#instead of this terrible negativity that weighs me down in my chest all the time

[dovesdreaming]

At his worst

Summary: Reader stays by Logan during his worst and is unable to be pushed away by him

Request

Masterlist

Warnings: negative self talk

-

The night was cold, unusually quiet for the dingy apartment Wolverine had holed himself up in. After all these years, Logan was used to the silence, comfortable with it even. But something was different tonight. His mind, normally sharp, was dulled by memories that felt like jagged knives cutting through his thoughts. Jean. Rogue. Charles. All the people he had failed. All the people he had lost. The city buzzed below, lights flickering against the darkness, but Logan didn’t care. He slumped against the couch, cradling a half-empty bottle of whiskey, his usual attempt to drown out the pain. But even alcohol couldn’t numb the guilt that weighed on him. He was a weapon designed to hurt, to destroy, and now it seemed like everyone close to him suffered the same fate. A quiet knock broke through the silence, so soft it might’ve gone unnoticed by anyone else, but not him. Logan’s senses were always on high alert. He sighed, part of him wanting to ignore it. He didn’t want company tonight, didn’t deserve it.

Another knock, a little louder this time. Persistent. “Logan?" A familiar voice called softly from the other side. Your voice. His chest tightened. You were the only person in his life now who didn’t seem to fear him. The only person who could look past the claws, the rage, the blood. Why? He could never figure it out. He didn’t deserve you. Heaving himself up, Logan tossed the whiskey bottle aside and trudged to the door. He didn’t bother with a shirt, his muscles tense beneath the scars that marked his body, a roadmap of violence. Opening the door, he looked down at you. You stood there, bundled in a jacket, worry etched on your face. “Hey” you said gently, eyes scanning his face like you could read everything going on inside. “Shouldn’t be here” Logan growled, his voice rough, hoarse. “Ain’t a good time”. You didn’t move. Instead, you tilted your head, eyes soft but unwavering. “When is a good time with you, Logan?”. That made him pause, and for a moment, he almost smirked. Almost. But he was too tired for that tonight. Instead, he stepped back, silently allowing you in.

You didn’t hesitate, walking past him and into the small apartment, your eyes trailing over the chaos. Half-eaten meals, broken furniture, and the unmistakable stench of whiskey lingering in the air. You turned to face him, crossing your arms. “You’ve been drinking”. Logan let out a low grunt, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest. “What else is new?”. “You know, you don’t have to push me away every time things get bad” you said, your voice soft but firm. “You’re not alone, Logan”. A sharp laugh escaped him. “Ain’t that simple. People around me... they don’t stay for long. They get hurt. Or worse”.

You took a step closer, closing the space between you. “I’m not them. I’m not going anywhere”. Logan’s jaw tightened, the weight of your words pressing on him. He wanted to believe you, but he knew better. He’d seen it too many times, the look in people’s eyes when they realized just how dangerous he was. How broken. “You don’t know what you’re talking about” he said, the edge in his voice returning. “I’ve done things... terrible things. You don’t wanna see me at my worst”. But you didn’t flinch. You never did. Reaching out, you touched his arm, and for a second, Logan almost pulled away, afraid of your kindness, of the warmth in your touch. But he didn’t. “I’ve seen enough, Logan. I’ve seen you fight, seen the pain you carry. And guess what? I’m still here” you said, your voice unwavering. “Because I care. Because I know that, no matter how much you try to push people away, you deserve to be loved. You deserve to be understood”.

He shook his head, fists clenching at his sides. “I ain’t someone you can fix. I’m not someone who’s ever gonna be... whole”. You stepped even closer, eyes locking with his. “I’m not trying to fix you. I’m here to stay. I’ll take the good, the bad, and everything in between. Even when you’re at your worst”. Logan’s throat tightened, emotions bubbling up that he hadn’t let surface in years. He hated how vulnerable he felt right now, how exposed. But at the same time, there was a small part of him that wanted to believe you. That wanted to trust that you wouldn’t leave like the others.

“Why?” The word slipped out, raw and filled with the pain he had been holding back for so long. “Why would you stay?”. You smiled softly, your hand sliding down to take his, your fingers warm against his cold skin. “Because I see you, Logan. The real you. Not the weapon. Not the Wolverine. Just... you”. For the first time in what felt like forever, Logan didn’t know what to say, he had no comeback. His heart pounded in his chest, his walls crumbling down around him as he looked into your eyes, seeing nothing but honesty. No fear. No judgment. Just... acceptance. A shaky breath escaped him, and before he could stop himself, he pulled you into his arms, holding you close. You didn’t resist, wrapping your arms around him, your head resting against his chest as you stood there in the middle of the mess, in the middle of his chaos.

For the first time in a long time, Logan felt something other than anger, other than pain. It was small, fragile even, but it was there. A flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to be alone. Maybe, with you by his side, he didn’t have to be afraid of his worst anymore. And for the first time in a long time, Logan allowed himself to believe that.

-

Thank you for reading!

[ddarker-dreams]

Deal With The Devil. Yan Hades Giorno x Reader

Warnings: Isolation, implied kidnapping, forced marriage, brief non explicit sexual themes, and mentions of death.  Word count: 3.2k.

Time alone is better than time spent in the company of someone you despise. 

Skillful fingers run over the wilted stems of your carnations, a frown on your face at the current lifeless appearance. Dull shades of grey slowly turn to a vivacious green where your fingers pass over. Next are the petals, which are all but gone, a far cry from the flora’s typical beauty. At your delicate touch, it’s as if the hands of time are set in reverse. Soft fibers tickle your bare your skin, petals flourishing anew, now with a rosy glow. Standing from your bed, you return the revitalized carnations to their previous position on the windowsill. 

The bright, pastel colors are in stark contrast to the obsidian colored walls that trap you. Darkness, like an everlasting night, cannot be cast aside by your pretty decorations. No matter how hard you try to do just that. The lone sources of illumination in the underworld, torches or lanterns, have also earned your scorn. How you had taken the sun for granted, the natural warmth it provided ethereal in comparison to this manufactured light. Sighing, you push the negative thoughts away, aware they do nothing for you. Wallowing in your grief harms the precious flowers you create.

The onyx marble flooring beneath your bare feet is cold and unnatural. Closing your eyes for but a moment, you remember how blades of grass used to feel in the summer and spring. Those blissful days traversing fields without a care in the world feel like centuries ago. You’ve tried to recreate grass as it is on the surface, but with mixed results, and now stick with forming flowers instead. 

You take a mental inventory of the surrounding flora to check for problems. These creations of yours are a reliable pastime and bittersweet memory. No matter the life you instill into the delicate blooms, in the underworld, they wither away at an accelerated pace. Your days are spent reviving them or creating new bouquets to decorate this dreadful bedchamber. What else is there to do? 

Nothing, you answer the question yourself, scowling. As if on cue, your poppies wilt at the sharp turn in mood, petals falling onto the ground and crumbling to dust. So the cycle continues. Understanding the passage of time when there is no sun is difficult, but if you were to guess, those poppies were just a few hours old. While you consider what to replace them with, a pair of eyes watch from nearby.

“In my brief time down here, this would be my first time seeing such beautiful flowers.” A feminine voice praises. Your eyes widen, head whipping around to find the source of the words. In front of your canopy bed stands a wispy figure. It takes the faint form of a human being, though lacking color and partially transparent. 

It takes a second of tentative thought for you to realize what this apparition is. A soul. Not just any soul, a soul of a mortal, you presume. You haven’t spoken to a mortal in some time now. How did a soul manage to find its way to you, hidden away in the depths of the underworld’s palace? As if sensing your bewilderment, the soul speaks up.

“Is it true that I am speaking to the daughter of Demeter?” The soul questions. You nod, pushing down the agony of hearing your dearest mother’s name. “Then it seems I have hope after all.” 

Silence settles in after the soul’s relieved statement. You take the time to contemplate the possible meaning of this soul’s words, reaching no conclusions. “How is it that you’re here?” 

“... You will not call on his guards?” 

Biting your bottom lip, you swallow down the bile that threatens to rise in your throat at the passing mention of him. “I will do no such thing.” 

“Then lend me your ear for but a moment,” the soul’s voice is tinged with melancholy. “I am dead now, yes, but I was once alive. At that time I was Sotiria. I mothered three children, each splendid in their way, the lights of my life... I do not say this for complaining’s sake but to offer perspective. I never was given a decent lot in life, the child of a sickly widow whose face I can no longer remember. 

Poverty was all I knew until I drew my final breath. I took work equally as it came, whether it was working the fields or being a companion to men at night. Anything for the sake of feeding three hungry mouths. But it was never enough. My youngest, Cyril, fell ill. To keep him alive I had to be by side at all hours. And so it goes… at my wit’s end from starvation, I had no choice, you must understand.” 

Sortiria’s voice grows weaker, barely reaching your ears as she finishes her sentence. “I coveted, and I stole. Nothing more than I would need to keep my children alive for another day. When they caught me, well,” she motions to her phantom-like form with a pained smile. “I was killed.” 

Your heart aches at her plight. “How terrible...” 

“Yes, I’d agree so,” she doesn’t linger on the topic, eager to move to her final point. “But it need not end this way.” 

“There is a reason I stand in your presence now. I heard rumors, waiting among the listless souls for Charon to ferry us to judgment. Rumors that gave me hope where I had none. That the god of the underworld had taken a wife, a wife who boasts a compassionate heart. You, [First].” 

The pieces she’s presented you with fall into place. Your lips part, the world around you spinning, as Sotiria presents a final plea. “Please, go to him and ask that I may return to my body. That I may return to my children. Us humans have taken to praying to you for mercy when knocking on death’s door. I implore you, hear my prayer now.” 

“I will not speak to him, no, I refuse to speak to him. Even if I did as you asked, who is to say he will listen to me? My cries for freedom have been denied, how would this be any different? I hear your prayers but have no power to answer them. My matrimony did not make me the goddess of the dead.” 

Neither of you dares to mention Giorno by name, remaining cautious of what could happen, as he’s made aware every time his name is spoken. Even the mortals fear him, you think. And for good reason. You wonder if that’s how this was presented to the humans. A requited romance between the daughter of Demeter and Giorno, a union that gives hope to those dying. None of them know the truth, that you’re forced to remain here, tucked away from the wistful life you once had. That his self proclaimed adoration is nothing but suffocating and self-serving. 

“You and you alone are the apple of his eye,” Sotiria insists with utmost urgency. “He will heed your words more than anyone else’s.” 

“He has refused me everything of value that I have begged for.” The words are spat out with venom. You fail to notice that with your growing temper, the flowers you tended to prior shrivel up at unprecedented speed, a reflection of your distraught emotional state. Your chest heaves with each strained breath, fists clenching by your side until your nails pierce your skin. Does Sotiria not understand? How could anyone empathize with how the sorrow you feel? You stand in this saturnine chamber that remains your prison, Giorno the steadfast ward. 

“I can not speak on what I don’t know,” she lowers her head. “But I do know this. You have his favor. You are his wife -- whether it was by your design or not -- and he holds affection for you in his heart. Go, speak to him, I beg of you. If not for my sake, then for my children.” 

“But--” 

“I can’t spend any more time here,” Sortiria looks around, her already faint form disappearing. “Please.” 

Then she is gone. 

You stare, eyes wide as a doe, at the spot Sortiria once occupied in your dim room. Nothing of her remains but the convicting call for action. Her words ring like funeral tolls in your mind, unrelenting, and weighing down on you. There’s no denying the effect her request has on you. Sortiria’s dedication to her children reminds you of your mother, who has tried everything to get you back. An ache in your chest pushes you forward, your legs moving subconsciously to the door. 

She risked eternal damnation to speak with you. Leaving your room that never remains locked, you’re met with a similar color palette of midnight black and crimson red bricks. Hell flame is blinding at first, but when your eyes adjust, you catch the demonic guards stationed at your door looking in surprise. Giorno has granted you the freedom to traverse his palace as you please, but you rarely take him up on the offer, preferring to spite him by remaining in your room. When he searches for your company he knows where to find you. Loneliness haunts Giorno Giovanna like a plague, never warded off successfully until he acquired you. 

No one dares question your intentions, averting their gaze to avoid eye contact as you travel down twisting halls. Your heart pounds against your ribcage through the journey, not knowing how Giorno will react to your uninvited appearance. This would be the first time you’ve sought him out of your violation. While wandering his palace, you can’t help but notice the difference in decorum compared to your room. He had tried to make adjustments to your personal space so that it would reflect a different aesthetic than the underground, fully aware of your displeasure with the gloomy architecture. 

Not that it matters, you think. Nothing could make up for what Giorno’s taken from you aside from permanently returning to the surface. Rounding a sharp turn, you hold your breath at the sight. Cerberus towers in this grand hall and immediately picks up on your presence. The daunting creature lowers itself to the ground, three pairs of eyes piercing through you. A tense moment later, it seems content to let you pass, recognizing your position as Giorno’s beloved. 

Behind Cerebrus is where your true challenge lies. Two monumentally sized doors that lead to Giorno’s throne room stand in your way. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes, Sortiria’s words reverberating in your mind. Perhaps you are soft on the mortals, as your mother once warned you, but she was guilty of the same. Should you be successful, and Sortiria lives to tell the tale, you wonder if your mother will visit her and ask after you. 

The doors open when you take a step forward. This palace is an extension of Giorno, you’ve come to realize, bending to your whims to please you. While lacking the necessary preparation to make a sound argument, you have an idea of what may convince Giorno to do as you bid. Any confidence you may have had from knowing you have his favor melts like ice in the spring when his eyes land on you. These eyes, that belong to one of the universe’s most powerful gods, feel heavy and cumbersome. Giorno nods his head in acknowledgment, a good sign. You wish you could hear his thoughts. His sculpted face is impossible to read as ever, in comparison, you feel like an open book. 

You manage to force out a cordial greeting despite your petrified state. “I was hoping to have an audience if you’re not otherwise occupied.” 

Giorno sits on his sizeable throne, presence imposing yet regal. In contrast to his spun gold hair, the throne is dark as twilight, embedded with rubies and numerous precious gems. He isn’t just the god of the dead, you remind yourself, but also the god of wealth. That’s all Giorno has ever felt like to you, some distant figure. Nothing more, not now or ever. His attempts to kindle an intimate relationship with you have been discarded like weeds. Now in his physical presence, reverence takes place of the disgust you normally feel towards him. 

“If it pleases you.” Giorno’s voice is undeniably soothing, every syllable ringing clear as a bell. At his confirmation, you tread forward, over an expansive vermillion carpet. The walk feels like an eternal punishment. He takes the time to scrutinize your body language. You didn’t expect anything different, fully aware that he’d be taken aback by this bold arrival. Doubts in your head cry louder as you lessen the distance. That after all this time, he might see fit to punish you for this final act of entering his throne room without an invitation. Interfering with Giorno’s work might be the final insult he tolerates. You are his wife, but what respite has that granted you before? 

You bow your head down as a show of respect. “I apologize for arriving unannounced.” 

“Your presence is a welcome one,” Giorno seamlessly dismisses your concern. “Though, I might add, unexpected.” 

Despite your best efforts, your posture goes rigid, likely playing into what Giorno designed. Your husband is as pleasant as he is efficient in his conversations, you’ve learned. It’d be a fool’s wish to think otherwise. Sortiria’s words, though you wish they didn’t, held truth. All have come to know Giorno’s affection for you through his special treatment. It’s a blessing and a curse.

“I would’ve come sooner, but I feared you were busy.” 

Giorno gazes up at your through golden eyelashes, voice lowering as he speaks from the heart. “I will always make time for you.” 

Is it wise to start with your true request? The clock’s ticking and you need to decide without further delay. Anxiety and regret battle for dominance in your mind, but you keep it at bay, recalling the true priority. A mother’s tender love for her offspring. There’s nothing more important to you than doing right by this tormented soul. Sortiria’s words resurface, “Us humans have taken to praying to you for mercy when knocking on death’s door”, she had told you. You were but a minor goddess until this point, and content as you were with that, there was nothing of astonishing value for you to offer the world. Creating and maintaining gardens was all you could do. Now, you have a real chance to do good, to reunite a family. The prayers offered up to you until give strength.

“Would you please stand?” You ask with a sheepish smile. It’s a simple request to test the waters and also a way to feel less intimidated. Giorno blinks but voices no complaints. From his throne, he stands, still towering over you but feeling less intimidating. You step forward, raising your hand and placing it to his cheek. His skin is cold and smooth to the touch. It reminds you of the flower petals you adore so much. There’s no denying Giorno’s beauty, you must confess, it’s almost like his face is perfectly sculpted art. You can tell he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Truth be told, there’s something that troubles me deeply,” you confess, to which he frowns. “That’s what I wanted to speak about.” 

Giorno prompts you to continue. “And that is?” 

The worst he can do to me is say no, you tell yourself. He’s had no difficulty doing that in the past when you’ve begged for freedom. No harm would come to you -- any spite Giorno might feel would be directed elsewhere -- but that doesn’t bring comfort. Sortiria would be punished if Giorno believed she was taking advantage of you. Sentenced to eternity in Tartarus. 

“A single request. I wish to reunite a soul with her body, so that she may continue her life that was cut short,” you rub your thumb over his cheek. “Please do me this one good.” 

“Sortiria, was it?” Giorno takes your stunned silence as confirmation, not that he needed any. The two of you were careful not to mention him by name. So he knew all along? It shouldn’t come as a surprise, but you still feel disheartened, blood draining from your face. 

“It’s a rare occurrence that I permit a soul to leave the underworld,” he explains what you already know in a calm tone. “[First], you know I hate to deny you anything, but--” 

“I wasn’t done.” You interrupt without thinking, overwhelmed by enough emotion to drown out logic. Giorno’s mannerisms and subtleties can be picked up on after all this time you’ve spent with him, and you know he was going to politely reject your request. Neither of you utters a word. It’s a split-second decision, but you set your qualms aside, considering the greater implications. 

“Giorno,” you call him by his name for the first time, his eyes widening at the slight nuance. “If… if you do this for me, I… I will allow you to finally consummate our marriage.” 

Your face feels like it’s on fire from the lascivious suggestion. There’s nothing else you can offer Giorno that’s valuable enough to convince him. Nothing other than yourself that is -- which you’ve vehemently refused him up until now -- swearing you’d sooner cast yourself into Phlegethon than let him lay with you. You hear your heart pounding in your ears as you await his final response. Giorno’s eyelids flutter shut, eyebrows scrunching together. 

“This means that much to you?” He asks, not entirely convinced himself. This fiery passion you’re portraying is new. Days of passively tending to your flowers gave him a different impression of you. Now, faced with a cause you truly believe in, you’re willing to do anything. 

“It does,” you confirm without further hesitation. “Please give me this single happiness.” 

You don’t dare breathe until Giorno speaks again. He reopens his eyes and appears deep in thought. Dread clouds your mind, dominating any thoughts that might bring you comfort. You’ve done the best you could. 

“Very well.” Giorno bends to your whims after a long moment’s deliberation. Joy blossoms in your chest, a genuine smile gracing your features. He places his hand over yours, shivers running down your spine from the cool sensation. The negotiations are far from over, as Giorno returns his attention to your prior claim. He wants to test your conviction and see if you’ll give him a piece of what he’s ached for.

He squeezes your hand gently, voice so quiet that only you could hear it. “Is what you said true?”

It’s the only viable option, is how you reaffirm yourself. A degrading option, you recognize, but no one aside from the two of you would ever know. It’s been a long and good fight that you’ve put up. Denying a god his desires is not an easy task by any stretch of the imagination. Goosebumps dot your skin, reality feeling so far away, as you seal your fate. 

“You have my word.”

Giorno smiles -- in a way you’ve never seen before -- an unidentifiable gleam in his omnipotent eyes.

“Then I will see it done.” 

[omori-brainrot]

The Only One Left

tws: suicide, emetophobia, self-harm, death, grief, alcohol mentions

After the worst neutral ending, Aubrey and Kel soon follow Mari, Basil, and Sunny. Hero is the only one left, and he’s struggling to live with that. But at least his college friends are there when he needs it most.

I’m so sorry but this barged into my brain and wouldn’t leave until it was written and posted.

When Hero goes back to school after the funeral, he hangs one of Kel’s old jerseys on the knob of his dorm-room closet. He needs something to remember his brother by, something to make him feel like he’s not alone. Of course, he’s not really alone. He’s still an underclassman, so he shares his room with Josh.

He’d gotten lucky with his roommate: they’d managed to reach the storybook ideal of not only getting along, but becoming friends. Still. He wished there was no one around to see him cry for hours over the jersey, to see him start favoring the snooze button over his morning classes, to see him sink deeper into himself until he was sure he’d never surface.

Josh had been good-natured about it, at least. He never pointed out the cutting classes when Hero despaired about his grades after the fact, and when Hero couldn’t bring himself to stop sobbing when Josh needed to study, he just put on headphones or went to the library without a single complaint or sign of annoyance.

Hero wonders if Josh knows how close he feels to dying too.

How everyday feels like tar is pulsing through his body, getting caught in his organs and weighing him down until it feels like he’ll never breathe again.

He tells himself that if he joined his old friends, he’d be inflicting the same pain he lived with everyday onto his college friends. That if he were gone, their lives would be shattered instead of his.

Get over yourself. They don’t care that much. They don’t even know you. You only met a year and a half ago. They were fine without you before then. And besides, you’re not the best company anyway. You weren’t there though to stop Mari from hanging herself. You couldn't see the signs. You weren’t there enough to stop Sunny and Basil from stabbing themselves the night before Sunny was supposed to get a new start. You should have reached out earlier. You weren’t there enough to keep Aubrey from getting into that stupid drunk accident. You knew she was drinking too much and too often in an attempt to make her world bearable, you should have done something. You couldn’t stop Kel from poisoning himself with all those chemicals in the bathroom. You knew how hard it was for him to open up about negative emotions without being prompted, and you knew he was so alone after everyone else left. You should have come back from college more often. Why would anyone still want to be friends with you? Why would anyone care if someone like you was gone?

When thinking about his new friends doesn’t work, he reminds himself of his parents. They’d already lost one child. They’d be devastated to lose another. He couldn’t do that to them.

It doesn’t matter. They’re disappointed in you anyway. They see your falling grades and talk about how you shouldn’t give up on your dreams just because of what happened to Kel. They don’t understand that your only dream now is to make this constant pain stop. Besides, what does it matter if this hurts them? They should have been there for Kel when you were gone. As soon as you think that, you feel terrible. Which only makes you want to hurt yourself more.

Still, something makes him want to keep trying for a little while longer. Whatever it takes.

Which is how he ends up sitting over the trash can, taking a flimsy plastic dining hall knife to his arms.

If he wants to hurt himself but doesn’t want to die, this is the best he can do. Besides, it’s a little past midnight after a Friday, so Josh is attending whatever gatherings a non-imploding person attends on a Friday night.

Hero supposes that he should feel worse that things have come to this. But with every sting he only feels relief, even when he presses hard enough for the knife to draw shallow lines of blood.

For once, he’s barely thinking about anything else. Even with the jersey casting a shadow at the corner of his eye. He could get used to this sense of mindless pain.

When the door swings open and the light flicks on at a much earlier time than expected, his first response is to flinch back. It’s a second too late when it occurs to him that she should be rolling his sleeves back down.

