” Elliott chokes out.  “Please tell me that wasn’t the only reason.”  

“It’s not,” his voice squeaks a little too much on the words.  “I also, you know, love him.”  

Elliott shakes his head.  Kurt knows judgment when he sees it.  “This is just classic Kurt,” he says.  

“You know, there’s nothing wrong with having an adjustment period with having to live with someone after I’ve had my own place for so long,” Kurt says, defending himself.  

“Uh-huh.”

“I just like my independence.”

Elliott’s eyebrow is arched high.  “Or you like sabotaging your relationships.”

Kurt scoffs, looking off to the side of the stage.  They’re going to need to scrub this whole place down before allowing anyone to do a production here again.  Elliott, however, is not letting him off the hook, and eyes him hard.  “I do not do that.”

“Then why have I seen you more in the past couple of weeks than you’ve probably seen him?”

It’s a fair question, Kurt admits to himself.  “Well, I do find you tolerable.”  

“Kurt, you don’t find any of your boyfriends tolerable,” Elliott says.  He almost sounds annoyed, but he knows Elliott’s limits and he knows he hasn’t reached them.  But truth be told, he’s as sick of himself as Elliott probably is.  “Who was that guy before Ian? That Matt guy? Why did you break up with him?”

He picked the scab, of course Elliott is going to rip open the old wounds.  “Because he wanted me to be ‘a part of the family’,” Kurt replies, using air quotes to highlight his point.  Matt had been a sweet guy, but his family had been his life.  He hadn’t been ready to be a part of any family, let alone one that had been as close as Matt’s had been.  He felt as if he had been suffocating every time they went to visit.  “His family was crazy.  I didn’t need to be a part of that.”  

Elliott nods, continuing on.  “Okay, and Joey was the one before that.  I remember him because he helped clean up this place when we bought it.”  

Kurt bites his lip.  He did feel bad about that.  Joey had been so quick to offer his time.  But Joey also had been there.  All the time.  It had been too much.  “He was super clingy,” Kurt says quietly, though he hates that he’s seeing the trend.

“Sure he was,” Elliott says.  A grin slips onto his lips.  “And then there was Steven.”  

“He wanted to marry me six months into the relationship,” Kurt says.  He snaps a little too loud, his voice echoing in the empty theater.  Elliott remains amused, even if Kurt is not.  “Who knows they want to get married six months into a relationship?  Why are you getting on my case about this?  It’s not like you don’t go through, like, three guys a week.”  

Elliott throws his head back in a laugh.  “Well, I am at peace with my slutty ways.  Look, Kurt, it’s not about the number of guys you go through.   It’s just that, well, honestly, I’ve known you forever.  And I know you’re this old school romantic and the slutty ways will never be satisfying for you.  Did it ever occur to you that the reason it doesn’t work out with these guys is not because you’re this progressive independent, but because deep down you want to be an old school married, and haven’t found the right person to be with yet?”

The gnawing pit in his stomach starts to fade as he thinks about the old fantasy -- the one he had as a kid, where you met your prince, and you lived happily ever after.  Only, real life doesn’t happen like that.  Most guys are not princes, and the ones who are don’t always lead to happily ever after.  He knows better than to be unrealistic, but maybe he’s pushing people too far away.  

“Do you think I’ve made a mistake?” Kurt asks, he begins bouncing his foot against the stage again.  

Elliott goes soft in deposition.  “You know I can’t answer that for you.”

“You’re probably right,” Kurt says.  He thinks of Ian - of his kind smile and good heart.   He shouldn’t be running, even if every ounce of him feels like it’s too much.  “Ian is a good guy, and I’ve been…”

“Difficult?”

“I was going to say myself, but thank you.”

“I do my best.” Elliott playfully taps his knee.  “If you want, though, you can crash at my place for a few days.  I’m gonna be out of town.  Some third cousin is getting married, and Mom insists that everyone be there.”

“No, I’m good,” Kurt insists.  And then an idea hits him.  “You know, I got an invitation to go back to Lima.  Old high school choir thing.  Maybe I’ll take a long vacation and do that.  It could give me some time to clear my head -- reflect on my questionable life choices.”  

Elliott gives a hearty laugh.  “You haven’t talked about Lima in years.  Besides, going back to Lima might force you to dig into your past, and we all know how much you enjoy doing that.”

Kurt swats at Elliott.  “It’ll be fine.  What’s the worst that can happen?”

***

After work, Kurt doesn’t go home right away.  Instead, he opts to walk around the city for a while.  There’s a slight chill, causing him to bundle his jacket a little tighter, and the sky is overcast, threatening a storm rolling in.  He won’t be out too late, but he knows Ian is back home waiting for him and he’s just not ready for it yet.  

His conversation with Elliott plays over in his head.  He does like his independence.  He always has.  Even when he had been a little boy, his parents had let him play on his own.  And after years of rejection from kids his own age, he learned that sometimes being on your own is your best bet.  It’s not that he doesn’t like the company his boyfriends have brought him over the years.  He just likes his space. And his peace and quiet. And his room to move about as he pleases.  And sometimes boyfriends make him feel too tied down.  

But he can’t help but think about what Elliott had said.  The thing that seems to stick in his brain, wiggling to the forefront of his thoughts.  Maybe he wants to be an old married? Maybe he does want that connection, that one person who seems to know him, who understands him enough that there will be days when they’re inseparable, and days when they’re apart.  He likes the idea of coming home to the same face every day to see someone who can read him like a book, who will enjoy the same things as him, who will love him for the insufferable human being he always seems to be.  

But are there really people out there like that?  

Maybe he’s not giving Ian enough credit.  When they had decided to move in together, Kurt thought it had been the most optimal choice.  Living costs would come down.  He’d have a partner to spend his time with.  And the sex.  God, Ian knows how to have sex.  

But permanently?  The buzz of anxiety begins to grow at the thought.  There are too many little things about Ian, too many things about himself that just don’t feel right.  It’s not perfect.  Well -- it’s never going to be perfect, he argues with himself.  But still…  

The storm breaks sooner than Kurt expects, a sudden heavy rain coming down.  Kurt stands on the street corner, looking up at the sky as he gets drenched.  Maybe the universe is trying to tell him something, and he can’t help but laugh as the rain splashes his face.  

Just as he’s about to head home, however, he catches a sign on the corner of a building.  A sign advertising an open leasing on a loft, with a number attached.  For a moment, he’s transferred back in time to all those years ago, when he lived in a loft in Bushwick with four other people all of whom had been trying to make it in the city.  He hasn’t thought about that loft in ages.  Hasn’t thought about those people in ages.  God, what even happened to…  

He tries hard not to think of the name that first pops in his head.  But he can’t help but see the face.  He shakes his head, as if attempting to get rid of the image.  

Nostalgia hits him just then.  

Nostalgia for a place he left long ago, for people whom he never thought he’d miss.  He is going to take that trip to Lima.  He does need a break from Ian.  He does need to get his life sorted out.  But mostly, he feels a soft ache for returning home -- even if he’s not sure where that is anymore.  

***

A week later, Kurt finds himself rolling up to one of Lima’s three motels in a car he rented at the airport.  It’s strange coming back to the city he grew up in and, yet, not returning back to his childhood home.  He had thought about driving past, but he hadn’t necessarily wanted to see through the window to see whatever happy suburban family had bought the place.  Instead, he had driven straight to the motel that he had booked himself the moment he knew he would be coming back.  

There is something surreal about returning to the place you grew up after so much time has passed.  It’s like time has frozen, remaining exactly the same as the moment you left, even if there are new storefronts in the old buildings, expansions where wooded areas used to be, and a real attempt, it seems, to clean the place up.  It feels unchanged, and Kurt can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing.  It’s just a thing.  

It’s evening by the time he gets in.  The motel room is bland and tiny, and the four channels on the TV don’t offer much entertainment.  He lays down on the bed to stare at the ceiling, thinking if there’s anything he could do.  Most places in Lima shut down before eight, even on a Friday night.  And it’s not like he has anyone to call. He had been texting Mercedes Jones earlier in the week, shocked that her number had still been the same, but she had explained that she wouldn’t be getting in until very late and implied that whatever plans she had wouldn’t be with him.  He had understood, and it’s not like he won’t be seeing her the next day anyway.  Scrolling through his phone, he finds that he doesn’t have a single other contact from high school he could call.  

Maybe he should just text Ian -- but as his thumb hovers over his boyfriend’s name, he remembers that Ian is probably playing a concert that weekend. And even if he waits until later when Ian’s home, he just doesn’t want to ruin Ian’s good time by explaining that he can’t quite quash the crushing sense of loneliness that seems to be his homecoming.  

Why did he think this would be a good idea?

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices a neon flashing light, and through the window he sees a building that he hasn’t thought about in years.  Thinking anywhere is better than being stuck in that sad motel room for the next twelve hours, Kurt heads out into the night.  

***

Scandals is, if nothing else, exactly how he remembers it.  Not that his memories are anything more than fuzzy blips of moments from long ago.  He remembers the same posters being on the wall, in the same tattered state.  He remembers the huge, neon signs lining the walls.  And god, the music even feels strikingly similar.  There aren’t, he thinks with a laugh, any drag queens though.  

The atmosphere is quiet for a Friday night.  There are a few guys out on the dance floor, enjoying each other’s company, but most of the people in the bar are huddled in the darkened corners.  No one looks up from their conversations to notice him come in.  The bouncer is too busy flirting with a denim dressed, bearded guy leaning against the wall to notice him slip by.  

He’s not a few steps in when he realizes coming out to a bar seems like a silly thing to do, but makes a deal with himself to have one drink before he heads back to the motel and to do the sensible thing in calling Ian.  

But as he heads to the bar, he sees something that makes him freeze in his tracks.  

Is that…?

It can’t possibly be…?

Blaine Anderson is sitting at the bar, casually chatting with the bartender as he sips a beer.  Kurt is stunned to see him, his mind reeling at how this is even possible.  There is only one gay bar in Lima.  And he’s probably here for the reunion.  

But still… Blaine Anderson, of all people.  

There’s a tiny part of him that wants to run.  Turn on his heel and walk right back out of that bar and not even worry about the formal meeting they’ll inevitably have tomorrow at the reunion.  He doesn’t though.  

He watches Blaine for a moment, in his element, throwing his head back to laugh at something the bartender said.  It’s astounding to Kurt at how much and how little Blaine has changed.  Age, it seems, has done him well.  There’s less gel in his hair, allowing the natural curls to reveal themselves.  His face is harder, jawbone more defined. He’s wearing a dark sweater vest, but no bowtie, and the shirt underneath is unbutton, revealing a wisp of hair on his chest.  Blaine is no longer that young boy he once knew.  Sitting at the bar is a man.  

And yet… his movements are exactly the same.  The way he crinkles his eyes when he laughs, the way he lightly touches the bartender’s arm while expressing his point, the way casually plays with the napkin on the counter.  That’s still the Blaine he used to know.  

Kurt takes a deep breath, releasing the tension running through him.  He could leave… but he doesn’t really want to.  It’s been a decade since they’ve seen each other.  That’s enough time to let old wounds heal, right?

Kurt takes the plunge.

“I’m guessing this place rarely sees a man as gorgeous as you.  Mind if I buy you a drink?”

Blaine turns around, utterly shocked to see him there.  Kurt’s confidence slips as the silence lingers.  Maybe this had been a bad idea.  But then, Blaine breaks out into a grin.  

“Kurt?” He says his name slowly, as if it’s unfamiliar in a way, but easily slides off his stool, going in for a hug.  It’s awkward -- where do you put your hands and arms? How close do you stand? How do you properly greet someone you once agreed to share your life with?  Someone who is a relative stranger now.  It’s bizarre to him that somehow, Blaine still feels so familiar in his arms. “Please, join me.” Blaine offers the stool next to him as they slip apart.  “I’ll definitely take you up on that drink.”

Kurt sits down, suddenly feeling much more nervous than he had been.  Blaine waives down the bartender -- asking for beer, while Kurt shortly asks for an amaretto sour.  He definitely needs something to calm him down.  How is Blaine being so calm? Is he hiding it better? Or is it that he’s soon to be on his third beer?

“So, what are you doing here?” Blaine asks, placing his head on his hand, now looking amused.  There’s no anger there. No resentment, or negativity.  Blaine genuinely seems to be happy to see him.  Based on how they had left things all that time ago, Blaine could have harbored some ill will towards him.  But they are both adults now.  And it had been a long, long time ago.  

“I’m in town for Mr. Schue’s retirement party,” Kurt says.  He rubs his legs, not sure what to do with his hands.

Blaine nods, finishing off the beer he had been drinking when Kurt had arrived.  “Oh, yeah, I figured that.  I meant, what are you doing here ?” He uses both hands to point down.  

“Oh!” Kurt feels a little silly not understanding.  Thankfully, the bartender brings them their drinks.  Kurt wastes no time gulping half of it down as if it were a shot.  “I saw it from the motel window.  Call me crazy, but I was feeling nostalgic.”

“Huh,” Blaine takes a long sip from his bottle, narrowing his eyes as he thinks it over.  “You’re not staying with Burt?”

“Oh, god, right you wouldn’t know,” Kurt laughs as he stirs his drink.  “Dad retired a few years ago.  He and Carole moved to Arizona to be closer to her sister.”

“Ah, gotcha.”

“I guess I could have stayed with Uncle Andy,” Kurt continues, remaining fixated on his drink as he talks.  “He and his sons took over the tire shop.  But we’re not exactly close.  And he has, like, ten dogs.  I’d rather take my chances with the motel.”

Blaine nods, sympathetically.  

“What about you?” Kurt asks.  “How’s your family?”

“They’re pretty good,” Blaine says, easily.  “Cooper has three little girls.  Here, let me show you.”  Blaine wastes no time fishing out his phone, scrolling through the roll for a picture of three gorgeous young girls who all, clearly, take after Cooper.  Kurt coos accordingly but he can’t help but notice Blaine’s left hand, and the indentation of skin where a ring used to be.  It makes him wonder.

“So, what are you doing now?” Kurt asks, trying to relax on his stool.  He rests his elbow on the wooden bar, and his head on his hand.

“I teach, actually.  New York Institute of Fine Arts,” Blaine says, taking another sip of his beer with a laugh.  “I mean, I still perform every now and then.  But an adjunct professor was needed, and a friend of mine pulled some strings, and I just kind of fell into it.  I love it though.”  There’s no lie in Blaine’s voice.  Blaine had always been a passionate person, but it’s clear by his demeanor that he loves his job.  

Kurt smiles meekly, happy for him.  “A private school, of course.  How very you.  Actually, now that I think of it, that’s not far from my theater.”

“You have a theater?” Blaine’s eyes grow wide with interest.  

“Well, half a theater,” Kurt rocks his head from side to side, as if it’s a silly little thing, and not the pride and joy that he’s sunk most of his adult life into, now.  He plays with the nearby peanut bowl.  “The Gilbert Theater.”

“Oh, I know that place,” Blaine says.  There’s excitement in his voice.  Kurt isn’t sure why this makes him happy.    “I thought it had been condemned.  I mean - I’m sure you’ve fixed it up.”

“Oh we have,” Kurt says, thinking about all the work he’s put into it over the years.  “Elliott and I renovated it.  You wouldn’t even recognize it now.”

Blaine takes another slow slip of his drink.  “Elliott?  Like from college?” Kurt nods slowly. “Ah. So are you guys…”

“Oh, no,” Kurt quickly corrects.   “God, no.  Business partners only.”  It’s such a funny thought to him.  Elliott.  They’re like brothers.  No, he’s definitely not romantically linked with Elliott.  There is someone else… but he quickly pushes Ian out of his brain.  He doesn’t want to think about him. “So this is crazy, right? That we both ended up in the same sleazy place?  Maybe the universe was trying to push us together again.”

Blaine gives an uncomfortable laugh. “Well, there is only one gay bar in Lima, but I suppose…”

An awkward silence grows between them.  Blaine bops his head to the music.  Kurt munches on some peanuts.  They both avoid direct eye contact.  The uneasiness that Kurt had felt when he first walked in begins to return.  Maybe he should go.  

The bartender breaks the silence, asking Blaine if he’d like another drink.  There’s an ease there that Kurt picks up on.  Blaine knows the guy -- like really knows the guy.  Kurt shifts from side to side not sure what to say or do.  He eyes the door, he can still slip out if he needs to.  

“Man, I cannot believe how little this place has changed since I used to come here,” Blaine says, taking a look around.  

“You mean when we were in high school?” Kurt asks.  He’d hardly say coming the three times that they did a lot.  

“No, it was actually after…” he trails off but Kurt picks up on what he’s saying.  After they broke up.  After he broke Blaine’s heart.  Blaine kind of skips past the beat.  Why dredge up all that old stuff.  That’s what the reunion is for, right? Something turns in the pit of Kurt’s stomach.  “When I moved back to Lima, I used to come here a lot.  Thought maybe throwing myself into this place might make me feel better.  Not so alone, you know?”

“Did it help?” Kurt’s voice is small.  

“Maybe,” Blaine says with another laugh.  “I don’t know, it was so long ago.  You know it…” he pauses, thinking it over.  “Alright, if I tell you something - do you promise not to run screaming?”

Kurt’s intrigued.  “Of course.”

Blaine stares intently at his bottle.  “After you and I ended things -- I came back to Lima.  And I sorta, kinda dated Dave Karofsky for a while.”

Of all the things that Blaine could have said -- that is the last thing Kurt expects to hear.  It makes Kurt chuckle into his drink.  He can’t even picture it, it’s such a wild thought.  “Wait, seriously?”

“Shocking, right?”

“A little.  More so that you were into a bear.”

The tension breaks as they let go into easy laughter.  The conversation becomes lighter as they begin to discuss old things.  They talk about Dave Karofsky, and how someone who had once been Kurt’s ghost had turned into a friend whom Kurt sees every few years for lunch.  Blaine mentions he had attended Dave’s wedding.  Kurt mentions he had lunch with Dave and his husband last year.  It’s strange how things can change so much in twenty years.  

They talk about Dalton -- though not about that staircase.  The staircase that will forever be burned in his memory for better or worse.  Instead, they talk about Sebastian Smythe with fondness, though neither could say where he ended up. And about the one time Blaine sang at the Gap to impress a guy whose name neither can remember.  

And for a moment, unprovoked, Blaine mentions his husband.  It’s a startling jolt into reality, but Blaine doesn’t give him any more than a name and a passing story about having to explain to his husband why he refuses to shop at The Gap.  It’s not like Kurt hadn’t heard Blaine had gotten married.  He doesn't remember who had told him or when or even how he had felt about it.  Blaine had wanted to be married.  He got his wish.  And Kurt is happy for him.  He wants to be happy for him.  Still, that missing ring…

As they reminisce, the bartender brings them more drinks.  The room begins to feel warm and familiar.  Kurt isn’t sure if it’s alcohol or Blaine that is making him feel so comfortable so far from home.  They talk about high school and old friends, people whom they’ve lost touch with and people they’re looking forward to seeing tomorrow.  Kurt learns that Blaine developed a surprisingly deep friendship with Santana Lopez.  Blaine learns that Kurt hasn’t talked to Rachel Berry since college.

“I just couldn’t after that show,” Kurt explains.  They’re both giggly from drinking too much - Kurt having to hold his hands up when the bartender offers him a third.  “I mean - not that she even tried to keep in touch with me.  But my god did you watch that thing? It was terrible! She was fine - she was always fine.  But who decided that would be what America wanted to see for a decade?”

Blaine snickers into his drink.  “Well, personally I was offended.  ‘Slaine’,” he uses both hands to make air quotes around the character’s names, “was written out after year two.  I was like ‘fuck that’.  It’s just as well.  Had he stayed on, I might have had to sue their asses for defamation of character.”

“You are not wrong,” Kurt says, unable to stop laughing as he thinks about it.  He puts a hand on Blaine’s shoulder to balance himself so as to not fall off his stool.  

Blaine notices and smirks.  “How drunk are you right now?”

“Less drunk than you are,” Kurt smiles into his glass.  He is buzzed but not at all drunk.  In fact, he feels good and relaxed and happy.  When had he last been this happy?  “Anyway… All I know is that a terrible writer wrote ‘Cert’ as the sassy yet sexless gay best friend.  And he stayed on the show.  The. Entire. Run.  If anyone has the right to sue, it’s going to be me.”  

“Well, for what it’s worth.  I don’t think Cert was anything like you,” Blaine says.  He leans in close.  Kurt can smell the sweet scent of raspberries.   “Personally, I thought you were always sexy.”

Something in the atmosphere shifts.  Suddenly, Blaine is close.  Close enough that he can see the depths of Blaine’s golden eyes.  There’s something there that Kurt hasn’t seen in a long time, and it causes him to break.  

He’s not sure what it is that makes him say it.  He’s not sure if it’s the heaviness of guilt, or the friendliness of Blaine’s demeanor, or the fact that all of this nostalgia is causing him to reflect on his life’s choices - but he can’t help but let the words stumble out.  “Blaine, I’m so sorry.”  

Blaine looks at him, genuinely confused.  “For what?

