#its coming in ten minutes ill love but at what cost

[cuz-reasons]

GAME FUCKIN GET

[kisses-from-crows]

Crossed Wires - Campbell Bain - Ch 3.

Pairing: Radio Host!Campbell Bain/Popstar!femReader

Summary: Campbell is ready to get some answers, but is Y/N ready to give them?

Genre: enemies to lovers, modern au, reader insert, forced proximity, misunderstandings

Word count: 3,286

CW: mentions of mental illness, vague allusions to a past ED, panic attack

Chapter 3

Beginning | Previous | Next

- PopCrave: Is it about time for a rematch? Fans speculate with Y/N’s return to the public eye, a new heated interview with Campbell Bain can’t be too far behind. So we’re counting down the Top 10 Bain vs L/N moments!

Posted: 10 min ago -

When Campbell’s alarm went off, his bloodshot eyes had already been wide open. He’d hardly slept a wink, up all night just thinking. His mind did this often, running around in circles dragging his remaining sanity uselessly behind it.

Months ago when he had selected ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go Go’ as his alarm, he had thought it was the funniest thing in the world. Now he was considering how much it would cost to replace his phone if he smashed it to bits. It seemed that the sun had risen against his will once again and it was time to face the music.

Quite literally face the music, his phone was charging across the room and the only way to turn the blasted song off would be to get out of his nice warm bed. Yet again another one of his brilliant ideas come back to bite him in the ass.

Just as his toes touched down on the cold wooden floor of his bedroom, the song stopped of it own accord. Campbell winced knowing what was next, a call was coming through. Through the busted speakers of his phone came blasting the most deep-fried version of ‘Ding Dong The Witch is Dead’. At full volume. If he hadn’t been awake before, he sure was now.

Campbell scrambled frantically across the room looking like Bambi on ice, ignoring the way his body groaned in protest at the sudden movement. Anything to make the damn phone stop ringing. The last thing he needed was yet another noise complaint from his cranky downstairs neighbor.

The phone slipped through his fingers as he attempted to snatch it off his desk and fell to the floor. The words: ‘ITS THE DEVIL’S HENCHMAN, DINNAE ANSWER IT’ stared up at him from the ground as if to mock him. With a deep sigh, Campbell managed to answer the phone successfully.

“My driver will be there in five minutes. Get your chronically late ass out of bed.” Y/N ground out before immediately hanging up. Campbell blinked at the screen, the lack of sleep making his brain lag behind. It took about ten whole seconds for him to process what she said.

“Good morning to ye too, ya royal pain in my arse” He said to no one but the air. So the call last night hadn’t been a bizarre nightmare, just his luck. The last thing he wanted to do today, much less any other day, was another interview with F/N L/N. ‘This one’s different.’ Her words from last night had echoed though his head into the wee hours of the morning.

Now the words ‘be there in five minutes’ were making the rounds inside his skull as Campbell scrambled to put together something suitable to wear. Dirty and clean clothes alike were strewn across the floor. It took about five tries to find something that didn’t smell completely appalling. Just as he was hopping around trying to get his left shoe on, the buzzer to his apartment complex rang out.

He nearly broke his neck racing down the stairs to make it to the car. If there was one thing Y/N hated more than Campbell Bain, it was people making her wait. She was already going to tear him to shreds, Campbell didn’t need to make it any easier for her.

Even with his color block hoodie on, Campbell could still feel the bite of the autumn air. October was just around the corner and the yellow, reds, and oranges were just beginning to creep into the edges of the trees. He loved this time of year. The heat of the summer always made him a bit irritable. Plus with the weather in the 60’s he was able to pull out his favorite sweaters and hoodies.

In front of his apartment was a black town car and stern looking man in a black suit and sunglasses. Right on time, just like Y/N said they would be. Campbell strode his way up to the driver and stuck out a hand for him to shake.