Josh runs over, gently grabbing his arms and keeping him from doing so. “Wait. Wait.” He inspects the wounds for a moment. Looking worried, yet relieved that the injuries aren’t serious, he locks eyes with Hero. “Are you okay?” Hero opens his mouth, searching for an answer, but Josh continues. “Wait, you don’t have to answer that. That was a dumb question. Of course you’re not.”

“Yeah.” Hero says under his breath. He averts his eyes to the side of Josh’s head. He should have been more careful. What kind of person gets caught their first time self-harming? No wonder he’s so useless.

“If you let me take the knife with me, I can get some wet paper towels from the bathroom to help you clean up.” Josh holds out his hand, eyebrows creased in concern but eyes wide with expectation. Hero hands the knife over, ignoring the pang of reluctance to stop.

Josh races out of the room, and Hero takes a moment to look at his own cuts. He’s surprised at how many there are. He’d stopped paying attention while he was doing it. However, none of them look very bad, with the worst only bleeding very lightly.

Josh comes back faster than Hero expected, and diligently gets to work pressing the paper towels to the bleeding cuts. Hero winces a little at the sting, but he doesn’t mind this. It reminds him of when he was a child and his mother would clean up his scrapes. He realizes with a jolt that he doesn’t want to go back to hurting himself tonight.

“I hope you don’t mind me prying, but does this have anything to do with what you were telling me a couple months ago?”

“About—” Hero swallows thickly. He can’t bring himself to clarify. Besides, what could Josh be referring to besides Kel’s death? “Yeah.” His voice comes out strained.

“I’m sorry.” They sit in silence for a moment. “Hey, would it make it better or worse if I got Michelle and Dennis? We could get ice cream and you could tell us about your brother. Dennis said that helped when his aunt died.”

He was sure he’d want to say no—heck, he couldn’t bring himself to go to his favorite classes easily. But ice cream sounded nice, and he’d never noticed it before, but he was aching for someone to talk to. There was only one issue.

“Isn’t it almost one a.m.?”

Josh waved a hand dismissively. “That’s no problem if you want to go. I know a great all-night diner.”

That’s how he ended up in a nearly empty Denny’s with a few casual friends.

“Of course he’d refer to Denny’s as ‘a great all-night diner’.” Michelle dips a fry in her chocolate milkshake. Hero smiles slightly at her, eating a spoonful of his hot fudge sundae. The coldness of the ice cream is soothing, and he feels just a little bit better.

“Yeah, Josh, did you think Hero’s never heard of Denny’s before?”

“Hey, you’re not one to criticize me here. We came here for ice cream and you got pancakes.” Josh’s voice is light with playful teasing.

“So? They’re dessert pancakes. And there’s a scoop of ice cream on them.” Dennis gestures to the scoop with a flourish. “What does that have to do with you treating Denny’s like some obscure local mystery, anyway?”

Hero laughs a little. It feels unfamiliar and distant, but at the same time, somehow… right. He’s glad to not be alone tonight. Josh smiles with him. His eyes are still tinged with worry, but he’d reassured Hero on the drive here that none of the others had been told about the self-harm.

“So, Josh said we’re here because you had something to get off your mind?” Michelle looks at him, her worry less intense but still noticeable, like the mechanical whirring of a fridge in the background.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat, poking at his sundae. How could he even begin to say what was wrong? Hero figured he should just start with the part that had been hurting him the most in the past months. “I don’t know if you remember my brother’s funeral a while ago, but…”

“You miss him?” Her voice is soft, gentle.

He nods, tears burning in his eyes.

“What was he like?”

Hero takes a rattling breath. “He really liked basketball. He played it every day after school. I don’t think he was all that close with anyone on his team, but he liked playing it a lot.”

“Is the jersey on your closet his team jersey?” Josh glances at him.

He shakes his head. “No, he just bought that one at the store. Sports clothes were like his default uniform, whether he had practice or not.”

Dennis nods slightly. “I’ve known people like that. I think they just practice so much it’s not worth changing clothes.”

A small smile tugs at Hero’s lips. “Yep, that sounds like Kel. Always on the move.” He glances across the restaurant at another one of the late-night patrons, someone about his age drinking a cup of coffee. “Honestly, I bet part of it was all the caffeine .” Hero wrinkles his nose, a strange mixture of affection and loss nested in the hollowness of his chest. “He drank an unnatural amount of Orange Joe.”

“I didn’t know anyone actually drank that.” Michelle takes a long sip of her milkshake.

“Small base of loyal customers, I guess.” A memory drifts into Hero’s mind, and for once he doesn’t push it away. “I can’t believe he kept drinking it after that hot dog competition. He won, but he drank so much Orange Joe afterwards that he threw up before we left the fair. He always said it was worth it, though.”

Michelle shakes her head. “Siblings.”

For a moment, Hero is reminded of a dozen other conversations he’s had about Kel. He’d tell his grade school classmates about a recent squabble, or something funny Kel did, and that’s what they’d say.

Then the stark contrast of reality hits him. This isn’t a petty fight that will be resolved in a few hours, or a story where nothing serious is wrong. He’s up at one am having this conversation because Kel is gone, because Kel will never win another game, will never drink more unhealthy quantities of soda, will never even graduate high school. He’s here because Kel was found dead on the bathroom floor, next to an emptied bottle of cleaning fluid, and Hero hadn’t done enough to stop him.

He puts his spoon down and lays his head in his arms. Everything feels so heavy. “I should have been there.”

“It wasn’t your fault—” Josh starts, but Hero doesn’t let him finish.

“Yes, it was!” A few of the other late-night patrons glance at their table, and he realizes he said that much louder than he meant to. Taking a shuddering breath, he continues more quietly. “I should have been there. I could have taken more time off school, he was more important than a few stupid assignments. I…” he has to stop to take another uneven breath. His voice is shaky, and he’s not sure how much longer he can speak before he dissolves into sobs, so he talks faster. “I knew he was having a hard time, and I don’t think anyone else could tell because he just acted like he was fine. If I had been there…” He breaks. The crying he was holding back can’t be contained any longer. His shoulders shake and his throat burns. He doesn’t even care if the other people in the diner are staring. Through a blur of tears, he can see his friends looking at him with concern, waiting for him to get it all out.

When he catches his breath, he forces himself to keep talking. He feels like he has to get this out, no matter how much it hurts, no matter if he has to look away from his friends to bear to say it. “He killed himself. And I wasn’t there.”

Michelle is the first to speak. “I’m so sorry…”

Josh puts a hand over his. “That’s horrible… I’m sorry you have to live with that.” He pulls his hand back. “You must feel horribly guilty, but I really don’t think it was your fault.”

“You… don’t?” God, he imagines he looks so pathetic right now.

“Yeah, I mean, you’re just a person. There’s only so much you could have done. You clearly loved him a lot, and I’m sure that meant a lot to him.”

“But it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t there enough.” Hero’s sure he sounds like a broken record, but it’s all he’s been able to think about in the months since Kel’s death.

“Dude, you can’t save everyone. You can’t hold yourself to that standard.” Dennis’s voice is gentle, encouraging.

Hero looks away again, fresh tears emerging. “If that was all it was, maybe I’d think you’re right. But it’s not the first time this has happened.” He picks up his spoon, smushing the unmelted parts of the ice cream as he speaks. “I looked it up and it’s called a suicide cluster, but everyone else in town just calls it a curse.” He wipes away the new tears. “It doesn’t matter what you call it, though. Everyone I’ve grown up with is gone.”

“Shit…” For once, Josh is at a loss for words.

Michelle shakes her head. “It’s still not your fault. The only person who’s life and mental health you’re personally responsible for is your own. The most any of us can do for anyone else is be there and hope that’s enough, but if it’s not, that’s not your fault.”

Josh seems to come back to himself. “Yeah, absolutely. I stand by what I said before, no matter how many people died, because the same logic applies each time.”

“Wow… thanks.” It hasn’t fully set in, and to be honest, he doesn’t fully believe it either, but hearing that someone else believes it makes him feel a little better. “I’m… I’m scared it will never stop. What if everyone I get close to just keeps dying?”

“I… don’t think that will happen.” Dennis shrugs. “I mean, no matter what your town says, you’re not cursed or anything. It won’t go on forever.”

“Yeah, I guess so. My brain just needs to catch up, I guess.”

“It will, eventually.”

Michelle tilts her head slightly to one side. “If you don’t mind me asking, who else did you lose? No pressure, don’t answer if it will make things worse.”

Hero shakes his head. “It’s fine, I came here to get things off my chest anyway.” He pauses for a moment. “Let’s see… first, there was my high school girlfriend. That was four years ago. Last summer, her younger brother and a boy we were friends with growing up died on the same night, and earlier this year, before what happened to Kel, another friend got into an accident.” He feels like he should be more emotional as he says it, but he just feels empty. Like he’ll never feel human again.

“That’s terrible… if you ever want to talk about any of them, I’d be glad to listen.”

“Thanks.” The missing emotion is already bubbling back up a bit, and he has to swallow back tears. “You know, I don’t think anyone’s really asked me about any of them before tonight.” He sighs. “I kind of wish they would, now. I really liked telling you guys about Kel.”

“He sounds like a great brother.”

Hero’s tears start falling again, but somehow it isn’t as bad as before. “Thanks, he was.”

[forgive-the-sea]

things you can’t take back

Summary: Oikawa is cold towards you because he’s stressed about an upcoming match. 

Pairing: Oikawa x Reader

Rating: G for general; angst(?) to fluff; pretty fluffy end

A/N: Hiii, sorry this is out later than promised! This took longer to write than I thought it would! The idea for this came to me while I was in an angsty mood because apparently the way I cope is by thinking about my fave 2D boy hurting me, but then making it better with an apology and kisses! Pretty self-indulgent again! Hope you enjoy!  

Foul. Oikawa was in a foul mood. It was festering inside him and radiating from his being as he got ready to leave the gym.

He had an important match coming up soon—qualifiers for the Argentinian national volleyball tournament to be exact—and lately practice had been going terribly. He still hadn’t been able to master his new serve, an even more powerful and precise one, always hitting it out of bounds while trying to perfect it. God. This was just like middle school all over again.

Oikawa liked to believe he had come a long way since then. Truth was he had. By his third year of high school his skills as a setter were unmatched in Miyagi, successfully bringing out the full power of his teammates and effectively creating a strong team as captain of his high school volleyball club. After high school he made a name for himself in Argentina, rising up the ranks in the Argentinian pro league. He did this all himself with hard work and dedication—improving his volleyball skills and working through his insecurities.

He definitely had come a long way from being the insecure boy that hid behind a facade of flirtatiousness and fake self confidence, but sometimes those same feelings came back. Self doubt. Pettiness. Frustration. Coldness. Usually he was able to work through them and not act out on his feelings, but not this time. The pressure of competing in his first national pro game was weighing heavily on him.  

He walked tensely out the front door of the gym, where you two had agreed to meet so you could walk home together. It was already dark out by the time you met up, but even in the shadows you could tell something was wrong. Your boyfriend was uncharacteristically stiff. You could tell by the way he barely glanced at you when he kissed your cheek in greeting. By the way he was now walking ahead of you with his hands in his pockets. There was none of his usual warmth. None of his usual cheekiness. 

“Hey, are you alright? Did something happen?” you ask, breaking the silence. He turns back to look at you, face blank for a moment before he smiles.

“I’m fine.” There it is. A fake smile. Tight and restricted across his face. Not his usual bright and inviting one that you fell in love with. 

“Hmm, doesn’t sound convincing to me. I don’t want to push you to tell me what’s wrong if you don’t want to, but you know I’m here for you, right?”

He mumbles a yes in response, so you decide to drop it for now, thinking that he’ll tell you when he’s ready. Instead you begin to tell him about your day, hoping that it would at least be enough to distract him from whatever was bothering him. 

He slows down to match your pace, walking along side you as you go on about your day at work. He looks half interested, chiming in with a few mhms and questions, but there was clearly something else on his mind. 

When you get home, you hit the shower, glad to wind down after a long day. You let the warm water run over your body, relishing how it soothes your tired muscles. Your mind wanders and ultimately lands on your boyfriend.

What’s troubling him? And why is he refusing to tell you? Was it something about your relationship? Was he stressed about volleyball? He recently joined CA San Juan. Was he having trouble meshing with the rest of the team? You doubt it. Tooru was a great player. Excellent at reading others and bringing out the best in them. He had great mental strength, too. Always holding his own in a match, even when he found himself in a pinch. What is it? You hope it’s nothing too serious and that he would come to you when ready. 

After your shower you find your boyfriend in bed, intensely staring at his phone. You crawl into bed next to him and look over at his phone screen.

“Whatcha watchin’?”

“A match.” 

You angle your face up to look at your boyfriend. He’s wearing a scrutinizing look and you can tell he’s analyzing every play.

You begin to worry about Tooru’s serious demeanor and snuggle up to him, wrapping an arm around his torso and resting your head on his chest.

“Babe, it’s getting late. Let’s get to sleep, yeah? You have to be up early for practice.”

He doesn’t budge, still focused on the match playing on his phone. You begin to trace shapes on this chest, hoping to capture his attention.

“Babyyy,” you whine just as you move up to kiss his cheek.

However, before your lips land on his cheek, he pushes you away, pulling himself away from your embrace.

“I’m really not in the mood. Just go to sleep,” he responds curtly. 

Your eyes go wide and you feel an ache in your chest, as if something had pierced through your heart, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.

You turn to face away from him, finding refuge under the covers as tears form at the corners of your eyes. You try to ignore the pain in your chest and hope that sleep comes quickly to you tonight.  

Oikawa doesn’t need to see the look on your face to know that he’s messed up. He knows he should apologize. He wants to apologize. To wrap you in a tight embrace and tell you how much he loves you. How much he appreciates you worrying about him. But he can’t bring himself to do it and he can’t take it back. He feels guilty for taking out his stress on you and he wants to properly apologize after clearing his mind, so he puts his phone down on the nightstand and tries to fall sleep, too. 

When you wake the next morning, Oikawa is already gone. Practice, you remind yourself as you get up to get ready for work.  

At work you’re distracted. You find yourself thinking about Tooru and about last night. This wasn’t the first time you had a disagreement, but it was the first time he refused your touch and pushed you away. Clearly he was upset because of volleyball, but there was still a part of you that wondered if Tooru was growing tired of you. Were you being too clingy? Too pushy? Too annoying? You tried to ignore the pangs of pain in your chest and carry on your day as normal.

In the early afternoon you received a text from Tooru letting you know that he was going to be home early from practice today and that he would take care of dinner.

This was new. Tooru rarely got off early. You text him back and let him know when you expect to be back home.

Oikawa had asked for the afternoon off for a much needed break and for an opportunity to properly apologize to you. He was glad that you didn’t seem upset with him when texting and that he had enough time to prepare dinner. 

After some reflecting last night and earlier today, Oikawa was able overcome his foul mood. He had to remind himself that he was enough and that he wasn’t fighting alone, just like Iwaizumi had said years ago. Oikawa missed having his best friend around to smack some sense into him.  

He got to work on preparing your favorite dish as he thought about the right words to say to you in apology for last night.

“I’m home,” you call out from the entrance of your shared apartment. You take in the scent of your favorite food and make your way to the kitchen where you find Tooru finishing up dinner. 

“Hey, it smells good.”

He turns to you and smiles before walking up to greet you with a kiss. The kiss is short but passionate, much more passionate than a usual peck in greeting. At first you’re taken aback, but you soon you melt into the kiss. Tooru is the first to pull away, cupping your face in his hands. He closes the distance between you two again and presses his forehead to yours.

“I’m sorry,” he says as his eyes flutter shut.

“I’m sorry about last night. I was really stressed about an upcoming match, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that. I’m sorry.”

You kiss his nose and reach out to caress his face, rubbing your thumbs over his cheeks and looking at him with a tenderness that makes Oikawa’s insides heat up with your warmth. 

“I’m glad you told me what was bothering you. You don’t always have to keep things bottled up, Tooru. I love you and I want to be there for you.”

“Thank you, baby. I know. But it’s hard to be vulnerable,” he says while slightly averting his gaze; his insecurities always difficult to voice. 

“Sweetie, I know. But let’s keep trying, yeah? Being vulnerable is tough, but it might save us from things we can’t take back. I was really worried that I upset you last night,” you say trying to practice being vulnerable yourself. 

“Oh, babe. I’m so sorry. It had nothing to do with you. I was worried about the qualifiers and fell into some old negative thoughts.”

“Tooru, I love you so much,” you declare as you throw your arms around his neck and bury your face into the crook of his neck. 

Oikawa hugs you tight for a moment, enjoying your embrace, before he breaks the hug, holding you by the waist at arm’s length. 

“We’ll keep working on it, yeah?”

You hum in response as a loving smile forms on your lips. 

“Now let’s eat. I’ve made your favorite.”      

[xplrerdolan]

Heheh idk if my request sent 🥺👉👈 possibly a Colby angsty fic where y/n is having a really bad day and comes home to Colby crying and he comforts her? Only if you want tho, ily Bb 🥺❤️

u sent this so long ago but here i am, trying my best to finish ONE THING while i’m working on like FIVE THINGS. anyways i love u 🥺

—

Every hour of the day seemed to weigh heavier on your shoulders by the time you were getting out of work. You’d been late that morning because your alarm clock had somehow managed to get unplugged, resulting in your boss’s impatient voice being the first thing you heard when you woke up. After getting ready in a panic, there was, of course, traffic on the way there, making your anxiety spike while there was nothing you could do about it.

When you’d walked into your job, you had sighed, thinking the worst of the day was over and now all you had to do was get through the day until you could go home. But, no. That’s not how things went.

Your boss chewed your ear off some more about being irresponsible and how there was no excuse for being as late as you were, despite having very valid, though unfortunate, reasons for why you’d been late. There wasn’t anything you could do but take it; as is the way with an abuse of power.

When you finally clocked in to work, you were completely swamped all day. You were grateful when your lunch break rolled around, especially since you hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning, but once again, your boss told you off. He said you didn’t get to have a lunch break that day since you were late, and that the time you’d lost during the morning could be made up during lunch.

You went back to your desk, fuming and extra irritable from being hungry. You typed away angrily, which you regretted as soon as your spacebar suddenly stopped working. Anger quickly bled into another bout of panic as you tried desperately to fix it yourself without having to tell your boss, but why would that have happened?

Facing your boss once again, you were met with more anger and unnecessary insults on your overall work performance. With each word that flew from his mouth, he chipped away at your ability to remain calm and collected, leaving you nearly at your breaking point when he sent you to request a new keyboard. You sent in the request and tried to take care of any tasks that didn’t require a keyboard.

Finally, you made it to the end of your day, feeling like a husk of the human you once were. You texted Colby that you were on your way home and that you’d be there soon. You just wanted to stop somewhere to pick up food and get home so you could just unwind for a bit. As you waited in the drive-thru line, you massaged your temples until you pulled up to the speaker.

You ordered your favorite fast-food treat, only to be told that, unfortunately, they were all out of one of the essential ingredients they needed to make your order. You couldn’t even respond, you felt so defeated. You drove away and tried to fight the heavy, suffocating lump in your throat as you made your way home. You focused completely on not letting your tears spill over; you did not want to cry. Not while you were driving, and honestly, not at all. You just wanted to be able to go home and go directly into your bed, under the covers, and sleep until the next morning.

You parked in your usual spot and kept your breathing steady as you walked through the front door of your home. Breathe in and breathe out, you coached yourself, keeping your face neutral as you removed your flats that had been digging a blister into your heel all day. You slowly made your way towards your bedroom, passing the living room as you did.

From inside, on the couch, came the cheerful greeting of your boyfriend. “Hey, babe,” he called, standing up to meet you in the hall.

You were more focused than ever on not crying. You turned and forced a tiny smile on your face, not wanting to unload all of your burdens onto him. He had such a busy life, and you knew in your heart that he had to deal with a lot more than you did on a day-to-day basis, so you didn’t want to add any more stress to his life than he already had.

Once he reached you, he put his hands on your shoulders and leaned in to give you a quick peck on the cheek. You were holding it together pretty well... until he asked, “How was your day?” with a sincere smile.

You could physically feel the fascade you were hiding behind break. Just as instantaneously as it cracked in half, you went from a tiny smile to hiccuping sobs.

Colby’s face dropped with concern, the suddenness of your tears catching him off guard. He pulled you into his arms with a wide-eyed expression on his face, trying to figure out how he could blink and miss the moments between you being seemingly okay to you being inconsolably upset. After a moment of trying to figure it out, he decided it wasn’t really that important to know—what was important was finding out what had made you upset and what he could do to help.

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” he murmured, his hand rubbing soothing circles across your back. You buried your face in his chest, not wanting to confront how terrible you were feeling despite being at the mercy of your own emotions—you had no choice but to let it out, even if you wanted to choke it all down.

“Why don’t we go to our room?”

You nodded at Colby’s suggestion, keeping your head down to hide the expression on your face. You held his hand and he let you lead him upstairs to your shared room. Walking in after you, Colby closed and locked the door to make sure you had total privacy. Before he could start to comfort you again, you were moving around the room, taking off your business casual clothes, all while you tried to explain through angry sobs as coherently as you could why you were so upset.

You furiously scrubbed the makeup off your face while you detailed the way your boss seemed to have it on his agenda to ruin your life today. You clumsily stepped into your fuzziest pair of pajama pants while you exasperatedly explained how hungry you were and how many times the day kept you from sitting down to eat. You unclipped your bra from under your shirt and threw it haphazardly across the room, landing somewhere near your laundry basket, before launching into an account of how you managed to break your keyboard and how your boss berated you for it. By the time you had finished ridding yourself of evidence that the day had even happened, you had gone through the events of your whole day, all while speaking (and often screaming) through sobs that had been contained for far too long.

Colby sat on his side of the bed, listening patiently as you got ready to relax, his expression a mix of concern and sympathy. Under the surface, he was fuming about how poorly your boss had treated you today—he wasn’t necessarily a great boss to begin with, but he really took it too far this time. However, he would save that anger for another time; you were the one who needed to let off some steam at the moment.

When you had finished recounting your day, you took a deep breath, your breathing coming out unevenly as you got out all of your anger and were left with feelings of sadness and frustration.

“Come here,” he said softly, opening his arms wide and sitting back against the pillows to allow you to cuddle into him comfortably. At his simple command, you hurried over and climbed into the bed next to him, grateful for the haven his embrace provided you.

It was hard to believe a little while ago you thought you’d be able to keep all of your emotions bottled up inside you. You continued to let everything out, not holding back on any sobs or sniffles. Colby, supportive as ever, encouraged you to stay cuddled up to him for as long as you needed. One of his arms hugged you tight against him while the other continued to caress you in a calming manner.

“I know today was really shitty and getting through it was really hard, and I’m really sorry you had to go through all that,” he began, his voice gentle and low. “But I want to remind you that you did get through it—all of it, even things that you had every right to give up on. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that you decided to quit on the spot as soon as your jackass of a boss even breathed near you.” He earned a tiny chuckle from you as you started to calm down. “Seriously, though, you pushed through a lot today. It would’ve been completely reasonable for you to not go into work after waking up that late, but you pushed through. I could totally understand if you told me you snapped at your boss after he chewed you out, but you pushed through. You could’ve done a lot worse than break your spacebar, and if I were in your position, I probably would’ve—but you pushed through that, too. You even kept pushing after you broke it and couldn’t get any more work done at your computer. And the fact that you didn’t set fire to that fast-food place after they couldn’t make you the only thing you wanted? Your self-control is truly admirable!”