“For a lot of things, I feel like I owe you an apology for so many things,” Kurt rambles on.  “I was not in a good place and you… I shouldn’t have ended it.  I mean I shouldn’t have ended it the way that I did.  I shouldn’t have hurt you like that.  And I’m sorry that I did.”

Blaine takes a moment to think it over, as if he’s processing everything Kurt’s saying.  “Kurt…” he lets out a sigh. “You weren’t the only one who was a mess back then.  You don’t have anything to be sorry about.  We had a good thing.  We had a great thing, even.  But it’s fine.  It’s all in the past, and I’m fine.”  

Kurt feels a bit of relief wash over him.  Maybe this is why he needed to come back.  Maybe he had just needed to bury his demons.  He feels lighter than he has in, well, a while.  He reaches out for Blaine’s hand and squeezes it.  It feels comforting in his own.  

“Look at us now, all grown up,” Kurt says, a smile sliding across his face.  “I mean, you’re married and I’m…”

“Kurt?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s an open marriage.”

Blaine places his free hand just above Kurt’s knee and squeezes, ever so lightly, he holds it there, stroking his thumb along the side of his thigh.  It’s an invitation.  His cock gets there first, as he watches Blaine’s hand, firm and strong.  His brain becomes fuzzy, but all he can fixate on is the urge to have Blaine’s hand travel up.  This is closure, right?

“Come with me,” Kurt makes the quick decision not to second guess this.  He grabs onto Blaine’s hand with purpose, sliding off the stool and taking Blaine with him.  Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Blaine smirk as he throws out a few bills on the counter to pay for the drinks.  

***

They’re in the bathroom stall, where Kurt vaguely remembers making out once back at the end of his senior year.  They never would have done anything as daring as have sex in a public place, but just kissing, even in a place that accepted it, felt naughty and fun back then.  

Now, he couldn’t care less that there are people who might know what they’re doing.  His desire is too strong, his brain clouded in a haze of need to taste Blaine again; the wonder of if it will feel so good after so long.  The room is broken up into stalls, dimly lit, and smells as if they are the next in a long line of gay men who will use this place to relieve themselves in more ways than one.  Kurt pulls Blaine back to the farthest stall, ignoring that there’s another couple occupying another stall, the panting sounds of their fucking echoing in the room.  It only turns him on more.  

Once the stall door is locked, Blaine looks at Kurt, his large, dark eyes more sure than Kurt is about this.  It almost throws him off kilter but Kurt looks to Blaine’s mouth, and suddenly he remembers all the things that can be done with it.  His resolve broken, Kurt lunges for a kiss.  

Blaine kisses back with force, pushing Kurt back into the wall.  Kurt doesn’t even care that the metal bar for handicap use is pressing against the back of his thighs.  He just wants to feel Blaine.  They kiss deeply, wantonly.  His sense memory returns and suddenly he feels like a teenager again, hungry for Blaine back when he had been first discovering what sex is.  Kurt moans into the kiss that encourages Blaine to slide his tongue against Kurt’s.  

They’re all hands and mouths, wrapping themselves around each other as they make-out.  Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine’s neck, combing his fingers through Blaine’s curls as he pulls Blaine closer to him, enough so that their bodies are sliding against each other.  Blaine brings his hands down to Kurt’s ass and squeezes with both hands.  Fuck.  He doesn’t remember the last time he’s gotten so hard so fast.  

They begin to rock against each other as they kiss.  Kurt can feel Blaine’s hard cock pushing up against his own.  If they keep going at this speed, he is not going to last long, and dammit, he refuses to come in his pants.  

Kurt breaks the kiss, only for Blaine to start kissing along his jaw and down his neck, Blaine’s touch is electric, and Kurt can’t help but feel dizzy with pleasure.  He loses himself in Blaine’s embrace, soaking up the feeling as much as he can.  It’s been fifteen years since they’ve fucked - how can this possibly feel so good?  

Blaine works his way back up to Kurt’s mouth, though this time, Kurt is able to slow it down.  Kurt busies his hands with the buttons on Blaine’s pants.  Blaine takes a slight step back, allowing for Kurt to pull him out.  Kurt takes a quick second to look down at Blaine’s cock; his thick and delicious cock.  If only they weren’t in a bathroom stall right now, Kurt would take his time devouring that cock.  Instead, he takes to stroking it, becoming satisfied with the low moans and grunts that are eliciting Blaine’s mouth.  

Blaine steadies himself against the wall, as he begins to pump his hips in time with Kurt’s strokes, fucking himself into Kurt’s hand.  “Let me,” Kurt says, in a low whisper, biting gently at Blaine’s lips before they fall into a sloppy kiss.  Blaine is close - he knows Blaine is close, he can feel it as Blaine arches further into his hand.  Kurt speeds up his hand, deliberate in his strokes.  It’s a little rough, but Blaine becomes more and more undone, uttering little obscenities as he closes eyes and allows himself the pleasure.  Blaine comes, jolting into Kurt’s hand, and lets out a moan that Kurt covers with a kiss.  

“Give me a second,” Blaine says, breathlessly, holding firmly against the wall as he comes down.  

Kurt smirks, licking the come off his fingers.  His own cock is throbbing with need but there’s something incredibly satisfying seeing Blaine loose and fucked out.  

Blaine takes a second to put himself back in his pants and then goes down on his knees.  This isn’t at all what Kurt had been expecting, and his eyes go wide as Blaine sucks a kiss over Kurt’s clothed cock.  

“You really don’t have to do that,” Kurt says, feeling a little guilty.  Blaine’s legs are sticking out of the stall door and anyone could interrupt them.  

“Shut up and let me blow you, Kurt,” Blaine says, a wicked grin on his face as he unzips Kurt’s zipper.  Kurt’s cock bobs free, and like a man allowed to drink water after years in the desert, Blaine sucks Kurt all the way down in one go.  

“Jesus, fuck Blaine.”  He really doesn’t care if there’s anyone else in there who can hear them.  Blaine had always been good at blow jobs; always so eager to give them, and Kurt’s glad to know that Blaine’s enthusiasm hasn’t changed.  Blaine sucks him down, greedily, and he loses himself in the sensation of Blaine’s velvety mouth on him.  

“I’m curious about something,” Blaine says, pulling off.  Kurt can’t imagine what, but he doesn’t have to wait long to find out.  Blaine begins to stroke him, slowly, drawing it out.  Then sucks a kiss to the tip of Kurt’s cock, using his tongue to swirl and tease it, before he sucks him down once more.  Kurt lets out a heavy groan as his knees nearly buckle.  “Huh. So that really still does things for you?”

Kurt can’t help but give a little laugh.  “Shut up and finish me off, Blaine,” Kurt manages the tease despite him now being desperate to come.  

Amused, Blaine obliges, sucking Kurt into his mouth again. Kurt closes his eyes, taking it all in as he lets Blaine take him over the edge.   He spills into Blaine’s mouth, Blaine being able to swallow with ease -- something, he notes, Blaine hadn’t been able to do before.  As Blaine pulls off, he licks his lips, and remains on his knees for a long moment.  

The atmosphere then shifts suddenly.  Blaine looks down for a long while, and Kurt can’t tell what Blaine’s feeling -- Guilt? Sadness? Regret?

“Thank you for that,” Blaine says, his sincerity layered with something that feels like finality.  Blaine gives Kurt’s hip a kiss before helping put Kurt back into his jeans.  There’s something strangely intimate about it, and despite the fact that Kurt is feeling blissed out from his orgasm it’s now tinged with a heavier, unknown feeling.  Blaine gets to his feet.  There’s a lot going on behind his eyes that Kurt can’t read, but Blaine says nothing, only gives Kurt a soft kiss on the lips.  “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

Blaine leaves the stall but Kurt stays, unsure what to make of everything that happened.  A lot just happened.  A lot.  And as the buzz of sex begins to wear off, a sickening gnawing grows in his stomach.  He just had sex with his ex-fiancé whom he hasn’t seen in years.  He just cheated on his boyfriend.  But what makes Kurt feel the worst, as he slides down the wall to sit on the sticky floor because his legs can no longer hold him, is the realization that for Blaine - that might have been his way of saying goodbye.  

[writing-essence]

It Ate My Cat

Chapter Two: “King Steve”

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!reader

Warnings: language, underage drinking/smoking

Summary: You’ve known Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington since your first days moving to Hawkins. What happens when you get wrapped up in his interdimensional babysitting adventure with your younger brother?

Author’s Note: A cute filler chapter expanding on the reader’s and Steve’s previous encounters. Also, let me know if you wanna be tagged! -Milla

Ch. 1: Sheet Faced

Word Count: 1,636

September 21st, 1982

Steve Harrington’s big back to school bash was the talk of Hawkins High. You couldn’t get through half of a class without whisperings of what antics were being propositioned. Your neighbor, Amber, seemed especially enthusiastic, claiming that his parties were that of the century. You had gotten closer to Amber over the summer, and after a few nights of giggles and pranking your little brother, the older girl had decided to take you under her wing. Her first order of business was accompanying you to your first high school party, and if it had been any other week, you would have been thrilled. But you decided to shove your baggage under your bed for the night, and hopefully partying with the king of Hawkins High would be just the pick-me-up you needed.

Music blared through the house, traveling out into the fresh midnight air. Teens swirled around each other, mimicking the liquid in their plastic cups. Others opted for slashing cans and dribbling beer down their chins. The scent of cigarettes and desperation muddled around the crowd. They were acting as if this were their last night on earth, all sense was left for the trees surrounding them. It all felt like a dream. You were dizzy. People were stripping down to their underwear and diving into the pool. A commotion and splash of water pulled you from the haze.

“Hey, quit standin’ there, jump in!” A girl with copper hair insisted. She was clung to the side of a freckled boy. He smirked at your bewildered expression. You didn’t know these people, not really. Most were a year older than you at the least, and you had only heard of them. You weren’t comfortable with these people, not yet. It all seemed too sudden, and you muttered a polite decline.

“What was that freshy I didn’t hear you?” The boy let go of the giggling girl in his arms to swim closer to the edge of the pool. He pushed himself back to standing on the chilled wooden floor. “C’mon the water’s fiiiine,” he slurred, stalking closer to you.

“Hey, man, knock it off.” You heard another boy speak up, but you were too stunned to lose focus on the boy in front of you chuckling.

Before you could decline again, he lunged forward, a wicked grin on his face. You yelped as he threw you over his shoulder and jumped into the water, putting you both under. Seconds felt like minutes. You could here the muddied cheers and laughs of the other teens. Your lungs were burning, and your heart was pounding in your ears. You gasped when you reached the surface flailing to find the edge of the pool and clambering your way up the side.

The temperate September night suddenly felt freezing. You wiped the chlorine out of your eyes to be met with a stumbling Amber trying to help you up. As you got to your feet, you were better able to evaluate the girl next to you. Her rosy cheeks twinged to green as her body heaved down towards your wet shoes. Silence blanketed over the backyard. The tips of your ears felt warm as you couldn’t bear to glance down at your feet. The redheaded girl, back in her boyfriend’s arms, broke the silence with a guffaw.

“Holy shit! She jus-”

“Shut up Carol! Cool it,” it was the boy’s voice from earlier. Before the situation could escalate you managed to kick off your tainted sneakers and slipped back into the house.

You managed to find a sparsely populated corner to compose yourself. Your body shook, unclear of it was from the dripping clothes draping your body or sheer embarrassment. The laughter of the crowd still echoed in your head. This wasn’t supposed to go like this tonight. You wished you could’ve gone back in time and jumped in the pool out of your own free will. Why couldn’t you just let loose for once? You wanted to, but too many thoughts were racing laps through your head today and now you had more to add to the marathon.

“Hey uh, sorry about them,” a voice soothed. You looked up at the familiar tone from earlier outside to be met with none other than the king himself.

“I’m fine,” you squeaked, “they were just -”

“Assholes?” He cut you off, arms crossed in concern. You let out a breathy laugh feeling at ease, knowing the host was on your side. “Seriously you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded in response. “I’m uh, I guess,” you were acutely away of the shivers dancing their way up your body, “a little cold.”

Steve chuckled in response, “Henderson Right?” You nodded. “Uh-”

“Y/N,” you finished for him, a gentle smile flitted on his face.

“Y/N, c’mon,” he motioned for you to follow him out of the kitchen. You were at the entryway of his house when he started up the stairs. You hesitated, knowing his reputation. He sensed your halt as he turned back to you, apparent apprehension on your face. “I’m not gonna try anything, just offering some dry clothes,” he mused insistently. Feeling the wet denim cling to your legs less than comfortably was enough to push you up the stairs.

Down the upstairs hall, he waltzed into what you assumed to be his bedroom judging from the posters and sports trophies. You stopped outside the door feeling the comfort of the hallway. After watching him rifle through his dresser, he presented you with a pair of gray sweat pants and a navy blue sweatshirt. “Here, there’s a bathroom down the hall. When you’re decent I’ll throw your stuff in the dryer.”

Gingerly, you took the clothes exchanging a small smile. The material felt soft in your hands. You went into the bathroom, switching on the light and shutting the door behind you. Stripping off your damp clothes was no small feat. Your sweater suctioned itself to your shoulders while attempting to pull it over your head. Slipping on the dry clothes felt like heaven, you could feel warmth regaining in your fingers and toes. It wasn’t until then you glanced in the mirror to look at yourself and what reflected back was atrocious. Your hair was in disarray, tangled from your fight out of the water. Mascara trailed down your cheeks, flecks of black spotting across your face. Your face looked sunken from stress. You looked down at your outfit. Who would’ve thought you’d be standing in Steve Harrington’s clothes looking like this. You couldn’t help but laugh. You were exhausted. As the giggles continued, the bounces in your chest turned to sadness. Tears burned your chlorine tainted eyes.

“Hey, you okay in there?” Steve knocked on the door, “I got you some water.” You tried to control your ragged breathing and hoped the tears would roll back into your eyes. Before you could lock the door Steve had it open ajar glimpsing at your worse for wear state. “Shit if Tommy and Carol got to you, just ignore them they-”

“It’s not them,” you snapped wishing to forget the incident. In his hands were a plastic cup and metallic can, he gave you the former. You stood there in silence sipping the water. He tilted his head insistently. “You know when I first moved here?”

He nodded.

“My parents had split, and dad was a deadbeat. I couldn’t care less what the asshole chose to do,” a dry laugh tickled your chest, “but after years of no birthday or Christmas cards, you know what came in the mail yesterday?

“No, but I bet you’re gonna tell me,” he urged.

“A fucking wedding invitation,” a breathe choked out of your lungs. You shook your head, setting the cup on the counter, jumping up to sit next to it, “and you know? the worst part was seeing my little brother ecstatic to finally get mail from dad just to get his heart ripped out because he found a different family to actually give a shit about.”

“Shit, um,” the boy ran a hand through his mountain of brunette hair. He had obviously never been in this situation before. Not that you expected him to have weekly therapy sessions with girls crying in his bathroom. He had different kinds of sessions. He leaned back on the counter next to you deflated, “if it makes you feel any better, my dad’s an asshole too.”

“At least he’s still around,” you looked down toying at the lint on his sweatpants.

“Barely,” he scoffed. His lips pressed together and his knuckles turned white, grabbing the edge of the counter. “A year ago I saw him cheating on my mom. Before I got the balls to tell her, she’d already found out. And so all the getaway vacations so they can work on their marriage or some shit. Not that he’s great to be around when he’s home either,” he admitted.

You hardly recognized the boy next to you. Usually full of charm and charisma, his shoulders were now slumped and his head hung to the floor. He let the party boy next door facade slip away. It wasn’t easy sitting on the throne, entertaining your subjects. While it didn’t excuse Steve of sometimes being as much of an asshole as Tommy and Carol. Maybe he was more than that. You could tell he was angry but too exhausted to care anymore. You understood.

“I’m sorry,” you softly placed a hand on his.

“Me too,” he responded, looking up at you through the hair that had flopped in his face. You broke eye contact, clearing your throat.

“Well then,” you turned to your side, taking your water a smirk playing upon your lips. “Here’s to shit fathers.”

“I’ll drink to that, Henderson.”

Tags

@stiles24ever​

[italian-sides]

“Ombre e Bastoni”, ch. 3

Hello again! As usual, thank you so much to @misslilidelaney for writing this and @watcher-from-the-heights for being my awesome beta all the time.  I also tag @ts-italian-gang, because I can and I want to. If you want, you can support the fic on AO3 too! Imma post the third chapter as soon as I finish posting it here on Tumblr.  Anyway, enjoy! Whenever Emilio Picani walked into the Dolce&Remì, all heads turned. Even if he lived in Bologna on a permanent basis for three years by now, he didn't know why everybody there, especially the usual people, laid eyes on him as they didn't for other customers. And yet he wasn’t that flashy or even fashionable. Sure, he was tall, he had fine features and an enjoyable physique, but he wasn't that special. He was just a nice guy, with his passion for colorful ties and pastel cardigans. Of course, he knew very well that he had been in the sights of a couple of them for a long time: he well remembered Romolo's ruthless flirting and Virgil's stuttering when he asked him to be his tutor on the subjects that he himself studied before opening his own therapy office in Bologna. And no one, not even his roommate Remo, knew how he opened Luca's eyes to his cousin Patrizio, whom Emilio loved with all his heart. All three boys were undoubtedly beautiful, charismatic and, in their own way, interesting. Yet he couldn't accept their court. Because 30-year-old Emilio Picani hadn’t decided to come out yet. Partially due to his parents, fervent Catholics unlike him, but mostly because surprise surprise... Emilio Picani was shy. And before the bar, the usual places where he felt at home were his office and his room, where he surrounded himself with memorabilia from cartoons and anime, things that fascinated him since adolescence. In short his shyness, mixed with the stereotype of the glittery, feather-filled homosexuals he was accustomed to by his parents, always kept him away from the whole LGBT world, which the psychologist didn't feel a part of. He envied his little Emilian cousin when he came out as pansexual, and he knew very well that sooner or later, hanging out with Patrizio's clique, he had to decide, too, to get out of the closet. So he declined Romolo's declaration for that very reason. Although it wasn’t the only reason. The second reason was... slightly taller than him. His shoulders were wide, although he often slouched, making himself about ten centimetres shorter in height. He had bright green eyes, almost to an unnatural extent. He had his hair shaved on the sides but with a thick quiff on top, which he held back with a yellow headband, clearly his favorite color. He rarely laughed, but when he did, it was a low, deep laugh, able to literally shake the Veronese's stomach. And he was from Veneto, like him. His second piece of home, after Patrizio. Emilio Picani, thirty years old, a therapist and still in the closet. But completely gay for Giuda Schiavon. He was convinced of that by now. He tried to deny it, to say that it was just his imagination. Everyone at the bar loved him, they laughed with him, they confided in him, sometimes for sentimental nonsense, sometimes for more serious consultations. Tommaso became one of his patients from the first day that he finally opened his office, and the two were now pretty close, almost like brothers. He was the first to whom Emilio confessed his sexual orientation. Tommaso embraced him and murmured: "Don’t worry, nobody figured it out." They laughed, and the Veronese immediately called his cousin, who promised not to say anything, for the time being, to anyone, not even his significant other, Luca.  Unfortunately, not even Tommaso could dispel Emilio’s doubts. Those doubts that by now became certainties, in those three years, and devastated the psychologist. Giuda, his beautiful, silent, mysterious and fascinating Giuda, couldn't even bear the sight of the Veronese. He never treated him badly, but Emilio couldn't help but notice how he changed his attitude whenever he walked in.

He often looked at him from the bar's window. He looked at him for a long time, laughing and joking with everyone, even with Virgilio, and by now he could read his expressions without hearing him speak, just by observing him. So he knew that the coldness he showed him was real.   As his eyes became slits, as his words became cold hisses, rarely addressed to Emilio. Never openly unsympathetic, but incredibly icy. And apparently, whatever he had to do in the kitchen, he always had to do it when he walked in. But no one knew about his crush, except for Patrizio, who after all read him like an open book. And not even Patrizio could understand the change of mood of the Venetian, in the presence of his cousin. The young Bolognese tried to convince his cousin to surrender, or at least to talk to him, and this was precisely the reason why Emilio pushed himself, thanks to a nice glass of Millesimato di Conegliano, to speak, perhaps for the third time in three years, to Giuda in the bar.  And that made the dishwasher guy so nervous that he dropped the glasses' tray in his hand. "You're welcome.", the Venetian hissed,  looking at him, for the first time in three years, in the eyes.

A rush ran through Emilio’s body. An electric shock like he never experienced before. Joined by an endless lump in his throat for what just happened. As soon as Giuda wandered off to take the broom to sweep up the floor, followed by Remo, Emilio stood up and tried to go around the counter to pick up the glass pieces but Tommas ostopped him right away.  "You're gonna hurt yourself. You get paper cuts all the time, can you imagine what would happen with glass?"