“Campbell Bain, pleased to make yer acquaintance.” he said with a crooked smile.

The driver looked down at Campbell’s hand before grunting and offering a curt, “Get in the car.” Before opening rear passenger door and marching over to the driver’s seat without waiting to see if Campbell got in or not.

“Well aren’t you just a ray o’ sunshine” Campbell grumbled as he climbed into the car and slammed the door shut.

On the ride over he tried to come up with every possible reason she wanted to meet with him like this. Other than their somewhat yearly interviews, they only ever bumped into each other at various album wrap parties or some odd studio function. Event’s like the station Christmas party which was almost always tragic. Too much booze and a pathetic round of Secret Santa. Even then, they spent the whole night pointedly ignoring each other. Stealing loathing glances across the room as some remix of Jingle bells desecrated what was once a hallowed hall of music.

As the car rolled to a stop in front the french bistro, Campbell felt like a lamb to slaughter. He attempted to swallow the lump in his throat, while he procrastinated getting out. In no time at all the driver had walked around the car and opened the door for him. Impatiently ushering him out. God when did his life get so weird? Had it always been this weird? Maybe just a different kind of weird. The driver said something into his little ear piece before getting back in the town car and driving off. Likely just circling the block, unwilling to leave Y/N by herself with Campbell for too long.

He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he worked hard to get where he is. This was just another business meeting. There was no need for his heart to be pounding and his hands to be sweating. Though you could hardly blame fight or flight for merely doing its job. Especially when Campbell was walking straight into the den of a predator, one who would eat his heart without a second thought.

He donned his patented ‘Devil May Care’ attitude and sauntered his way into the restaurant. Only to be stopped immediately by the hostess.

“Sir, you need a reservation to be in here” She said in a patronizing tone. Nearly a decade now of rubbing elbows with these yuppy rich people and he still couldn’t get over the condescending way they talked. Like he had a head full of lead and loose cotton swabs.

“I haaave a reservation,” Campbell said obnoxiously dragging out the syllables, letting his accent garble the enunciation just a bit. “I’m meeting with someone.”

The hostess flushed, seemingly embarrassed. “My apologies, you must be Mr. Bain. Right this way, she has been waiting for you.” The hostess said quickly. Campbell suppressed a wince, Y/N had been waiting, and he was never going to hear the end of it.

He followed the hostess as she scurried to a table tucked in the back corner. In the booth sat a feminine figure, donning comically large sunglasses and a silk scarf wrapped around her head. If he didn’t know any better he would have thought she was some infamous mafia boss’s grandmama.

“Aye, good morning babooshka. Any chance you’ve seen global pop sensation F/N L/N wandering around here?” Campbell said, sarcasm dripping from his shit eating grin. Y/N shushed him quickly, tilting her sunglasses down to level him with a glare so cold that the tiniest shiver ran down his spine. He half-wondered if it had turned him to stone. Ah, but there was that wrinkle, mission accomplished.

“Someone could hear you, you know?!” She hissed under her breath. “Are you just going to stand there looking like an unemployed scarecrow all day?” Y/N allowed a practiced tone of disinterest to seep into her voice. Campbell ignored the jab, feeling quite satisfied that it only took one well aimed sentence to bring out that adorable little crinkle in her brow. Adorable like a Tasmanian devil, of course.

He plopped himself unceremoniously into the booth besides Y/N. His long legs struggled to fit comfortably under the short clothed table. His knees crashed into the table legs, causing the silverware to clatter, water to spill from the crystal water glasses, and several other patrons to whip their head toward the pair of them distastefully.

“Aye learn to mind yer business, why don’t ya” Campbell shouted, attempting to stand up from the booth and knocking into table once more. Y/N rubbed a hand over her exasperated brow, as if trying to rub out an incoming headache.

“Dear god, is this your first time in public?” She said, her shoulders now folded forward to hide from the judgmental eyes of the other patrons.