You were giggling softly as Colby continued to compliment you on how you managed to make it through everything you had, looking up at him from where your head was laid on his chest. You could see his smile get bigger with every tiny laugh he coaxed out of you, and watching him get happier as you got happier truly made you feel a million times better. And you had to admit, he was definitely right—you had persisted through a lot that day, maybe even more than you should have.

“I’m proud of you. You’re such a strong person, and I love that about you,” he said, his voice a lot softer now. “You make me want to be strong, too.”

Your eyes were welling up again, but not from negative emotions. Instead, you were overwhelmed with gratitude and love for the man next to you. At a loss for words, you simply reached up and pressed your lips against his, letting your lips do the talking for you.

When you pulled away, you whispered, “Thank you.”

“Of course, baby. I’m glad I could help,” he smiled, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

As if your stomach could sense you were done letting out your emotions, it growled loudly, making both of you laugh. “I’ll order some food now, okay? We can stay in and watch a movie or something. Whatever you want,” Colby said, pulling out his phone to start placing an order.

“That sounds perfect,” you said, kissing his cheek before laying your head against his chest again.

It was funny, you realized, how you had imagined that Colby must’ve gone through so much worse in his daily life that you felt you definitely should be able to handle as much as you had and probably more. Yet here he was, admitting that you inspire him to be strong enough to get through his day. You nuzzled in closer, feeling extra grateful and extra humbled as that reality hit you, and you felt warmer knowing you kept each other going.

[meliaaizawa]

MARRIAGE CELEBRATION

Sho and Mei’s loved ones throw them a little party.

Word count: enough to put a page break

*Meiya’s POV*

I sleepily opened my eyes to the light coming from the window. There was a slight breach in the curtains, letting in just enough light, angled to perfectly hit my face. As my mind and body woke up, I began to notice my surroundings more. I felt the soft, steady breath of Shota breathing on the back of my neck, and I suddenly remembered that I was married… not that I had forgotten… but I just assumed I was dreaming. I was weighed down by his arm over me, but I managed to shift and turn around so that I was now facing him. He stirred a little bit in his sleep and barely opened his eyes to see me looking at him before closing them again and pulling me closer into him, falling back asleep. Though I was wide awake and would’ve normally been out of bed by now, I nestled into his chest, closing my eyes and wanting to stay in his arms forever.

A couple hours passed, and I dozed off a few times, but was reawakened again by a kiss on my forehead. I opened my eyes to see Shota looking sleepily at me. “Morning,” I said softly. “Mmm,” he replied sleepily before releasing me from his hold and stretching. I stretched as well and rolled out of bed. Since the paperwork came back sooner than we had expected, I hadn’t moved all of my things into Sho’s apartment yet, including my clothes, so I stole a shirt and pair of pants from him and went into the kitchen to make some coffee. Shota finally crawled out of bed too and joined me in the kitchen, as the scent of fresh coffee drew him there. I poured him a cup and handed it to him, smiling as he wordlessly took it and began sipping as he sat down at the kitchen table.

I poured myself a cup and sat down across from him, resting my feet on the chair next to me. We sat in a comfortable silence, just looking at each other and enjoying each other’s company. As I eventually reached the bottom of my coffee cup, I was the first to break the silence. “I guess we should tell everyone that we’re officially married,” I said, still not quite believing it as I said it. Shota sipped the last bit of his coffee and nodded. “That would be smart,” he said, simply. I stood up and reached for his cup to wash it, but he kept his grip on it and reached for mine instead. “I’ve got it,” he said, taking both cups and walking over to the sink. As he washed the cups I walked up to him, got on my tiptoes, and kissed his cheek. “Thank you,” I said lovingly before turning to head to the door.

As I sat on the floor and laced up my shoes, Shota gave me a quizzical look as if questioning where I was going. “I have to go back to the old apartment to get dressed… I don’t want to show up to your parent’s house looking like this,” I answered his look. He shrugged and said, “you look fine,” as I got up and looked at him smugly. “I’ll be back soon,” I said, turning towards the door, until I was gently stopped by Sho’s hand on my arm, turning me back towards him as he leaned down to kiss me. “Ok,” he said afterwards, with a cute small smile on his face, making me grin as I opened the door and headed out. I walked to my old apartment, as it wasn’t terribly far, smiling like an idiot the whole way there.

I went into the apartment, closing the door behind me. The lights were off, so apparently my old roommate wasn’t home. I turned on the lights, and the first thing I saw was the approved paperwork for our marriage. I walked up to the table where it was sitting and read. “Shota and Meiya Aizawa.” I would never get over seeing my name with his last name behind it. I went and took a shower, then chose one of my favorite long, flowery dresses to wear. As promised, I was back at our apartment soon, brining our marriage certificate and an already-packed box of clothes with me. When I got back to our apartment, I set the papers on the table, then headed back to our bedroom. I opened up the drawers in the dresser that were designated to be mine and began transferring some of my clothes when the bathroom door opened.

“Can you give me a hand?” I heard Sho ask. I turned to see him standing in the doorway wearing a button up shirt, holding the two ends of his black tie around his neck. I looked at him with raised eyebrows and smile. “You’re dressing up?” I asked in a surprised tone. “Tch, don’t get used to it,” he grumbled, slightly embarrassed, making me smile even wider. I went over to him and tied his tie before looking him over. “Perfect,” I said, smiling up at his uncovered face, as his hair was halfway up. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously at me as he looked me over. He didn’t need to say anything out loud for me to know he was complimenting me. “You ready?” he asked, and I nodded. I slipped our papers carefully into my purse before we headed out of the apartment.

I held onto Sho’s arm as we walked together toward the transit station to go to the Aizawa’s residence. It wasn’t terribly far from our apartment, but since we would have to make several stops today to see everyone, we decided to take public transportation. I felt like my heart was going to beat out of my chest out of nervousness of seeing Sho’s parents. His mother had always been kind to me, but, frankly, his father scared me. He often wore an expressionless face or one with a small scowl to it, which is where Sho gets it from…. But unlike Shota, I have no idea how to read his father’s expressions, so I always feel like they’re negative ones towards me. Sho must’ve noticed my hands fidgeting in my lap, as he put his hand on my knee and patted it reassuringly.

We arrived at the house and walked up to the door, with me at Sho’s side. He knocked on the door, and to our surprise, it was answered by Hizashi. “YOOOO!!!! It’s way past lunchtime, I was starting to think ya were too busy to show up!!!!!” he said with a wink. I smiled at the surprise of seeing him, while Sho’s eyebrows furrowed. “What are you doing here?” he asked. “We invited him and some others to come over and celebrate you two!” Shota’s mother said, appearing at the door as Hizashi stepped to the side. “Some others?” I asked, as Sho’s mom stepped aside too, to reveal all our closest friends and family standing inside.

My mom, Hizashi, Sho’s parents, Tamashi, and also Obo’s parents were all standing inside. “Everyone’s here!!” I said, excitedly grabbing onto Sho’s arm and looking up at him as we walked in. He looked around at everyone wide-eyed, apparently as surprised as I was. “Your mommas have been planning this little shindig, calling me nonstop to see if you were married yet. I got Tamashi to hit me up once the paperwork had been approved and then BOOM, here we are to celebrate you two lovebirds!” Hizashi explained in his usual animated fashion. I smiled a bit nervously and noticed Shota bow before everyone, so I joined him. “Thank you all for coming,” he said before straightening himself. As we did so, Sho’s mom had her arms wrapped around both of us. “Welcome to the family, Mei,” she said kindly.

As she let go, her husband approached us, and I found myself bowing again, nervously. I eased up when I felt his gentle hand on my shoulder, so I straightened back up and looked at him. “I trust no one more than you to look after Shota. Stick with him,” he said, matter-of-factly, letting go of my shoulder. “No matter how difficult he may be,” he added, looking judgmentally at his son, though somehow, I could make out the faintest hint of a smirk. I next locked eyes with my mother, who I went to with open arms, hugging her tightly. “I’m so excited for you both,” she said, as she tightly held me. I was doing fine with my emotions until I heard a slight quiver in her voice. “Thank you, mom,” I said as she let me go and I wiped her eyes before wiping mine.

She then turned to Shota, still standing next to me. “Please take care of our Mei,” she said, looking up at him, with her hand on his forearm. He smiled smally and nodded. “I will,” he said, looking at me out of the corner of his eye and subtly reaching for my hand to hold it. As mom stepped aside, Obo’s parents stepped forward, and I immediately began to feel the tears I had wiped come back. “Oboro would’ve been so happy for you… but we are too,” Momakumo said to me, her eyes glassy. I wrapped my arms around her, crying into her shoulder more than I had planned to. After she let go, I was soon wrapped in the arms of Papakumo, who was always like a dad to me. “So happy for you, kiddo,” he said as he held me, kissing the top of my head

“Oboro always respected you. He loved Mei as if she were his other half, but I know he would rest easy knowing that you are the one who’s really her other half,” Obo’s dad then said to Shota. Sho smiled sadly at her and said, “I appreciate that,” shortly, but genuinely. I could tell he was sad, though he showed no signs of crying. I held onto his arm and squeezed it, letting him know I was with him through it. Hizashi was the next to approach us, with his demeanor more serious than it was upon our arrival. “While we’re on the topic… Obo wanted me to give this to you. We had been compiling it together just in case you guys ever got together,” he said, handing us a wooden box that I immediately recognized to have once belonged to Oboro.

I looked down at the box, and looked up to Shota, who gave me a nod as if to say, “you open it.” I opened the box and saw around 10 or so polaroid photos from our school days. I blushed upon seeing the photo directly on top. We were on the rooftop, probably after lunch. Shota was laying flat on his back, sleeping, and I was sitting a bit away looking at him with my sketchbook and pencil in hand. “Mei drawing her favorite subject” was what the caption in Obo’s handwriting said at the bottom of the photo. The next photo we pulled out was one where Sho and I got tangled together in his capture weapon during a class exercise. We were tied so tightly together that Ushiwaka-sensei had to cut the bonds to separate us. “Tying the knot already lol” the caption said.

Nearly all of the photos were candid, and I don’t remember any of them being taken… Me falling asleep on Shota’s shoulder on a bus ride, Shota and I studying together by ourselves at the library, me sharing my bento lunch with Sho… all with some kind of cheesy caption from Obo. “Poor boy doesn’t know he’s in love.” “The lovebirds on a study date.” “Meizawa.” was what a few of them read. “Meizawa?” I asked after getting to the photo with that caption, which was of me and Sho from behind, walking home from school together. “Oh, yeah, that’s the ship name we had for you two… quite a few of our classmates were in on it too,” Hizashi said, looking toward Tamashi, who was in our class. She nodded and said, “yeah, a lot of us thought you worked well together, and look at you now!” I looked up at Shota to see his reaction, and I could see a small hint of a smile. “Thank you for passing this along to us,” Shota said sincerely, looking up from the box. I jumped into Hizashi’s arms, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Thanks, Zashi… this is perfect,” I said as he hugged me back.

After he let go, I hugged Tamashi, thanking her for all her support through the years. “I’m going to miss you, roomie,” she said as I hugged her. “But you belong with Shota,” she added, using his first name for the first time as she smiled at him. “Ok, now that everyone has greeted our newlyweds, the festivities can begin!” Sho’s mom spoke up. “I heard that ramen was one of Mei and Shota’s favorite things to eat together, so we have a ramen bar set up in the kitchen,” she added. “And when everyone’s ramen has settled and their inner rockstar can’t stay inside any longer, I brought my karaoke machine from the radio station to hook up,” Hizashi said to my delight. I heard Shota sigh. “Oh no…” he said, in his tired tone. “Oh YES…” I said, smirking up at him as I hugged him from the side, just so happy that he was my husband and that there was no escaping now.

[ghostnebula]

I’ll gladly keep the asks coming 😘 Let’s have some Richie comforting hurt Eddie

I think I’m legitimately running out of ways to write this because it’s in almost every single fic I’ve written shjdshsdjkhf

I’m thinking college AU, therefore set somewhere in the 90s, but the Losers stick together through it. Which gives Eddie the opportunity to learn and grow as a person in some ways, but still -- old habits die hard, and old cycles of abuse die harder. In fact, sometimes they return with a vengeance :))))

(haha get it)

Anyway, what Eddie gets right is escaping Derry with his friends, owning his sexuality (albeit tentatively right now), and taking matters involving his health into his own hands. What he gets wrong is steering clear of people who remind him of his mother, but this isn’t entirely his fault, because the resemblances aren’t always obvious, and even then the association tends to be subconscious.

So when he meets this guy who he just can’t stop thinking about, and who dotes on him but in ways that are comforting in their familiarity but not glaringly obvious in their origins/associations, and he seems to... maybe even like Eddie that way, well, Eddie’s fucking gone for him. He doesn’t know why. He wants to be around him, is all. It’s like they’ve known each other forever. Incidentally, he has pretty much known Richie forever, and Richie dotes on him, too, but in ways that aren’t bordering on sinister, and Richie’s head over heels for him, but Eddie’s so accustomed to that kind of stuff that he wouldn’t realize Richie was in love with him if it slapped him across the face. He also doesn’t seem to realize half the reason he’s even chasing after this guy is because he’s trying to get over his feelings for Richie, or at least just find a different outlet for them, because “obviously” it’s never going to happen.

He’s less than a week from risking it all and just asking this dude from his program out on a date when this guy (let’s call him idk Curtis or smth) asks Eddie out, and Eddie’s fucking elated. He’s on cloud nine. He has a fucking boyfriend. “A boyfriend, Bill, can you believe that? Someone who actually wants to date me!” (Poor Bill’s ready to fucking explode, he’s just nodding along like, holy fuck oh my god how are you this oblivious oh my god I can picture another person who’d saw off their arm to date you pretty fucking easily to be honest.

Things with Curtis are fantastic for the first couple months, and then once -- about 3 months in -- Eddie has this weird fleeting thought that Curtis... kind of reminds him of his mother, sometimes. Funny, huh? Maybe it’s just that he’s so insistent on doing everything for Eddie, which is just him being a gentleman, obviously. Then there’s that time Curtis cries for a fifteen minute car ride because Eddie chose to spend the afternoon studying in the library with his friends instead of with him, and he was so lonely, and “You don’t hate me, do you? It makes me feel like you hate me when you put me on the back burner.” And, of course, Curtis asks him to move in with him, in his apartment just off campus, which means he’s not rooming with Richie anymore. It feels weird and almost awful the first few nights, but he gets over it because Curtis would be offended if he thought Eddie might like Richie (or any of his friends) more than he likes his own boyfriend.

By the time they’ve been dating for a year, Eddie’s lucky to see the Losers more than once a month outside of classes or grabbing a quick meal on campus, but he’s always so grateful when Curtis lets him spend time with them. And Curtis is (usually) so nice, and he’s always taking care of Eddie, and Eddie doesn’t even need to have a job anymore because Curtis pays for everything, anyway, and insists on never letting Eddie spend a cent, which is just so nice, right? Isn’t that lovely of him? In fact, Eddie doesn’t even need to be bothered with money at all, because Curtis handles it all. 

Bev tries to tell him, while they’re waiting in line for coffee before class one morning, that she doesn’t like the way Curtis treats him, and Eddie snaps at her. He doesn’t know where it came from, or why he felt the need to be so defensive, and after he storms off he feels so terrible about the whole thing he doesn’t know what to do. He tells Curtis first thing when he sees him that afternoon, because there’s guilt weighing in his chest about it, and Curtis spends the whole evening pampering him and telling him how much he loves him and how one day, if ever it’s possible, he’s going to marry him. “Don’t you see what they’re doing, Eddie? They’re trying to sabotage our relationship. They think we’re disgusting. They think we’re sinners. They won’t say it out loud, but they’re going to try to ruin us because they can’t stand what we have. You just have to ignore them, okay? Don’t let them ruin this for us.” Of course Eddie believes him. That makes sense. Of course it does. He must be stupid for not realizing that earlier.

But as with all things doomed from the start, there’s a breaking point, and it’s the day Curtis has the gall to actually hurt Eddie. Not in a little way, like he sometimes does when they argue, or how he’s been pushing him to eat less and less because he’s “put on some weight,” or the way he’s been carefully manufacturing comments and insults to keep him down, keep him doubting himself, which in the end is just as bad as any physical hurt, isn’t it?

Eddie’s late coming home from school because he ran into Mike outside the library and they sat down to chat, and he lost track of the time, and there’s a cold feeling in his gut when he gets home and Curtis doesn’t look up from the television as he asks, “Where have you been? Your class ended over an hour ago.”

And Eddie knows, he knows they’re trying to sabotage his relationship, Curtis told him so, but part of him just doesn’t want to believe that, and Mike seemed so sincere. He never once made any kind of negative comment about Eddie’s love life. The most he’d done was ask how Curtis was faring. That was as much as it was even mentioned. So he tells the truth, and Curtis still isn’t looking at him in the few moments of quiet that stretch between them, or when he says, “Come here.”

Eddie obeys. He always does, after all. Curtis grabs his arm too hard and it hurts but he bites his lip because he should have known better, after all, and he’s stupid, and that was stupid of him, and what if Mike is just out to get them? 

“Do you want to fuck this up? Do you want them to take you away from me?” he demands, face contorted by his anger, and Eddie shakes his head. He can feel tears burning at his eyes but he fights them because Curtis told him he’s a crybaby and no one likes a crybaby -- he doesn’t want to make him more angry. 

“No,” he tries to insist. “I just--” But he doesn’t get a chance to finish because Curtis’s free hand connects with his cheek hard enough to snap his head to the side, and the tears overflow even though he really really doesn’t want them to, as he stands there, stunned, mouth agape, cheek stinging. “What the fuck?” he’s demanding, and Curtis is yanking on his arm to drag him closer, holding so tight he’s almost worried the bones might snap.

“Sometimes I think you don’t love me at all, you know that? Sometimes I think you’re just fucking mooching, and you don’t give a shit if I feel valued or not.”

Eddie would normally defend himself. Tell Curtis that isn’t true, that he does love him, that he shows him that every day, to the best of his ability. That he’s given himself over to him completely, and isn’t that proof enough that he loves him? Except right now, he can’t remember exactly what it is that he “loves” about this man.

The arm Curtis isn’t crushing in his grip reels back and Eddie smashes his fist into Curtis’s nose and he knows, in that moment, there’s no salvaging any of this, and wonders how he ever even cared. In his shock and pain, Curtis lets go of him, and Eddie doesn’t hesitate to get the fuck out of there.

He’s definitely crying when he shows up outside Stan and Richie’s dorm, and he’s trying to stop it because he doesn’t want them to be mad when they see him (because he’s an annoying fucking crybaby, isn’t that right?) but he’s knocking before he’s able to compose himself because he can’t fucking compose himself. He’s shaking and he ruined it but, really, isn’t that for the best? When was the last time he was truly happy with Curtis? The shaking won’t stop anyway, and he can feel anxiety building in his gut, making his stomach twist, because he has nothing now. He’s just gone and completely fucked himself over, and the rest of the Losers, well... they probably barely consider him a friend anymore, or if anything they probably think he’s a shit one, and this was a bad idea. Yeah, this was definitely a bad idea, because he’s imagining Stan sneering down at him and demanding to know why the fuck he thought they’d help him when he hasn’t been bothered with them in months, or Richie scoffing and telling him maybe if he wanted help so bad he could go ask his boyfriend, and--

The door swings open and Stan’s eyes go wide, and Eddie can’t get the words out, and he knows he isn’t having an asthma attack but this feels like an asthma attack. “Richie!” Stan is calling, but Richie’s already leaping up from his bed because he caught sight of Eddie through the gap in the door, and besides, he’d know that wheezing anywhere. Stan barely moves out of the way in time to avoid being bowled over. Richie freezes, though, halfway to grabbing Eddie to drag him into a hug, not sure that he’s alright with that (didn’t he always used to be?) and not sure what the fuck is wrong, but there’s a red mark on his cheek that’s pretty telling, anyway.

Eddie’s the one who surges forward first and wraps Richie up in a hug, because he needs it, and because Richie looks stricken, and Eddie knows somewhere deep down that Richie would never hate him. He’s always known Richie could never hate him. He has to repeat it to himself, like a mantra, as Richie awkwardly tries to shuffle back into the room with Eddie latched around his waist, but Eddie’s scared to let go. “Please don’t be mad,” he says, not quite meeting Richie’s eyes.

Everything he’s done in the last year has been so fucking stupid and he’s a fucking idiot and he’s well aware of that, so everyone else must be, too. So he excuses his behaviour with, “I just thought he loved me.” Maybe, in some way, Curtis does love him, but not the way that Eddie wants or needs to be loved, and he just wasn’t smart enough to see it before. He can barely wrap his mind around it now. But his cheek is throbbing where Curtis landed a pretty fucking solid blow, and his arm aches with the beginnings of a bruise, and he’s tired and hungry and miserable and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt less loved.

Richie, though -- Richie helps. Richie makes him feel better just by being here. By not letting go of him as they settle onto the bed, lying on their sides. Probably because he can tell how much Eddie can’t stand the idea of letting go right now. Stan brings them ice wrapped in a cloth from the kitchens and Richie holds it to his cheek for him and wipes the tears away and Eddie apologizes, over and over, until Richie tells him to stop. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, Eds. Okay? You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”

Stan whispers something to Richie as he’s pulling on his shoes, and Richie nods, eyes flickering up to look at him, but then he’s looking at Eddie again as the door clicks shut behind Stan. 

“I’m just glad you came here. I really am. You know we’ve got your back, right? Whatever you need. We’re here for you.” Richie’s gone all soft, eyes shining, his hand resting on Eddie’s cheek even though he isn’t trying to dry his tears anymore. His glasses sit at an angle on his face, one side pressed to the pillow, and it would probably be funny if Eddie weren’t so goddamn miserable right now.

“I gave him everything,” he says, through the thick feeling of tears blocking his throat. “I... I just thought he loved me.”

(That softness in Richie disappears for a second -- so brief Eddie’s immediately wondering if he might have imagined it -- to be replaced by something hot and fierce and pissed, like he could burn cities to the ground if so inclined, and inclined he is.)

A tear finally slips out of Richie’s eye and runs sideways down his face to soak into the pillow. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry. We’re here for you. We love you, you know that, right?”

He should. He can’t believe he’d ever doubted it, but something (Curtis) had him doubting. It’s hard to believe Richie doesn’t love him when they’re lying here like this, and harder to believe he ever thought Richie might turn him away. And as for the other Losers... well, he can only hope they’ll forgive him, in time.

He doesn’t answer because he isn’t sure how to explain that, but he’s sure that he fucked up, in some capacity, and that the love the Losers have for him isn’t completely unconditional. Right? Or is that something Curtis wants him to believe? He bites down on his lip so hard it bleeds but he starts crying all over again, anyway.

The door slams open and Bill is there, Stan behind him with Mike in tow. They file inside just as Bev and Ben come thundering up the corridor behind them, and then the mattress is shifting and dipping as several more bodies pile on around them, and somewhere he hears Stan snap at Bill to, “Take your damn shoes off, you animal,” and Richie, close above him, retorts, “Who the fuck cares? I wear my shoes in bed all the time.”