"But... Giuda..." Tommaso sighed and perhaps understood: "Giuda will be fine. It's not the first time he’s spilled glasses. Maybe he should calm down a bit; if he hadn't been so tense he wouldn’t have dropped them. Don’t even think it’s your fault." Emilio sighed, taking off his glasses and shaking his head: "But it is my fault." Patrizio approached him, and put his hand on his shoulder again. Luca was behind them and suggested, matter-of-factly: "Emilio, do you want to get some air?" The Veronese nodded carelessly and they went outside. Despite Patrizio's dirty look, the Veronese automatically extracted his pack of cigarillos and lit one. As he blew out the smoke from the miniature cigar, he kept looking inside the bar. And he saw Giuda, with his yellow gloves, going up on the counter and looking around. He'd been... crying? His eyes, particularly the left one, were tremendously red. The sigh, undoubtedly of relief, emitted by the young Venetian followed by the hand on Remo’s shoulder,  definitely devastated the 30-year-old. Patrizio was watching the scene next to him, and he murmured: "He acts like he’s the victim when he actually did it all by himself. What a two-faced snake..." "Patrizio, please...", begged the Veronese. "Please what? He dropped the glasses, not you. You just thanked him, Emi. I don’t know how you can like someone like t..." Patrizio opened his eyes wide and shut his mouth with one hand. But the damage had been already done. Luca was looking at both of them with his eyes wide open like a deer in front of headlights. He looked at them both with shock, Emilio who by now had given up and begun to silently cry, pulling from the cigarillo like a madman, and Patrizio who continued to whisper his apologies. And he cleared his voice pretty nicely before asking, with kindness, despite the hard accent typical of his region: "Do you want to come to our house for some hot tea? I’m sure we can raid some of Romolo's nicest cookies." Emilio nodded, and his cousin’s boyfriend took them both under his arm, taking them away from the Dolce&Remì. The boy giggled when, while stepping into the living room, they surprised Virgilio and Romolo sitting on the couch and hugging each other, watching Mulan on Blu-ray, claiming to have fallen asleep, not noticing the compromising position. He silently watched Luca hugging Patrizio from behind, whispering something in his ear while the young Emilian was preparing tea for all of them. And he widened his eyes in terror when both the Molisan and the Roman confessed that they had noticed his crush on Giuda probably before Emilio admitted it to himself. The evening passed quickly, almost too quickly, between the teasing towards Emilio for his questionable choice - Romolo was still so mad at him, for obvious reasons - and when it was time to go home, Emilio thought of staying in his cousin’s apartment with his three lovely roommates. But he knew that in that same building, his roommate Remo was coming home. So he kissed his cousin on the forehead and hugged the other three, and took the elevator home. Once the door was open, he found Remo looking at something on the computer, in the dark of the dining room: "Oh, hey, Emì. You ran off to your cousin? Giuda wanted to apologize for treating you so badly." Right. He had such a sorry face. "Actually, I'm the one who should be apologizing. I made him destroy the glasses and I ran away. Holy crap, I've been a jerk. I hope he doesn’t throw a chair at me the next time I walk into the bar." "C'moooon. Giuda smashes glasses, and not only those, more than he could ever admit!", laughed the Roman, before yawning loudly and getting out of the chair: "Listen... I wanted to do something nice at the bar... Something that can involve young people but traditional at the same time. If we had a briscola tournament [1], would you like to play?" "Holy crap! Are you seriously asking me? I love briscola!" "Alright, bruh. C'mon then, I’ll talk to Tommy tomorrow and see what we can do about it. If you don’t come to play, I’ll never talk to you again!" Emilio nodded and Remo went to his room, a little diabolical smile on his face.

[1]: according to Wikipedia, "Briscola is one of Italy's most popular games, a Mediterranean trick-taking, Ace-Ten card game for two to six players played with a standard Italian 40-card deck. With three or six players, twos are removed from the deck to ensure the number of cards in the deck is a multiple of the number of players; a single two for three players and all four twos for six players. The four- and six-player versions of the game are played as a partnership game of two teams, with players seated such that every player is adjacent to two opponents."

1 - 2 - 3 - ?

hope you enjoyed, ciao! 

Quando Emilio Picani entrava al Dolce&Remì, tutte le teste si giravano. Anche se ormai viveva a Bologna in pianta stabile da 3 anni e poco più, non sapeva perché tutti i presenti, specialmente i soliti noti, posavano lo sguardo su di lui come non facevano per gli altri clienti del bar. Eppure non era così appariscente o alla moda. Certo, era alto, aveva dei bei lineamenti ed un bel fisico, ma non era così speciale. Era semplicemente un bel ragazzo, con la sua passione per le cravatte colorate ed i cardigan color pastello. Certo, sapeva benissimo di essere stato nelle mire di un paio di loro per un lungo periodo, ricordava bene la corte spietata di Romolo e il balbettare di Virgilio quando gli aveva proposto di dargli ripetizioni sulle materie che lui stesso aveva studiato prima di aprire il suo studio a Bologna. E nessuno, nemmeno il suo coinquilino Remo, sapeva di come avesse aperto, con le cattive, gli occhi di Luca nei confronti di suo cugino Patrizio, che Emilio adorava con tutto il cuore. Tutti e tre i ragazzi erano indubbiamente bellissimi, carismatici e comunque, a loro modo, interessanti. Eppure non poteva accettare la loro corte. Perché Emilio Picani, trent'anni, ancora non si era deciso a fare coming out. Un po' per i genitori, ferventi cattolici al contrario di lui, ma soprattutto perché sorpresa sorpresa... Emilio Picani era timido. E prima del bar, i soli posti dove si sentiva a casa erano il suo studio e la sua camera, dove si circondava di memorabilia a tema cartoon ed anime, cose che lo appassionavano sin dall'adolescenza. Ed insomma, la sua timidezza, mista allo stereotipo degli omosessuali glitterati e pieni di piume a cui lo avevano abituato, lo avevano sempre tenuto in disparte da tutto il mondo legato ai gay, del quale lo psicologo non si sentiva parte. Aveva invidiato il suo piccolo cuginetto emiliano quando aveva ammesso di essere pansessuale, e sapeva benissimo che prima o poi, frequentando la compagnia di Patrizio, si sarebbe dovuto decidere anche lui, ad uscire dall'armadio. Quindi aveva declinato la dichiarazione di Romolo, proprio per quel motivo. Anche se non era proprio l'unico. Il secondo motivo era... poco più alto di lui. Aveva le spalle larghe, anche se spesso le teneva ricurve, togliendosi una decina di centimetri buoni. Aveva gli occhi di un verde intenso, quasi innaturale. Aveva i capelli rasati attorno alla testa ma un folto ciuffo al di sopra, che teneva indietro con un cerchietto giallo, palesemente il suo colore preferito. Rideva raramente, ma quando lo faceva, era una risata bassa, profonda, capace di scuotere lo stomaco del veronese. 

Ed era veneto, come lui. Il suo secondo pezzo di casa, dopo Patrizio.

Emilio Picani, trent'anni, psicologo, omosessuale ancora nell'armadio. Ma completamente gay per Giuda Schiavon.

Ormai ne era convinto. Aveva cercato di negarlo, di dirsi che era solo una sua impressione, la sua immaginazione. Tutti, in quel bar, lo adoravano, ridevano con lui, si confidavano con lui, a volte per sciocchezze sentimentali, a volte per dei consulti più seri. Tommaso era suo paziente dal primo giorno che aveva aperto, finalmente, il suo studio, ed i due erano ormai uniti come fratelli. Era stato il primo a cui Emilio aveva confessato il suo orientamento sessuale. Tommaso lo aveva abbracciato e aveva mormorato: "Tranquillo che non lo ha capito nessuno." Avevano riso, ed il veronese aveva chiamato subito il cugino, che aveva promesso di non dirlo, per il momento, neanche alla sua dolce metà, Luca. Sfortunatamente, nemmeno Tommaso era riuscito a dissipare i dubbi di Emilio. Quei dubbi che ormai erano diventati certezze, in quei tre anni, ed avevano devastato lo psicologo. Giuda, il suo bellissimo, silenzioso, misterioso ed affascinante Giuda, non riusciva nemmeno a sopportare la vista del veronese. Non lo aveva mai trattato male, ma Emilio non poteva non notare come cambiava atteggiamento quando lui arrivava. Spesso lo guardava dalla vetrata del bar. Lo guardava per un bel pezzo, ridere e scherzare con tutti, persino con Virgilio, ed ormai riusciva a leggerne l'espressione senza sentirlo parlare, solo osservandolo. Quindi sapeva bene che era vera, la freddezza che dimostrava nei suoi confronti. Come i suoi occhi diventavano fessure, come le parole diventavano freddi sibili, raramente rivolti ad Emilio. Mai apertamente antipatico, ma incredibilmente glaciale. Ed a quanto pare, qualsiasi cosa dovesse fare in cucina, doveva sempre farla quando arrivava lui. Nessuno però sapeva di questa sua cotta, ad esclusione di Patrizio, che dopotutto lo leggeva come un libro aperto. E nemmeno Patrizio riusciva a comprendere il cambio di umore del veneziano, in presenza del cugino. Il giovane bolognese aveva cercato di convincere il cugino ad arrendersi, o almeno a parlare con lui, ed era proprio questo il motivo aveva spinto Emilio a ringraziare, complice un bicchiere di buon Millesimato di Conegliano, a parlare, forse per la terza volta in tre anni, Giuda ad alta voce nel bar.    E questo aveva snervato talmente tanto il lavapiatti, che aveva fatto cadere il vassoio di bicchieri che aveva tra le mani. "Prego." Aveva sibilato il veneziano guardandolo, per la prima volta in tre anni, negli occhi. Ed un brivido aveva percorso il corpo di Emilio. Una scarica elettrica come non ne aveva mai provate prima. Accompagnata da un magone infinito per quanto era successo. Appena Giuda si era allontanato per prendere la scopa per spazzare, seguito a ruota da Remo, Emilio si era alzato in piedi ed aveva cercato di aggirare il bancone per tirare su i cocci, ma Tommaso lo aveva fermato. "Ti farai male. Ti tagli anche con la carta, cosa vuoi fare coi bicchieri?"    "Ma... Giuda..." Tommaso aveva sospirato, e forse aveva compreso: "Giuda se la caverà. Non è mica la prima volta che fa piovere bicchieri. Forse dovrebbe calmarsi un po', non fosse stato così teso non li avrebbe fatti cadere. Non provarci nemmeno a pensare che sia colpa tua." Emilio aveva sospirato, togliendosi gli occhiali e scuotendo la testa. "Ma è colpa mia." Patrizio si era avvicinato, e gli aveva messo di nuovo la mano sulla spalla. Luca era dietro di loro, ed aveva proposto, pragmatico. "Emilio, vuoi uscire a prendere un po' d'aria?" Il veronese aveva annuito distrattamente, ed erano usciti. Nonostante l'occhiataccia di Patrizio, il veronese aveva in automatico estratto il suo pacchetto di cigarilli, e se ne era acceso uno. Mentre tirava dal sigaro in miniatura, aveva continuato a guardare dentro il bar. Ed aveva viso Giuda coi suoi guanti gialli, salire sul bancone e guardarsi attorno. Aveva... pianto? I suoi occhi, in particolare quello sinistro, erano tremendamente rossi. Il sospiro, indubbiamente di sollievo, emesso dal giovane veneziano seguito dalla mano sulla spalla di Remo, aveva devastato definitivamente il trentenne. Patrizio stava guardando la scena accanto a lui, ed aveva mormorato: "Sembra quasi che sia lui la vittima. Quando invece ha fatto tutto da solo. Che razza di falso..." "Patrizio, per favore...", aveva implorato il veronese. "Per favore cosa? È lui che ha fatto cadere i bicchieri, non tu. Tu lo hai solo ringraziato, Emi. Non capisco come fa a piacerti uno c...." Patrizio aveva spalancato gli occhi e si era tappato la bocca con una mano. Ma ormai il danno era fatto.  Luca stava guardando entrambi con gli occhi spalancati come un cervo davanti a dei fari. Aveva guardato entrambi con fare sconvolto, Emilio che ormai si era arreso ed aveva iniziato a piangere silenziosamente, tirando dal cigarillo come un ossesso, Patrizio che continuava a sussurrare le sue scuse. 

E si era schiarito ben bene la voce prima di chiedere, gentilmente nonostante l'accento duro tipico della sua regione: "Vuoi venire a casa nostra a bere un thè? Sono sicuro che riusciamo a saccheggiarne di quelli buoni di Romolo." Emilio aveva annuito, ed il ragazzo del cugino aveva preso entrambi sottobraccio, portandoli via dal Dolce&Remì. Il ragazzo aveva ridacchiato quando entrando, avevano sorpreso Virgilio e Romolo seduti sul divano uno addosso all'altro, a guardare Mulan in Bluray, asserendo di essersi addormentati e di non essersi accorti della posizione compromettente. Aveva osservato in silenzio Luca abbracciare Patrizio alle spalle, sussurrandogli qualcosa mentre il giovane emiliano preparava il thè per tutti. Ed aveva spalancato gli occhi terrorizzato quando sia il molisano che il romano, avevano confessato che si erano accorti della sua cotta per Giuda da probabilmente prima di quando Emilio lo aveva ammesso a sé stesso. La serata era passata in fretta, troppo in fretta, tra prese per i fondelli ad Emilio per la sua scelta discutibile (Romolo ce l'aveva particolarmente a morte, per ovvi motivi), e quando era stato il momento di tornare a casa, Emilio aveva pensato di restare a dormire nell'appartamento del cugino e dei suoi tre adorabili coinquilini. Ma sapeva bene che, in quello stesso palazzo, il suo coinquilino Remo stava rientrando. Quindi aveva baciato sulla fronte il cugino ed abbracciato forte gli altri tre, ed aveva preso l'ascensore per tornare a casa. Una volta aperta la porta, aveva trovato Remo guardare qualcosa al pc, al buio della sala da pranzo. "A Emì. Te ne sei scappato da tuo cugino? Giuda se voleva scusà per avette trattato come l'ultimo deji stronzi."    Come no. Aveva proprio la faccia dispiaciuta. "Ma mi dovrei scusare io. Gli ho fatto distruggere i bicchieri e sono scappato. Porco can, mi sono comportato di merda. Spero non mi tiri addosso una sedia la prima volta che entro in bar." "Ma vaaaa. Giuda spacca i bicchieri, e non solo, più di quanto potrebbe mai ammettere!", aveva riso il romano, prima di sbadigliare rumorosamente ed alzarsi dalla sedia. "Ascolta... Volevo fare un qualcosa di carino al bar... Qualcosa che possa coinvolgere sia i giovani ma sia qualcosa di tipico. Se facessi un torneo di briscola, tu giocheresti?" "Porco can! Ma me lo chiedi? Adoro la briscola!" "Bella zì. Allora dai, che domani parlo con Tommy e vediamo il da farci. Guarda che se nun vieni a giocà te tolgo er saluto!" Emilio aveva annuito e Remo si era diretto in camera, un sorrisetto diabolico in faccia.

[honeypiehotchner]

Deception -- part one

Welcome to yet another fanfiction of mine! This one is a Dr. John Watson story in first person. The main character's name is Dr. Jane Stewart. This is post-Reichenbach, so Sherlock is currently faking his death. And I think that’s all the background info needed. Happy reading!

If there is one thing that I have grown to love about retiring in America, it’s the complete acceptance of doing nothing all day long.

           No one cares that I do nothing all day because I have already done my time and put in my hard work. This is my time to rest. To read a book by the pool and enjoy the feel of the sun on my skin.

           And swat wasps away with my book. Wasps are not a perk. I wish they’d die.

           But I swear, they love me. I swat another away, grimacing when I feel its hard shell connect with the back of my hand. This effectively pisses them off, though, and in this moment, I’d give anything to have my gun again.

           The wasps finally fuck off after that, leaving me to read in somewhat peace. “Somewhat” because a literal second later, another buzzing fills my ears.

           Not from a wasp or any other type of insect. This buzzing is different. A low hum. The sound of an engine that I haven’t heard in years. A sound that I remember being trained to hear and that I grew accustomed to singling out as time went on.

           Slowly, I look to the sky, expecting to see some regular old helicopter or jet flying over my head, but that isn’t what I see. It’s a helicopter, yes, but military grade. British military to be more specific.

           “For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, practically slamming the book down on the concrete. I climb off my float, wrapping a towel around my waist and picking up my book as I head inside my house.

           I leave the book somewhere on the kitchen counter, listening as the humming grows louder. I throw my clothes from earlier back on, leaving my sunglasses on my dresser. Best case scenario, they’re just checking on me and will leave as soon as we have a short word. Worst case scenario, Mycroft Holmes is behind this.

           I slip my feet into a pair of trainers, swiping my gun from the shelf in my closet. I strap it on my hip – just in case, really – and pull my shirt down over it.

           They don’t need to know I have it on. I just need to know I have it there.

           I step outside, cursing under my breath when I see the helicopter landing in my front yard. But not just because of that. I mainly curse because who walks out? Mycroft Holmes.

           Looks like it’s the worst-case scenario today. Lovely.

           I wait until the engine has shut off before I greet Mycroft, smiling sweetly, though I’m sure he can see my annoyance. “Mycroft Holmes,” I click my tongue. “What on earth are you doing here?”

           “Agent Stewart,” he nods. “I’m afraid I’m in need of your help.”

“I’m retired, Mycroft.”

           “Oh, please,” he nearly scoffs. “You and I both know retirement never suited you. I’m still surprised you’ve made it this long.”

           “I’ve preferred waking up to the sun coming through my window as opposed to someone trying to kill me,” I glare. “I’m retired. I’m not helping you if you need me on the ground.”

           “Will you at least hear my proposition before you decline?”

           I think it over, looking him over.

           He’s stressed. Exhausted. Worn. Something big has happened over there, that I’m sure of. But what could it possibly be? It takes a lot to make a man like Mycroft Holmes show physical signs of stressors. He hides everything so well, but this is clearly wearing on him.

           I look back to his face, narrowing my eyes. Or he’s trying to fake me out. He’s been good at that, too. He’s done it before.

           But it’s hard to tell.

           “Fine,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “But inside. It’s too hot out here and I need some lunch.”

           Mycroft agrees, probably because he knows he has no other choice. He turns to nod to the rest of his men, three of them stepping back on the helicopter while two of them follow us inside. As usual.

           “Something tells me you don’t trust me as much as you used to.”

           I spin around, walking sideways as I glance at him while I walk toward the kitchen. “What makes you think that?”

           “The gun on your hip.”

           “Ah,” I chuckle, smacking the light switch as I enter the kitchen. I tug my shirt up over the weapon. “More for my comfort than anything. I wasn’t aware you were the one that would be stopping by. Thought I might need to protect myself.”

           “Yes, well. Something has happened.”

           “I see that,” I nod. “You look stressed.”

           “Thank you,” Mycroft deadpans. “But this is serious.”

           “Alright,” I shake my head, grabbing the butter, bread, and cheese from the fridge. “What happened that’s so incredibly serious?”

           Mycroft takes a long pause and I wasn’t aware of why until the words came out of his mouth. He was waiting for me to set everything down.

           “Sherlock is dead.”

           I freeze, my face blank as I slowly turn around. I know I’ve gone pale. I can feel it, all the blood falling away from every part of my body. Sherlock.

           “Good,” Mycroft breathes, leaning onto his umbrella. “Hold onto that reaction.”

           “What?”

           “Sherlock is not dead. Not to me, you, and a handful of others. But to the rest of the world, he committed suicide as of last week.”

           I practically slam the cabinet door closed. “Mycroft, what the fuck is going on?”

           “No need to be cross—”

           “No, there is a need to be cross because you can’t just waltz in here and tell me one of my friends is dead when he, oh wait, isn’t actually dead! What the fuck are you doing?”

           “That’s what I’m trying to explain to you.”

           “Well start with why the hell he’s dead to the world but not us.”

           “Jim Moriarty,” Mycroft begins with a deep sigh. “The consulting criminal that flew under our radar has now flown under England’s radar and everyone believes he is Richard Brook. He is dead as well.”

           Mycroft leaves another long pause, causing me to raise my eyebrows. “Oh, sorry. I was waiting for you to say you were kidding.”

           Mycroft glares at me, but continues. “Jim Moriarty has destroyed the reputation of my brother—”

           “So?” I shrug. “Sherlock never cared about what anyone thought of him.” It was both a quality that I envied and despised.

           “Except when everyone thought of him as a fraud.”

           “Everyone meaning everyone except you and…?”

           “Dr. John Watson,” Mycroft fills in the blank. “And a few others, his ‘friends,’ if you can imagine it. But the entire world has been fed a story that is not true, and Sherlock needed to disappear.”

           “But he’s not dead.”

           “He is not dead.”

           “Hm.”

           “What?”

           “I’m still missing the point of why you need my help?”

           “John Watson is not doing well. I’ve kept eyes on him since the incident, but he hasn’t left Baker Street in a week. Judging by my assumptions, he will be leaving sometime soon to see a new therapist.”

           I raise an eyebrow. “And?”

           “And that therapist is you.”

           “You’re joking.”

           “I’m afraid not.”

           “I’m not a therapist, Mycroft. I was an agent. I’m retired. I’m not going to England to be a bloody therapist! What is the point of that?”

           “To keep a closer eye on him,” Mycroft replies, like it should’ve been obvious. “People reveal things in therapy that they wouldn’t dare tell or show to the outside world.”