“Animals,” Stan repeats, climbing over them to sit against the headboard and pull Eddie’s head into his lap. He takes the melting ice from Richie to hold against Eddie’s cheek, which is still swelling despite their best efforts. 

“Sorry,” Eddie says, when Stan tsks and shakes his head after examining it for a second, and several voices at once are telling him, “You have nothing to apologize for,” and “We love you,” and Richie smiles at him, albeit tremulously, before pressing a kiss to his forehead. Eddie hides his face in his hands because he can’t stop fucking crying but now it’s because he’s so fucking happy. Happy to be back with his friends and to know beyond any doubt that they do love him and it is unconditional and he might just be okay, after all.

[amyscascadingtabs]

i can’t see the future, but i know that it’s there

It's been eight months since her first pregnancy scare, when they decided to start trying. If she had been pregnant then, and everything had gone well, they could have just had a baby by now. She could have been up feeding a tiny newborn, or rocking them to sleep, or changing diapers, and she would still have been exhausted and maybe still in pain, but she would have had a baby and nothing else would have mattered.

Two times Amy Santiago finds herself awake in the middle of the night. post 7x06.

(read on ao3)

(thank you to @fourdrinkamy and @letsperaltiago for helping inspire this ❤️)

She knew it was coming.

It’s been the same pattern this month as well as the last, and the one before that. First trying, then hoping, then a negative early pregnancy test and a few days later, the ever-dreaded and detested arrival of her period.

 Amy’s never liked her period, but she’s never hated it this much before.

It used to just be something annoying, a bit of bleeding and exhaustion and cramps for a few days that temporarily made her life a tiny bit worse, but nothing she couldn't handle. She’d take some Midol, maybe ask Jake for a massage if she felt really sorry for herself, and move on with her life.

That was before they started trying. 

She takes early pregnancy tests, the ones that will tell you the results up to six days before a missed period, and when they're negative she knows what to expect. Still, there's always that glint of stubborn hope in the back of her mind before she's gotten it - maybe it's slow-starting, maybe it's a false negative, maybe - and it's first when she sees the first dark drops on the toilet paper that she fully admits defeat.

She's not pregnant this month either. Her body's telling her look, I got ready, I was about to let something grow here but you failed, and it's a gut punch because Amy Santiago does not do failure. Amy Santiago is successful. Amy Santiago has control. Amy Santiago isn’t supposed to be sitting on the floor hugging her legs to her knees and crying after putting a tampon in, crying because nothing's working and her body hates her, and the universe hates her and doesn’t want her to ever have a baby.

She wasn't even hoping this time, because they're taking a much-needed break to regain their sanity after the last months, but she still breaks down in tears again after texting Jake and asking him to buy more tampons on his way home.

 It feels wrong. She wants to be texting him about some ridiculous pregnancy craving that he would tease her for, or some morning sickness home remedy which he would gladly get. Not tampons.

 It feels wrong when she wakes up in the middle of the night, too.

The digital clock shows half-past five in the morning, and she’s exhausted, but there’s a dull ache in her lower abdomen and back and it hurts too bad to sleep through. Near unconsciously, she searches for the pack of painkillers in her nightstand, until she remembers they can negatively impact fertility and are hidden in the back of the bathroom cabinet for that exact reason. She shifts position instead.

It doesn’t help. The cramps are terrible, the worst she’s had in months, and they don’t get better even though she tries to fold herself double and press a pillow to her stomach. She can’t tell why they’re so bad, wonders if it’s but another way for her body to remind her of what a failure she is, but she knows she won’t be able to fall asleep until the pain has eased. Keeping herself hunched over, she stumbles into the bathroom and weighs the blue Advil box in her hands for a second before swallowing two tablets. Screw possible negative impacts on fertility. She just wants to sleep.

 Amy lies awake after, waiting for the medication to take effect. She focuses on the sound of Jake's even breaths next to her and tries to match her own inhales and exhales to it, making it a competition with herself to distract from the pain. The minutes on the clock tick by, one after the other, and she counts how many are left until the thirty-minute-mark. Twenty-three. Twenty-two. Don't think about the pain. Don't think about the fact that you're still not pregnant. Don't think about it don't think don't think don't think.

 It feels wrong, unfair and wrong, to be awake at night because of her period. Amy wishes she had another reason.

It's been eight months since her first pregnancy scare, when they decided to start trying. If she had been pregnant then, and everything had gone well, they could have just had a baby by now. She could have been up feeding a tiny newborn, or rocking them to sleep, or changing diapers, and she would still have been exhausted and maybe still in pain, but she would have had a baby and nothing else would have mattered. She would have had her family, and maybe she would have been a little frustrated at Jake for sleeping through the cries, maybe she would have elbowed him in the side and wheezed at him that it was his turn to get up - but she would also have gotten to witness the sight of him lowering himself over the crib, picking up their baby and holding them against his chest before giving them to her for a feed. She pictures his sleep-dazed expression and those transcendent heart-eyes overpowering every sign of exhaustion once he looked at their child, and bites her lip at the memory of his despondent look when she showed him the latest negative test.

The discrepancy between her wishes, and the Universe’s plans for them, has never felt so wide.

 She thinks of holding a positive pregnancy test for the first time in her life, of being told that something’s finally growing inside of her after months and months of single lines and minus signs and not pregnant-s. She thinks of going to an ultrasound, of seeing a perfect little alien-shaped blur kick their legs and wave their hands on the screen. Maybe she and Jake would go to one of those fancy 3D-scans later on, because if she knows them right, they would be too curious not to. She thinks of holding her just-born baby in her arms for the first time, being able to kiss their sweet little face after all those months of waiting.

 They’re taking a break from trying, but the dreaming hasn’t stopped, and the pain of not knowing when - or even if - the dreams will come true, has only grown sharper.

She doesn’t realize she’s started crying again until Jake stirs next to her, mumbling a worried Amy? that she pretends not to hear because it’s embarrassing enough to be awake in the middle of the night crying about her period and it’s even worse to wake someone else up because of it.

“I’m fine,” she sniffles, quickly wiping away the tears. “Just go back to sleep.”

“Ames...”

“It’s just my period, okay? It’s just cramps. I’m okay,” she says, and curses her voice for breaking on the last word.

“Do you want painkillers? A heating pad? I can give you a massage -”

“Jake…”

“Whatever you need, I’m here, I promise -”

“Just…” She closes her eyes. “Just hold me for a bit.”

 There’s a second’s silence like he’s surprised by the request, before he moves closer and wraps his arms around her.

There hasn’t been as much cuddling between them in the last few months. Every bit of physical intimacy has seemed to have just that tiny edge of pressure built into it, and lately, Amy’s found herself shying away from it, not wanting to instigate anything with the sole purpose of making her feel good. Her body’s betraying her, and whatever pleasure she may have longed for, she’s felt undeserving of it.

Tonight, though, she doesn’t care. She’s in pain and they’re taking a break from trying. She lets herself be pulled into his chest, her tears leaving wet stains on his shirt, and his hands stroke up and down her back as she lets herself relax in the embrace.

 “It’s not about the cramps, is it?” He asks, and she shakes her head. “Hey, it’s going to be okay.”

You don’t know that, she wants to say, but Jake’s voice is mild and caring and easy to trust. She nods instead.

 He doesn't say anything after, and she's grateful for the patience. His fingertips dance along her neck, pressing and drawing lazy patterns to make her relax, and slowly but surely, breathing gets easier.

 “I can't stop thinking,” she whispers once she's certain her voice won't break again. “What if I had been pregnant that day at the manhunt? Or if we'd gotten pregnant our first month trying?”

“Ames…”

“We could have had a baby by now, Jake. But we don't.”

He opens his mouth as if to protest, but she shakes her head again.

 “I just want a baby.” She rolls over on her back, staring up at the ceiling so she doesn't have to see the hurt in his eyes. Jake's arm slots around her shoulders, keeping her close.

“I don't want to be up at night because of fucking cramps. I wish I was up feeding our child, or soothing them, or forcing you to get up and do it. Hell, I would rather be up in the middle of the night because I was in labor than this, because at least that would mean we were having a baby, and it would have been better than this.”

Another single tear makes her way down her cheek. Jake wipes it away.

“I know, babe.”

“I know we're a family,” she says, reaching for his hand. “I love our family. But I just… I just want a baby.”

“We will have a baby,” he promises her without missing a beat. “Someday - somehow - we’ll have the most wanted and perfect baby. That’s a Peralta guarantee.”

The word makes her mouth twitch into a tired smile. Jake leans his head to the side, kissing her cheek.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” she nods, and she doesn't fully believe him yet, but she's tired and the painkillers are kicking in and she wants to believe him, which maybe, she figures, is a first step as good as any. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he whispers back, and she squeezes his hand a little harder.

 He gets her the heating pad anyway, and then he lets her curl into his side, holding her as she’s finally able to fall asleep again.

 He’s her family. He’s the person who knows her better than anyone, knows what she needs even when she’s not sure of it herself. She wants so badly for them to have children, more than she wants anything else in the world, and the period pains aren’t even a tenth as bad as the pain of knowing no, not this month either.

 The lack of control is the worst part. The thought that something might be wrong with her is a close second. But most of all, she can’t shake the feeling that this isn't how it was supposed to be.

   ~

    one year later.

 Amy could have sworn it’s only been an hour since she was last up. When the soft whimpers from the crib next to her side of the bed turn to the sharp, ear-piercing cries they’ve already learned mean feed me now before I wake the entire building, she can’t help but mumble a curse over how tired she is. She thought she’d experienced exhaustion previously in her life, after night shifts and long stakeouts or cramming for exams, but she’s never even come close to the level at which two weeks into new motherhood measures. Amy Santiago of a year ago had no idea what she was in for.

 Jake mumbles something, an attempt of offering to get up, but she tells him it’s fine, promise and he sighs in contentment, pulling the covers back up to his chin. He’s definitely taking the sleep-deprivation harder than she is, but he was also the one who was up changing a leaking diaper that demanded an outfit change without batting an eye about an hour ago, so Amy can’t be mad. Besides, she doesn’t need him for this. Breastfeeding is her thing, and she selfishly loves that she gets to have their daughter all to herself for these moments.

 With some determination, she manages to sit up on the side of the bed, standing up to lean over the crib. It’s far from smooth, because she's still sore and ungraceful, but she powers through. Her baby needs her.

 Gently hushing, she bends down to lift their daughter. The cries soften as the girl notices her, reducing to just a frustrated whining, and Amy smiles because she's not completely terrible at this.

“It's okay,” she says, cupping the back of her daughter's head and supporting her bottom, making sure the swaddle blanket with colorful circus animals is coming along as she holds the infant against her chest. “It's okay, baby, I'm here.”

There’s another whimper like her baby’s trying to make sure she’s being told the truth, and it’s one of the cutest sounds Amy’s heard. Pressing a kiss to her little forehead, shamelessly breathing in her scent because everyone was totally right when they talked about how addicting the smell of your own newborn is, Amy bites her lip and tries not to groan in discomfort as she adjusts herself back to a sitting position. People had warned her giving birth would be horrible; most forgot to mention the recovery part wouldn’t be any more fun. She’s grateful it’s getting better, and also to whoever invented disposable underwear and ice pads.

 She reaches for the nursing pillow and turns on the nightstand lamp so she can see what she’s doing, squinting as the bright lighting hurts her eyes. Apparently, her baby isn’t a fan of it either, because she pouts her lip and makes an upset face that nearly breaks Amy’s heart.

“I know,” she tells her, brushing her hand over the soft black hair on her daughters’ head. “I’m sorry. No fun. I just haven’t learned to do this in darkness yet, so you have to be patient. I’m working on it. See?” Still holding the newborn on her right arm, she manages to use her left hand to unhook the strap of the nursing tank top, then doing the same for the bra.

“Impressed? You should be. I’m telling you, it’s harder than it looks with one hand.”

Her daughter doesn’t look too impressed, more impatient, so Amy shakes her head and guides her towards the breast, gently placing her jaw there and helping her get the right latch.

 Breastfeeding had turned out to be much more complicated than she’d thought. It seemed so natural when she pictured it, so obviously something she would want to try, but she’d failed to prepare for how difficult it would be to a beginning. Sore, cracked nipples before they could figure out the correct latch, the feeling that her boobs were about to explode once her milk came in, the leaking and the fact that every feed seemed to last forever. She’d pictured fifteen minutes, not forty. It’d been a rough start with a lot of tears for both her and baby, but once she’d powered through the first ten days or so, she’d been positively surprised to discover how much easier it became. Her daughter knew what she was doing. If she just allowed herself to relax a little, so did Amy.

 She counts to ten when her daughter sucks down rather hard - the first ten seconds are the worst - and then, she takes a deep breath once she can hear the peaceful suckling that’s already made its way to the top of her list of favorite baby noises. They're both learning how to do this now, and for every time, Amy’s loving it more. Sure, it's a little messy, and she never gets to sleep, but it's also the moments she feels closest to her newborn. This is something only she can do for her daughter. Anyone can hold her or change a diaper, and the kid falls asleep better in Jake's arms than anywhere else, but when it comes to this, Amy's the only one. This is their time together.

 Her daughter seems to really like it, too. It’s clear in the way she’ll make eye contact while feeding, her light brown eyes - the same color as Jake’s - staring into Amy’s darker ones with surprising intent and focus. Newborns are nearsighted, Amy knows. She wonders sometimes if nature made it so that they’re born able to see exactly this distance, not needing anything else.

And then, like the moment wasn’t sweet enough already, her daughter brings her tiny hand up to rest on Amy’s chest, and she could cry from the feeling of overwhelming love, drowning her and casting her back up on shore a new person.

“I love you too,” she whispers, stroking her thumb over the round cheeks she’s so obsessed with. It’s cool to think about how they’re all thanks to her, because she’s nourishing this child with her body. “So much more than you could ever understand, baby.”

“You were so wanted. More than you’ll ever know. There were days where I thought about giving up, because nothing was working, and some days I wondered if we’d ever meet you.” She thinks of the night at Shaw’s when she finally confessed that she had no idea what to do, thinks of just wanting to start a family, getting a chance to grow the magic she and Jake already had together. “Most of the time I still can’t believe you’re here and this isn’t all just a dream.”

“You were so wished for, Evelyn,” she says, pronouncing her daughter’s name with all the care and love she has in her heart. “You were so wished for, it’s the reason we gave you your name.”

 (Baby names had started a fun thing, quickly turned into intense debating, and calmed down once they agreed on a boy’s name - and then they found out they were having a girl. It had seemed a practically impossible feat to find common ground, resulting in more than one slightly too heated argument. Jake wanted something that sounded cool, Amy wanted something that had a nice meaning, and the two never seemed to overlap; until the day Jake came home from work and claimed he’d interviewed a witness that day with the coolest, most perfect name.

“And look at the meaning,” he’d said, showing her the NameBerry tab on his phone.

Meaning of Evelyn: “wished for child”.

Amy had only been able to nod.)

She remembers the detailed calendar with its green highlighted ovulation - fertile window, and the timing of sex that had felt clinical and half-hearted and not at all like them. Vitamins, too many vitamins even for her, the obsessive tracking of every glass of water and shift in temperature. She remembers every negative test, the shiny spark of hope each time she laid the little plastic stick down to develop, thinking this might be the one only to have all hope crushed again three minutes later. She remembers the disappointment in Jake’s eyes every time, remembers hating herself for the way he tried to hide it when really, it was probably all her fault and she was just bad at making babies. All the sleepless nights a year ago, when she tossed and turned with anxiety, wondering if a tiny half-her and half-Jake perfect baby would ever be in the cards for them.

It seems a lifetime ago, but she remembers every bit of pain and exhaustion like it was yesterday.

 Motherhood is exhausting, too - Amy no longer remembers what it’s like to sleep for more than three hours at a time - but it’s also gratifying, and extraordinary, and indescribably beautiful despite the struggle. She feared she’d never get to experience this, but she is, and it’s worth every blocked milk duct and sleepless night when she nudges Evelyn’s little hand with her index finger and her daughter clasps her hand around it.

She got her baby in the end. She got her family.

 Reaching for the glass of water on her nightstand and taking a few sips, she catches a glimpse of the digital clock next to it. It’s been around fifteen minutes since they started nursing, meaning she’s probably about halfway through. She should try to switch sides.

“Hey, Ev,” she whispers, brushing her thumb over the newborn’s chin. “You think we can do this? Maybe even somewhat smoothly?”

Evelyn hiccups at that, spitting out a little bit of milk that drips down Amy’s chest.

“Okay, forget smoothly. You think we can do this, period?”

 She gives Jake a longing glance, wondering if she should try to wake him and ask for help, but he’s sleeping so soundly despite the bright lighting that she decides against it. Besides, she’s totally got this. She’s just going to get a nursing pad and a burp cloth from the nightstand, and then she’s going to unclasp the other side of the tank top and bra and put the first side back together, and then -

 Evelyn pulls away suddenly - too quickly for the flow to stop - and it comes down all over her face, making her grimace in protest. Her little face scrunches up, and two seconds later, she's crying.

“Sscch, honey, it's okay,” Amy whispers, quickly following the instinct to hold her daughter upright against her chest, swaying slightly from side to side. “Sorry about that.”

She manages to reach for a burp cloth, wiping away the milk that seems to have gotten all over the newborn’s face. Evelyn stops crying and Amy takes a relieved breath, switching the newborn to her left arm and unclasping that side of her tank top and bra. Her daughter latches on, quicker this time, and Amy’s just about to relax again when she realizes she never had a chance to fix the other side, and now it’s leaking. She tries to at least clasp the hooks of the bra together, but what’s doable with her left hand is impossible with just her right, and she fumbles and gives up. She can’t get a nursing pad, either, because they’re on the nightstand to her left and she can’t reach for them without twisting herself completely and disturbing her daughter. She tries to use the burp cloth still in her hand to save some of the worst, but her tank top is already uncomfortably damp from it and Amy’s stuck.

 It’s so far from glamorous - new motherhood in general, but especially this right now - and she’s deliriously tired but so happy at the same time, it’s all she can do to laugh.

“This is a mess, huh, Ev?” She asks her daughter, adjusting the legs of her pajamas. Jake had remarked the other day that baby pajamas must be one of the most pointless inventions, considering newborns sleep as much or little no matter the time of the day, but they also both agreed on it being the cutest category of clothing known to mankind. This one has a pattern with smiling clouds and stars on it, and it’s already making Amy emotional to think that her daughter will have grown out of it in a couple of weeks.

“We’re all a bit of a mess right now,” she whispers to the child. “I think that's okay. We're figuring it out together. It’s all that matters.”

Evelyn hiccups, dribbling more milk over herself and Amy, and Amy can't help but laugh again because she’s slowly being covered in it and she's not going to have a chance at freshening up with a shower for several hours if she wants any sleep at all, and yet everything has never felt so perfect. A year ago, she wouldn’t have dared to dream of this, but now it’s her life.

 Jake yawns next to her, rubbing his eyes before looking up at them with an entertained grin.

“How are things going?”

“Messy,” Amy groans. “I’m not sure I’m nailing this thing just yet. There’s milk everywhere.”

“You're doing great,” he assures her, patting her leg, and she grimaces at the praise. “Need any help?”

“Desperately. Please fix this side for me,” she nods to her right and Jake laughs, but he gets out of bed, gets the stuff and fixes it for her without comment, bending down to kiss the top of their daughter’s head when he's done.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells them, slotting back on his side of the bed but supporting his head with his hand to hold himself up. “This - this is beautiful.”

“Ev's beautiful. I smell like sour milk and have never slept less in my life,” Amy corrects him, but he just smiles.

“You’ve never looked so happy before,” he says. “That's beautiful.”

She rolls her eyes at him, but it’s a loving eye-roll, because he’s absolutely right. Even with the exhaustion, messiness and slight chaos of the moment, she’s never been so happy.

 “I can’t believe we got here,” she whispers. Evelyn pulls away, finally seeming content, and Amy gives her over to Jake who practically shines with pride as he drapes a burp cloth over his shoulder.

“Told you we would.”

“I know.” Amy wipes a little bit of milk away from Evelyn’s chin with her thumb before kissing Jake’s cheek. “I love our family.”

“Mm-hmm,” he says, eyes soft as he looks at their daughter again. He pats her back a little harder and she looks right at him before letting out a loud burp, making both of her parents laugh. “So do I.”

 This, Amy thinks as Jake gets up to change another diaper while she closes her eyes to get the chance of a few more hours of sleep, this is how it was supposed to be.

   ~

[kinda-iconic]

A Terrible Mistake (part II)

Author’s Note: So here it is! My entry for Day 26 of the Choices May Challenge; due to my imagination running rather wild, I have decided to split this fic into more than two parts, so I apologise that this specific part is shorter than originally planned. In addition to this, though this one shot turned three-part fic is Kamilah x Amy centered, this particular part focuses on a conversation between Adrian and Kamilah - I thought that it would be nice to portray the aftermath of Amy’s departure on Kamilah, in addition to how Adrian would try to fix things between two of his closest friends. Part III should be out in the next couple of days - at least before Monday. 

Thank you @mrskamilxh​ for the prompt suggestion - I’m sorry that this has taken me so long to write!

Part I of ‘A Terrible Mistake’ can be found here... please read this BEFORE part two, otherwise none of this will make any sense.

Summary: A couple of days after Amy moved out of Kamilah’s penthouse, the pair are unwittingly brought together by Adrian. But before Kamilah can attempt to make amends with the woman she loves, she has to explain herself to Adrian.

Choices May Challenge Day 26 prompt: Loneliness

Word Count: 1′705

Warning: Language - it’s not bad, but it’s there!

Tagging: @bloodboundismylife​ @kamilah-the-bloodqueen​ @kamilah-is-queen​ @gavryllo​ @clansayeed​ @kamilahtopme​ @bellaraines​

‘You didn’t tell her I was here, did you?’

Kamilah stands in the middle of Adrian’s office, her arms folded firmly across her chest.

‘Amy hasn’t exactly been very responsive to my messages… and has pretty much ignored every attempt I have made to contact her.’

‘I haven’t told Amy anything,’ he meets her with a reassuring smile, ‘as far as she is aware, you are currently in Prague chairing a briefing with the Vice President of Ahmanet Financial.’

‘That’s a rather elaborate excuse,’ she pinches the bridge of her nose, shaking her head in whimsical befuddlement, ‘you may as well have lied to her.’

‘I would never lie to Amy,’ he takes a seat at his desk, reaching up to adjust his tie, ‘you may be my closest friend, Kamilah, but I value my friendship with her; she has been a good friend to me over the past year, and that’s something that I do not wish to lose. She trusts me to be honest with her.’

He meets her eyes for a moment, but it is not long before she looks away, glancing down at her blouse. She tugs at the hem, straightening the creases as she fixes her appearance.

‘I wish I could say the same…’

He regards her with a sympathetic gaze, frowning slightly at her response.

‘She’ll come around, Kamilah; you just have to give her time.’

‘I’m afraid that it’s not that simple, Adrian,’ she sighs defeatedly, tucking her hands under the fabric of her blazer, ‘this isn’t some playground spat.’

‘Yeah I’m aware,’ he cups his chin in his palm, ‘I spoke to her shortly after she arrived at her old apartment.’ He remains silent for a moment, his mind lost in thought, before pressing on, his inquisitiveness leaving a sour taste in Kamilah’s mouth.

‘Why did you do it?’

She scoffs, a sharp exhale escaping her as he regards her with puzzlement.

‘Why are you asking me this?’ She replays the events of that night in her head, grimacing at the memory of Amy’s face as she told her about the kiss, ‘you know what transpired that night!’

‘I didn’t ask you what happened, Kamilah… I asked you why.’

Her brows furrow as she watches him in astonishment, clearly startled by his questioning.

‘We argued, and I… I left her at home whilst I -’

‘Whilst you went and sought out the company of another.’

‘It wasn’t like that!’ She exclaims, her hands clenching into fists, ‘I would NEVER do something to intentionally hurt her!’

‘Then why did you -’

‘It was a moment of weakness, Adrian,’ she sighs defeatedly, running a frustrated hand across her face, ‘she was there, and I… I just… I needed to feel like myself again.’ She goes quiet for a moment, yet Adrian is able to hear her next few words, which remain barely audible to the ear.

‘I needed to feel like someone wanted me.’

‘You’ve never had a reason to feel unloved or unwanted,’ he interjects, his jaw clenched, ‘Amy is probably one of the kindest, most affectionate people that I have ever known. She wears her heart on her sleeve and has always gone out of her way to make you feel like the most important person in the room.’

‘I…’ she pauses momentarily, slightly taken aback by his utterance, ‘I know that…’

‘Do you love her?’

‘Of course I do!’ The intonation in her voice rises, and for the first time since she arrived at his office, Adrian is able to pick up on the passion in her tone, ‘I love her with all that I am.’

‘Then why didn’t you try and make amends with her instead of leaving her on her own?’

‘I was UPSET!’

‘And Amy wasn’t?’ He shakes his head in annoyance, conflict evident in his voice, ‘did you ever stop to think about how Amy would feel? How she felt after you left her alone in your apartment, or were you just solely focused on yourself?’

‘What?’ She stands before him, mouth agape in surprise, ‘how could you say that to me?’

‘Oh I don’t know, maybe because you seem to be focused on how this has affected you, rather than the impact that your actions have had on her.’

‘You don’t think that I haven’t thought about that?! You think that I haven’t spent the last few nights constantly reminding myself of what my actions have cost me? I have sat at my desk for days trying to work through the pain, but every time I manage a breakthrough my mind goes back to her!’ Her breath slowly catches in her throat, but she forces herself to press on, ‘I lie in bed at night hoping that all of this has been nothing more than a terrible dream, one that I cannot seem to shake... and that when I wake, she... she’ll be there.’

Adrian watches her for a moment, weighing the sincerity in her words, but once he notices her tearful expression, he shakes his head, clearing his mind of any negative thoughts. 

‘Why haven’t you told her all of this? Instead of acting as if you don’t give a damn about how this has hurt her…’

‘I DO GIVE A DAMN!’

‘I’m afraid that she doesn’t feel the same way.’

‘You’ve…you’ve spoken to her about this?’

‘Of course,’ he acknowledges her query with a brisk nod, ‘I may be her employer, but I’m also her friend.’

She quirks a brow in confusion, her expression one of befuddlement, ‘why didn’t you say anything to me when I called?’

He tilts his head, regarding her with curiosity.

‘Was I supposed to?’

‘Well… yes if my friendship meant as much to you as you claim it does.’

‘You know it does, Kamilah,’ he blinks slowly, as if trying to process the reason for her interrogative questioning, ‘but what about Amy’s wishes? Was I to just disrespect her by telling you what she had shared with me in confidence just to please you?’

‘What?’ She exclaims, clearly dumbfounded, ‘I never said that I wanted you to go behind her back!’

‘Then why ask me to engage in this conversation?’

Before Kamilah has the chance to respond, the pair are interrupted by a soft chime, alerting Adrian to a new message; he removes his phone from his pocket, checking the screen for any notification. After a while, he focuses his attention back on Kamilah, greeting her with a rueful smile. She takes a step towards his desk, her brows narrowed.

‘Do I even want to know who that was?’

He chuckles softly, shaking his head.

‘I’m not dating anyone, if that is what you’re insinuating…’

‘Well, you’re not exactly getting any younger,’ her voice is soft and melancholic, a wistful smile tugging at the corner of her lips, ‘and you shouldn’t prioritise my happiness over your own.’

He places his phone back into his pocket.

‘I’m afraid that the only way that I would be able to have that happiness is if I was to tread on other people’s toes,’ he spares Kamilah a nervous glance, unsure as to whether he should continue. He clears his throat, bowing his head as if to avert her eyes, ‘and you know that I could never be the person that stole someone else’s happily ever after to secure my own.’  

‘And I’m guessing that the toes you would be treading on are mine?’

He responds with a curt nod.

‘And the happily ever after that you seek is with…’

‘You know the answer to that question already,’ he sighs despondently, clasping the arms of his office chair, ‘but you know my stance on that matter.’

‘Well it’s not like you have a lot to take away from me,’ she closes her eyes briefly, exhaling sharply, ‘Amy and I haven’t spoken since she left.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that.’

Kamilah looks at him, confused.

‘I’m not following…’

‘The message I received,’ he flashes her a subtle, yet gregarious smile, ‘I asked Amy to come to my office just before the end of her shift.’

‘What?’ Her eyes widen at his words, throwing her hands up in frustration, ‘you know that she doesn’t want to talk to me, Adrian! I think she made that pretty clear when she BLOCKED my number for the first couple of days after.’

‘She doesn’t know, Kamilah,’ the pair divert their attention to his office door, subsequently becoming aware of the sound of familiar footsteps as they begin their approach, ‘I didn’t tell her that you were visiting today.’

‘Isn’t that the equivalent of a lie?’

‘No,’ he rises from his chair, tucking it underneath the table, ‘I told her that we had a few things to discuss, which is accurate, though I failed to make her aware that she would be talking to you first. Lying would imply telling her something that was untrue, so… what I have done here is more of an omission.’

She shakes her head in disbelief.

‘You do realise that she is going to hate you after this don’t you? You forced her hand.’

‘I have given you both the opportunity to address the status of your relationship, Kamilah. I haven’t forced either of you to do anything against your will,’ he walks over to the bookcase, retrieving a begotten flask from the shelf.  

‘But -’

‘You need closure, Kamilah,’ he hands her the flask, ‘as does she.’

‘But what if this is the end?’ She looks down at the phial, her gaze fixating on the intricate design of the material that protects the liquid contents, ‘what if this is the last time that we ever speak to one another?’

He meets her gaze for a moment, his demeanour softening as he notices the fear in her eyes, as if she is afraid of the outcome of this conversation. He thinks carefully for a moment, unsure as to how he should continue, but it is not long before he speaks, his words filling Kamilah with a newfound sense of purpose.  

‘You make it count,’ he walks around his desk, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, ‘and you show her that she is worth fighting for.’

[ts-unsolved]

The night we met

((i got carried away imagining this scenario, so here’s the conversation that lead to dee joining aboard the Investigation Station))

Summary: On principle, Dee tries to not let his major life choices be ruled by what happens over highly-priced drinks in crummy bars, but flying too close to the sun that was his old college rival had never been part of the equation before.  

Aka: Roman tries one last time to convince Dee to hunt ghosts with him, and he finally says yes. (Aka^2: can you believe Dee has been pining for two whole years? lmao get it together boi).

Content Warnings: Drinking, mentions of smoking, allusions to drug-dealing and generally shady/unsafe atmospheres, mild swearing, references to fights/stabbing/being killed, food descriptions/eating.

Word count: 2.4k – I am not the only traveler Who has not repaid his debt I’ve been searching for a trail to follow again Take me back to the night we met –

[February, 2015. Los Angeles, CA.]

With a languid roll of his wrist, Dee swirled the peach-colored liquid around his glass for what felt like the hundredth time since he had sat down at the round rickety table. Blame it on his keen intuition for arduous conversations, but he had not managed to settle his nerves since he and his companion had entered the dim and dusty bar, and something about the location they had found themselves in was only lending itself to his growing headache.

It wasn’t a secret that Roman’s family was loaded; Dee knew this for a fact, and yet out of all of the establishments in the city they could have gone to, the man had chosen such a lowkey place for them to meet. Perhaps in his mind the discrete look of the place was appropriate for a supposedly momentous conversation, although whatever grand idea Roman had of a ‘private business discussion’ definitely didn’t match the reality of what was going on in the shady establishment, all of which spoke of illegal activities with the subtlety of a glowing neon sign. From what he had already managed to discern from a quick glance, there were hands dealing under the tables, side-glances from couples locked in suspiciously hushed exchanges, not to mention the laundering scheme this place seemed to operate as a front for, barely even camouflaged under the displeasingly unkempt storefront with furniture that looked like it dated back to the 60′s and the pervasive smell of cigarette smoke to match.

Dee suppressed a grimace as he forced his attention away from surveying the landscape of the bar and back to the man sitting opposite him. By all means, this was the exact kind of place he would choose to hang out in if he were to catch up with some of his old high school friends, and yet being here with Roman Kingsley of all people somehow made him want to reevaluate the decisions that lead him to being in this clearly cursed timeline, because there had to have been a horribly wrong turn made somewhere.

As if sensing himself being at the center of Dee’s thoughts, Roman looked up from where he had been prodding at his unusually soggy plate of nachos (“…I was hungry, though I’m not so sure I am anymore.”), and shot Dee an unguarded twist of a smile. It was the kind of expression Roman clearly wasn’t used to wearing; which was to say that it was less of his usual brand of over-compensated arrogance and more hopeful uncertainty. Dee stared blankly back, being struck with a realization as he took in the figure that was bathed under the terrible lighting of the bar:

‘Ah. One way or another, this guy is going to be the death of me.’

Surprisingly, the thought didn’t perturb him as much as it should have. Sure, being mugged and/or stabbed in the alley out back because he had willingly accompanied this walking hotspot of disaster to one of the more dangerous parts of the city wasn’t exactly ideal, but in all honestly it didn’t feel like it would be much of a surprise for him to meet his end in such a dumb and grisly way. Of course, with his baby snake waiting for him back home he was hardly looking for trouble, and especially not at the expense of somebody he didn’t even send Christmas cards to. Even so, his gut told him that dead or alive, he wouldn’t be walking out of this bar without a semblance of trouble following him; a prospect he wasn’t sure if he found exhilarating or exhausting.

And so there the situation currently was, in an uneasy limbo. With a sigh, he pushed his nagging thoughts to the back of his mind for the moment and took a sip of his drink, finding brief refuge in the sugary film that coated his mouth and the back of his throat.

Roman tracked the glass with his eyes as it was set against the table and quirked his lips in that infuriatingly smug expression only the two of them could truly pull off. “I didn’t take you for a mocktail kind of guy. Lost your edge over the years?”

Dee simply raised an eyebrow in response. It wasn’t a surprise that Roman remembered his delinquent past, what was a surprise was how this was apparently not a determining factor in eliminating Dee as a potential co-worker given the goody-two-shoes friends the other loved to hang around. “What can I say? In my wise age, I’ve learned to value substance over a cheap high. I’d have assumed you’d have shared that viewpoint given our similar tastes for the unconventional, and yet...” He gestured to the very stereotypically masculine pint that sat in front of Roman, not untouched and yet not being attended to either. Roman scowled in response, more at the menu than at him.

“Normally I’d agree with you, but despite what you think, I don’t actually have the money to drop on overcharged garbage like some kind of idiot. I mean, look: the Merlot is $50 here, Dee. $50. For Merlot. That is borderline criminal!”

For a moment, the air in the bar stilled. Dee soon realized that Roman’s voice had gotten a tad too loud and wow he really did not want to get beaten up because this pipsqueak couldn’t figure out what the exchange of dirty money looked like even when it was staring him in the face. Time to move the subject along to something less contentious, because he really did not like the way the dead-eyed look the bartender was giving them.

“Please, you only have yourself to blame for your poor judgement calls. We’re not here to have a lovely evening out though, are we? Let’s just cut to the chase already.”

Roman simmered down with a click of his tongue, pausing to pick up a tortilla chip and eat it, only to look disappointed by the lack of crunch. Nevertheless, as asked, he dropped all pretenses of small talk. 

“You read my text, then? Have you thought your decision though any more?”

There it was, the million dollar question. While he had been acting nonchalant about the matter ever since Roman had first approached him with his offer, the truth was that he had been weighing the pros and cons of this decision for days now, to no end. Remus, that absolute bastard that he was, was probably having a real laugh at his expense right now, knowing fully well the position he had put his old pal in by pointing Roman's attention his way. Perhaps a little payback on Remus’ end was warranted for their less-than-stellar parting conversation, although Dee couldn’t help his ire at his friend (ex-friend? frenemy?) for setting him up for this infuriating no-win scenario. Years ago he, young and foolish, had hoped that Roman would have dropped his inane obsession with the paranormal by college graduation, but given his current predicament it seemed he had underestimated the tenacity of Remus’ brother. Time to test the waters of that commitment, he supposed.

“About the wacky little ghost show you’ve been raving about since the dawn of time? Can’t say you’ve really sold me on it. I am a rather busy guy, you know; I can’t just drop everything for a show pitch I’m not even convinced on.”

This was a slight twist of the truth. He had been between jobs for months, a lack of inspiration and not being able to stand his bosses and coworkers being the reason he just can’t seem to stick to one place. He had long-since given up on his dream of going into show business, so for a long time he had settled on just doing what he could to maintain a living. It wasn’t a fulfilling way to live, but he was surviving, and that was all that mattered.

Nevertheless, Roman was not thrown by the negative response and instead puffed out his chest in a show of indignation. Clearly he would not be taking no for an answer without a fair fight, which likely spelled bad news for how this evening was going to go. “It’s not ‘wacky’, it’s a serious show for serious investigations! I’m really trying to prove the existence of ghosts here.”

“Right…” Dee squinted his eyes skeptically. “And you are aware that I don’t believe in ghosts, yes?”

“Obviously. Did you think I missed the three years of you being a dick about it?”

Ah, memories. Dee didn’t bother to hide his amusement at Roman’s grumbling. “My my, you’re still holding a grudge about that? Here I thought my depiction of Hamlet’s father was enough to wipe the slate clean. Didn’t it please you to see your greatest enemy play one of the spooky creatures you like so much?”

Rather delightfully, frustration gave way and the corners Roman’s eyes crinkled with the beginnings of mirth before he quickly hid the expression away by shoving another chip into his mouth. It was the kind of reaction Dee was still growing used to seeing from their back-and-forths, not quite being sure when their exchanges of teasing remarks had crossed the line into something more friendly. That said, it was certainly not an unpleasant development; in some senses, it felt rather rewarding to catch a glimpse of something less refined behind a curtain of perfectionism, much like seeing the behind-the-scenes of a broadway production. 

“Oh don’t get me wrong, you really did give an excellent performance. I can still remember act one scene five like it was yesterday. 'Tis given out that, sleeping in my orchard, a serpent stung me; so the whole ear of Denmark is by a forged process of my death’!” Roman dramatically reenacted the performance, hand pressed to his heart, and Dee preened under the praise.

“Why thank you. The dull lead was quite a letdown, though we certainly outdid ourselves in spite of the poor casting, didn’t we? Still, I can’t say that flattery will convince me to hunt ghosts with you or... whatever it is you were hoping for. The point still stands that it’s not exactly the sort of thing I’ve ever pictured putting on my resume.”

Roman’s smile faltered and he cleared his throat awkwardly. Without the comfort of dancing around their thoughts with friendly banter, things got uncomfortably serious a tad too quickly, it seemed. 

“I get that it’s... not ideal to you, considering how you always had high aspirations for your career, and a webshow is probably too low on the radar for your pompous-self. Heh... To be honest, I’m not sure why Remus thought you’d be a good candidate for the job,” Wow, rude. “But he did, and I’m kind of out of options here.”

Roman paused, the buzz of bar filling the silence between them as he clearly struggled to speak what was on his mind.

“Actually, the more I think about it, I can’t come up with anyone else I’d like to join more than you. You’d be a great host! You’re good at talking to crowds when you want to, you know how to improv, you’re one of the funniest people from our class, and as much as I hate to admit it, I always enjoyed acting with you on stage-”

At some point during Roman’s rant, Dee’s brain short-circuited with the words, and even as he tried to process they just kept on coming, to his absolute befuddlement.

“-And I guess I feel like you’d co- ...Hey, phantom of the opera, are you even listening to me?! I’m pretty much singing your praises here, which let me tell you, is rare for me, and you’re staring off into space! If you’re that disinterested, you should just say so.”

“Sorry. I was paying attention, I just...”

Dee scrunched his eyes shut as he tried to work through what Roman had said. Maybe it shouldn’t be such a shock to hear the compliments coming from someone he regarded as being an equal in terms of talent, yet part of him still screamed at him that it was only empty flattery to sway his decision. Sure enough, while it may be true that his cynicism had never failed him in the past, he still yearned to ignore the knee-jerk judgment and choose the better option, the one which meant that he was considered the first choice for something and his presence was wanted. Unbelievably, even to himself, he found himself tempted, if only by the warmth that came from such a thought. Perhaps if he was without the greater knowledge that he had, he would have jumped at the opportunity in a heartbeat, however the fact still remained that he was tired and worn from years of strife. At this point in his life, self-preservation was the only thing keeping him going, and so the idea of leaving the peaceful bubble he had built up itched like nothing else. But then, his thoughts drifted back to what could happen, of letting down Remus who had obviously entrusted him in this, despite everything they had gone through.

He truly must be growing soft, if he was willingly jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.

(And was that so bad, to try to feel some warmth again?)

Begrudgingly, he opened his eyes to Roman’s concerned face. 

“...Alright. Perhaps flattery does get you some places. With such a compelling argument, how could I possibly say no?” He drawled, as nonchalantly as he could possibly muster.

Already flustered by his decision to agree so readily, he picked up his overly-sugary drink as a means to avoid eye-contact, though when seconds passed with no audible response, his focus still ended up being drawn to the other man for his reaction. Roman’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates and simultaneously filled with joy; despite the muddy brown of the lighting that had washed out his features into a pool of shadows, they looked as if they were sparkling.

Dee felt the wind knocked out of him at having that expression pointed towards him. It seemed like it had been so long since somebody had been brought that much happiness because of something he did. This...wasn’t a terrible feeling, he decided in that moment.

“That wasn’t sarcasm, was it? You really want to join?!” Roman just about yelled, drawing back the eyes of a few of the other patrons. Dee chuckled nervously, wondering how he could get them out of the building as swiftly as possible without causing further ruckus. If they would be working together, the last thing they needed was to get into a fist-fight, after all.

“I do. Please don’t make me regret my decision.”

In return, he was given a beaming smile, one that equally eased his uncertainties and spoke of future trouble.

“You won’t, I promise.”

[sidespromptblog]

Truly.: Part 4 (End)

One, Two, Three

Summary: And just like that, walking further and further away from Thomas’ house, his host, and all of the other sides…

Logan was alone, truly alone.

Word Count: 2900

AO3 LINK

To say that Virgil was worried when the second hour of Deceit being gone had passed, was just as easy and obvious as saying that Roman was the most extra man he’d ever seen in his entire life. It had been two hours, two whole hours since he had last seen Deceit, and two whole hours since Deceit had promised to bring Logan back to them. He had spent one of those hours pacing like a caged tiger back and forth in the confines of Deceit’s room, occasionally stepping all over the dishonest side’s strewn out clothing that he hadn’t bothered to put up or even wash. The next ten minutes had been spent organizing such a mess, or at least until he had been summoned by the others. 

“You’re sure that he’s going to find him?” Patton nervously asked, his leg bouncing up and down from where he was standing, as Virgil sat before him on the couch a mess of fabrics strewn out before them. “What if he doesn’t come back?” 

It’s almost freezing outside. His mind helpfully and quite vindictively supplied in a way that made his heart jump in his chest. He’s part snake, his internal organs could shut down and he could die, cold and alone with nobody to even know or care where he was. He already thinks that you hate him, he’ll die thinking that. He’ll die knowing that he’s alone and-

“He will.” Virgil snapped out, not meaning for it to sound so harsh as he chased away the thoughts and internal images of Deceit being curled up on the side of the road somewhere. “He’s going to come back and he’s going to come back with Logan. Just trust him.” Like he did? He had never trusted Deceit before now, and yet… the other side hadn’t even spared a second after he had asked him to help. “He’s self-preservation too Pat, he’ll find Lo and he’ll bring him back. I promise.” 

The needle pricked at his fingers as he absentmindedly tugged the white string through the bright honey-golden material of the jacket. 

He had to come back, he still needed to give him his jacket. 

He had to… Virgil needed him to. He needed to tell him that-

The sound of the door opening and shutting snapped Virgil’s attention away from the jacket, just as it snapped Patton’s, Roman’s, and Remus’ attention away from mulling and worrying. Like a cast of hawks, their attention laser-focused onto the two sides that had just come through the door, a pair of sides that were still rubbing their arms in an attempt to ward off the chill that clung to them like sand burrs from the outside world. Their cheeks and noses had a light dusting of pink on them, from where the winter wind had nipped at the open portion of their face spreading a shade of coloring their that hadn’t previously been there. 

They were home. 

“Logan!” Several voices chimed in as the sounds of pattering feet across the living room floor, ran towards their resident logical side as if even the forces of down under wouldn’t be able to stop them then. There would have been several collisions had Logan not held his hand out then, as it became obvious only then that he was holding several pizza boxes. 

“I brought dinner,” Came the even and stoic reply that hid the nervousness and sheer terror lingering underneath. “I need to talk to you all.” 

And just like that, the cheery tone took an abrupt nosedive as the logical side set the pizzas down on the coffee table. But not before sending one last equally stern and resolute look towards Deceit, who had remained standing at the door not making a single move since they had come in and most certainly not smiling at the joy from the other sides. It had been almost like he had been invisible to the others, with them barely offering him a second thought. Not that he minded too terribly, he was kind of meant to be ignored. It was just who he was, and besides… it gave him extra time to just… think about what on earth he was going to tell Virgil, that would even come close to satisfying the deal between him and Logan. 

He just needed to get it out of the way, so that he could go back to his room and they could pretend like he never brought Logan back in the first place. 

Looking up, his eyes locked onto Virgil’s and that pit in his stomach wormed its way into being a black hole. 

It was either now… or never. And Logan wasn’t going to stand for it being never. 

“I need to tell you something,” Deceit stopped Virgil dead in his tracks as he extended his arm stopping the anxious side from joining the others on the couch. With no more than a gentle nudge towards the kitchen, they stood there in silence for a moment. At least until... “Ordinarily you would never hear about this, the only reason you are learning about it right now… is because Logan wants me to tell you. But more importantly…” Deceit swallowed, “This isn’t a ploy to make you feel guilty, I’m not lying to you, and… I honestly don’t expect anything to come from me telling you this. Nothing has to change after I tell you this, and… I really don’t expect it to. You can keep hating me, and.. and I’m not going to ever hold it against you. I promise, Virgil.” 

If it was possible, the anxious side in question felt that pit in his stomach widen more and more. Rationally he knew.. he knew that Deceit was telling him all of this to lessen some kind of impact, and whatever impact it was… it wasn’t going to be a good one. Otherwise, the dishonest side would have just told him, and walked away. He was only saying this, because in whatever he was going to say… it was bad, it was really and truly bad. 

Was he dying? 