           “Because it’s therapy, Mycroft. It’s private. Even if I were to agree to this, it’s a blatant disrespect for the ethics of therapy. I’m not going to be someone’s therapist and disclose information about them without them knowing.”

           “Yes, well,” he sighs, glancing down at the tip of his umbrella as it twists on the tile of my kitchen floor. “Consider this an undercover mission. John Watson has no idea that you are an agent – or that you used to be one. He does not know that Sherlock is alive, nor should he know anytime soon. Your job is to go undercover, as Dr. Watson’s new therapist, and make sure he doesn’t do anything drastic or idiotic.”

           “His best friend is pretending to be dead and you want me to make sure John doesn’t do anything stupid,” I relay the information in my own terms. “Seems like you should be showing that worry to your brother.”

           “Will you do it?”

           “No!” I yell, laughing in hysteria. “You’re out of your goddamn mind!”

           “I’m not asking you to do anything dangerous—”

           “No, you’re asking me to lie to someone who has already been lied to enough, just from what I’ve heard.”

           “He’s a veteran of the Afghanistan War,” Mycroft states. “He was sent home after a bullet wound to the shoulder. Discharged.”

           “Why are you telling me that?”

           “Because just like you, he’s missed the war from the day he left it.”

           “Shut up,” I shake my head. “Stop it right now. You of all people do not get to pull that card.”

           “You told me before you retired that the only thing to get you out of retirement would be a mission that would actually help someone.”

           “Because every time I went out, I got someone killed. Every time. When I was the one that shouldn’t have made it, I did. And I got tired of that. I got tired of being the lone survivor. The survivor who didn’t deserve to survive. I’m not doing that again.”

           “Doing this would help John Watson,” Mycroft says quietly. “And dare I say it might save him, too.”

           I clear my throat, thinking. Mycroft has a way with words, always has had the way to talk circles to make me agree to things I shouldn’t. And I want to be absolutely sure that this time, I agree only if it’s what I want to do.

           “He can’t know Sherlock’s alive?”

           Mycroft shakes his head sadly. “He is safer this way.”

           “How much safer?”

           “Infinitely.”

           “And he doesn’t know who I am?”

           “No, he does not.”

           “Fine,” I take a deep breath. “I’ll do it.” I cross my arms over my chest, hating myself for agreeing to this bloody stupid idea.

           “Great. His first appointment is tomorrow, so we better leave now.”

           “You absolute bastard,” I chuckle. “I assume I’ll be getting an entirely new wardrobe?”

           “Yes, I can relay the details on the plane that leaves in…oh, an hour, so we better get going.”

           “I despise you.”

           “I never suspected anything less,” Mycroft smiles sweetly, turning to walk out of the kitchen.

           “Let me grab a few things,” I yell after him. “I’ll be right out.”

           “Quickly,” he reminds me as he steps outside, the two men following behind him.

           I roll my eyes as I walk down the hall to my room. I don’t bother with clothes since I’ll be gaining an entirely different wardrobe, and possibly an entirely different persona. I haven’t lived in England in years and I’ve never crossed paths with John Watson. In fact, the last time I saw Sherlock Holmes in person was, I believe, a few days before he met John. He was still complaining to me then about needing a flat mate. He tried to convince me – of all people – to move in with him, but I had to decline. Mycroft was sending me off to Ukraine for who knew how long, so there was no sense in me moving in with Sherlock. I’ve heard many things about John, though. I’ve read online about the infamous Holmes and Watson duo. I’ve only talked to Sherlock once or twice since I retired, but I imagine (or I hope, at least) I’ll be speaking with him soon.

           I want to. I think I need to tell him how absolutely absurd this is that he’s lying to his best friend about his death. They’ve been partners in crime for two years now, and he can’t let John be his partner this time around? What for and why? What’s the point of any of this?

           I shake my head as I stuff my phone into my bag. I know I won’t be using it, but there’s pictures on there that I look at from time to time that I want to have. I grab my favorite blanket and fold it neatly, squeezing it in the bag as well. Other than that, there’s nothing here that I won’t get when I arrive in England.

           An undercover agent’s life is quite minimalistic. I learned to not attach myself to things, and it’s a practice that has stuck with me.

           I shut the lights off as I leave the room, checking the rest of the house to make sure all the lights are off. I’m sure Mycroft will make a few calls, though, and shut off the water and electricity here since I won’t be returning for who knows how long.

           One thing that irritates me about Mycroft Holmes is he never tells me how long the missions will last. And I know he estimates and has a good idea of how long, but he won’t ever tell me. The bastard.

           One of the men stands at my front door, opening it for me as I exit, even though I’m perfectly capable of walking out of my house on my own, but okay.

           Mycroft stands outside the helicopter, impatiently checking his watch. He seems relieved when he finally sees me walking out of the house, but his expression changes to annoyance when he sees I have a bag.

           “Relax,” I chuckle. “It has my phone and my favorite blanket. I still pack lightly.”

           I hop up into the aircraft, strapping myself into one of the seats by the window with my bag at my feet, behind my legs. Mycroft takes the seat next to me, handing me my headset that’s connected to his. Looks like we’re going to be talking about this more now.

           We take off into the air, my eyes staying focused on my pool as we fly over it. My retirement home. My home that was supposed to be my home. And now it’s nothing more than a house that I lived in for a few years and am leaving for another mission. Now it’s just like the others.

           Temporary.

           “Sherlock is at the airport.”

           I turn my head, staring at Mycroft with wide eyes. “He what?”

           “He’s at the airport on the plane we’re taking back to England,” Mycroft replies. “He’s off to Iraq after we are dropped off in England, but he wanted to discuss this mission with you in person before he left.”

           “How touching.”

           “I told you, Stewart, this is to keep John Watson safe.”

           “And I’ve told you, Mycroft, my name is Nicole.”

           “It won’t be when we arrive.”

           “Oh, yes. What am I going by this time?”

           “Dr. Stewart,” he replies simply. “You can use your middle name as your first, though I don’t see why you’d need to be on a first-name basis with a client.”

           “Maybe because it feels more personal?” I suggest. “Have you seriously never seen a therapist before?”

           “Are you seriously asking me such a stupid question?”

           The glare I give him might as well be lethal.

           “So, I am Jane Stewart, or Dr. Stewart, and I am Dr. John Watson’s therapist who is in an emotional turmoil right now because his best friend Sherlock Holmes is faking his death.”

           “When you put it like that—”

           “It sounds just as absurd as it is,” I finish for him. “I can’t believe I agreed to this.”

           “I was hoping you would,” he takes a deep breath. “We already have everything in place. I was hoping I wasn’t going to have to force you.”

           I smirk. “Funny that you think you could force me to do anything.”

           Mycroft smiles too because he knows it’s true. He’s talked me into a lot, sure. But he’s never “forced” me to do anything, and that’s because I hold my ground. If he wants to let himself blindly believe he could force me to do anything, that’s fine. But that’s not the truth. And deep down, he knows it.

[thegodgaze]

Fade to Ash

Obviously, if I had done something like that, I'd be...

I've got nothing but memories right now. There was a time when I was absorbed by the deep sorrow and concern that I had blood on my hands for the choices I would soon have to make. Choices made to abandon someone I clearly wasn't sure would be up to waking up the next morning or some morning further down the line. That potent...ground shifting fear.

"You don't sound so stressed anymore..."

Only because it's no longer this eroding anxiety, but just a pit of well-groomed sorrow. Can't even ask what's happening in the middle of a pandemic; how my questions and concerns fill up every incinerator I've got. It's not that I want to treat it like this... it's just.

- [Ozarks Spoilers] -

Got through watching the recent season of the Ozarks, and the entire story of Ben got me real weak. It made me feel like I watching Of Mice and Men for a bit, but the sympathy grew ever more for a man who was just trying to make sense of a brutal reality. No...you don't actually want to exist on the cusp of the American Dream, you don't want to actually win when the cost is having to give up your humanity. Maturity suggests that absorbing these changes and consolidating "humanity" into bite sized snacks you throw at the dog you keep around is the only way to exist proper - when actually feeling, feeling anything at all, that much is a sin punishable by death. I won't push aside the note of his mental illness, but I don’t think it actually takes away from his argument. We got to see the decline of a human being, who...just didn’t belong there. For all the most emotive cogs in the grand machine they built - his intensity brought home the fact a few hard points. Whether you found hatred for his childish demeanor, or...honestly the guy was fucking charming. Smooth as fuck, weird as fuck, but didn’t give a damn about it and stood with principle. He belonged in the house of Snell. Say what you will of that woman, this season really made her into something...different. Her house was the den of the rejected. Not the iniquitous hovel of they that damn, but a home in the middle of burning world. The Langmore clan’s exodus here was something that didn’t stick out to me until the end, but the transition has been a fascinating one. You can’t help but trust the woman in this circumstance because for all of her wild card plays you begin to realize just how much she values principle. Principle is all the Langmore’s got except...for poor Ruth. Who, given the circumstances, Ruth is portrayed as “mature”, in her dealings with Byrde, and literally everyone else in this fucking world. At first you admire her tenacity, ingenuity...and then loyalty. But that loyalty nearly got her killed. It’s now that it becomes apparent that the Byrdes might not be the people you’re rooting for, no matter how much like Jonah’s character. 

No, it’s...in this den of the principled few that I can’t help but admire. Ben...Ben got there too late. The first time he sets foot in there is his last, and he’s unsure of how to fix anything and the music played along these scenes gutted me. It was...it knew what you knew. From the start, his introduction, I was left wondering who would become the next fodder in the scene of character development - nearly as a joke, I teased the tropes but I didn’t immediately expect this one, though, to an extent, I always knew. Initially my thought is that it would’ve been about him gallantly taking out some douchebag’s life down with his own, considering his stark introduction at the school - even from then its clear just how principled he is. But what I got was...painful. I don’t always sit around to watch painful things, because usually they are presented as levels of cringe I don’t see worth in waiting around for, but this level of pain was something I couldn’t tear my eyes away from. Maybe it’s a personal thing, I can hardly know but for my skirting encounters with mental illness, I’m left adrift when it comes to Ben. 

Ben died like a child. The music let you feel that...slowly growing into a melody that wouldn’t leave. Everytime you heard it, you knew what was going on, what was growing. It was methodic pacing; Ben didn’t belong anywhere. After the fact...you almost want to hear it again, but it never fully comes back, only in pieces, only in fading as if it was memory. It got too real, I mean...frankly I’ve never known what it’s been like to lose a loved one; but for all the simulations these dramas pose, this one...was really effective. I’ve never been one to latch onto character so quickly in fiction - sure this man or woman might be exceptionally badass, but as any writer dreams, the real chalice is getting a handful of the audience’s heart strings. Sure, several tropes can tug and pull and generic excuses for conflict may work as a standard bus, but then you’ve got to get specific. Ben’s illness, specifically, is not entirely a component of his character. I feel like it’s nearly asking me to believe that’s why he had to go, but cosnidering how it’s portrayal, and very possible mismatches with reality, I feel this misdiagnosis and key character point are not at all important. His interactions with Ruth define this, and for all his cool-headed light at the start of the season and throughout his decline, he doesn’t flip out against her. The show keeps repeating that he’s dangerous, to himself, and what is seen, others as well, but not to Ruth, not directly anyway. Maybe this isn’t grounds for determining his misdiagnosis, but it is grounds for consider the way his mental capacity is treated going forward. The pills stop him from feeling. As the audience we’re confused as to what should happen. His ability to experience life as most himself endangers everything, and honestly seems like poor judgment; obviously if you’re using something to get by and stay functional, by no means is it ideal to undo for a bit of feeling - but... He’s given pills...not therapy. 

I get it, there is a lot of his story that’s off screen, but the solution to Ben is not the pills. Ben just doesn’t belong. Granted, the pills would help Ben keep himself in check, but there is no indication that he wasn’t using those pills at the school? I guess that is the implication, but going into the Byrde house, it’s clear that he’s been taking them rather regularly. No...Ben’s solution was the Snell’s abode. It was Ruth - and the show makes you feel so close to that closure, then rips it away...slowly...and that’s why it hurts. You can’t just kill off one of the kids...no, they’re not kids anymore. But this guy? Yikes. 

As if any of this is decent analysis of anything but frankly...it just...brings back memories. Many of them I don’t really want to think about. Ben didn’t belong in not just a world like the one the show presents, but...anywhere, here in the states. For the regard of central themes, that old hearty American principle is what makes you admire him and his new clan but...they don’t belong either. The mainstay of America prosperity is profit at any cost, and the Byrdes are pristine examples of that. Everyone is “protecting their family” but...that’s a lie. Too many ways out were presented, such that the entire season, I was waiting for the big reveal of him just bowing out to the feds but, they won, instead.

---

I looked at her and shuddered. Every day I peek over some platform to see...something, anything, I’m reassured that what she said about herself getting by just fine was more than true. While I am at ease, I sit down still very perturbed. Either she was lying to me for the longest time for the effect of that principle, something had changed while I was around, or it all was an unconscious attempt at keeping me still; whatever it might be, I hardly feel well about signing it off as such. It’s easier to just absorb the blame because that means I wasn’t suckered into something twice as toxic; it means that I was trying so fucking hard for a decent reason. It means that I failed, but I was not fooled. I’d much rather take that than assign villainy or that much confusion to someone I still admire, but can’t. It’s easy at a first glance to say that this “Ben” reminds me of her, but frankly...it feels more like a mirror. Being lied to or omitted at all angles for the perception of just not having it together enough to be trusted as an “Adult”. You can’t fix this Benjamin, go back to sleep; the music will fade soon enough, you’ll be fine.

[chocoluckchipz]

Dance with Me, Chaton - 20

Read it on A03, WattPad, FF.net

Written for @ladynoirjuly2019

< Previous

20. Crushes

Unsurprisingly, Plagg was all too happy to hear Adrien wanted to continue. The blond could practically see that glutton basking in his glory on his throne, sipping on champagne and stuffing himself with his stinky Camembert, undoubtedly thinking of better ways to torture Adrien for having the guts to quit. He didn’t care, though. Marinette wanted him to get to the end, so he would, no matter what Plagg would throw his way. Marinette swore Plagg was a good guy, and no matter how hard it was for Adrien to believe, he’d do so. For her. Because she loved him. Because he loved her.

“So.” Marinette grinned as they settled into the car. “To explain why I know Plagg well enough to swear he’s a really good man, I think I should tell you how I got in Kwami Kave first.”

Adrien turned the car on. “I’d love to hear that. I’ve heard, though, people don’t get in just because they want to. Wasn’t there something about going through rough times to qualify?”

Marinette nodded, as Adrien drove off. “Yes. I don’t know how he does it, but Master Fu can somehow sense people who need help. I think it’s a part of his ancient, Eastern education, but honestly, no one knows for sure. We only figured that he reacts to either a disaster in progress or a potential for that.”

“Like people with issues?”

She hummed. “Yeah, or those who are in situations that might be too much for them to handle.”

“How does he know, though?”

Marinette shrugged. “Don’t ask me. I have no idea. But, once Master Fu locates such a person, after that, it’s all pretty standard: he approaches them, usually with a simple test to, I guess, check if the person still has kindness in them. If they pass, he invites them to the club by giving them a piece of jewellery and assigns them a dance instructor for one-on-one training before they can join the club. Trainers help invitees to work on their issues, teach them coping mechanisms, help them get through rough times, whatever the individual person needs.”

“Something like a therapy?”

“In a way. But much more fun because there is dancing involved, not to mention many friends at the Kwami Kave who understand things you’re going through.”

Adrien stopped at the red light. His eyes focused on the road, palms sweaty as he clutched the wheel, he said quietly. “Then I don’t get why Master Fu approached me. My life isn’t that bad. I’m neither in trouble nor do I think I have issues. I mean, I have a little tense relationship with my father, but it isn’t so bad. Lots of people don’t see eye to eye with their parents.”

Marinette fell quiet. “I don’t know you well enough to answer that.”

“And assign me to Plagg?” Adrien mumbled. “He’s no therapist. He’s a tyrant causing the issues, not solving them.”

“I… Well, all I know is that Plagg deals with more complex issues than others, and because of that, he’s the only one of two trainers allowed to choose their own students. So, I doubt Master Fu assigned you to him. He might have proposed your candidature to him, but most likely, it was Plagg who chose you.”

“Great,” Adrien grumbled. “I wonder what did I do to catch his attention?”

Marinette looked at the side window. “My best guess would be: he came from a similar background.”

Adrien raised an eyebrow in a surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Wealthy, very influential family. That’s all I know. He doesn’t speak much of his background.”

Adrien fell quiet. Plagg didn’t look like he’d been born into a wealthy, influential anything. His shabby look. That arrogant attitude! Obsession with reeking cheese. No manners or sense of decency. No way! But then… he did nail how Adrien felt about his father the first time they’d met. He somehow knew, knew everything without ever seeing Adrien before. How? Did Plagg understand Adrien better than he’d realized so far? Adrien shrugged the idea away. Impossible! Because if he did, why was he putting Adrien through hell, undoubtedly, for laughs?  

“Okay, suppose, but how did he know about my background?”

He could feel Marinette biting on her lip. “I… I might have something to do with that, even though I don’t understand how. I mean, I didn’t know who you were, how he figured that out is beyond me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s start from the fact that Master Fu knew you were coming to the club that night you brought me the USB.”

Adrien quirked an eyebrow. “How?”

“I told him. Though I didn’t know your name or who you were, but I thought meeting there would be our best option to meet and remain anonymous. So, I called Tikki, my dance trainer, and explained the situation to her. She sent me to Master Fu, and he gave me permission to invite you.”

“I think I’ve heard about this Tikki from Plagg. His old rival, isn’t she?”

Marinette giggled. “Well, they used to be rivals. Now, they are happily married. Have been for years.”

He almost slammed the brakes. “What?”

Marinette laughed. “Yup. They’ve been together for as long as I’ve known them, and they are a super sweet couple. That’s how I know so much about Plagg. There was a time when I practically lived at their house. I still visit them often. Plagg knows me well, so if you ever mentioned Ladybug, he knew exactly who you were talking about even when you didn’t.”

“That lying… glutton! I can’t believe this.”

Marinette laughed harder. “I’m sorry. He didn’t tell you?”

“No!? He hasn’t been telling me anything apart from where and when to come and what to do. That… Ugh! I can’t believe him!”

Marinette could hardly contain her giggles as Adrien struggled to focus on the road. A few minutes later he asked, “Okay, suppose this Master Fu knew I was coming. How come he gave me the card right after I left? Doesn’t evaluation to determine who to assign me to require time?”

“Not as much as one may think,” Marinette replied. “Honestly, I’m surprised myself but usually Master Fu knows the best possible match in a few minutes.”

“But didn’t you say before that it was Plagg who chose me? Suppose Master Fu told him I was coming but how did he know about our possible similar backgrounds to decide he wanted to choose me? I mean I highly doubt they knew who I was.”

“I wish I could answer,” Marinette sighed. “But I just don’t know. I know that Plagg was at the club that night. He might have seen you, and if Master Fu proposed the idea to him, he’d decline or agree on the spot. Tikki said Master Fu noticed me a few days before I ran off and spoke to her almost immediately. She came by the bakery to look at me before agreeing, though. I never noticed. She looked like a regular customer, stocking up on chocolate chip cookies.”

Adrien fell quiet for a few moments. Driving through the streets, they were nearing Marinette’s home when he asked, “What was it for you? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not at all,” Marinette smiled. “I meant to tell you, but we got kind of sidetracked. For me, it was Lila.”

“Lila Rossi?”

“Yup. We went to school together. She kept bullying me for years for no reason other than she didn’t like me. My parents were amazing, but they didn’t know how to help me. They just kept telling me to ignore her and that it’d go away if I would, but it didn’t. It only got worse when I ignored her.” Marinette paused for a moment, her voice getting quieter. “Sometimes I think she made it her mission to ensure every day of my life was more miserable than the previous one. By the end of the school, it got so bad I decided that putting as much physical distance between us as possible, was my only option.”

“You ran away from home?”

Marinette nodded. “I was alone and desperate and had a grandmother in Italy. My parents didn’t know; I thought they wouldn’t understand, so I didn’t tell them my plans. Plus, hitchhiking to Italy didn’t seem too dangerous for a sixteen-year-old me. I thought I’ll be fine and living up a dream in Italy soon. My only mistake was to help an elderly man crossing the street by our bakery. He was about to be hit by a car, and I had nothing to lose, so I jumped in and yanked him away.”

Adrien stilled, his eyes on the road. “Did you get hit instead?”

“No. Thankfully, the car stopped before it could hit me.”

Adrien let a relieved sigh out. “I guess the elderly man was Master Fu?”

She nodded. “He thanked me with a pair of earrings and a card, saying that running away from my problems won’t help. They’ll follow me wherever I go, even if in a different face.”

“That sounds so creepy. How did he know that?”

She laughed. “It was creepy, and I don’t know how he knew, but I was sixteen and naïve and didn’t really want to leave my parents behind, so I chose to trust him and called Tikki.”