That one thought alone sent a spike of terror through his already pounding heart, it hammered against his chest until the only thing he could hear was the slamming of it against his ribs. There was no way… no way on earth that sides could die. Right? And someone like Deceit wouldn’t be nearly so calm about it, he’d have plans and he’d fight to stay alive if he was dying right? He’d address them all if that were the case, because despite it all.. him dying… as much as Virgil hated to admit it, would in fact negatively affect Thomas. There would need to be extensive plans in order to make up for Deceit’s absence and.. And… He couldn’t be dying right? 

He couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t be...

“I…” Virgil’s eyes snapped back to Deceit in an instant almost as soon as the other side opened his mouth. He looked nervous, Virgil could feel the anxiety pouring out of Deceit, as if it were oozing from every single one of his pores. Guilt, the expression on Deceit’s face was… guilt. “I… Ran away after you left to live with the light sides.”  

Everything came to a screeching halt. 

“What?” 

His words were no more than a whisper, and yet Deceit looked as if he had just shouted them into his face.

“I.. I was gone for two and a half weeks before I came back.” The dishonest side carried on, completely oblivious to the mounting horror that was sweeping through Virgil with every new addition to this new information. “I won’t say that I’m sorry for leaving,” Deceit finally said, and something vicious and ruthless twisted in Virgil’s gut. “Because I’m not sorry that I left, I know that you probably don’t want to hear about this, and a part of me would be content to take this with me to my grave. Remus doesn’t even know that I was gone, I didn’t want anyone to know that I had even left.” Nervous hands twisted at the scarf around Deceit’s neck, and just when Virgil had thought that the emotional kick to the balls had already come. “Usually when I think back to leaving… I wish that I had never come back.”

That hurt.

There were no words, anything that Virgil could have drawn from… any past experience with Remus running away or even Logan leaving for as brief as he did. It all left him completely blank in the face of… this. What on earth could he say to this? What could he say to the revelation that him leaving… him acting the way he did, not only pushed Deceit away… but it made him get as far as he possibly could from not only him.. but everyone else as well. What exactly could he say… that wouldn’t ruin things beyond what they were already? 

Remus had been right… despite going to the light sides, he.. he never really was able to stop being the bad guy. 

He just kept hurting people, again and again…

“This isn’t a ploy to make you feel guilty, I’m not lying to you, and… I honestly don’t expect anything to come from me telling you this. Nothing has to change after I tell you this, and… I really don’t expect it to. You can keep hating me, and.. and I’m not going to ever hold it against you. I promise, Virgil.” Deceit had said to him, without a single lingering lie in his voice and an open honesty in his eyes. He honestly wasn’t expecting Virgil to give two shits about what he was going to tell him, he was just doing this because of the deal he had made with Logan. 

He didn’t expect Virgil to care. He expected him to just walk away without even giving so much as a second thought to everything he had just been told. He expected Virgil to go on hating him. 

A tired and quite frankly exhausted ghost of a smile curled on Deceit’s lips, a look of hopelessness spreading like wildfire in his eyes. “I’m sorry that you ever had to learn this, but thank you for listening regardless. But please just… forget everything I just said to you, don’t let it weigh you down any.” And just like that… the dishonest side stepped back, moving to sink down and return to the safety of his bedroom so that he could spend the next week curled up in his own bed not talking to a single soul. Because maybe if he laid in one position long enough, perhaps moss would start to grow on him and suck away every feeling and sensation that he had so that he could just watch cute snake videos instead of crying. 

That was much more preferable. 

A fist seized the back of his shirt, seizing the fabric before ruthlessly jerking him back before he could so much as start sinking down. 

Virgil’s arms constricted around him, squeezing him so very tightly and smooshing Deceit’s face right against his chest as he held onto the dishonest side for dear life. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?!” He blurted out, squeezing the other side all the tighter. “You could have gotten hurt and none of us would have known about it! You could have gotten mugged in an alleyway with no one to find you! You could have died!” With his arms still wrapped around Deceit like a python learning to hug for the first time, he gingerly swayed the both of them from side to side. “Don’t you ever do that again, especially not without leaving a note or at least telling someone first!” 

For a moment, there was silence between them. 

At least until Virgil felt Deceit’s fingers bunching the material of his shirt, and the other’s face pressing into his shoulder. 

“You… actually, care about that? Why?”

Just the sheer fact that Deceit asked, let alone in that whispery unsure and even more borderline terrified voice wrecked Virgil’s soul. Because… that should never even be a question that the other side needed to ask him, it should never be a question that Virgil made him feel like he needed to ask in the first place. He should be better than this, he should do better than something like this. He had made Deceit feel like he needed to leave, and.. and not a single soul had noticed that he had been gone. Virgil should have noticed, he should have been there to stop it or in the very least open up a channel for Deceit to come to him if he had those kinds of urges. 

They had been a family once, until he left. 

“Because I’m sorry,” He whispered into Deceit’s messy curly locks, “I care, I honest to god care about you and I care about Remus. I should have shown it better, even if I did leave. I.. shouldn’t have ignored you. You deserve better, you don’t deserve to be ignored, and you don’t deserve to be alone. That… I can promise you.”  

He wasn’t going to cry, Deceit had told himself that after bawling in front of Logan… he wasn’t going to cry. 

But hearing those words from Virgil, a promise that he wasn’t some monster to be hated, feared, or even shunned… It made his eyes get a little misty as he clung even harder to Virgil and his shirt, burying his face into the others shoulder just the slightest bit more as he attempted to focus on keeping it together and not turning into a sobbing wreck where just anyone could hear and see him. It would be entirely too embarrassing to even think about right now. 

A few tears slipped out, staining the fabric of Virgil’s shirt.

Before the overwhelming guilt and shame could even stick, a gentle hand ran over the back of his head gingerly smoothing down his unruly hair. “It’s okay,” Virgil’s voice was so very gentle and soft that it nearly made the dishonest side burst into uncontrollable sobs right then and there, “You’re okay Dee,” He whispered, slowly rocking the both of them back and forth. “Now come on, let’s go have some of that dinner that you and Logan brought. I’m starved.”

For a second, a single split second. A draft of overwhelming uncertainty and sheer horror dawned on Deceit as Virgil’s hand slipped into his, leading him back to the living room where everyone else was. Would they accept him being there? Would they even want him there? Logan would, but the others… They’d just want to go straight back to ignoring his very presence until he asserted himself, didn’t they? Why wouldn’t they? 

Sure Virgil didn’t hate him now, but that didn’t mean that- 

Time slowed to a crawl as soon as he stepped foot into the living room, everyone was crowded around Logan. With Patton having seized the logical side into a hug on his front, and Roman hugging the logical side’s back with even Remus giving a sympathetic pat on his shoulder. Clearly, Logan had done his part of the talking, just as Deceit had just done his. And yet… Everyone looked up as soon as he and Virgil entered, and everyone was looking at him. They were all staring, were they going to tell him to go away? 

“You still like cheese pizza yeah?” Virgil asked, and just like that the tension flooded out of the room as soon as Deceit found his seat squished next to Logan and Virgil. The couch was in no way made for that many people to sit on it, but with Remus languidly laying across the top and Roman sitting on the armrest they were fitting easily enough. 

“Yeah,” Came his soft whisper, and just like that dinner began. 

It was… the first dinner he had ever been included in since Virgil had left. He was so used to either spending so many nights sitting alone at the dinner table or just taking his food to his bedroom and just watching videos as he ate by himself. So, as far as firsts went… this one wasn’t too terrible, Remus, of course, attempted to stuff five different pizza slices and flavors into their mouth. But… all in all, it wasn’t terrible, and by the end of it, he felt…

Nice, he believed that the world was nice. 

Eventually, after cleaning up everything and setting the cleaned cups aside it was time to go back to his room. However, before he could even think to sink down, and collapse onto his bed and conk out for eighteen straight hours…

“Deceit,” Turning his head at Virgil’s voice, he was soon met with a face full of fabric having been thrown straight at his face. “I told you I’d make the jacket,” Cradling the soft and so very warm fabric in his arms, Deceit stared openly back at the equally warm smirk on the anxious side’s face. “Come back again tomorrow, and I can help you put your logo and even some thumb holes on it. If you want.”   

He did want it, he so desperately wanted it. 

“It’s a date then.” 

He didn’t want to be alone anymore, and he wouldn’t be.

[spaceskam]

Ok what about a super angsty where micheals mum makes him leave Caulfield earlier - like before Alex finds him earlier - and then Michael and Kyle make it out and realise the absolute worst thing has just happened

your mind anon. i hope i don’t disappoint--I added a happy ending because i’m a sucker for a happy ending

ao3

“Where’s Alex?”

Michael was buzzing. He had a mom. She loved him. She really, really loved him. Loved him enough to tell him to save himself instead of dying to save her. It was a hard sell, but she was very convincing. Besides, how could he disobey the only thing his mother ever told him?

It was only when he ran into Valenti outside by the truck completely alone that he regretted listening.

“Me where’s Alex? You where’s Alex?!” Valenti yelled, panic growing on his face more and more by the second. It did nothing but make Michael panic more. It weighed heavy in his chest as he looked towards the building. He still had a few seconds before it blew up. “I told him to go get you!” 

Oh no. No, no, no.

Michael went running back to the building, but Kyle grabbed him with a strong grip.

“What are you doing?!” Kyle screamed as if he’d lost it. Maybe he had.

But he absolutely would if he didn’t go get Alex. He needed Alex. He didn’t really know where they stood, but he needed him. He needed his fluffy hair and his new colorful shirts and his sarcastic smile and the way he breathed when he slept. Or, just the way he breathed. He needed to breathe.

“Alex!” Michael screamed, not knowing what to do with all the feelings in his body. They were blinding. He wanted to throw Kyle off, but he also knew he should stay. His mom told him to, Kyle told him to, Alex probably would’ve told him to if he was here. Oh, God. “Alex! I’m outside! Alex! Come on, please! Alex!”

It took everything in him. He could feel his voice carrying more than it should, power rippling off him in a way it never has before. A trail of sand towards the prison parted like the Red Sea to make way for it. He yelled Alex’s name through it, the ground shaking in reply. Kyle wrapped his arms around Michael’s chest, holding him back tighter.

When the building blew, they both collapsed to their knees.

“Alex!” Michael sobbed. He couldn’t tell what was shaking the Earth more: his cries or the explosion.

“It’s okay. He’s okay,” Kyle said in quite possibly the least convincing way ever. He was holding him tightly and it was easily the closest he would ever be to Kyle Valenti.

He dreaded the moment he’d let go.

“Alex!” he screamed with his last bit of breath.

He collapsed further, falling face-first into the sand in front of him and bringing Kyle along. He laid sandwiched between Valenti and the ground with the heat of a building on fire making it even hotter as he sobbed pathetically. He couldn’t help it.

He couldn’t feel anything but pain. He couldn’t feel Alex and that’s all he needed to feel to okay, but it wasn’t there. Head to toe, he ached. Kyle was crying against his shoulder. With a body on top of him, he’d never felt so alone.

They laid there for a while, not moving except for occasionally calling for Alex. He was okay. He had to be okay. Michael refused to lose his mother and Alex at the same time. Alex had survived war and a childhood from hell and losing his leg and a million other terrible things: he could survive this.

Alex could survive anything.

“Alex.”

-

Kyle pulled Michael to his feet.

He was a crying, slobbering mess and Kyle could still feel his power deep in his bones. He didn’t know aliens could do what he just did, he wasn’t entirely sure what he even did. All he knew was he was rippling with energy in a way that had Kyle unable to keep his cool.

Kyle knew Alex. He had faith that he’d gotten out. He couldn’t see him, but he was sure that he wouldn’t stay in a doomed building. Not for anyone, not even for Guerin. He probably made it out of a different exit. Alex was probably fine.

“Hey,” Kyle said as he grabbed Guerin’s face. He wouldn't have even tried this before he himself calmed down. Telling someone it would be fine when you were crying was a hard feat. “Hey.”

“No,” Guerin whined, shaking his head through his tears. He gasped loudly. “No. Alex. I need… We need… No, no, no, Alex.”

“Guerin,” Kyle said, steady and regulated as he would to a panicked patient, “Let’s get in the truck okay?”

His eyes went wide. “No. I’m not leaving him.” Kyle shook his head.

“I’m not saying leave him,” Kyle said, “I’m saying let’s drive around to find him.”

“No, I’m staying.”

“Guerin, he might‒”

“No!” Michael damn-near roared, “No.” He looked so intense and Kyle could feel the power in him. He felt dangerous.  “I-I have to stay. He knows where we are, he’ll find me. He always finds me.”

Kyle had less than a few seconds to take in all that that might’ve meant before Guerin doubled over and started vomiting between them.

Yeah. A fuck ton of power.

It took a while, but Kyle got him to sit down again. They leaned against the truck as they waited. Kyle felt antsy not doing anything, but Michael felt like a bomb and he wasn’t going to be the one to set it off. Especially when he knew Alex was okay. He had to be. He was Alex.

Kyle couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to go searching. Alex could be hurt. He probably survived, but he could be hurt. The longer he waited, the worse he felt. Guerin passed out, either from the crying or the power drain or the trauma, but Kyle was still up. When night fell, he was still up.

Still waiting for Alex.

-

Floating was new.

Falling was not.

Alex couldn’t really remember what happened. He remembered Kyle pointing to where Michael was and then he couldn’t find him and then he heard glass shattering and then… that was it. He groaned into the sand beneath him, trying to remembering coming outside or, better yet, trying to figure out how the fuck he had been floating.

He looked around for Michael because that had to be it. He’d told him he’d floated a body before, he probably did the same to help Alex. However, instead of Michael, he just saw an elderly woman collapsed in the sand not too far from him. She was covered in a layer of soot and not moving, but she didn’t look to be actually burnt.

When he looked behind him, Caulfield was just a giant fire. He wondered how she managed to survive the explosion if she was close enough to get soot on her. Hell, Alex had soot on him. He could smell the nasty scent of singed hair and was too scared to check his own head before scrambling over to the woman.

“Are you alright?” he asked, turning his head to cough, “Ma’am?” He grabbed her shoulders, gently rolling her onto her back to see if she was okay.

Her eyes were shut and it didn’t look like she was breathing, but she still had a pulse. He put his hand by her mouth and saw that she was breathing, but, God, it was faint. He didn’t know what to do.

“Kyle?!” Alex yelled, looking around, but he didn’t even know where the hell he was. The prison was visible, but the fire made it impossible to tell which side they were on. Kyle could be a mile away. “Fuck.”

Alex had CPR training, but it’d been a long time since that. Still, he tried anyway. He needed to thank her for saving his life. Jesus, why would she save his life? He wore the face of his father and she was clearly an alien‒she should’ve reveled in watching him burn. Instead, she used everything she had saving him.

After a couple of chest compressions and breathing into her mouth, he realized it wasn’t doing much.

“Please, please stay with me. Just long enough to find my friend‒he’s a doctor, he can help,” Alex promised even though it was clear she was unconscious. He just wanted to save her. So many people in there just died, he needed to save her. Not even considering the fact that she’d just saved him, she just deserved a life outside of prison. She could help so much and he’d have someone for Michael to learn from.  

Oh God, Michael.

Alex shook any negative thoughts out of his head. Michael was probably alright, he probably made it out. That’s why he couldn’t find him. Thinking negatively about it would only make him panic and that wouldn’t save anyone.

When the woman slowly opened her eyes, thoughts of Michael still hummed in the back of his brain.

“Hey, hey,” Alex said, grabbing her hand because he didn’t know what else to do, “It’s going to be okay. I just need to find my friend. We’re going to save you.” She shook her head slowly. “No? What do you mean no?”

She blinked slowly, struggling to take in a heavy breath. He wanted to help her, but he didn’t know how. He wasn’t trained for this.

“Why did you save me?” he asked before he could stop himself. It was a selfish question to ask when someone was dying.

Yet, she managed a smile.

”He called for you.”

The voice was entirely in his head. He could hear it there and, while normally it might’ve freaked him out, right now it just brought him comfort. He relaxed and her smile stayed.

“He?”

”He shattered boundaries for you.”

“Who is he?” Alex asked calmly. She wheezed a breath.

”It was too much for you. He is Sun. You are Earth.”

“I don’t understand,” Alex told her, tightening his grip on her hand. He wanted to know everything she had to share. He wanted her to survive so she could tell him everything. God, where the fuck was Kyle?

”He needed you breathing.”

“I am breathing,” Alex said lightly, “Because of you. Now I need you to breathe.” She tried. He had to give her that.

”It was too much, but I could give him you.”

God, why did she have to be so fucking cryptic? Clearly Michael’s ability to talk in constant fucking metaphor was an alien thing. However, Alex had never been stupid, and he realized that maybe she was just weak. Michael had explained how the less they use their power, the weaker it makes them when they do use it. Maybe she had just exerted so much to save him and she hadn’t been in practice due to being caged up for years, so this was just something he needed to get her past.

“Wait, hold on,” Alex said, letting go of her for only long enough to grab the backpack that was still on him. He pulled out a water bottle full of acetone that had originally been for Michael just in case.

Alex helped her sit up and let her lean against him as he slowly helped her drink some. He knew it wouldn’t heal her, but it would relieve her pain of overusing her power. It was like a muscle that had been badly pulled. He knew first hand that a little pain relief could save your life.

She grabbed his hand again.

”He is Sun.”

“He’s the sun?” Alex repeated out loud, trying to understand who he was. He didn’t know any alien in Caulfield, definitely not one that would shatter boundaries for him, whatever that meant. “Who is he? Do you need me to find him? Can he help you? Is he alive?”

She smiled easy, breathing a little better than before. That was exciting. She might live.

”He shattered boundaries for you. I had to save him you.”

“What does that mean?” Alex pleaded. She didn’t answer. “Are you alright? Can you walk? Can we try to find my friend? He can help you.”

She shook her head which didn’t help since she asked so many questions. Was she not alright enough to walk, or did she not trust that Kyle could help her?

”He is in you. You are in him. I am so happy.”

Alex froze for a moment. “Wait, is he the sun, or is he your son?” She smiled.

”He is so beautiful.”

It took him longer than it should’ve, but Alex caught on that he did know an alien in Caulfield. One who would probably break through alien-proof glass to save him. One who could probably knock him out with overwhelming power. One who was as beautiful as the sun. And one whose mother Alex was apparently holding.

“Michael, we need Michael,” Alex said, more to himself than to her, “Guerin! Guerin!” He was yelling as loud as he could, but Michael was nowhere in sight.

He needed to find him.

“I can carry you,” Alex suggested and he knew it’d probably destroy his stump with the extra weight in the prosthetic, but she couldn’t be that heavy. She was starved and imprisoned for decades and he was feeling adrenaline rise in him. “You saved me for him and now I’m going to save you for him. Just please hold on.”

”You are Earth.”

-

Michael woke with a crick in his neck, vomit on his breath, and feeling completely drained.

It was pitch black except for the fire still burning. He felt empty as he stared at it. He hoped it was fast and that his mom didn’t suffer. Even if that wasn’t the case, he chose to believe it was.

“You’re up,” Valenti said beside him. His voice was plain and flat like he didn’t actually give a shit that he was up. Michael looked around a little more. Still no Alex. Still no Alex. No Alex. Alex.

A jolt rocked through him and he sat up straight again.

“Alex?” he called, standing up. His legs didn’t want to hold him up and he had to brace himself against the truck. Alex wasn’t inside it. “Alex?!”

“Guerin,” Kyle said dryly, “Alex isn’t here. I… I don’t think Alex‒”

“Shut the fuck up,” Michael spat. He refused to hear what he was about to say. He didn’t need that. He needed Alex. “Alex!”

His voice was still hoarse from when he’d yelled earlier, but that wasn’t going to stop him.

“Guerin!” Kyle yelled back, looking cried out and tired as he stood to his feet, “Alex didn’t fucking make it! If he had, he’s probably dead now because we didn’t go looking for him!”

“So, what, it’s my fault?!” Michael snapped. Oh, God, it was his fault. Not for not searching, but for his life being endangered in the first place. Why did he break the glass? Why did he do that? He killed Alex and his mom. He killed them.

He killed them.

“Guerin?” Kyle said softly as if he didn’t just yell at him.

“I killed Alex.” Kyle’s eyes widened and he shook his head, taking a step forward. “I killed Alex. He’s… I killed him.” He couldn’t say anything else. He was shaking. Alex was gone. He didn’t get to hold him or kiss him or anything. Alex was gone and he never got to say he loved him.

“No, listen, I need you to‒”

“I don’t care what you need!” In time with his scream, Kyle flew back. He landed a few yards away in the sand with a thud, sliding even further.

Alex was dead. His mother was dead. He killed the only two people who gave him something to live for. They were the only two people who made him feel like he belonged, if only for a moment.

They gave him everything and he killed them for it.

-

She was heavier the longer they walked, but Alex pushed through.

Once he got his bearings, he was able to see they were towards the west end of the prison. They just had to walk around to the front to get to the truck where he hoped Kyle and Michael would be. There was a massive chance that they left him thinking he was dead which would definitely suck, but he’d seen other vehicles. He could always steal one. He knew how to hotwire just fine.

Alex made sure to check that she was okay every few yards. Her breathing was progressively getting more stable, though she would still need help whenever he got her to Kyle. She was a fucking fighter.

He did his best to keep his mind off his aching leg by thinking of Michael. Clearly, if he was able to telepathically let her know that Alex was his to save then he must be okay. That was good. So, so good. The fear of him dying was about a million times scarier than Alex himself dying and it was good to know that he survived a massive explosion. It made him think that maybe it was time to clear the air a little bit better, though. Michael was still being distant and still obviously thought they were on opposing sides. If they were going to start almost dying regularly, he should probably make it clear he loves him.

It was well into the night by the time they got close enough to wear the truck was to see that it was still there. That was a massive relief. What wasn’t a massive relief was the fact that Micahel was throwing up and Kyle was laying on the ground.

“Kyle!” Alex called once he was close enough. He needed Kyle to wake up so he could look over Michael’s mom.

Fuck. That still hadn’t really set in. He had a mom. One who loved him enough to save someone who looked like the people who had tortured her.

“Alex?” both men said back, their tones completely different. Kyle sounded relieved; Michael sounded like he was crying.

“Kyle,” Alex said when he got closer, “She’s barely breathing.” Kyle groaned as he sat up, but did as Alex asked once he placed her back in the sand. She gave him a warm smile and squeezed his hand.

“I thought you were dead,” Kyle said told him, shaking his head before he turned to Michael’s mother. He used his shirt to wipe soot from her face. Why didn’t Alex think of that?

Alex turned to Michael who was on his knees and had his head against the truck, a couple of piles of bile surrounding him. It made his heart ache. He walked closer.

“Guerin?” Alex asked, his heart thudding. He was tired and in pain, but he could suffer a few extra minutes for Michael. “You alright?”

“How can you say that?” Michael asked, voice thick with tears, “I thought I killed you and you just, just stroll up hours later acting like it’s fine. Like you haven’t been missing. Like I didn’t almost kill you.”

Because this isn’t the time, is what he didn’t say, I’ll save all those feelings for later when I’m alone. Instead, he said: “Why did you think you killed me?”

He whined, shaking his head. He still hadn’t looked at him. “I set off the alarm.”

“So?”

“So, I almost killed you! I thought you were dead! I didn’t even go back in to save you! I didn’t look for you! I‒” Michael’s sobs cut his voice short and Alex knelt beside him, thankful for the momentary release off the stump as he put his weight on his knees.

“Hey, you know what actually happened?” Alex said, reaching out to sub his back, “You apparently sent out some power that was so strong that it broke your mom out. It also knocked me out, which is a good thing because I never would’ve left without you. It gave her enough time to save me. So, really, it was some badass teamwork.”

“No,” Michael said, “You’re the badass. You went deeper into an exploding building to find me. Who does that? You’re insane.”

“Yeah,” Alex chuckled, “Maybe so, but I think, out of everyone, your mom's the badass. Dragged me away from an explosion with her fucking mind."

Michael shook his head, "I can't believe this."

"I'm okay, she's okay, you're okay. Believe that," Alex said and Michael breathed heavily, "None of what just happened was your fault.”

Michael finally looked at him, face pale and eyes tired. Still beautiful.

“I love you,” Michael said. Alex was thankful because it made it a whole lot easier than it would’ve been to say it first. “Please don’t make me think I killed you again.”

“As long as you don’t make me think I killed you again,” Alex said, leaning forward just enough to put his forehead on Michael’s temple. “I love you too.”

Now he just needed a nap.

[erideights]

Tired eyes.

Request by @lilcutekittykat : Y/N has a lack of sleep meaning they are very upset with the world. Crowley being Crowley accidentally messes things up and now he has to fix it. 

(This is my very first request in my life (!!!!!) so I hope it’s what you wanted!)

Pairing: Crowley x Gender Neutral!Reader (Good Omens)

Word Count: 2314.  

Warnings: Insomnia.

Beep beep. Beep beep.

The annoying sound of the alarm indicating that a new day was beginning was piercing your ears and hammering your skull to the deepest point of your brain, inevitably pulling a deep low growl from your throat.

However, and to your dismay, you were used to it.

If one searches quickly on Google, some of the effects of not sleeping and / or not doing it properly are:

—Increase the risk of hemorrhagic stroke.

—Memory loss.

—Loss or increase of physical sensitivity.

And last but not least, irritability.

Scientific research suggests that an increase in anger in the face of lack of sleep is related to the activity of the amygdala, a deep structure in the brain that controls emotions. When subjects with sleep deprivation are exposed to images with negative emotional content, activity levels in this area increase by 60% more than normal. And not only that: it also interrupts the connections between the amygdala and the medial prefrontal cortex, which is what takes the reins of the amygdala and the emotions and moderates its response. Hence the disproportionate reactions of those who sleep little.

Or so you vaguely remembered from one of your many talks with Aziraphale about your bad sleep habits. But it was not your fault! You had suffered insomnia since you were young, and unfortunately, the situation hadn’t changed over the years.

Although you had become used to it and had learned to handle that fatigue and with it, your changing emotions, there were times when the slightest of noises would make you explode.

You were, in fact, a walking time bomb.

That it was Wednesday, and therefore having to work, did absolutely nothing to help.

The course of the morning was, for better or worse, like every day. The same faces when going down the stairs of your building, the same traffic lights on the way to work, the same companions fluttering around you and the same boring papers to fill.

“We could get you a good job, you know? You just have to ask for it.” Crowley suggested a few months ago, a glass of whiskey in his hand and his signature relaxed posture on the sofa in the back room of the affable angel’s bookshop.

“You could work here with me!” Suggested the latter, a melodious and soft giggle parting his lips.

“But that would be cheating,” you argued, extremely tired and on the verge of collapse, both legs dangling from one of the armrests of your chair and body lying all the way back. “I want to get it on my own, and I know that one day I’ll do it, but in the meantime…”

Oh, you wish you weren’t human, or at least not have that stupid and strict moral norms rooted in your DNA thanks to the education your parents gave you.

How would you like to be able to ask your guardian angel or your particular demon to do a miracle of their own so that the job of your dreams would come before you, promising a bright future.

But it wouldn’t happen, and on a day like this one, that only added fuel to the fire that was your bad mood.

So the hours passed, one after another, relentless, sinking you into a bottomless pit in which, at the end of the day, you only wanted to cry until tiredness forced you to sleep for two weeks, or to be able to punch someone in the face until reaching the same result as in the previous option. But you didn’t do it.

With a heavy sigh and a lot of effort, your arms collected all your belongings, kept them in the small backpack you always carried, and your feet dragged you to the bookshop you learned to love —it wasn’t more than 20 minutes away—.

A place like this would give you the will to live, or so you thought.

The scent of old books flooded your lungs at the same time that the bell on the door announced your arrival. It was already late, the sun had set long ago and the few customers that the store used to have were gone too. Even so, Aziraphale always used to leave the door open knowing that his two favorite people would be dropping by sooner or later. “Here’s the first.” He must have thought.

‘’Y/N!’’ He chirped happily, delicately closing a book he held in his hands. The smile he wore didn’t last long, however, and an evident concern immediately adorned his face. “Are you okay, darling? Do you want a cup of tea?”

Quickly and forcing your best smile, you shook your head as you approached the thousand-year-old angel and took a seat right in front of him, leaving your things aside on the floor. “Don’t worry” You said softly and in a reassuring way; you knew that Aziraphale tended to make too much of anything. “I’m just tired, nothing more.”

‘’Didn’t you manage to rest well last night?’’

“Are you surprised?” You asked back, maybe more sarcastic and bitter than you intended.

The angel just nodded once and sighed, so accustomed to that tone of voice both you and your demon boyfriend used sometimes that he no longer gave any importance to it.

The moment you wanted to run your hands through your hair to throw it back, trying to find the peace you had been looking for all day and the strength to not cry because of the lack of emotional rest, the doors of the place were wide open, —much more dramatically than when you came in— and slammed shut behind the new intruder in the shop.

Neither you nor the angel needed to look up to know who it was, but still you did, a tired smile decorating your sweet features in contrast to your marked eye bags and the fatigue accumulated in your eyelids.

You expected that, when you raised your head and gave him that first look, Crowley would bend over to kiss your lips in greeting, but that was not what happened; instead, an endless story occupied the pleasant silence that you and the angel shared, allowing the demon to tell you both “the very boring day he had and how there were times when he missed hell breaking his balls.”

He didn’t talk about it more than 3 or 4 minutes, but who was going to blame you for reaching your limit? You were on the edge of it all day.

A heavy and annoying nasal sigh attracted the attention of the redhead to you, and his first reaction was to frown and lift his glasses to rest on the crown of his head; he wanted to see you better.

‘’Wow, you look like you’ve been in hell.’’ He said, concern all over his face and voice, stating that his comment wasn’t malicious, but his choice of words was the spark that lit the wick.

And as you knew it would end up happening: you exploded.

You didn’t articulate a single word. You didn’t release any sarcastic remark or make excuses for your appearance, because the last thing you also needed was to argue with him. But you did get up abruptly from your seat, took your things and charged off to the entrance of the shop before even one of the two supernatural beings behind you could do anything about it.

Silence fall over again, relentless, deadly and uncomfortable, and Crowley searched his best friend’s eyes for an answer to the countless questions that piled up in his mind.

He knew that, in general, he tended to screw things up, and he sometimes was annoying, a manual jerk and a nuisance, but what had he done now?

Aziraphale’s gaze softened when he found the grief in the other’s, knowing for sure that his comment was not harmful, but that he didn’t say it at the best possible time.

His beautiful blue eyes curved in that oh, so tender expression that only he knew how to make and, after taking a sip of a cup of chocolate that had been cold for minutes, he decided to resolve all the doubts of his confused friend.  

————ϟ————  

The glowing light of the electronic alarm on your nightstand silently declared that it was already 3:00 a.m. in the morning. And you were still awake, in bed, endlessly spinning around, so tired that the thought of an induced coma sounded wonderful inside your head.

You just wanted to sleep, nothing more.

Your eyelids weighed tons and your entire body lacked any strength to do more than roll and roll again on the mattress for comfort.

Your brain was screaming for rest. But you couldn’t find it.

To finish the play of your life, you couldn’t stop thinking about Crowley.

‘’Yii liik liki yii’vi biin in hill’’, you mocked in the dark, hurted, despite knowing that it was one of the biggest nonsense you ever got mad about. Because it was. But you couldn’t help but get up and leave at that moment, because maybe all you needed was a kiss and a hug and the comfort that only his arms could give you but you didn’t want to admit it out loud and ask for it. “You’re so stupid”. You answered yourself out loud, gently pulling your hair in reprimand.

Probably the demon felt terrible after your sudden departure when he didn’t deserve it and you didn’t know where to start apologizing the next day. Or if you would have strength for it.

But as if reading your thoughts, —and you often suspected that he did and/or if that was one of his many powers—, the eccentric demon crossed the door of your room without inhibitions of any kind or care in case you were asleep.

You were not, of course, but still, you jumped out of fright till you were sitting and with your back resting on the headboard, now your heart in your throat, a torrent of adrenaline rushing through your veins and your eyes more open than ever in your entire life.

If it wasn’t for the moonlight that slipped vaguely through the window, you would have thought someone was going to steal your belongings or to kill you, but the figure of the fallen angel could be made out in the shadows of the room and it didn’t take long to confirm his identity.

‘’Crowley!’’ You screamed, wrinkling the sheets that you’d pressed against your chest in a foolish attempt to cover your body even if you had nothing to hide from him for a while now. “Don’t you know how to call the fucking door? You scared me to death! Do you know that people who suffer insomnia are more likely to suffer a heart attac—”

He was fast. So fast. He didn’t stop to apologize or listen properly to your reprimand, because while you were screaming at the edge of a cardiac arrest, he’d already walked to the side of your bed, fallen on top of it and caught your lips in a kiss that you couldn’t reject even if you wanted to.

No that you have wanted either.

His hands cupped your cheeks and pulled your face towards him, deepening the kiss as soon as he started it, and when you sighed with pure pleasure for the first time in 24 hours, a smug smile made its way in his sinful lips; Crowley knew you too well, and he knew the effect he had on you.

“Get up.” he commanded in a low voice, his breath caressing your face, and you couldn’t do otherwise than obey, following every step he took as he got off the bed —his right hand entwined to your left—, came out of your room and walked around the house.

You didn’t have time to ask where you were going, because your eyes were fixed on the door of your bathroom; it was open and from it came a faint orange light, very different from the white one usually provided by the ceiling lamp.

A couple more steps were enough to see lit candles on the shelves, around the sink and the bathtub, this filled with hot water and white fluffy foam. Petals of black roses filled the floor too and a bottle of champagne with two glasses on a wooden table was waiting to be enjoyed.

Your eyes widened, Crowley wasn’t known to be the most romantic being in the universe, so that gesture took from your mouth the most genuine of the smiles you could draw, and without thinking twice, you put on your tiptoes to correct the height difference between both of you to lovingly kiss his cheek.

“Thank you”. It was the only thing you said, knowing that you didn’t need to ask him to stay with you because he would do it one way or another.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”  

————ϟ————  

“Ah, I forgot to tell you that I called your boss and told him you would never come back. Now you work with Aziraphale.”

You almost absorbed absolutely all the foam you had in your hands and that you were willing to blow in his direction, the surprise causing you to inhale the air instead of exhale it.

You coughed a couple times and tried to clear your throat with a sip of champagne before you shout “YOU DID WHAT!?’’

[eponymous-rose]

Talks Machina Episode #100 Highlights!

That’s right: 100 EPISODES. That’s a lot of great questions, greater answers, questionable pronunciations of usernames, even more questionable uses of overlays, and a++++ excellent dogs. 

The entire cast is answering questions this week!

Max runs an (adorable) intro in the above puppet theater, and each cast member gets a title. Laura is The Heart, Sam is The “Funny Guy”, Travis is The Brawn, Liam is The Actor, Matt is The Brains, Marisha is The Face, Taliesin is The Pyramid, Brian is The Convict, and Ashley is The Favorite.

The cast’s entrance is majestic. There are balloons, sashes, tiaras, and champagne. Henry has a tiara too!

The Search for Grog will air this Friday, February 22 at 7 PM Pacific on twitch.tv/criticalrole. If you miss the stream, it’ll be available Saturday morning on CR’s YouTube channel!

Talks Machina and CR will air on CR’s official channels starting today! Starting next episode, TM will be available on CR’s YouTube channel on Thursday at 7 Pacific, and also in podcast form!

Stats: in 100 episodes of TM, there’s been 81 episodes of Brian’s glorious beard. There have been 9 Skype/FaceTime call-ins! There were 244 guest misnomers before that well ran dry. 93 episodes of pre-show hijinks (thanks to Max James!). 95 episodes of Arsequeef. 826 days of being on the internet!

Brian: "The concept of creating a talk show about a D&D campaign has always been absurd to me, so we wanted to embrace that terribleness.”

There’s now a Steve Cam (quietly reading, meal prepping, and ignoring the show), and a Zach Cam (staring at a monitor that’s all just Liam’s chest hair and the Fjord bust), and a Max Cam (dancing in a stripper cop outfit), Lockey Cam (practicing with a sword in front of a mirror and then charging at Daniel for filming it - Brian: “Hopefully Daniel’s non-union.”), Ed Cam (drinking scotch and counting down the days until football returns, and also lint rolling his new goatee), Chris Cam (rapping in the VO booth), Brittany Cam (dancing with a unicorn blanket, huffing compressed air - Brian: “You can’t show that on Twitch!”).

Matt is asked how his DMing style has evolved with campaign 2. “Well... I’ve been forced to embrace a little more of the tragedy in the characters’ backstories.” The internal and external conflict has been really interesting for him to watch and react to. “I’ve learned to be very proud of my players for mucking up my perception of where things are going to go.”

Coming to Xhorhas, Nott’s thrilled to no longer have to worry about the mask. Sam’s excited about the City of Beasts “to see what kind of fucked-up individuals we’re going to find and seeing how Nott will react to that.”

Yasha definitely sympathizes with Nott trying to save her spouse, but “there’s a lot going on with her going back to Xhorhas. It’s definitely triggering for her, but she understands the need to want to go back. I wish I could go to Xhorhas. We’ll see what happens.” Travis: “I’m pretty sure once we go to a place we can never go back.”

Favorite item on the Talks shelves? Taliesin mentions a magnetic Percy mini, Sam likes the tiny Sams (”It looks like my bedroom!”), Ashley and Brian are partial to the Sully painting, Laura loves the Pike painting, Marisha loves all the stuff the cast bought on a hungover voyage to the flea market when they were first building the set, Matt loves a very cool dice tower. Brian likes the Vecna with Marisha’s face. Matt: “I don’t know if I like that one.”

Laura doesn’t like the party using the derogatory term for the Krynn, because she wants people to be happy even if she doesn’t know them. Sam: “I haven’t been the best for that, but if Jester wants me to... I guess I’ll change.”

There are new wipe transitions featuring the Matt pillow and the Fjord bust. It’s glorious.

Gif of the week: Sam calling Travis “studly” for catching the candy. Laura: “...I like that I’ve been cut out of it completely.”

Arsequeef gets the Lifetime Achievement Award for Gif of the Week. He wins Max’s 2006 Honda Accord.

On Caleb taking off his bandages because there’s nothing to hide anymore: “Was that terrifying for him, or a relief?” Liam: “Yes!” He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it feels good. He’s got f...r...iends?” Marisha: “I love that sitcom. (weakly) F...r...iends?”

Caduceus being a source of comfort, insight, and advice was built into the character. Taliesin looked at low INT high WIS, and Matt immediately started laughing and told Taliesin he’d do well with that. Taliesin: “There’s plenty of things that will eventually flap that, but we haven’t hit them yet.”

As a player, Travis doesn’t like to weigh things carefully all the time, so a lot of Fjord’s leardership has been a bit about pressing fast-forward. Marisha: “So what you’re saying is that your Grog’s poking through.” Matt points out that if both characters have a trait, it’s probably just Travis. 

Liam: “I’ve got a little Travis poking me from behind.” Marisha, musing: “So many conflicting beards...”

Beau’s prayer to Ioun mostly came from a “couldn’t hurt” perspective. “I’ll try it out. Give it a spin.” When Travis asks, Marisha clarifies that it was Ioun specifically because of the Cobalt Soul. Travis: “Oh yeah, I totally knew the relationship there. I just wanted to make sure the audience did.”

Bugbear friend or bugbear foe? Sam: “He speaks goblin, he seems cool, his name’s Gluzo. He has a hard-to-pin-down accent, but it’s amazing.” Taliesin: “You have a hard-to-pin-down accent, too. It’s something you have in common.” Taliesin gets asked if his insight check revealed that the bugbear is secretly pretending to be someone else. “Yes, he’s just pretending to be a bugbear. He’s actually Matt Mercer.” Laura: “I like him. ‘Cause he’s cute and he let me give him a tattoo.”

Sam: “Nott trusts her friends to be as strong as they can be, and at this point, I don’t know if she’s as concerned with one of them dying as just getting to her husband in time before he dies. If we lose one along the way, Nott will probably cry a little, but will move on.” What if it were Fjord? “Fjord’s expjendable.”

Matt: “I’ve reached a point where Travis controls Yasha in combat, but I don’t consider any of his roleplay canon.” Ashley: “I trust Travis. Barbarian respect.” Laura: “Don’t give him that.” Ashley: “Travis himself is like a Deck of Many things. This is risky, but it’s kind of fun!”

Sam: “That dunamancy shit is lit.” Liam: “And it’s tied up in everything that Caleb wants, so if he can get on the entropy shit and the gravity shit, you know he’s going to go back in time, motherfucker.” Sam is so excited to have these mystery spells because they’re so new, and they’re inherently something they don’t know how to counter or prepare for. Travis: “It’s almost like every time we play D&D.”

Fanart of the Week: a spectacular group shot.

Everyone freaks out over how good Travis looks with glasses. He takes them off and puts them back on sexily for a while. I was too slow grabbing a screencap, but don’t worry, the gifs will be everywhere.

Laura: “Jester hasn’t experienced a lot of emotions. She hasn’t experienced a lot of anything, really. She’s definitely dealt with sadness in her life, but I don’t think it’s been so in-your-face constantly, just the trauma of it all.” Liam: “Yeah, she’s with some very terrible people.” Laura: “While it is traumatic, it’s also been a great adventure, and she’s enjoying being out and doing things. Even if it might hurt her, it’s so much better than reading about it, drawing it, just imagining how it would be.”

Caleb’s still feeling out the shift in his relationship with Nott, but there’s no question that everything they’ve gone through can’t be forgotten or overlooked. “He sees her as an absolute ally no matter what, and will do anything for her. In a weird way, he feels like they’re even more alike than he thought they were, and he loves her and wants her to succeed in what she’s doing, and hopes that the things that he wants don’t fuck it up entirely.” Sam: “Are you talking about Liam and Sam right now?”

Caduceus’ thoughts on Xhorhas? “A new environment, certainly, and a new aspect of nature that he’s unfamiliar with. This is just more terrain to him at this point. He’s also very unaware of the political realities. He’s vaguely aware there is war. He’s still not sure why we can’t just go up and ask for directions from everyone.”

Brian: “That tiara is the most blessed image.”

Travis on the Captain Tusktooth tattoo: “Brand recognition is huge in Xhorhas.” Taliesin: “Viral marketing.” Laura confirms that it’s not likely to change apart from some small differences from tattoo to tattoo. “Each person gets a special google.”

Laura on fans actually getting this tattoo: “I am ALL ABOUT IT.”

Marisha: “Guys! How about instead of M9 tattoos...” Sam: “We let Laura tattoo us? I would legitimately be down with that!” Ashley: “I’m kind of into it.” Liam: “This is what splits us apart.” Laura: “Everybody gets a dick.” Travis: “How would we explain that to our kid? ‘What’s that?’ ‘Your mom did that.’”

Beau is holding back a bit since her impulsiveness started having negative repercussions. “I think it’s about accountability. She’s started to learn--- especially when she first joined M9, she didn’t have friends, really. I think you had to learn, oh, my actions do affect others around me. I think that’s something you can learn and you can grow in, but yeah, she is trying to not be a total fuckwad anymore. Trying. But old habits...”

Favorite TM moments? Travis: “Do you remember that episode where Brian wasn’t the host?” Brian remembers Travis throwing the card that almost took him out. Ashley fondly remembers PullOutKing. Laura remembers Taliesin saying the phrase “I love teenage assholes” (referring to Percy acting immature), and Taliesin is super glad someone brought that up again just when the tweets were finally starting to die down. 

Ashley talks about how proud she is about how far Brian’s come, and how great he’s doing at this. Everyone has an uncharacteristically sincere moment of applause for Brian. Liam: “Everyone take 30 seconds to drop the bit that we think you’re a total fucking weirdo. You’re so good at this, and you’re such a good friend, and we’re so glad you’re part of this family.”

Marisha pitches the idea of trying to sell TM syndicated on LifeTime now that they have 100 episodes.

Brian remembers having food poisoning that led to him running off-screen, throwing up in the middle of the show, and then having to come back. Marisha remembers Travis texting everyone that night with “lol, did Brian just yarf on TV?”

Matt talks about how proud he is of Brian for going from zero tabletop experience to co-running his own game.

Talks Machina After Dog ft. Sleepy Boi Henry

“This is the best dog-petting show ever.”

Liam was skeptical about TM initially, because he was worried it would take away from what would be shared in-game. Marisha: “I was stoked for it, not gonna lie. I was very misunderstood and people hated my character, so I was kind of stoked to just get to explain it.” Travis was sold once they picked the name.

Marisha: “It also set the precedent for really dumb, punny names.” Brian points out that, as a channel, they now can’t stick with serious names as their final choice.

Laura’s sister has been watching the show, and she texted Laura after the show to ask what the whisper was, so Laura’s going to tell her and no one else. Liam: “You’re gonna tell your real sibling?”

There’s a horrified discussion about giraffe fighting. Some segues happened in there.

What’s something their characters have done that’s made them proud? Liam: Caleb using the Wall of Fire. Marisha: the Plank King execution episode as a whole (everyone agrees). Travis: “I was proud of hooking up with an NPC when my wife wasn’t here to threaten me with death.” (he immediately turns to Taliesin: “Help.” Taliesin: “No god can help you now.”) Taliesin: “I sunk a boat.” Laura: Proud of not getting caught with Nott in the Platinum Dragon sanctuary. Sam: Taking the blow for Jester so she could escape. Liam: “Molly showing his dick covered in eggs.”

Matt: “I’m proud of you guys not entirely descending into evil madness. I’m proud of the character arcs of being broken, terrible people, and finding out that it’s okay to be broken; you’re not necessarily terrible.” Liam: “The entire cast went, ‘He’s talking about everyone but me’.” Matt thought it was going to be very hard to keep the group together, but the party turned it into character growth moments. “I’m proud of you.” Laura: “Thanks, Dad.”

Yasha loved the arm wrestling. “Oh man, it’s so fun to be the tank.”

Laura: “I’m really proud of us for saving Kiri!”

Everyone has Liam’s chest hair:

Wishes for the next 100 episodes? More Ashley. 

Brian: “I hate this coffee table more than anything in the whole, entire world.”

What’s something that should never change about the show? How ridiculous it is, the barrel, Dani. Also always have a dog. They fundamentally do the show for themselves, still, and that’s made it a really good environment for them to open up about the show and their characters.

Liam: “There’s a lot of beauty to what we do, but it’s also inherently silly. And to deny that is silly.”