Adrien parked at the curb and turned off the car. Looking at Marinette, he asked, “Did it help? I saw myself Lila abusing you just a week ago.”

Marinette smiled and put her hand over his. “I had my reason for letting her do so. If you weren’t involved, she’d never get away with it. Tikki taught me to stand up for myself, not hide in fear and let Lila walk all over me. She helped me to grow a backbone, bring my bravery out, and deal with bad times in a healthy way. Admittedly, it’s an ongoing ordeal, but I’m not losing. I’m strong and confident and neither Lila nor her pitiful tricks would get to me anymore.”

“So, no regrets you aren’t in Italy right now?”

“No way. Master Fu was right. With that victim mentality I used to have, there would always be someone to take Lila’s place. No matter where I’d been. Staying and calling Tikki was the best decision I’ve ever made.”

“I’m happy for you,” Adrien took her hand and placed a light kiss on top of it. “Sounds like Tikki changed your life for the best.”  

“And Plagg will change yours. You’ll see.” She smiled so confidently and sincerely, Adrien almost believed her. He chose to do so.

“Then I guess, I’d better not be late?”

“I guess so.”

“Wait for me. I’ll let you out.” Adrien exited the car and opened the door for Marinette, offering her a hand.

She placed hers gently into his and got out of the car. Not letting him go, Marinette gave him the sweetest, most sincere smile he’d seen from her yet. “I’m sure everything will be alright. Plagg is a great person, even if he doesn’t appear to be so at the first… or even a second glance. You’ll do great. I believe in you. And you won’t regret it. I promise.”

She stood on her tippy toes and cradled his cheek. Adrien held his breath as Marinette’s lips lingering at his skin just at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ll see you at work tomorrow,” she whispered and vanished into her apartment building, leaving him dumbfounded with a lopsided smile on his lips, speechless and a mess. She’d be the death of him one of these days.

***

“If it isn’t my prodigal son Adrien Agreste.” Plagg slyly grinned, half lying on his throne when Adrien walked in. “Glad you stopped by. How can I help you?”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “Can we skip this or you want me to grovel at your feet?”

“Talking back.” Plagg smirked. “Good. You’re growing a backbone.” Leaping from his throne, Plagg walked closer. Circling around Adrien, he asked, “Whatcha grinning about? Finally fallen in love with my teaching method? Can’t wait to start the session?”

“You wish,” Adrien huffed, a smile glued to his face. How could he not smile when he’d just had a date with Marinette?

“You finally realized the wonder that is my precious Camembert?”

Adrien laughed. “Not even in your dreams.”

“Good.” Plagg watched Adrien for a moment before his eyes widened and he whistled. “Kid, no. Please, don’t do this to me?”

“Do what?”

“Don’t tell me you’ve given in?”

Adrien grinned wider. “Given in to what?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

“I have no idea.”

Plagg groaned, closing his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright. Who is she?”

“Who is who?”

Plagg growled, glaring at Adrien. “The girl you’re in love with.”

“Who said I am in love?” Adrien shrugged, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You must be imagining things.”

“Me? Imagining? Have you seen yourself? This stupid grin on your face can mean only one thing! Who is she?”

Adrien raised an eyebrow. “What does it matter?”

Plagg closed his eyes and stood in his place for a few moments before asking instead of answering, “Is it Ladybug?”

“So specific. Why would you think it’s her?”

“Because it was written all over your face the first time you told me about her.”

Adrien could’ve denied or lied, but he wanted answers, and if he wanted the truth from Plagg, he had to be honest himself. “Yes. Your wife’s pupil, isn’t she?”

Plagg stared at him in silence, his eyes narrowed. Then smirked. “So, you know?”

“About you lying that Tikki was your rival and not a wife? Yeah, I do.”

“I didn’t lie.” Plagg shrugged, walking back to his throne. “You never asked me if I was married or if Tikki was my wife. I just chose not to disclose my personal information to you yet.”

“You said she was your rival!”

“She is. Being married doesn’t mean we can’t be rivals, does it?” Plagg smirked. “Keeps things interesting.”

Adrien pressed his lips together. “Alright. Then tell me if it’s true that you’ve chosen me.”

Plagg halted his steps, his body tensing. “I see she told you quite a lot.”

“Why? I don’t have issues. My family’s fame and money aside, my life is pretty average. Why would you choose me to torment me with your insane method of teaching dancing that doesn’t even involve the actual dancing?”

Plagg took his time to settle in his throne. Crossing his arms over his chest he looked at Adrien with a smirk, his gaze full of amusement. “What kind of gentleman you think I’d be if I didn’t help my wife’s adorable pupil?”

Adrien frowned. “What do you mean?”

Plagg cocked his head to the side. “She was finally getting over her annoying crush on Adrien Agreste in favour of this mysterious Chat Noir who was suddenly visiting Kwami Kave. I just had to take a look, and when Master said you were eligible for joining, I couldn’t help myself but seize the opportunity. Imagine my surprise—” Plagg snickered, “—when I discovered that Chat Noir is Adrien Agreste. Oh, that was fun.”

“And you didn't tell her?”

“Why would I? It’s not my business.”

“You know.” Adrien exhaled. “I wish this Master Fu would give me to someone else. Someone saner than you. Someone more sympathetic.”

Plagg shook his head. “The old man didn’t even consider anyone else. He came straight to me because like it or not, you’ve got issues, and I doubt anyone else could’ve walked you through them.”

“What kind of issues?” Adrien frowned. “I don’t think—”

“You’re not there yet,” Plagg said with a voice stern, standing up. “And if I can stop you from going there, I will. Now, let’s put this aside because we’re not here to discuss your issues or your crushes, aren't we? We’re here to make your dreams come true.”

Adrien quirked an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Congratulations.” Plagg winked. “You’re finally ready to dance.”

Adrien crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t believe my ears. It took me what? A few weeks only?”

“Don’t be so cocky,” Plagg huffed. “If you made it to this point much faster than anyone else I’ve ever taught, it’s thanks only to your excellent physical form. And maybe Marinette… for inspiring you to finally stand up for yourself and ask questions. I should tell Tikki. She’ll be proud of her little bug.”

“You waited for me to ask questions?”

“I waited for you to stop blindly obeying what you’re told to do and start thinking for yourself. Now, let’s not lose any more time, shall we?”

“Wait,” Adrien frowned, dumbfounded. What did Plagg mean by he waited for him to stop obeying? For better or for worse, Plagg was his teacher and as such automatically an authority. Whether Adrien liked it or not, he had to obey Plagg, just like Adrien would expect his pupils or his employees to obey him. At least, that’s how he’d been taught all his life. “You wanted me to disobey? You’re actually rewarding me for that?”

Plagg looked right into his eyes, evoking a shiver down Adrien’s spine. His eyes glowed; Adrien swore they did. His face more serious than it’d ever been, Plagg said, “Listen carefully to me, Adrien. No matter who you’re stuck with at work, in a relationship or even in a family, no one, and I will repeat it again, no one has the right to abuse you. If they don’t treat you respectfully, never stand by silently. Ask questions, raise concerns, walk away if you must, but don’t you ever allow anyone to walk all over you and get away with that.”

“I know that,” Adrien said. “But sometimes—”

“No buts. They either treat you like a human being, or you walk away.”

Adrien pursued his lips. “Says the man who treated me like a doormat for the past few weeks and expected me to obey. Or would you deny that?”

“I did expect you to obey,” Plagg said. “But only because I knew you would. Your type always does. You’re so used to bowing to every whim of someone above you, you’ve stopped thinking for yourself. Isn't right, Adrien?”

“I don’t think—”

“And the only way to snap you out of that is to push you beyond your limit.”

Adrien stilled.  

“That's exactly what I’ve been doing for the past few weeks. So yes, while I expected you to obey me, that wasn't what I wanted you to do. I wanted you to grow a backbone and fight back. You should have a say in your life. You should be the one building it, not going where others push you. Send them to hell and walk away. No matter who they are. Otherwise, you won’t last long. Do you understand me?”

Gaping like a fish, Adrien stared at Plagg. Was… was Marinette right and Plagg really did care? Was his method, no matter how weird and intense… was it exactly what Adrien needed? Maybe he should persevere, give it all he had and get to the end. For her, as he promised, but also, for himself.

“I do,” Adrien breathed out.

Plagg kept their eye contact strong. “Remember that.”

“I will.”

“Good.” Plagg smirked and nodded his head. “Now, shall we start dancing?”

“Okay.” Adrien smiled.

“Tell me how you feel about her. About Marinette.”

Adrien blinked in surprise, but almost instantly, his lips stretched into a smile. Her kiss, her touch still tingled on his skin. His heart speeding up, he started, “Well, Marinette—”

“Not using words!” Plagg feverishly motioned him to stop talking. “Please, kid. No! Spare me. I don’t want to listen to it. I want to see it.”

“What do you mean? You said to tell you.”

“Dance, Adrien. Dance. Tell me how you feel about her in a dance.”

“I…” Adrien frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t think I know how to do that.”

“Remember what I taught you.” Plagg stuffed an appearing-out-of-nowhere piece of Camembert in his mouth. “Think of a melody or a song that represents your feelings for her to you and then let this melody become you. Use everything I’ve taught you. All the moves, all the techniques. Everything you’ve done so far can be used in a dance.”

Adrien tried to think. A melody, a song that would represent his feelings for Marinette? That was impossible. There were no single melody or a song in the world that could do that. He felt too much for her. He couldn’t even describe it himself. How could a random song do that for him?

“Should I put on Despacito?”

“Plagg, no! Really?”

“Why? It’s a good song. Exactly what you need.”

“Not really. My love for Marinette is much deeper than Despacito could ever describe.”

“Suit yourself, but you have a minute to come up with something or Despacito it is.”

Blood rushing through his veins, Adrien raced against time to recount hundreds of songs in his head. He needed one. Just one song to represent what he felt for Marinette. What she meant to him. Too much and everything at once. She was the most incredible woman he’d ever known. Beautiful inside and out. With her, nothing else mattered. Even when he didn’t realize his feelings yet, even when they were just developing, being with Marinette felt always so soothing, so calm and at the same time…

“I’ve got one.” Adrien smiled. It might not be perfect, but it was as close as he could get at the moment. He quickly googled the YT video on his cellphone and passed it to Plagg.

Plagg quirked an eyebrow. “Heaven To Me by Don Diablo? Interesting choice. Fine. Show me what you’ve got.”

He connected Adrien’s phone to his boombox, and soon the music blasted through the studio, Adrien froze.

Plagg appeared behind him, already moving to the beat. “Close your eyes, Adrien,” he whispered into his ear. “Feel the beat. Let it consume you. Let it guide your every move, every cell of your body, your very being.”

Adrien obeyed. He closed his eyes and focused on the sound. Marinette popped into his mind. In her Ladybug assemble she moved to the beat, her hips swinging, her arms, legs flowing through space, her whole body twisting and shifting to the melody. Adrien’s lips tagged in the smile. He followed, unsurely and somewhat clumsily at first, but soon the music blasted louder and Adrien forgot where and who he was with. His eyes closed, he danced with Marinette, his body’s reacting to the beat with the moves Plagg was drilling into him the last few weeks.

Pulsating through his veins, music coursed through his whole being as Adrien moved. Moved like never before, telling the story of what Marinette meant to him, feelings he didn’t fully realize himself he’d had. She’d freed him. Yes, he was still under his father’s thumb, but Adrien had never felt as free as when he was with Marinette. She was his heaven. She pulled him out of the comfortable hell he’d been surviving in. This was their time and their place. Their moment for their love to blossom.

When the music ceased, Adrien could barely catch his breath. Plagg’s clapping forced him to open his eyes.

“Not bad.” Plagg smirked. “Needs some work, but for a beginner, you’ve got some skills, kid. I knew you had potential.”

“Thanks.” Adrien smiled, heavily breathing. His muscles tingling, he lavished in a warm feeling inside him. “I… This—this actually felt amazing, liberating in a way.”

Plagg chuckled and wrapped his arm around Adrien’s shoulder. “Buckle up, kid. You’re in for quite a ride. And I am your loyal guide in this madness.”

_______________________________________________________________________

Next >

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

All We Want For Christmas, pt. 1

Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: Marvel AU. Will be a few parts. PG-13

Warnings: divorce, therapy, childhood trauma. 

Summary: Two years after divorcing, Steve and you live separate lives. Christmas is a hard time for the two of you, but this Christmas, miracles are up in the air. Will the two of you reunite and move past the hurt? Or will the two of you be alone under the mistletoe?

The city was alive with Christmas spirit and joy, well mostly.

Steve Rogers was trailing alongside his best friend, Bucky Barnes - listening to him spew out a list of gifts he still needed to get. Steve listened half-heartedly, not because he was a bad friend, he was a great one, but because this time of year brought back painful memories. It had been nearly two years since he had divorce papers drawn, not knowing what else was left in a marriage he once thought was his biggest purpose in life. He had not planned it to happen during the holiday season, but he just couldn’t go through another empty Christmas celebration with a wife who didn’t seem happy. Steve was heartbroken when he finally presented the papers to you, placing them down beside your laptop. You were working on a think piece for the online magazine you worked for, and when the papers landed in your line of sight, you let out a sigh.

That killed him the most, the relief in your eyes when he said he’d being moving out with Bucky. That he didn’t want much but what he came with and if it was fine, the large oak bookcase the two of you had bought at a flea market two summers ago. You agreed, eyes drifting back to the computer screen, and when Steve finally walked away after a few seconds, he heard the tapping of your fingers on the keyboard.

“You seem distracted.”

“This isn’t exactly my favorite time of year.”

Bucky paused for a long second before stopping Steve midstep, hand on his shoulder. “It’s been two years, you just going to hate Christmas for the rest of your life?”

“I don’t hate Christmas, Buck. I don’t hate anything, I just don’t feel up to it this year.”

“That’s what you said last year,” Bucky remarked, nodding to a corner cafe across the street. “I need some caffeine, maybe some will do you good.”

The two men crossed the street and walked into the warm cafe, a steady buzz of talking and the calling of orders filled the air as they approached the counter. Steve’s attention went to the baking goods in the display as Bucky order two coffees, asking if he wanted a muffin. Steve declined, wandering off to an empty table in front of a large window. He sat down and took off his jacket, tugging at his blue henley. He stretched his feet under the table and crossed his hands against his chest. Knowing he was being a regular Grinch, he tried to relax and let himself smile. His shoulders relaxed as Bucky approached, sitting down with a wide smile.

“I think I’ll get Clint a gift card from here, he basically runs off coffee.”

“You could get him one of their reusable mugs too,” Steve added, trying to sound more positive. “I think he’d like that.”

Bucky’s face lit up just as his name was called - he quickly got up and pointed to the display case behind Steve. “Go find a mug, I’ll get the coffee.”

Watching as his friend walked away, guilt riddled Steve’s chest. He was faking it and fooling his friend in thinking he was fine, when he clearly wasn’t. Hadn’t been since you signed the papers - god, he was such an idiot thinking you’d change your mind. Getting up from his chair, Steve walked over to the mugs and started going through them, coming across a purple one he thought would suit Clint. Satisfied, he turned to find Bucky back at his seat, coffees on the table. He made his way back and placed the mug in front of Bucky, but as he started to tell him about the mug, someone caught his eyes through the window.

….

“The question is do you think you’re ready to date?”

“I’m not sure, I think I’m in a better place than I have been in years.”

“Well, let’s start from there.”

Holding the cell phone to your ear, you waited at the stoplight and watched as people passed by. The city was buzzing with life and you had to admit how good you felt. You had been in therapy for a year now, trying to rebuild years of damage brought on by cold parents and a failed marriage that you took the entire blame for.

“My friend suggested Tinder, what do you think?”

“What was your initial response to their suggestion?”

Sighing, you started crossing the street to the corner cafe - wanting to grab coffee before heading to work. You were editing now, instead of writing the stories. It wasn’t like you didn’t write, but now when you did write, it was for you. There was no more pressure to write some brilliant, smart story on the political climate of a country or the dangers of deodorant.

“I think it’s silly,” you confessed, stopping in front of the cafe. “I’m not really into meeting someone online, I like meeting people face to face.”

“There’s your answer.’

“Right, well...I need to go. Thank you for taking my call.”

Katie, your therapist, said that’s what she was there for. “I’ll see you on Tuesday, but call if you need to.”

“Thank you.”

Hanging up, you felt a wave of relief lift off your shoulders - life had been hard after the break up, you like to think of your marriage as a houseplant. It was exciting to have and at first you were so eager to take care of it, you watered it everyday, and then one day you forgot to water it. A day turned into two, then three, and before you knew it - it was dead in the corner, next to the stack of unread books.

It wasn’t the greatest analogy, but it put things in the simplest perspective.

Walking into the cafe, you were greeted with a rush of warmth, prompting you to unravel the scarf around your neck as you approached the counter. A young woman greeted you, asking what you’d like. Ordering four coffees, you paid and moved off to the side, waiting patiently for your order. Your cell buzzed with a text and when you took it out, you saw it was your coworker. Replying back that you were getting the coffee, you shoved the cell back into your pocket and walked over to the baked goods display, deciding if you should get a muffins too.

“I had the muffins here once, they were good.”

Your body tensed as the familiar voice graced your eyes - a voice you had love hearing over the phone during the first weeks of your relationship, when the two of you would stay up all night to talk. The voice that was groggily in the morning and whined when his coffee became too cold. It was the voice that belonged to your ex-husband.

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[iamkatehardy]

At Last (Kray Twins x Reader) - Chapter 2

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of violence

Author’s Notes: I’m Sorry it took me so long to update, I promise I’ll try to do it more frequently, and spice things up in Chapter 3!

Your feedback is always appreciated, whatever your opinion is <3

You can find Chapter 1 in my Masterlist ❤️

You had been working on Esmeralda’s Barn for some time. The Krays were more than just your bosses; the employers-employee relationship was quickly replaced by a warm-hearted one. Little did they know when they hired you that it would be a hell of a ride.

Before your Première on the club’s stage, you refused to stop working on the bar; you wanted to perform the tasks you were originally hired to, until the minute you’d receive their definitive order to stop and become exclusively a singer.

Reggie had told you an infinite amount of times that it was completely ok if you decided to engage in your rehearsals only and leave the bar, but you politely declined hid offer every single time, you wanted to prove your value on stage first. Besides that, working cleared your mind from your problems, and spending more time in the club meant you were safer.

After long hours of work in the bar, and putting everything in place for the next night, you’d finally rehearse. You’d spend hours on end composing and arranging songs meticulously, until your fingers were sore, your voice showed some hoarseness or your eyes were so puffy you couldn’t keep them open any longer.

Reggie’s marriage was definitely on the rocks, so he spent a lot of time on the club as well. Sometimes neither of you left until the sun was up. He spent most of his time alone in his office, upset with the situation and with himself, wondering where he went wrong with Frances. Before his sadness and rage consumed him from within, he’d come to sit at his usual table with a drink on his hand, to watch your performance, trying to set aside his problems for a while. You knew what it meant when Reggie’s bright eyes turned red, and you knew he didn’t deserve any of that, considering what you knew from his way of being.

One day you just couldn’t take it anymore, he had been too amiable and considerate with you for you to stand to see him that miserable. You came down the stage and reached out for him, putting your cold hands on his shoulder.

“I know I have no right to intrude in your life like this… But I really can’t help it; I absolutely loathe seeing you like that, Reggie…”

“And I can’t help feeling like this (Y/N). You don’t know the weight of a failed marriage…”

“Actually, I do, more than I’d like to…” – You rubbed his shoulders softly. – “And if you want to cry, or talk, you don’t have to do it on alone, I am here to dry your eyes…”

He looked up at you in surprise, and then hugged you by the waist, laying his head on your stomach; you ran your fingers through his slightly messy hair, protectively, as he just let tears flow freely.

You wouldn’t mind spending hours comforting him, if that would have any results. You had no idea why would a relationship with a man like Reggie be doomed; all you could see in him so far was only good.

Your instinct to protect the twins, perhaps because they protected you as well was something else. You treated Ron with endless love and patience, as if he was an adult-sized baby , which seemed to work, because he actually listened to your advice and became very fond of you. With Reggie it was different, you adored him from the depths of your heart, and you had started to develop feelings for him; the more you tried to avoid it, the more it grew inside you. His friendship was probably all you were going to get from him, and though it wasn’t nearly what you wanted, having him near and being gifted by his smile would have to be enough.

The day you’d officially make your debut in the Esmeralda’s Barn finally arrived, and a mixed of different feelings washed over you. You were nervous, excited, frightened, happy and a bunch of other things, all in equal proportions. As you sat in the dressing room, getting ready, you thought about singing for Reggie, the very thought of him made you unwind. Sometimes you wondered if he had the ability to read minds, because he had just showed up behind you; you saw his reflection in the mirror.

“How sneaky, Mr. Kray! I didn’t hear you coming in.” – You laughed, putting your earrings on, observing him through the mirror.

“Well, that was my goal. I wanted to surprise you.” – He stepped closed.

“Or causing me a heart attack maybe…” – You glared at him and then shrugged, giggling and turning on your chair to face him.