Matt likes that it’s unpolished and imperfect. “Things are going to go wrong regardless, and you can either get angry and frustrated about the lack of control, or you can embrace it.” Sam: “None of this is real anyway.” 

Brian points out that this is not an excuse to stop paying him.

And that’s a wrap! This is the last After Dark for a while, but there are some big ideas in the works for the coming weeks!

[i-am-my-own-goal]

Word vomit

I’m at M’s with terrible service, so hopefully this will post.

I wish therapy was starting sooner. I have another two weeks to go I think. I’m not managing my depression well. I made a post earlier in the week about slipping up and self harming again. It needed stitches, but Florida terrifies me because theyre super quick to commit people. I butterfly bandaged it instead so at least it will heal somewhat okay.

But that was super eye opening. I haven’t been at that level of harm since early 2015. My depression has been worse, but I had a better grip on my impulsivity I guess.

I’m weighed down so much right now about this sex stuff. I told M we had to put that part of the relationship on hold right now. I need to work through all the sexual trauma I went through in my marriage first.

The other night we were talking and he said he was “managing” not having sex. And that set me off. I don’t wanna be in a relationship again with someone who’s just “dealing” or “getting by.” I spiraled down that night. Heavy drinking. Self harm. A lot of negative self talk. I also don’t want to be in this place where someone’s words or actions can affect me that much.

He surprised me and took off work one night to come see me. Later on in the night he said he wanted to clarify what he meant by “managing” and that as soon as he said it, he realized it was the wrong wording. So he reexplained to say that basically he wants intimacy with me and while hormonally he wants sex sometimes, he doesn’t want it if we’re not both engaged in it and not both emotionally enjoying the connection because without that, he’s not enjoying it either.

So idk. I feel a little better about it but I’m still concerned. We’re both in therapy now tho so I’m holding on to see how all this works out.

In the new year, I’ll start seeking out medical help again for the vulvodynia and vaginismus and seeing if i do have PCOS. I feel overwhelmed by that too. And at some point I’ll probably have to talk to M more about that...expectations and limitations.

Surgery is not an option I’m willing to pursue unless it starts affecting me daily. My lack of desire to pursue certain treatment was a big issue in my marriage. My ex wanted me to pursue some bigger things to make our sex life better to benefit HIM and I wasn’t willing to put myself through the bullshit for that. And I don’t know if that was selfish or not.

So here I am again, in a relationship where I can’t perform again due to trauma and physical limitations...how far do I push myself for his sake or for our sake?

Cause like, sure sex can be good sometimes, but I’ve never needed it personally. Hormonally, yeah, it’s a want sometimes. But it’s not life or death for me. It’s not worth surgeries or hormones or anything extreme.

So far I’ve tried several different hormone birth controls to ease the pain/raise my sex drive. One which made my chest ache so badly I couldn’t wear a seatbelt, another that made me real emotional, and another that made me straight up suicidal. I’m done that route. I’m not doing hormones.

Lidocaine to numb me during sex. Cause hey, if I can’t feel it it won’t hurt. So I won’t get pleasure or pain , but gotta do what ya gotta do to please your man right? Uhm. No. But the lidocaine does help for flare ups. So that was like, 50% helpful.

Steroid cream which made unprovoked pain worse. I was in pain almost all day long. Couldn’t even think of sex, but I’m sure that wouldn’t have helped pain during sex.

Estrogen cream which I never had a real chance to use. I was prescribed it a week before my ex decided we were getting divorced. I stopped trying at that point. I still have it tho so maybe I’ll give it a try now.

I had a hormone panel done but nothing came up abnormal. So idk why my sex drive is so low. Or why I feel intense pain around my ovaries a couple times a month (not related to ovulation pain). Why my acne is so out of control or why my facial hair is out of control. Or why I get so many other PCOS symptoms. Doctors just look at me like “uhm. You’re an idiot” like I don’t know my own body. All this stuff didn’t start happening until like, 2014.

—

Unrelated to vaginal issues,

I’m also having a hard time again processing my divorce. I thought I was healed from it, but I guess I just buried it.

M and I watched part of “Diary of a Mad Black Woman” (I think that’s the title?) and so many of the scenes hit so close to home about her divorce and then meeting someone who treated her right. And I cried a lot during the movie (we haven’t finished it yet). And like, I’m really grateful for M because he’s definitely showing me what healthy is and I feel like he’s so good to me and for me, but there’s still so much of that unresolved pain from my marriage. There’s still things I haven’t let go of. And it’s all sitting right under the surface. It’s like, M will do something so nice or unexpected or say something so kind and I’m overwhelmed by how great it is, but then this pain comes over me because I’m realizing more and more how awful my marriage was.

Example: when we were talking about the sex stuff the other day, M was so supportive about therapy and about doctor appointments. He’s like “anything I can do to support you, you tell me. I want you to get help for you. That’s priority” verses my ex and how we didn’t have money for it, how I needed to just suck it up, how it was all in my head and I just needed to relax, it wasn’t as important as other things we had going on. So I cried when M said that. Because it meant so much. But also made me sad for past me. And I can’t let go of the pain of past me.

—

Congrats if you read all of this. I left my journal at home and needed to process somehow.

I’m a mess currently.

[unfolded73]

How Do We Get Back (9/16) - schitt’s creek ff

Summary: In a literal alternate universe where the Roses escaped financial ruin, David and Patrick struggle with loneliness and a sense that something isn’t right. A chance meeting in New York and a terrible tragedy drive them to question whether the timeline they are on is the right one.

Rated explicit. This chapter 4k words.  (ao3)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

This chapter is a sad one, but hang in there... (putting everything below the cut due to spoilers in the first few lines)

_____________________________________

Chapter 9

The sun was shining the first morning David woke up into a world without his sister in it.

He might’ve expected it to hit him afresh as he surfaced from fitful sleep, the fact that his sister was dead. But it had suffused his sleep, invaded his dreams — there was no escaping the knowledge even in his subconscious. As he awoke, he mostly just felt numb and hungover from crying.

David had rehearsed this kind of thing in his head a hundred times. All the times that Alexis had come back from a long trip abroad with a story about fleeing the Yakuza or being held captive by a sultan, David had played out in his mind a vivid scenario in which Alexis didn’t escape and one of them got a middle-of-the-night phone call with terrible news. He told himself that these morbid fantasies were his way of preparing for the worst. That allowing himself to imagine all of it — how he would behave, what his parents would do, what kind of details would need to be arranged — was a mental insurance policy against the thing actually happening.

None of that was true. It hadn’t prepared him in the slightest.

David emerged from his bedroom and wandered downstairs, keeping his eyes averted from the family portrait in the great hall. He found his father in the kitchen, staring out the window as his assistant, Mallory, sat implacably at the kitchen island and ticked items off of a checklist. He marveled that his father’s ever-capable assistant had come prepared with a checklist of funeral preparations.

“Do you want to go with me to select the casket?” Mallory asked gently.

Johnny stirred himself, looking over at her as if he was trying to parse her question. David suspected he hadn’t slept at all. “You can pick it. It doesn’t really matter what her casket looks like.”

“Mom might care what it looks like,” David said, his voice raspy.

“Your mother isn’t in any state to go casket shopping,” Johnny said.

David threw his hands up. “What, are you just letting her overdose on sleeping pills? Are we going to have two funerals this week?”

“No, I’m not letting her…” Johnny shouted, but quickly ran out of steam. “I don’t think she’ll be ready to leave the house today, that’s all.”

“I’ll go with you to pick out the casket,” David said to Mallory before he went back upstairs to check on his mother.

He expected to find her in bed but Moira was up, sitting at her dressing table and staring at herself in the mirror. David lurked in the doorway for a moment, unsure if he should go in. She had on no makeup, and she didn’t like people to see her with no makeup, even her son. His mother looked old, David thought for the first time in his life.

“Hi, Mom.”

Moira didn’t turn. “Oh, David. John said you were here.” Her voice was low and quiet, lacking its usual expressiveness.

David walked into the room and sat down on the chest at the foot of his parents’ bed. He’d sat here so many times as a child, watching his mother modeling a new piece of couture or trying out a new wig. In a relatively lonely childhood, those were among his fondest memories.

“We’ll need to pick something to dress her in,” Moira said. “I was thinking about that Stella McCartney gown that she wore last Christmas.”

David imagined Alexis’ dead body being bent and stretched like an oversized Barbie to get it into that dress, and suddenly he tasted bile in the back of his throat.

“Sure,” he said.

“I mean, is that what Alexis would have wanted, do you think?”

“Pretty sure what Alexis would have wanted is to not be dead,” David shot back, almost with the hope that it would get a negative reaction from his mother. Tears. Screaming. Something.

Moira didn’t even blink.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. Alexis loved that dress; it’s a good choice.”

“I can’t remember the last time I told her I loved her. My own daughter,” Moira said, her voice finally breaking on the last word.

“I’m sure she knew,” he said, although he was sure of nothing of the sort. “We aren’t really a family who says that to each other.”

“And we should have taken better care of her. Not let her jet off to anywhere and everywhere like we did.”

“She was a grown woman; I’m not sure what you could have done to stop her.” For that matter, before she was a grown woman, when she was twelve and ended up in Hong Kong, for example, he wasn’t sure anyone could have ever stopped Alexis from going where she wanted to go when she wanted to go there.

Maybe if she’d been raised in a warm and loving home, and not in a place where the nursery was in a separate wing of the house, maybe then she’d have stayed home more. Maybe then she’d still be alive. Then he closed the door on those thoughts. There would be time later to blame his parents for this. Right now, he needed to be supportive.

“Mallory wants someone to go with her to pick the casket. Are you all right with me doing it?” he asked his mother.

Moira nodded. “I’m sure you’ll pick something tasteful.” She picked up a bottle of foundation and shook it, then set it back down, staring into space.

“I’ll check in on you when I get back, okay?” David said. Moira didn’t respond.

David wasn’t prepared for how heavy the grief would be, how it would weigh him down like a yoke on his shoulders, how stupid and yet somehow crucial all the things about planning the funeral would feel. How he would cry so hard sometimes that he made himself throw up, and other times he’d be so numb that he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel true feelings again. His parents were like strangers to him, like shells of their former selves ghosting around the house, and it made him want to smash things and scream and make them acknowledge that all of this was real. Make them take care of him, instead of the other way around.

The night before the funeral, David went to bed early, a part of him hoping he could just sleep through all of it. Sleep until the grief was a little bit lighter and easier to carry around. When his phone started to ring, it took all of his energy to pick it up and see who was calling.

Patrick.

“Hello?”

“David, it’s Patrick.” After a brief pause, he continued, “From—”

“I haven’t forgotten you,” David blurted out.

“Listen, I saw the news online. I’m so sorry about Alexis.”

Fresh tears filled David’s eyes, and he closed them. “Thanks.”

“I know I don’t have any right to… call you or whatever, but I wanted you to know that if there’s anything at all I can do…”

David wiped at one cheek. “I appreciate that. There’s nothing.”

“Is there a service? If you’d be willing, I’d like to come to the service. But only if—”

“You don’t have to do that.” Patrick was just a hookup, David told himself, there was no reason for him to offer to do something like come to his sister’s funeral.

“I know I don’t have to, but…” He sighed. “Listen, if me being there would only burden you, then I’ll stay away. But if you think it would help even the tiniest bit, then I’ll be on the next plane.”

David allowed himself to imagine it. Patrick; solid Patrick who could be relied on to make tea in a time of crisis, being here. Standing with him at the service. Holding his hand, maybe. Suddenly David wanted that fiercely.

“It would help,” he managed to choke out.

“Then I’m going to book a flight.”

“No, you must have work or something—”

“Let me worry about that. When and where is the service?” Patrick asked.

David gave him the information, and at the end of the recitation couldn’t help asking, “Are you sure?”

“I’m buying the plane ticket as we speak,” Patrick said. “I’ll basically need to leave for the airport in…” he paused, “three hours and drive through the night so that I can get the 6:30 a.m. flight out of Toronto, but I can do that.”

“Patrick… thank you.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, David.”

~*~

The church was surrounded by paparazzi, and Patrick was late, and there was a security guard manning the door. But when Patrick gave his name to the guard, he was allowed in and told to take a seat in the back. He shook his head, thinking there was something appropriate about the fact that Alexis Rose’s funeral had an exclusive guest list. Craning his neck, he could just make out David’s black hair at the front of the church.

A priest who even Patrick could tell had never met Alexis was speaking, expressing vague platitudes that probably came out of the manual on funerals for people who die tragically before their time. After that, some women stood up and sang a song that seemed inappropriate as a memorial to a dead person. An aunt got up and told a sepia-toned story about Alexis as a little girl. Then David stood up and approached the lectern. Patrick drank in the sight of him, looking pale and exhausted, clutching a journal against his chest. He hadn’t expected David to be delivering a eulogy. Perhaps his parents didn’t have the strength to do it, and it had fallen to David as the only other close family member.

David cleared his throat and opened his journal and began to speak. “When I first started planning what I was going to say today, I thought about how I would describe Alexis. That she always knew exactly who she was. That she was fearless. That she was unfailingly optimistic about everything. That she had an unquenchable lust for life. But I don’t know if any of that is true.

“The truth is that Alexis could be shallow and self-involved. She forgot to pay attention to the feelings of the people around her. She made bad decisions. She also could be child-like, and enthusiastic, and she knew how to cut right through my bullshit. She was a complicated person who I didn’t always like very much, but who I did… who I did love.

“The truth is also that Alexis was lonely. The truth is she had to grow up way too fast. The truth is that Alexis was always jetting all over the world because she was chasing something that I don’t think she ever found in life: actual joy.

“I had a dream last night that Alexis and I were sharing a tiny little bedroom. Which is pretty funny, because Alexis and I never shared a room in our lives. We would have despised sharing a room, because she was such a slob…” He seemed to choke up at this, and paused for a few seconds to collect himself before continuing. “But the thing is, in this dream she was happy in a way I never really saw her in life. She was content. I hope that wherever my sister is, she’s found that contentment.”

David walked away from the podium and retook his seat, and Patrick could feel the stunned hush of a crowd who hadn’t expected anyone to say anything like that. Nothing that raw and honest. The priest also seemed surprised as he stood up and welcomed the next speaker, one of Alexis’ friends who seemed more interested in visibly crying in front of a crowd than in saying anything meaningful about Alexis. Patrick understood why David had said his sister was lonely if this was what her friends were like.

When the service was over, Patrick went outside to sit on a bench and wait. He wasn’t sure what to do now — he wanted to go to David and be near him to provide any support he could, but he also recognized that as a selfish impulse. David had his parents to worry about, he didn’t need the guy he’d gone to bed with two months ago hanging around. Suddenly, the fact that Patrick had shelled out hundreds of dollars for a last-minute plane ticket and a rental car struck him as insanity.

“You came.”

Patrick looked up from the paving stones he’d been staring at to see David, sunlight haloing his hair. Standing up, Patrick tried to offer a supportive smile. “I said I would.”

David shrugged. “People don’t necessarily do what they say they’ll do.”

“I do.” Patrick couldn’t take his eyes off of David. After two months, seeing him felt like seeing a mirage.

“So, I have to go to the gravesite now for the burial, which is just family,” David said, indicating a waiting limousine.

“Oh. Right, of course.”

“But people will be coming to the house afterwards. Can you come there? I think I sent you the address before.”

Patrick nodded, relieved. “I’ll be there. David, I’m so, so sorry.”

The corner of David’s mouth turned down, and he shrugged one shoulder. “I’ll see you later.”

Uncertain what to do, Patrick got in his rental car and drove to a nearby McDonald’s. The past twelve hours of travel had screwed up the rhythms of mealtimes, and other than a bagel at the airport and a meager bag of pretzels, he hadn’t eaten anything all day. Sitting down with his tray, he stared at his unappetizing burger and wondered why he’d ordered it. He ate a fry, eyes trained on the acrylic tabletop.

When he figured that enough time had gone by, Patrick got back in the car and drove to David’s parents’ house. The gate was imposing enough (where again he had to give his name to be admitted), but the mansion that was revealed as he drove up the long driveway was even more so. He turned his car key over to a valet, wondering what it had been like, growing up in a place like this. Another piece of the David Rose puzzle slotted into place.

The house was filled with mourners, drinks and small plates of food in hand, talking in hushed tones. Patrick stood in the middle of it and stared up at the family portrait that dominated the great hall, trying to see the man he cared about in the haughty version of David Rose in the painting.

After some wandering, Patrick finally found David in the kitchen, giving instructions to the caterers.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” David said, his eyes still flitting around the room, his focus on oversight of the food.

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No. I’m glad you’re here.”

An older woman came into the kitchen and picked up one of the trays of finger sandwiches to carry back out to the guests.

“Adelina, you don’t work here anymore; you don’t have to do that.”

“I have to do something,” she said. “And you don’t get to tell me what to do, mijo.”

David rolled his eyes. “Fine. Just don’t stay on your feet too long, please.”

Adelina muttered something in Spanish and left the room with her tray.

“She practically raised us,” David explained. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Of course,” Patrick replied, following David through a back door of the kitchen up some utility stairs to the upper floor of the house. David led them into a tastefully-decorated bedroom that was about half the size of the house Patrick had grown up in.

“Is this your childhood bedroom?” he asked.

“Yeah,” David said, sitting on the bed. “Listen, I’m sorry for the way I behaved when you left New York—”

“Please don’t worry about that now.” Patrick sat at David’s side. “I don’t want you to have to think about that now.”

“No, I was an asshole,” David said. “We hadn’t made any plans or promises, it’s not like you were—”

“Believe me, David, I wanted to stay.” Patrick laughed uncomfortably and looked down at his hands. “Two nights with you and I was…” He stopped, unable to admit the way he’d been feeling. The way he was still feeling. “I’ve thought about you a lot, the last two months.”

David cleared his throat. “I can’t help but notice you aren’t wearing your wedding ring.”

“I told Rachel everything the day I got back. We’re separated.”

“Oh. Well, that must be very hard.”

“It is, but it’s also…” Patrick clutched his hands together, worrying the webbing of skin between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ve also never felt more free. I came out to my parents and the world didn’t end. So even if I never saw you again, I would have been forever grateful to you for being the instrument of this change in my life. And then I saw what happened to Alexis, and I just… I had to call, even if you wanted nothing to do with me.”

David looked up at the ceiling like he was trying not to cry. “I’ve thought about you a lot these last two months, too,” he whispered, and then David was leaning in and his mouth was on Patrick’s, insistent and everything Patrick had been dreaming about.

Except David had just lost his sister, and as soon as Patrick gained some control of himself, he pulled away. “David, is now really the right—”

“I just need to… not think about being sad for a while, okay? Can I… can I just have a few minutes where I’m not thinking about what happened?”

Patrick put his hand on David’s cheek and nodded his head. “Of course. Of course you can have that.”

Their mouths met in a frantic press, teeth clacking together as they both tried to deepen the kiss. David’s hand was already unbuttoning the buttons of Patrick’s shirt, trembling, and Patrick did his best to shrug out of his suit jacket while their mouths were still fused together.

When he brought his hands up to resume caressing David’s face, Patrick’s fingers came away wet, and he broke the kiss again. “David—”

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” David said, but he clearly wasn’t. His hands were shaking and the tears were starting to flow more freely now, so Patrick pulled the other man into his arms. That made the dam break, and the sound of pure grief that tore from David’s throat in that moment shattered Patrick’s heart.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” Patrick murmured, holding David as he sobbed into Patrick’s shoulder.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed that way, David’s tears soaking into Patrick’s shirt as Patrick rocked him gently and murmured quiet words into David’s hair. He wasn’t even sure what he said. Patrick supposed this was why he had come, although he couldn’t have expected David would be willing to rely on him as a shoulder to cry on. And yet somehow Patrick felt like he had known he was needed here, even as all reason and logic had said that it was a mistake to come.

When David’s tears dried up, when he finally let go of his death grip around Patrick’s torso, Patrick reached out to run his thumbs under David’s eyes. “Do you need to go back to the people downstairs?”

David shook his head. “I’m not going back out there.”

“Do you want to try to get some sleep? Or do you want me to go get you some food?”

“Sleep,” David said. “If you’ll… stay?”

“Of course I will.”

~*~

Patrick woke up to the sound of water running in the bathroom, and then David emerged, walking over and getting back into bed.

“What time is it?” Patrick asked.

“1:15.”

Patrick rubbed his face, trying to orient himself in space and time. Between his complete lack of sleep the night before and falling asleep in the early evening with David, he felt hazy and disoriented. “Are you okay?” Patrick asked.

“Just a nightmare about Alexis. I’m getting used to them.”

Patrick reached out and touched David’s back, feeling the way sweat had soaked through his t-shirt. “It might feel better to change your shirt.”

He could just make out David nodding in the dim light before he got up and went over to a large armoire, pulling off his shirt. Patrick watched as David took everything off and put on a fresh shirt and underwear before coming back to bed.

“I keep seeing her drowning in my dreams,” David sighed, getting back under the covers. Patrick put an arm around him and David put his head down on Patrick’s chest, his arm draped across Patrick’s midsection and their legs tangling together. It was nice. It was scary, how nice it was. How well they seemed to fit together, like they’d been sharing a bed for ages.

“And I don’t know what to do now that the funeral is over,” David continued. “It was easier when I had a list of things to take care of. Now it just seems like an endless amount of time stretching out in front of me with nothing in it but grief.”

“Maybe focusing on your gallery will help?”

David shook his head, his hair brushing against Patrick’s nose. “I’m going to close the gallery.”

“Why?”

“Because according to my father’s business manager it’s hemorrhaging money, and the family can’t really afford to keep it open any more.”

“David, I’m sorry.” He tightened his grip on David’s shoulder. “Maybe I can help? I can look at the books?”

“That’s a very kind offer, but even I can understand that if I don’t sell any art, it doesn’t make financial sense to keep the gallery.”

“You don’t sell any art?”

“Not lately. And to be honest, since Alexis died I don’t know if I even care anymore. For that matter, I don’t care if I even stay in New York. Maybe I’ll sell the apartment too and make a fresh start somewhere else.”

Patrick pressed a kiss against the top of David’s head. “Okay, David, I don’t want to second guess you here, but I don’t know if it’s a good idea to make these kinds of huge decisions when you’re grieving the loss of someone close to you.”

David’s breath hitched, and Patrick feared he might have triggered another crying jag, but when David spoke, his voice was even. “Okay, maybe I’ll hold off on selling the apartment. But… I need a change of scenery. I need to get away from everything that brings back memories of my sister, at least for a little while.”

“Come home with me,” Patrick said, and then his mouth dropped open with shock that those words had come out of his mouth.

David raised his head from Patrick’s shoulder and looked at him. “Come home with you?”

“No, I mean… if you’re looking for a change of scenery you could… I just got a new apartment and you’re welcome to stay with me for a few days if you need to.” He chuckled nervously, wishing David’s leg wasn’t pinning him down because he felt a sudden need to put some space between them. “There’s nowhere less like New York than my hometown.”

David moved his head around for a second before saying, “Okay.”

“You actually want to come stay at my place? Because I should probably warn you, the restaurants where I live leave a lot to be desired.”

Meeting his eyes, David said, “I wouldn’t be going with you for the night life.”

Patrick kissed him then, just a gentle peck on the lips, but it felt significant. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Chapter 10