“I just wanted to wish you good luck, though I’ve been told many times that talented people, like yourself, don’t really need it my dear.” – He delivered you a gorgeous bouquet, with about a dozen delicate scarlet roses.

“Oh, thank you Reggie, you’re such a sweet! How did you know they were my favorite?” – You touched them carefully, smiling excited.- “My suspicions are now confirmed, you read minds! They are beautiful!”

“Not nearly as beautiful as you are.” – He smiled, taking your hand and kissing it gently, then planting a kiss on your forehead, letting his lips rest there for some seconds. – “You’ll sweep people off their feet!”

“Always so charming…” – A blush crept up your cheeks and you put the flowers in a vase with water.

“I better go now; I really want a front-row seat.” – He winked and then left.

“Oh Dear Lord, why do you do this to me?!” – You looked up at the heavens, asking for help. – “I’m married; HE’S married and loves his wife so much… Just, no.” – You slapped yourself lightly, to wake yourself up from your fantasies. After taking a sip of a drink that Teddy brought you earlier, you inhaled sharply, before going on stage.

The moment had come, this as your final test before the club’s birthday. Everyone had high expectations on you, and you didn’t want to let them down, especially the twins.

Fighting your demons, you faced the crowd, swallowing hard; Reggie gave you a warm reassuring smile; Ron gave you a nod, his own way of trying to raise your spirits; and Teddy, being his usual crazy self, clapped enthusiastically. Their support meant a lot.

From the moment the first note of the song was played, everything faded from your mind, the good, the bad, everything. Well, everything but a special someone. For a moment in time, there were only you, the melody and the words that slowly wrapped and mended your soul, just the kind of therapy you needed. Just you, and the love coming out of your lips on the form of a song. Your performance didn’t let any of your friends down, neither the people in the club, who gave you a standing ovation. You felt absolutely overwhelmed by their positive reaction and courtly bowed. You didn’t even think of the unwanted attention this night could bring you.

Ron immediately got up, coming forward and offering you his arm. You smiled, linking your arm on his and walked with him to the table, in order to celebrate your success.

“Do you think you could teach me how to sing? I’d like that.” – He looked at you with curious eyes.

“We can arrange that, yes.” – You smiled and rubbed your thumb on his cheek.

“That was fucking amazing.” – Teddy clapped and gave you a sly smile. – “Come on, today is the day, say it!”

“Yes, it was amazing indeed.” – You chuckled.

“ Ah ah ah ah ah! No, you forgot that magical adverb of intensity: fucking amazing.” – He made his priority since day one to make you say or do something that wasn’t lady like, so he was dying to hear you swearing.

“You’ll never give up, will you? Cheeky little thing.” – You rolled your eyes biting your lower lip. “Fine. It was fucking amazing, and I fucking loved it.” – You shrugged and laughed.

After some drinking and mingling, someone brushed past you, but you couldn’t see his face, just feel a familiar smell. You felt a chill down your spine, a crippling bad feeling, but the night was going so great you decided to ignore it. It was probably just your anxiety kicking in.

Reggie mingled with some clients for a while, but he was dying to talk to you, so he came to hug you, whispering in your ear.

“I am in awe (Y/N).” – His warm breath in your ear made you close your eyes for a second. – “Absolutely thrilling, love. What you did back there was pure magic, and t just confirmed my huge will of having you performing on the club’s birthday, and all the upcoming nights, for the matter. If you don’t get better proposals, which after tonight is a strong possibility.”  - He kissed the top of your head and then held your hands on his, caressing them.

“Your offer is the only one I’ll be considering and accepting, I like it here very much, thank you for the vote of trust.”  - You raised his hands to your lips and kissed them softly.

After socializing with them for a while, you started getting tired, so you headed to the dressing room. Arriving there you noticed another bouquet lying in the dressing table. The white Lilies resembled the ones you used to have in your house, the ones your husband always brought you, to compensate you for the harsh beatings. There was a card, a black R written on the front, you thought maybe it was Ron’s, to convince you about the singing classes, so you smiled and grabbed the card. When you opened it, you completely froze.

“I’m thrilled to see you again, my beloved wife. Knowing that you are, and will always be, mine, makes me the happiest man on Earth. We’ll be together soon; Together until death do us part. – Raymond”

It could have been a bad joke, but no one knew about Raymond, and it was his handwriting. You dropped the card and looked all around you, grabbing a silver letter opener in case he was around, and you started hyperventilating. The thought of him being there, where you thought you were safe, completely freaked you out, and his final words in the card didn’t help.

Reggie noticed your absence, so he came to check on you. Seeing you absolutely in shock, he got worried sick. He approached slowly and took the letter opener out of your hand.

“(Y/N)?” – He caressed your arm gently.

“He’s going to kill me.” – Your eyes were wide, your face showing pure horror, tears streaming helplessly down your cheeks, a lump in your throat. You couldn’t even make a sound.

Reggie didn’t understand, you hadn’t talked to him about Raymond.

“He… He was here, he’ll come after me.” – You stuttered, looking around.

“Who was here, darling?” – He wrapped his arms around you, and tried to understand the motive for so much distress. You held on to him for dear life.

“My husband. This time he’ll kill me” – You sobbed.

Reggie was confused when you mentioned a husband, you never did before. He covered your salty cheeks with kisses.

“No one will hurt you (Y/N), I would never allow such a thing, yeah?”

“You don’t understand, he was here, in this room…” – You picked the card and shower him.

He analyzed the card, rubbing a thumb across his lips, in deep thought.

“It won’t happen again…” – He lifted his eyes to you. – “I promise you, I’ll be alert and no one will hurt you. I am here for you, always.” – He enveloped you in his arms again, bathing you with his warmth and his comforting smell, his arms protective when wrapped around the vulnerable woman in front of him. – “Listen, you are one of the most delicate, yet powerful woman I’ve met. You deserve to be unconcerned and happy, and I’ll take care of that, yeah darling?"

“No… He just won’t stop, no matter what. He loves to see me terrified; he loves to have me begging, while he’s beating the shit out of me. The terror and despair feed him.Believe me, I’ve learned the hard way that next time that possessive psychopath won’t stop until he kills me, you read what he wrote. He thinks I’m one of his belongings, one he vents his anger on, when things don’t go as planned, until he snaps and ends my life.” – You laid your head in his chest, sighing, desperate.

The bruises on your face and wrists on the very first day you met were now explained. His blood was boiling, at the thought of someone hurting you that way.

“Trust me (Y/N), I won’t let anything happen to you, ever again. I’ll be watching you the whole time in here, I’ll be taking you home myself, I’ll stay with you if needed… Whatever will make you feel better, love.” – He stroked your hair, and he made you forget about the world outside, as you melted in his arms.

The following days were everything but easy, the thought of Raymond being around, or coming after you were daunting. There was a maniac waiting to strike and you didn’t know if you, or Reggie, could do anything to help it. It made you feel uneasy.

Reggie informed Ron about the situation, honestly he thought your husband deserved whatever Ron-style treatment his brother would give your him ,if he caught him anywhere near you.

He took care of you himself though, always aware, and ready to bail you out of any harmful situation. You complicated his mission, because you insisted you’d keep living your normal life, working and singing as usual.

This whole situation made Reggie forget about his own problems, his main concern was now his need to ensure you were safe, he couldn’t quite put his finger why, but right now you came first.

[marie-dufresne]

Up From the Gutter

Though most of my RPs are from The Dufresne Legacy, we can’t forget gutter!Marie because she’s just as important :)

Cut for length so as not to clog up your feed too badly.

Six.

Marie Dufresne had always been a tactile girl, lucky to have parents that never said ‘don’t touch’. Claire and Arthur figured it was best she learned the hard way. Or maybe it was just that they were too lazy to properly parent.

Marie Dufresne was also an affectionate girl, latching on to anyone who showed her any sort of attention which, oddly enough, never seemed to be Arthur or Claire. 

This did not deter her efforts, particularly when Claire was in a state of inebriation, or sick from a prior state of inebriation, and as she draped a blanket over her mother’s half sleeping form, Marie pulled on all the sides, making sure she was properly covered from shoulders to toes. When she was certain the woman would be able to nap properly, Marie knelt on the floor, resting her chin on her arms. 

“Do you want me to cuddle you, Mama?”

Claire’s brow wrinkled and her mouth turned down in disgust, a hand coming out from the blanket to push her daughter away.

“That’s not what you’re here for,” she muttered, gripping the fabric around her and flipping over to the side, giving Marie her back. 

“If you want cuddles, go find a boy.”

Eight.

“Claire cut the shit. Your kid’s right there.”

Marie looked up from the bar top and the ragged deck of cards she’d been practicing her solitaire skills with. She was the only child at the bar, (she always was) and at Nate’s scolding, her attention was drawn to the other end of the counter where her mother had helped herself to the lap of a young man in a motorcycle jacket.

Drunk and without care, Claire Dufresne also ignored the bartender’s reminder that she was married. The man whose attention she’d captured didn’t seem to care either, pulling down the neck of her camisole with a devilish grin and Marie went back to her game.

Another boyfriend? She sighed, flipping over a card to reveal nothing more than a dead end and she gathered them all up, shuffling them primitively by mixing them on the bar, not yet having mastered the proper technique.

“You should head on home, kiddo.”

Grey eyes rose to the weary concern of the older man’s face and Marie shook her head, her untamed mess of hair not moving as it should, matted and knotted to oblivion.

“My dad came back,” she told him softly, “he’s got a bunch of friends there now.”

Being at the bar with her drunkard flirt of a mother was infinitely better than her father and his crew. He didn’t ever stay long, always onto his next scheme or the latest pair of breasts that passed him by. Anyone was better than his wife, really.

Marie herself didn’t yet understand the intricacies of adult relationships, but she knew there were kids at school who had divorced parents. If hers hated each other so much, why didn’t they divorce?

With a curious glance down at the little girl, Nate filled up a glass of juice, setting it down before her. He wasn’t one to meddle in all the business he heard, but damn his heart went out to this kid.

“Your old man,” he asked, “he doesn’t…he ain’t touchin’ you is he?”

Marie’s brow furrowed. It wasn’t the first time someone had asked her this. It wasn’t the second time either but she shook her head.

“Only when he whacks me,” she told him factually, “but not where I think you think he does. They just watch.”

Watch? Watch what? But Nate was not one to meddle in the business he heard, so he didn’t ask, and he didn’t mention it again.

Maybe he should have.

Ten.

Motorcycle Jacket came and went just as much as Arthur did. There were always men in between and no matter where Claire uprooted them from and dropped into, he found her. He called himself Leo for no reason other than it was his star sign, and made it no secret he didn’t like baggage. 

Marie was baggage. 

“Come on,” he whined, plopping down on the couch amidst several crinkled beer cans, shoving them off to the side and onto a pink zebra striped blanket, “go to your room or something. Your mother and I have grown up shit to do.”

“I don’t have a room,” Marie pointed out, giving a flourishing gesture to the apartment they were squatting in, the tenant and landlord both at an extended stay in prison.

“Then go,” Leo pressed, fitting a cigarette between his lips and lighting it, “wherever the fuck it is you sleep.”

Her hair was short now, chopped off from its lack of care and she could not flip it over her shoulder like her attitude cried out for her to do so instead, she put her hand on her hip, shifting her weight in a manner she’d seen on television.

“I sleep on the couch,” she said, “that’s my blanket.”

With an annoyed grunt, the dark haired man pulled the blanket up and balled it, throwing it at her. 

“There you go, Princess. Find a spot.”

She slept in the stairwell that night. 

Twelve.

“I want you on birth control.”

Marie jumped at the voice, shoving the weekly newspaper ads—and her clippings—under the recliner, away from her mother’s eyes. 

“Why?” she asked, “I’m not like you.”

“You,” Claire snorted, dropping herself onto the couch and reaching for her cigarettes, “are exactly like me. Probably why I can’t stand you.”

The blatant stating that she was disliked did not hurt anymore. It was almost a game to her at this point. Mom can’t stand me. Haha, we’re so close it’s our joke, right? 

Right?

“I’m not having sex,” Marie told her truthfully, pulling her elastic headband down to her neck to fluff out her hair, steadily growing and better kept now that she was old enough to know how, “I’m not ready. Besides I…”

She didn’t bother to finish, her cheeks red at the idea of discussing getting her period with someone like Claire. 

“Sure not ready now,” her mother offered, “but what about in a month? Six months? You can’t afford a fuckin’ abortion, Honeybutter and you’ll end up just like me.”

She leaned forward to flick some ash onto the carpet by Marie’s knees and swiped at the neckline of her peasant blouse, peering down at her developing chest. 

“Those boys will be stuffing you like a Thanksgiving turkey so believe me, the pill will be the best thing to happen to you.”

Pushing away the invasive hand, Marie pulled out her advertisements and clutched them to her chest along with the rusty pair of scissors she’d been using, eyes brimming with unshed tears. 

“I am not like you.”

Fourteen.

Marie politely declined the cigarette that was handed to her, sliding off the bed in search of her skirt. 

“Looks like I paid up,” she said grinning as she took her time bending over, continuing the show for the young man on the bed, “your turn.”

“My turn,” he muttered, taking a drag and leaning back, “babe I just emptied my balls, let me breathe.”

But Marie did not want to ‘let him breathe’. She was in a precarious enough position as it was, having lied to him about her age to sleep with him. The longer she stayed, the easier it might be to give herself away and with a violent man nearing thirty, hearing he’d been fucking a high school freshman for the past three weeks was unlikely to go over well.

“Pleeeasseee,” she begged, flopping onto the bed and shining a sunny smile up at him, her pink lipstick and thick lashes sucking him into everything she wanted. 

Almost everything. 

“Fine, fine fine,” he conceded, “you fucking junkie, take your damn dope.”

She did not feel satisfied when she left; she never did, but with the drugs nestled safely in her bra, she wondered if Claire would hate her a little bit less. After all, Marie was doing this for her. 

Fifteen

Billy wasn’t Marie’s father, but she wished he was. 

His name wasn’t even William, it was Wilford, but Billy thought Wilford was an old man’s name and seeing as he was not yet old, he opted not to use it. 

By this time Marie did understand a great deal of the intricacies of human relationships and though at first she couldn’t quite figure out what this man saw in Claire, after a while it became clear. 

He was a fixer. 

There was no fixing her mother, but Marie didn’t make note of this when Billy moved the two of them into his modest apartment. He gave Marie her own bedroom and when the two of them journeyed to the hardware store to pick out paint, he did not look at her like so many of the other boyfriends did. He asked about her interests and did not make any snide comments about having to paint the room pink.

He bought a waffle iron and taught her how to cook a little bit. 

He attended open house night at her school, and signed up for a routine parent-teacher conference. 

When Claire beat on him, he rode it out, waiting, and never fighting back. In confidence he told Marie her mother was like an abandoned animal that just needed the right amount of love and patience. He suggested therapy when Marie confided in him about the things Claire had done and said all the years prior, but she refused. 

Billy was a good one. He was the only one Marie cared to remember, but it was Marie herself who destroyed it all. 

“He’s basically my dad,” she’d said. An offhanded comment while she poured the waffle batter into the iron, stocking up to freeze for the week’s breakfast (and some to-go for quick bites at school). 

There were police at the house when she arrived later that afternoon. There were questions and then there was court. 

Nobody listened when she cried. 

In the one time the justice system seemed to benefit the victim, an innocent man was imprisoned, for a grown man’s semen on a fifteen year old’s panties spoke louder than Marie’s protests that he’d never touched her. 

He hadn’t. 

After the verdict, Claire called her a jealous slut and moved them away. A slut Marie may have become, but it was Claire who was jealous. 

Viper.

Seventeen

Partway through her senior year, Marie sat in her guidance counselor’s office, announcing to him that she was dropping out. 

She’d already told her English teacher and the previous year’s Math teacher. Those two weren’t requirements for leaving, of course, but her situation was a precarious one and she wasn’t taking any risks. The Math teacher didn’t seem threatened by her, but there was a fat check sitting in the bottom of her backpack from the young scholar just at the beginning of his career. 

“Sorry Billy,” Marie muttered, adjusting her bag on her shoulder and looking back at the school. He’d asked her to finish school, to be better than her mother, but she couldn’t do it. Instead, she’d repeated the cycle. 

Sex too early, sex for currency, sex for shelter, baby at seventeen. 

Marie, however, had not married the man who knocked her up. Truthfully she didn’t know who it was that was responsible for the little nugget in her womb, but at seventeen, she’d decided that blackmail was a better option than marriage. 

If generally-harmless-yet-easily-seduced Mr. Stevenson wanted to keep on his career path, he’d just have to support her until she could get on her own feet. It was a fair trade, really. 

Marie Stevenson was a horrible name anyway. 

Twenty-Two

In a quaint apartment above a tattoo parlor, Marie sat at her chic, remodeled white desk, glittery pen poised over her checkbook. A couple walked their pug below, people milled about a cafe a few units down. 

It was nothing like the places she’d grown up in. It wasn’t a coveted area of town; it was far too old, but it was clean and safe, the sort of place people like her flocked to to get the best shot for their social media feed. 

This was particularly convenient for her as that was exactly how she made a large portion of her living. A rent-a-gramer if you would. For a handsome fee, basic bitches from all over the country could hire her for the day and get all the best photographs at the must-have spots, and even some only locals like Marie would know about. 

She didn’t have any children; she’d lost her baby early on in her pregnancy, but had never told Mr. Stevenson, promising herself that though she’d dropped out of school, she’d make it up to Billy, the only person who had believed in her, using the checks to fund herself in the building of her own career. 

As per their verbal agreement, after five years the checks had ceased, but she didn’t mind. She was on her feet, and while Marie had, without a doubt, engaged in many criminal activities, she did not like to consider herself a bad person, and intended to pay back every cent she had stolen from her high school English teacher. 

One check at a time. 

[writings-for-me]

Chapter 12

You looked outside the cell and saw indeed the man from the file standing there. Alive. In a hydra uniform. “You were dead! I was at your funeral!” she eyed Michael from top to bottom. He just laughed and said “Surprise! I was bored of my stupid work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and needed out. I wasn’t getting any good missions anymore because Fury got suspicious of me. So I decided to use the deadliest assassin to fake my death. Why do you think you were able to survive sweetpea. He only had orders to kill James. I just didn’t think you’d be able to track him down and capture him too. Do you know how long Hydra have been looking for him. So thank you very much for finding and preparing him for us. We’ll take it from here” Your mind was running trying to figure out if you really only had orders to kill James. “My order was to retrieve an item, but that item wasn’t there”, you looked at the guy named Michael, wondering how your memory could be so wrong. Michael sneered at your comment “of course. Using Hydra’s most important asset to fake a death for someone as low as me would have looked bad. So I had to hide the real mission under a fake mission. Our lovely friend her mentioned some new therapy stuff she was working on once and I decided to use that to hide the mission within a mission.” You looked at him in disbelief, that meant that any memory of yours could be wrong. You couldn’t trust your own mind. While you were lost in thought they opened the door to your cell, several men walked in, pointing guns at you. You didn’t want to go back to Hydra but you also couldn’t fight them all off without possibly harming her. You were about to resign yourself to your fate when Michael spoke the code words and nothing happened. You were just as confused as him. “Oops, seems like I broke Hydra’s favourite toy”, she smiled that little mischevious smile of hers and crossed her arm. “What will you do now? I can tell you right now, that you can’t bring the Winter Soldier back anymore. Why do you think I declined Hydra’s offer? I’m not stupid. You would have killed me the moment you found out.” She was lying. You knew that she had full control of the Winter Soldier. You didn’t figure out how, but she seems to have a key that Hydra does not have. Even though she hated you so much, she was protecting you now. Michael was threatening her with a knife “You can kill me Michael, but then you’ll never get your little toy back. I can promise you that” she didn’t seem the slightest bit worried about dying. She survived for so long, you couldn’t let her die now, not for you. Using your training as the Winter Soldier you took out the 4 soldiers around you, with their weapons you took out the rest waiting outside, only Michael was left. “Do it.” you pulled the trigger and killed Michael.

Now that the lab was compromised you followed her to her office, where she grabbed her purse and some of personal items and a few files. Outside you saw her car but she walked the opposite direction. “With Hydra looking for me I can’t use my regular car. I have an old beater car hidden close by. It’s registered in a friend’s name. They won’t be looking for it.”, she threw her keys at you and pointed at a car that looks it’s being held together by duct tape. “Don’t worry about the optics, it’s just to throw people of, it drives just fine” She got in the passenger seat and told you to drive. Anywhere, any direction, it didn’t matter. She took out her phone, removed the SIM card, broke it in half and threw it out of the window before disposing of her phone the same way. In the glove box was another phone. She was prepared for this. You were amazed at how well she was taking this. With the new phone she started texting someone. As she got a reply she started directing you down a certain road. After 2 hrs of driving you were in very remote area, where you didn’t think Hydra could have followed you. But she got out and started walking. She was still wearing heels and the terrain was uneven, but that didn’t stop her. Silently you followed her for almost an hour of an hike until you got to a small cabin. “It’s a safe house. Someone will meet us here soon.”

You’ve been in that safe house for a few hours and it was just an awkward silence. You decided to break the silence because you needed to know “why-” she interrupted you “why didn’t the code word work? I reprogrammed you over the last few months. They only work when I say them now. And only if I want them to. They are still in your head and work perfectly fine. I’m pretty sure Hydra could undo my work and just make them work again. But now you need a certrain trigger, and that is me. Well, me and my perfume. Memories are often tied to smells, so I used that to change you programming” You were stunned at this reply. You didn’t realise over the last few months that this was happening. She was exhausted, probably the lack of sleep. She lay down on the small sofa. You had so many questions, but now was not the time to ask them. She was dealing the trauma of finding out that someone she trusted had her husband killed. That’s when someone knocked at the door. She immedeatly shot up again and said “come in”. You were getting ready to attack. You don’t just let someone into a safe house without checking first. “You really should have checked it was us first, we could have been Hydra”, Captain America just walked into the cabin.

[kafkasgods]

neely self para

Walking up the steps to her apartment, Neely couldn’t help the almost permanent twist in her stomach. Sure, it was nice to know that Carter was going to clean their apartment and the mess wasn’t going to be around for long, and yes, she and Jamie were getting a margarita shaker, but it hadn’t all been a breeze. The text from Shadi threw her off. There’d been no further plan to keep seeing her after their drunken hookup, but it hurt somehow when Shadi had to check on her to make sure Neely hadn’t gotten the wrong idea. It was clear Shadi regretted it, despite saying so. Sleeping with Neely had been a mistake and it was likely Shadi hated her. If not before, then now.

It wasn’t even something Neely could dwell on long because when she went to make her purchases, her cards declined and she had to pay cash. She’d been short some, but the old man behind her had gotten impatient and paid the rest before ushering her off. Despite what people might have thought, Neely did get embarrassed and that was mortifying.

The entire way home she contemplated a third job. Maybe Jamie’s place could use an extra set of hands? She’d have to remember it for later though because Jamie wasn’t home. He could’ve been next door, but that wasn’t a route Neely felt like taking now. Instead, she placed the bags down and just before she could put the ice cream in the freezer, her phone rang: Quinten Grant is requesting to facetime.

Neely hesitated for a moment before answering and setting the phone down so her dad could see her while she simultaneously put groceries away. [10:17 AM] “Hey Dad!” Neely feigned a bright smile, giving a wave. “What’s up?”

“‘What’s up?’” Quinten repeated with disbelief, his mouth zoomed into the camera as he figured out a good position for him. “What’s up with you? I haven’t heard from you for months. How’s it going? What are you doing?”

“Keeping it real, sir,” Neely replied. “I just got home from the store.”

“Is that your place? It looks like a mess, do you ever clean? I can see the counters, Neely.”

Raising her arms, defensively, she halted in front of her phone. “I just had a Halloween party. We’re still working on cleaning up. Don’t worry about it. Did you call for something?” She was starting to feel the uncomfortable itch when she talked to Quinten for too long.

“Oh, so  you can throw a party, but you can’t visit me? Pia and Dot don’t even remember who you are.” Before Neely could offer her regrets about Quinten’s younger daughters, he gave a heavy sigh and kept talking. “I know, I know, I didn’t call to nag. Anyways, your mom’s been yakking about me to our mutual friends and I tried talking to her, but you know she doesn’t listen to sense. Could you talk to her for me?”

“I’m not going to do that,” Neely crossed her arms, looking just as annoyed as she felt. “She’s never listened to me about it before and I don’t know why you’re trying to drag me into your problems.” [10:18 AM] “You know what, Neely, you used to be a good kid,” He emphasize, shaking his head as it was a great tragedy lost, “But your mother never disciplined you and you’ve just been running around doing one stupid thing to another. If I’d raised you, you wouldn’t be talking back so much and you wouldn’t be working some crappy, what is it? Waitress job? A bar? Whatever. You wouldn’t be wasting your life like you are. I don’t know what your mom was thinking when she let you move to some rundown town by yourself. It’s been almost a decade and you haven’t grown up at all. You know — ”

It was one thing to let Quinten talk at her, but Neely wasn’t going to stand around and listen to his crap. Raising her own voice, she yelled over him. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about! You don’t know me! I haven’t seen you in like two years! Maybe my mom wouldn’t have had to raise me shitty if you didn’t stick your dick in some lady you met online!”

“Neely, that’s enough. Don’t raise your voice at me.” Quinten spoke sternly, his glasses lowering as he gave an imposing look. “You are so immature, Neely. You’re the one who doesn’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Okay? Calm down. Your mom’s not the only reason I called. I talked it over with Heidi and we know you can’t afford to live on your own, so we were thinking you could move in with us. You don’t have to pay rent if you go to school. We can work on, you know, straightening you out.”

There was no certain way Neely could pinpoint how she felt about the offer. Heidi and her kids were sweet from the little Neely had interacted with them, so that wasn’t the problem. Obviously, it was impossible, but even the suggestion somehow seemed ludacris and had thrown Neely for a loop. Quinten had, at best, been an acquaintance throughout her life. Was he trying to make up for it now?

As she thought over trying to respond, her arms stretched out to hold herself against the counter, he spoke again. “Listen, it’d be good for you. You go back to school, we can help you find a decent job, find a nice boy for you. You can hang out at home with your sisters. You know, help out with them a little. Heidi’s pregnant again, so we can’t put too much strain on her.”

Slipping in that tidbit of news had made Quinten’s ulterior motives perfectly clear. “Fuck no.” They wanted a live-in babysitter. “Don’t ever call me again, Quinten.” It wasn’t the first time Neely had said those words, but this time, as soon as she said them, the microwave’s circuits shorted out, making frantic beeping sounds followed by a dark smoke.

“Christ, Neely. You’re gonna live in a rundown apartment and do absolutely nothing with your life.” How badly she wanted to tell him that she’d done that to the microwave. That she could make the biggest storm New York’s ever seen. But she couldn’t. Instead, Neely gritted her teeth and ended the call.

Turning her gaze out the window, the wind was picking up. Trash and leaves flew right past. In. Out. Yael had told her to reign it in. She couldn’t have a tantrum. It took a few minutes and even though Neely was crying, the wind relaxed. The only thing she could do was call her mom because Estelle was the only one who would understand how shitty it was and how it felt.

Estelle answered on the fourth ring, still in her scrubs from work. “Mom?”

Estelle’s brows furrowed as she gave Neely her attention for a brief moment as she looked to head into somewhere more private than the physical therapy room at the hospital. “Are you crying? What’s going on?”

“Quinten just facetimed to tell me some bullshit about you talking to your friends about him and he was trying to get me to live with him so I could babysit his kids because Heidi’s pregnant and he was just such a fucking dick about it,” Neely spoke it all in one breathe, hiccupping at the end of it.

“Are you joking?” Estelle scoffed in disbelief. “How many kids could he have if he couldn’t even afford to pay for child support? That’s so stupid. I can’t believe he’s trying to use my daughter to take care of that woman’s kids.”

“Yeah! He was trying to like, say,” Neely looked up, trying to blink away the tears and wiping them from her face. “That like, he was going to support me and all this crap. That you didn’t do a good job. He wanted to make me go to school, get a better job, and to find a nice guy? Does he not like, remember that I’m gay?”

The laugh that came from Neely’s phone was piercing and sarcastic. “That man doesn’t acknowledge anything that isn’t his norm. Did he really say I’m not a good mom? He doesn’t know shit about anything I had to do to raise you. He wasn’t there! I did it on my own. I didn’t even have my dad’s help. I had to raise you in a god damn hurricane every day.”

“Right! He pisses me off so much.” Neely wiped her nose as she supported her mom. “You should come back and live with me, he would absolutely hate that. Besides, he is right. It’s not like your doing much over there. Don’t you feel weird about it, Neely? All those other people are real demigods, I don’t understand why you insist on surrounding yourself somewhere you don’t belong.”

That was an topic Neely could never properly answer her mom, but this time she could. Suddenly upbeat, Neely shook her head. “No, no. I do, I do belong! With the war going on, I sided with Ares, so Zeus gave me all the abilities of a demigod. I’m a like a demigod, now! I’m like you!”

There was no way Neely could describe the disappointment on Estelle’s face. Estelle sucked in a breath before releasing the long, exasperated sigh. “Neely, why would you do something like that? You know I didn’t want you mixed in with the war or my dad or any of the demigod stuff in the first place and now you’re telling me this?” Estelle raised a hand, emphasizing with her gestures as she pulled the phone closer to her face. “You’re gonna get yourself killed, Neely. You’ve never trained, you don’t know how to use any power. You’re just going to get in the way of people who actually know what they’re doing, okay? Is there any way Zeus will take the powers back? Gods, I’ve tried never speaking to my dad and now you’re making me do this for you.” “Don’t!” Neely yelled into the phone, feeling a surge of panic. Her mom’s own choice to distance herself from her divine heritage wasn’t going to be Neely’s mistake. “I can handle my powers fine and I’m not going to get in the way and I’m going to be a great demigod! So just! Stay out of it!”

Hanging up quickly, the tears started back up again and Neely’s heartbeat was racing. The thumping was the only thing she could hear. She was deaf to the static of the apartment, the fierce wind, and sudden harsh onslaught of rain. The lights flickered on and off before finally shutting completely, bringing some sense of awareness to Neely. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck.” Jamie was going to kill her.

Leaving everything behind — scattered groceries and dishelved apartment, Neely grabbed her phone, making way for the fire escape. If she wasn’t home and no one saw her, she didn’t do it. Jamie was going to be pissed.

Out in the ran as she clambered down the rusted metal, Neely ignored the rain pouring over her and tried running ideas through her mind. Talking about her feelings was the last thing she wanted to do. There was no way she’d try to find Rune when he already probably thought she was fucking annoying and bugged him too much even when she wasn’t covered in tears. Seamus was off limits too considering he might’ve tried to psychoanalyze her to the best of his abilities and she’s just be a guinea pig to his half-hearted consoling. He meant well, but Neely just couldn’t deal with it. There was no one else, but people she’d slept with. Did Neely have any friends she hadn’t fucked? Shadi, Carter, Jamie. Yael? It was useless.

Thunder cracked overhead. Neely had never belonged no matter how badly she tried to. She didn’t know who to go to. She didn’t know where to go. She never did.

[missrosienorris]

Life at the moment

So, in my last post I set up some goals for myself. Now, the truth is that I quite rarely accomplish my goals, partially because I apparently tend to set them a bit high at times and partially because I have the patience of a gnat and am not good with long projects that require a lot of planning and time. (As attested to by my atrocious, still-not-finished thesis. It’s not the amount of work as it is really not much harder than my day job, it’s having the patience to keep at it, especially when it’s boring af.) This time I did surprisingly well, even though it didn’t go exactly as I had planned it out.

Firstly, I said I would find myself a therapist. The situation on that front took an unexpected but somewhat interesting turn that I find myself increasingly cool with. But let me start by saying that HOLY SHIT trying to find a therapist in Finland is a garbage process and someone really needs to get on that. First of all, you get no help, zip, nada, zero. You have to scour the internet yourself and try to weed out some candidates in a sea of lacking descriptions, lacking contact information, lacking everything. But I am adept at the internet, so I did.

I wrote ten therapists who seemed to somewhat fit my criteria (which were pretty much woman, CBT-leaning, experienced and available to take on new patients). Half of them never replied, three weren’t able to take on new patients even though their sites said they were, one was in the middle of some iffy moving arrangement that I didn’t feel like dealing with and the only one I actually met started the session by telling me how lackluster my prognosis was and then when I talked about my family she explained how she knows that although we’re so big on equality nowadays she always sees these mental health problems in families where the mother is more in control than the father, and I was like yeah. No.

So at this point I was like fuck me, this is hopeless. But then I had a chat with the psychologist that’s covered by my healthcare benefits at work, and she was like “you know, we just made a deal about what kind of healthcare will be covered by your employer this year, and they’re going to cover group therapy. I think that could work pretty well for your situation, would you be interested in it?” Now in the past I was socially awkward to a painful degree so I had always ruled out group therapy from the get-go, so my first instinct was to decline, but then I though about it some and changed my mind. Over the last few years I have found that I’m actually rather sociable, my social skills have improved considerably and opening up about my mental health issues to perfect strangers has never been an issue for me as I don’t keep that stuff secret anyway so I though hey, why not give it a shot.

So that’s what I’m doing. It’s still in it’s infancy, as I have only done the two initial interviews so far and not met the group yet, but I am feeling really good about it. The psychologist who will be running the group is very experienced and also quite nice as a person, I feel like she gets me and perhaps best of all, she has no problem with using hard science and medical terminology, which is immensely helpful to me. I don’t believe it’s healthy to be excessively focused on diagnosis since mental health is so complex and variable, but I find that having a label for some of the soup that is my mind helps me de-clutter and honestly makes me feel less like a crazy person. For example, I had realized that my constantly low mood probably isn’t normal and my intense health worries are rather obsessive, but hearing a professional actually say “PDD” and “OCD” sort of validates that the problem isn’t just that I’m a weird-ass dingbat and overreacting, I have some legit disorders and that isn’t my fault. (Which obviously doesn’t mean that I don’t need to do anything about them or that I can use them as an excuse for behaving like a shit, don’t worry, I’m not going down that route.) Her using the proper terms and not being vague and roundabout also makes me feel like I’m being treated like an adult and not babied, which is important to me since I really really hate being treated like I lack the ability to comprehend shit. So that’s where that’s at, and I’m feeling optimistic.

Secondly, I said I would resolve my existing vet bills, set aside some money for unexpected vet expenses, get older cat’s stomach under control and make sure the new cats have insurance. This I have mostly done. The bills are paid, and although I have not technically set aside a specific sum of money I now have a credit card that is reserved for unexpected vet bills only. I have not used it at all yet. Older cat’s stomach is still acting up some, it appears he has a bit of IBD, but the diet and medication has been re-vamped again and the situation has improved. And pet insurance has been added to my insurance package, although obviously it does not cover older cat due to the large amount of pre-existing conditions. But it covers the babies.

Third, the babies. That has been an interesting ride. I did adopt from a shelter as I said I would, but the cats ended up being a girl and a boy instead of two girls like I had planned, not that that matters much. The thing that went funny is the age. They were estimated to be around 6 months of age, and they were about the typical size for that age so I thought nothing of it. But when they had been with me for about a week I took the boy to the vet because he was peeing like 7 or 8 times a day which is quite often and I wanted to make sure he didn’t have a UTI. (Which he didn’t. Apparently he just has a small bladder.) Anyway, during the examination the vet checked his teeth and was like “yeah, this one is definitely like 1-2 years old rather than 6 months, his teeth are quite developed and really need a cleaning”. So he’s technically not a baby, and I need to have his teeth cleaned, but honestly that’s no biggie, shit happens. I was slightly peeved that the shelter hadn’t checked the teeth, that’s pretty routine, but they were very cooperative when I reported it to them and are even paying a part of the cost of the cleaning, so it’s all good. I don’t blame them for being mistaken about the age, because he is very small for an adult cat and the vet told me it’s actually rather difficult to determine a cat’s age. So we’re heading in for a teeth cleaning in about a week, and I’m taking the girl with me too so the vet can check whether her age estimate was more accurate (they are not from the same litter, they just lived together at one of the shelter volunteers’ place while looking for a home). She is growing a bunch though, which he doesn’t seem to be, so her estimate might be closer to the truth. And if it isn’t, whatever. They’re sweet, sterile, chipped, vaccinated and checked for FIV and FeLV, and that’s way more important than the age being bang on the mark.

The first weeks with the newbies have gone nicely. I will refer to them as girl kitty and boy kitty for now, since I guess at least for the boy, kitten wouldn’t be accurate and the girl is honestly already too big in size to be called a kitten because she really grows like a weed. Both have adjusted really well to their new environment despite being very shy at first. Older cat has taken well to them too and there has been almost zero conflict between them and him, I think he hissed at girl kitty like once when she was being too forward and that was it. Now they all sleep in the same bed and particularly girl kitty and older cat are becoming very close.

Girl kitty is still a little reserved towards people and you can’t really pick her up yet, but if you let her come to you on her own accord she is quite friendly and cuddly. She seems like she might become quite a big cat and has quite strong legs, so she jumps and climbs a lot. She’s quite playful, but a bit shy about playing with people. She’s constantly getting braver though, so I think she might be more people-loving in the future. (And if she isn’t, that’s fine too. Not every cat has to love sitting on your lap or being picked up, as long as it’s possible to handle them if they need to be given medicine or boxed up for travel it’s all dandy.)

Boy kitty on the other hand is quite a people-lover. He often rolls around on his back on the floor looking for cuddles and is fine with being picked up as well. He is not yet quite sure about sitting on your lap for more than a little while, but I have a feeling he might be the type to do that in the future. One thing he hasn’t quite comprehended yet is that people aren’t toys and don’t really like being nibbled on, even if the nibbles are obviously playful and definitely not bites. So I’m trying to teach him that, hopefully he’ll pick up on it. Boy kitty is extremely active and playful and will play with people, other cats, by himself, whatever works. He’s not as good a jumper as girl kitty but quite adept at climbing. He’s also a bit of a rascal and has already chewed a pair of my headphones and sometimes annoys girl kitty with his roughhousing. But in general they like each other quite well, they often sleep on top of each other and lick each other’s coats.

So that’s life at the moment. I still miss younger cat heaps, dream about her and cry about her regularly, but I think I’ll live. And older cat isn’t lonely anymore, which has done him good, so that’s a big relief.

[werenzki]

Zach Werenski #8

Anonymous said: Hi! Can u write a zach werenski where you have a cute date? Thank u !

A/N: sorry this took a little long to get to, but i personally like how it turned out :) hope you all liked it too!! also sorry if there’s any errors, i didn’t read over it before posting

Word Count: 1,921

“I can’t believe you’re idea of a date night is taking me to a Justin Bieber concert,” you said while Zach lead the way through some backstage area of the arena. Perks of being a Blue Jacket, you supposed. Not everyone, but a fair amount of people know who Zach was - some of the double takes people were taking was actually quite funny too.

“We’ve been trying to plan this third date for a while now,” Zach stated what you already knew, “and I wanted to see the concert,” he added with a shrug.

“I’m just a little shook. Usually I see third dates as like dinners or the movies or something like that,”

“Well,” Zach paused and threaded his fingers with yours, “sorry there’s no dinner, but I’ll buy you some food from the concession,” he flashed you a toothy smile and you were smiling right back at him.

You had only met Zach just barely a month ago now, but you hadn’t stopped talking to each other since. Through your years you’ve had guys try and get to know you and continuously text you with the conversation dying pretty quickly - that just wasn’t the case with Zach. In fact, it was hard to wait for his responses while he got busy with work stuff and you two would probably text till the crack of dawn if you could. And with his job not exactly being the average job and with you being a student, it was hard to find time to have these dates you so desperately wanted to go on. And in all honesty you could just sit at his apartment and hang out and that’d be a day well spent too.

But when Zach called you last night, saying he had got ahold of tickets to the Bieber concert, you couldn’t exactly complain. Even though it’s a pretty outrageous date, it was still going to be tons of fun. Plus, you did want to see the concert too.

“I definitely want some cotton candy,” you stated while brushing your free hand against Zach’s bare forearm.

“That’s so random,” he chuckled.

“No it’s not,” you defended yourself, “I saw like a whole crate of it back there,” you turned your body around to point behind you as you two kept walking backstage hand-in-hand.

All of a sudden your body was being jerked to the left, while you lightly bumped into a hard body on your right. You were a little disoriented as your body turned back around, but Zach had both his hand laced with yours still and his other arm holding your right shoulder while attempting to shield you from the second person who was rushing by. Your mouth was gaped open and your eyes were wide open in shock as Zach looked down at you with worried eyes.

“Are you okay?” He asked, his eyes looking directly into yours.

“Yeah,” you breathed out.

“Let’s get back up to the main floor,” he said, “I’m sorry I dragged you down here but I really needed to sign those forms,”

“It’s fine,” you nodded. It really didn’t bother you since you got the chance to see where the players of the Blue Jackets spend most of their time, you peeked into the dressing room and got to go into the physical therapy room too while Zach signed some papers.

Zach brushed his thumb over your skin gently and directed the two of you to the elevator. He explained how it was for VIP entry only and it stopped right beside the concession where you could get the desired cotton candy and whatever else you wanted. You noticed that about Zach really quickly during your first two dates, he liked to spoil you.

First it was a full dinner and ice cream afterwards, then during the second date he continuously slapped down his credit card and offered you whatever you wanted. It was sweet - but it was also the 21st century and you had money of your own. But still it was only the beginnings of what you hoped was to be a long relationship - even though he had yet to ask you to be his girlfriend officially - and you had plenty of time to spoil him as well.

After grabbing some cotton candy and a drink from the concession, you two were making your way to your suite seats. Between the pit passes and the suite that was open for Blue Jacket players, you sure did have the best seats in the house. You two decided to sit in the suite during the opening acts and then make your way to the pit during Justin Bieber’s set.

“Here,” you smiled as Zach opened his mouth wide and took the cotton candy off your fingers, his lips gently brushing your fingertips. You chuckled and leaned into him as his arm rested over the back of your chair.

“Your lips are all blue now,” Zach chuckled.

“Really?” You questioned, genuinely worried by how stupid you must look. It was a date after all.

Zach chuckled again and brought his free hand to your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. “It’s cute though,” he stated before bringing his lips to kiss yours softly.

As you two pulled back, you were smiling like a fool, but thankfully so was Zach. You leaned more into him and ate some more of your cotton candy as the first opening act continued to amp up the crowd. She was talented, but truthfully while you sat in the suite looking down at the floor seats and stage - all you could picture was being here to watch Zach play. He had offered to get you tickets a couple of times now, but each time you declined knowing very well how expensive hockey tickets were nowadays - especially with the team doing so well this season.

“Werenski!”

With the shout of Zach’s name, the two of you both turned around to see a couple of his teammates of the top of the stairs in the suite. Becoming nervous suddenly, you froze in your seat while Zach got up immediately and greeted the two Blue Jackets. But you didn’t stick to your seat for very long. Taking one deep breath, you stood and just as you walked up the stairs Zach turned to wrap an around around your waist. 

“This is Y/N,” he said - you knew there was usually something added to the introduction but you two hadn’t exactly put labels on yourself just yet. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” the one with long blonde hair said while shaking your hand, “I’m Will,” he stated. 

“I’m Cam,” the other smiled while shaking your hand, “Zach never shuts up about you,” he added with a smirk. 

“Oh really?” You questioned, raising a brow in a teasing matter while looking at Zach. His cheeks were flushed while he narrowed his eyes at Cam. 

“Oh yeah, no offence or anything but it’s getting pretty annoying,” Will said. 

“Yeah, thanks for finally going on another date with this idiot,” Cam chuckled as Zach finally had enough and pushed his friend roughly. You only shook your head and chuckle along with the boys. 

The four of you chatted a bit more, Will and Cam mentioned how they had already seen Justin Bieber in concert before and were bragging to Zach so much he bought tickets right after a practice. Your cheeks were beginning to hurt from the jokes the two were making, while Zach was constantly rolling his eyes at the boys. You were leaning against the back of the seat with Zach beside you as the intermission began before Bieber was to take the stage. 

“You got pit passes too, hey?” Will asked, pointing to the yellow band around your wrist. 

“Yup,” you nodded and lifted it up. 

“Suite seats just not good enough for ya, Werenski?” Cam teased, then smiling as Zach rolled his eyes - again - and he took a sip of his beer that had been delivered just moments ago.  

“Gotta treat my lady right,” he said with a lopsided grin before turning to you and winking. 

“Aw,” you faked a smile and brought your free hand up to his face to squish his face, “quite trying to suck up in front of your friends,” 

“Oh snap!” Will hollered while him and Cam laughed. Zach rolled his eyes while you kept holding his face, smirking proudly as his lips tried to turn upwards into a smile in your hold. You ended up letting him go and kissed his cheek quickly. 

“Speaking of the pit, we should get moving,” Zach said. 

“You kids have fun,” Cam nodded. 

You said your goodbyes to the two and made your way out of the suite. In your mind, meeting the first of many of Zach’s teammates went pretty well. He had called you his lady, couldn’t manage to keep his hands off you, and glared at Will anytime he looked at you the wrong way. As if the signs weren’t clear before, but you’d say things with Zach were pretty damn good. You were deep in thought as Zach lead the way to the pit. 

With his hand holding onto your tightly, he got past the few parents that were along the back of the pit and made his way to the middle along with the rest of the concert-goers. You politely asked a random teenage boy to take a picture of you and Zach - which you saved and didn’t bother to add to your story for the whole privacy thing, never know who would share it with the internet. Then before you knew it, the lights went off the the arena was screaming with Bieber Fever. 

“I feel like I’m 13 years old again,” you chuckled into Zach’s ear. 

“I feel like there’s only 13 year olds here,” 

“And a few NHL players apparently,” you teased, which made Zach chuckle and shake his head. 

You two enjoyed the first bit of the show, singing and dancing along, and just living in the moment of Bieber singing only a few feet away from you. Truthfully, your 13 year old self was quaking inside. As the acoustic set began, Zach’s arms came from behind you and rested over your shoulders while his head rested just beside yours. 

“You should go and love yourself,” he sang along. He had you two swaying side to side, and his singing voice had your cheeks hurting again. This stupid boy was just too much. 

“When can I start introducing you as my girlfriend?” Zach asked, his random question caught you off guard as Justin Bieber was strumming his guitar just above you. Biting down on your bottom lip, you turned your head just slightly to look at him. 

“You did call me your lady upstairs,” you stated. 

“It slipped out,” Zach admitted while his cheeks turned a pinkish colour. 

“I liked it,” you smiled. 

“So, will you be my girlfriend?” Zach asked. 

You nodded and turned your body around in his arms to bring your lips to his. What was better than kissing the boy you were falling for while Justin Bieber - and all of the arena - sang around you. As you two pulled away, you looked into his eyes and smiled. After the silent moment of pure love-sickening eye contact, you turned back around and continued to enjoy the concert of your pre-teen dreams.  

[ibangtanthings]

Sleep

WARNING: this fic/series contains talk about suicide, self-harm, violence, alcohol abuse, and more. If you don’t agree with something, have issues with something, or you are struggling with anything mentioned, please know you have full control over what you read. As always I’m open to discussion about anything, and don’t mind hearing your opinions even if they differ from mine. Feel free to message me if you’re having a hard time or just need someone to talk to…I hope you enjoy my sad story.

Summary: After a failed suicide attempt, you find yourself trying to live again with the man who saved you and his best friend. 

You had a plain life, but it was a life that you didn’t ask for nonetheless. No, nothing traumatic happened to you before and no one had treated you badly. Depression came without holding back. Your way of thinking would be considered ungrateful and dark. No one seemed to care about the pain you were going through even when it was obvious.

The amount of effort you put into pretending to be fine, did not satisfy anyone around you. You laughed at the stupidity of the world that thought it was beautiful.

It was ugly and merciless. After years of so called coping, you had finally had enough. You didn’t even care to ask how it got to this point.

Life just wasn’t worth living anymore.

….

“Why are you giving me this much tip?” Jane asked.

She was your usual waitress at the same restaurant you went to every week. She didn’t know your name though, as only small talk was exchanged between you two even after two years. It wasn’t necessary for her to know your name.

“I don’t need it anymore.” You said, feeling like one thousand dollars was a lot and not much at the same time.

“I can’t acc-”

“Keep it. Really.” You interrupted, making sure to sound as serious as possible.

On the contrary, your small voice sounded desperate. Before she could continue protesting, you got up and walked out.

The air was warm and uncomfortable. People walked around the busy streets, going about their daily routines or enjoying some time off of work.

Work…something you wouldn’t have to worry about anymore.

Looking around, you couldn’t find one thing you liked about this city. Cold tears started running down your face. The emotion attached to those tears had become so familiar, you didn’t dare to wipe them away anymore. You let them fall as if they were a part of you now.

It took about thirty minutes to walk to the bridge that somehow seemed like a long road to the other side of town. It was like a mockery of your stagnant life, with a long way to reach simple well-being.

Yet this bridge seemed like the only thing offering you sweet relief.

No one glanced your way. Hours passed and you watched the waves below crash back and forth against the rocks ashore. The sun went down and yet the street lights provided just enough light to show the waves moving more violently now.

Nature was beautiful, but man had destroyed it, and man was lucky enough to even make some time to enjoy it. You would surely miss it.

It had gotten cold now and you still remained at the railings, watching the sea.

Taking a deep breath, you knew that time was running out. The moon was in the sky, illuminating the water below the bridge and glistening against your reoccurring tears.

You took your cell phone out of your pocket and checked the time.

11:00

With a small chuckle, you threw your phone into the rolling waves and took off your shoes. For some odd reason, sound became mute. The cars drove behind you silently now, and the waves made no sound at all.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered to your parents and to yourself.

Climbing up the railing, you sobbed tears of fear, sadness, exhaustion, anger, and relief. Closing your eyes, you stretched your arms out and decided to count to three before leaning forward.

1…2…

“What are you doing?!”

A strong grip around your waist pulled you backwards off the railing and onto the pavement, as a voice yelled at you with such rage and disbelief.

Your elbows took the force of the fall but you didn’t cry out in pain or anything. It was as if time stopped altogether. The cars were still inaudible and the person’s voice echoed in your head.

He had landed on his back, next to you and quickly got up to hold you against the ground.

“What?! What are you doing?!” He yelled confused, and when you finally looked at his face, his cheeks were wet with tears.

He placed his body against yours, weighing you down so that you couldn’t move. When he took out his cell phone to call the police and ambulance, your tears fell more quickly now and the only word you could manage to whimper was “No.”

You struggled against him but it was no use.

“I’m helping you right now. Please stop.” He groaned, using all his strength to keep you still. When you finally couldn’t move anymore, he brushed your hair back and wiped the tears away from your face.

“It’s okay. You’re okay, I promise.” He said.

Hearing those words made you feel sick. The nausea was so strong, the world spun and instead of vomiting, you fainted.

________

You hadn’t said a word since that night. The doctors at the hospital did what they needed to do, and then you were transferred to the psychiatric wing.

The nurse wheeled you into your room and untied the restraints around your wrists and ankles. There, you stayed for hours looking at the barred window or feigned watching the news. It was the only channel available anyway.

They hand fed you and even though you ate, it didn’t feel like you were eating actual food. You speculated that they gave you something to fuel your appetite because extreme hunger was the only reason you ate.

That was the routine everyday for two weeks and you shook your head, declining to meet your parents in the visiting room every time. After that they just stopped coming.

He didn’t though.

“Mr. Jung Hoseok is here to see you.” Nurse Ahn repeated daily.

You shook your head and stared out the window again, only being able to see the sky and nothing more.

“He insists on coming everyday until you see him.” She said.

After you continued to just remain silent, she finally left you alone.

That’s all you wanted. To be left alone. The world was a much easier place to live in when it was just you.

He wouldn’t leave you alone though. The next day he came again and again, and so on for another week.

“He said he’s not leaving until you see him. If he stays outside past visiting hours then he’ll get arrested.” Nurse Ahn said. “Do you want me to let him in?”

You nodded once and she went to get your wheelchair. It was the first time you went to the visiting room and it was smaller than you imagined.

“One hour.” The doctor said.

They had explained on the very first day you had arrived that visits were monitored by the guards, but that they were just there to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself or anyone else. These visits were private otherwise.

Nurse Ahn untied your restraints and left the room. As soon as she walked out the door, Jung Hoseok walked inside.

He nervously walked towards you, a serious expression on his face and then a tear fell from each eye.

“Ah…I’m sorry.” He said smiling, annoyed with himself, wiping his tears away. “Please sit down.”

You sat down with your hands on the the table clasped together, a habit you were forced to pick up here. The staff would always check your arms for any signs of self-harm.

“Please leave.” You said, monotonously and looking straight into his eyes.

“No.” He replied back in all seriousness.

“Why?” You asked annoyed, turning your attention to the table.

“That’s precisely what I’ve been trying to figure out. Why would you do that?” He said, making you even more annoyed. He was asking the same thing the doctors kept asking you during therapy.

“But then I realized, I don’t want to know. I just want to know how you’re doing now.” He said honestly.

Suddenly one of the doctors came in and Jung Hoseok stood up.

“Can you come visit her as much as possible for the time being?” Doctor Yoo asked, writing down something and turning to Jung Hoseok.

“You said this was a private visit.” You complained.

“Yes but he got you to talk for the first time since the incident.” She said.

You scoffed, the “incident”…this had nothing to do with him.

“I can everyday.” He said looking at you and not at the doctor.

“Very well.” She said, taking her leave.

He sat back down and all you wanted to do was run out of the room, never to see anyone in this place again.

“Is there anything you need? Anything you want me to bring you?” He asked, pushing his chair in a bit more and placing his elbows on the table.

Question after question, you remained silent once again. It was best if he became discouraged from visiting again. Maybe he was waiting for a thank you but he seemed smarter than that.

“Time’s up.” The guard announced.

“Okay.” He said with a smile. “I’ll be back the same time tomorrow Y/N.”

You were a bit taken aback when he said your name but you made eye contact. 

For the first time ever you felt relieved to see Nurse Ahn and the wheelchair.

He watched her strap you into the wheelchair. Before, you would have been embarrassed at such a situation, but after so many years of alienating yourself, embarrassment was a foreign feeling.

The next day you found out Jung Hoseok was a liar. He didn’t show up, instead a gift basket came.

“This is for you but you can only use these items under my supervision.” Nurse Ahn explained as she places the basket onto the small desk in your room.

She brung a seat and sat down in the corner, filing her nails and dying of boredom.

The plastic made noise as you peeled it away to look at the gifts. Tweezers, lip balm, socks, a stuffed bear and a calendar with pictures of various riverbanks.

‘I had to stay at work later than usual, I’ll be there tomorrow for sure. Your parents would like to see you too. -Hoseok.’ The card attached read.

Surprisingly enough, the feeling of embarrassment returned.

“Do you have a mirror?” You asked Nurse Ahn, much to her surprise but she didn’t say anything as she handed it over.

Your face had thinned slightly, and upon further inspection a pale shade had taken your skin. The worst part was your unkept eyebrows and small mustache threatening to grow more visibly.

“Take your time.” Nurse Ahn said causally.

After about an hour of plucking, you applied on the lip balm and realized how chapped your lips were.

“I want more water.” You asked.

“Sorry Y/N. There’s a drought and everyone just gets three glasses a day. If you want more you have to pay for it.” She replied, and you could tell she didn’t like that.

It suddenly dawned on you that this was all being paid for anyways. “Who’s paying for my treatment? My parents or the insurance?”

“That guy that put you here in the first place. Jung Hoseok.”

_____six months later_____

“That’s not the best way to begin your fresh start but that’s your decision, your choice. If you make him your one condition to try and get better then think about the possible consequences. What about your parents? Don’t you want to get better for them.” The psychiatrist asked.

“They’re my parents, they don’t count. I can’t face them…I trust him.” You answered.

“You don’t trust your parents?” She asked.

“Funny right?”

The session was over quicker than usual. Nurse Ahn escorted you back to your room. The only thing you could do now was stare out of the window and wonder what he was doing.

“He’s here.” She called a few hours later and you jumped up, waiting for her to unlock the door but trying to hide how…excited…you were. No, maybe anxious.

“Wahhh!!! Happy Birthday Y/N!!” He burst through the visiting room doors and sang happy birthday while waving around a slice of cake.

Your eyes watched his smile in awe as he set the plate down in front of you and hugged you from behind.

“Birthdays aren’t celebrated here.” You said, watching him light the candle.

He blew the candle out and it was the first time in a while since you had last smelled smoke.

“We just did.” He said excitedly, sitting down next to you and taking a bite.

He scooped up another piece and held it up to your mouth.

“Where were you?” You asked tasting the cake and remembering the taste of sugary frosting. His smile turned into a frown and he pursed his lips out, trying to formula an answer.

“I was out of town for a few days. I went to see my family and my old friend Jimin. It was last minute. Why? Did you miss me?” He said, leaning back into his chair arrogantly.

You looked down, away from his eyes and and nodded.

“Hey…” he said leaning in closer.

“No touching.” The guard warned, on alert since the hug.

“I know.” Hoseok replied with a serious expression.

“I made a decision.” You told him quietly.

“Yeah?” He said smiling at you again.

“I’m going to get out of here, but I’m not going back home. You can’t fight me on this anymore okay?” You asked.

He thought about it before answering. “Okay. You said you trust me so now I’m trusting you.” He said placing his hand in yours.

The guard noticed quickly and made his way over.

“Finish your cake, I’ll be back soon okay?” He promised before kissing your cheek and he smiled at you as the guard grabbed him and escorted him out.

That was when you finally smiled.

_____another six months later_____

Freedom wasn’t something you looked forward to. In fact, you were scared of walking out those doors and going back to the sad thing you called life.

By no means were you overjoyed or thrilled at the idea of going out there and starting over. The only reason you were let out early was because you were no longer a high risk case, and room in the ward was running low.

Even though you pushed your dark thoughts aside, you were still constantly sad. Only one hour of happiness was permitted but now you could finally have hope, that happiness would somehow permanently find a way to stay.

“Go on Y/N.” Nurse Ahn said after seeing you stand in front of the doors without moving.

You turned around to look at her and the hallway one more time. Pushing the door open, you saw the sidewalk and road and gates. The first thing that came to mind was how much you hated living in the city.

Turning the corner, in slacks and a tan cardigan, Hoseok came walking with a brilliant smile and a bouquet of baby pink flowers.

All you had was a small bag filled with things he had brought you the past year. You started to cry as you approached him and he just held you in his arms telling you to cry as much as you want.

“I want to sleep Hoseok.” You asked with a sniffle and it was the first time you said his name.

“Of course. Anything you want.” He said taking your bag and bringing you to the car.

You sat in the backseat, smelling the flowers and doing your best not to look out the window. Seeing the busy streets was stressful already.

“We’re almost there. I promise.” He said, and even though you hadn’t been in a car for a year, you knew that he was speeding.

His house was nice, with an open concept and a small garden. It was definitely bigger than your tiny room in the ward and far away from any tall buildings.

“You live here with Jimin?” You asked, seeing how untouched and new everything seemed.

“He’s not coming until tomorrow. I told him you need a second to settle down.” Hoseok said getting you a glass of water.

You drank the entire glass immediately, and brought your hand to your mouth, another habit you would have to get rid of. You only had one medication to take and that was in the mornings.

“Get some rest Y/N. I’ll be right here.” He said, taking the glass from your hand and pulling you to your room.

“It’s really big.” You said, wondering if it was the master bedroom.

“Sleep in Jimin’s room then, it’s smaller. The smallest room is our storage. I’ll start emptying it out while your sleeping.” He pointed down the hallway. “Go. It’s fine.” And it was fine. Until you woke up and Jimin was staring at you on his bed.

“Are you Hobi’s friend?” He asked, eyeing you curiously.

“Hobi?”

“Jung Hoseok.” He said.

You nodded and he too had a nice, warm smile.

“I made breakfast. I’ll go wake up Hobi now.” He jogged out the room and you jumped up, going straight to the bathroom to freshen up.

At the dining table there were three plates set out, each with scrambled eggs, sausages and toast.

“You don’t know how to cook, stop trying to impress everyone you meet. You’ll scare her.” You heard Hoseok complaining to Jimin, and they both walked into the kitchen.

“Hyung I’m just being hospitable.” Jimin exclaimed.

“You don’t have to eat that Y/N. I’ll make you whatever you want.” Hoseok said, pushing the plate away.

“We only have junk food. I did my best Y/N.” Jimin sighed.

“It smells good.” You said quietly, even if it wasn’t the most elaborate breakfast, it was simple and still better than any breakfast you had in the past year.

Hoseok seemed to realize this and he brought the plate back in front of you. The awkward silence between the three of you was surprisingly nice.

“Do you want more?” Hoseok asked immediately after you had finished.

Jimin was ready to bounce out of his seat and prepare more but you shook your head.

“I don’t want to overwhelm myself. I just really want to take a shower now.” You said, knowing the water would calm you down.

Hoseok showed you how to work the bath and brought you one of his towels.

“Why don’t we go shopping after you’re done? You’ll smell like men’s shampoo everyday if we don’t go.” He said gravely.

You nodded and he left you alone. Within minutes the sleepiness and tension in your body melted away. You were okay, you told yourself.

_

Retail therapy. It was the best kind of therapy there was according to Hoseok and his words made you laugh.

He was so excited about your laugh that he caused people to look over at you two.

“That was clever.” You said, giving him the satisfaction.

As you walked around the store getting everything a girl would need, you couldn’t help but wonder how long this would last.

“You told Jimin I was your friend?”

“You are. Why? Should I have told him something else?” He asked, grabbing some snacks. “I’ll tell him eventually.”

“Maybe its better if he doesn’t know.” You said. That way, he’d treat you just like everyone else.

“Oh, a secret between us. Okay. I understand.” He said, pretending he was sealing his lips shut.

You let him pick out clothes for you, knowing that everything you had was back at your parents’ house. He seemed happy playing stylist and you didn’t mind his choices anyways. He was taking care of you and so far everything seemed to be going we’ll.

You remembered all the promises he made…

“Because Y/N. I don’t understand. I don’t understand why someone as precious and beautiful as you, would want to die. The moment I looked into your eyes I knew you deserved better.” He said.

Your tears stained your cheeks and he couldn’t reach over to wipe them away, the threat of the guard keeping his hands to himself.

“I don’t want your help. You don’t even know me.”

“Y/N listen to me. I’m not leaving your side. Even when you get better I won’t leave you alone. I’m not asking for anything in return. I’m not even asking you to be happy. I just want you to stop feeling this way. Let me help you Y/N. I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

With that you signed the papers that made him your guardian, leaving your old life behind and focusing on getting better…

“Hoseok.” You said on the way home and he looked at you through the rear view mirror.

“Yeah?” He asked, pulling over and making sure you were okay.

“I like your name.”

“I think you need to rest.” He chuckled, and continued to drive back.

__________________________

Part 2