“Nae,” Campbell said “but it looks like it’s your first time out of the 1950’s. What’s up with the ridiculous disguise, you look like my granny”

“I suppose you may be right about that” Y/N said, letting a small huff of air out her nose in a amusement. A laugh and admitting he was right about something? That was proof, Y/N had been murdered and replaced with a clone. Clearly, they were in the twilight zone. As he was pondering the universe and the fact it was currently flipping itself inside out, Y/N began her removing her disguise piece by piece. First the silk scarf revealing her signature H/T - H/C hair, then a fake beauty mark he hadn’t even noticed before, and finally the unreasonably large sunglasses.

For the first time in nearly two years (a year and eights months but who was counting) Campbell had taken a good look at Y/N. She looked… different? Her cheeks were a little fuller, her skin looked warmer, and… had her eyes always been that color? He took in her appearance piece by piece. By the time the stretch of silence had started to become just a bit uncomfortable, he decided that getting the hell out of dodge agreed with her.

He hadn’t realized he was staring until Y/N cleared her throat and took an awkwardly long sip from her nearly empty water glass.

“So, did you have any trouble finding the place?” she said with a small smirk. Campbell rolled his eyes.

“Nae, but yer rather rude driver looked like he was two seconds away from taking my head clean off my shoulders. Ye should watch out for him, he is clearly a serial killer in the making, just you wait” Campbell said, waving his arms about indignantly. “That and the hostess damn near threw me out on the street.”

“Oh Gustavo? He’s nothing but a kitten. He just gets a little protective, that’s all. You’re being such a big baby. And the hostess was just doing her job. I told her I was waiting for the man who looked like Gumby and sounded like Scrooge McDuck. And look! Here you are right before my eyes” Y/N responded a quick, a slightly menacing grin slowly sliding across her face. She was trying to get a rise out of him. He was not about to let her win.

“Funny, I just plugged in ‘Wicked Witch of the West’ into my GPS and-“Just as Campbell was winding up to deliver the most immature tirade, light reflecting off a passing car filled the room with a quick flash. Y/N flinched, her hands moving instinctively to cover her face. A moment later when no second flash came, she looked up at him, cheeks slowly turning red.

“What was that?” Campbell said, more curious than judgmental. Y/N straightened herself up and slid a palpable wall up to cover whatever vulnerability she had accidentally revealed. She flipped through the menu absently, hoping he would just stop looking at her like that.

“Paps have been ruthless lately. Guess that’s what happens when deprive them of anything for so long…” Y/N eyes looked a little distant. “they start acting like they’re starving.” The light that had been in her eyes earlier had dulled. She looked as though her mind had gone wondering off without her. Only for moment, before blinking and coming back into her body. “Hence the russian grandma special.” She joked flippantly holding up her pathetic disguise like nothing happened.

She turned her attention back to the menu. “Ooh the quiche lorraine looks good, what are you going to get?” Campbell looked at Y/N like she had three heads. Something was definitely wrong. He been around the block enough times to know when something was off. And he’d had enough of the games.

“What are we doing here Y/N?” Campbell said, not waiting for a response. “Why are you having me meet you in some stuffy bistro like yer on the run from the law? If ya wanted an interview with me that badly, which I highly doubt, why not just have yer team arrange it through the station?”

“The station doesn’t need to know about this.” Y/N said, unable to look him in the eye. She flagged down the waitress and put in an order for the both of them.

“Hey wait I didn’t even tell ye what I wanted!” Campbell said indignantly with a small pout. Y/N gave him a crooked smile that couldn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Just trust me.” She said. And for one of the very few times in Campbell’s life, he was speechless.

The moment the food hit the table he tore into it. He was basically starving due to the fact Y/N had cruelly denied him time to eat breakfast before basically kidnapping him. For a reason he still didn’t know yet. At the point where the food had hit his stomach and he could actually start to taste it, Campbell felt like he had died and gone to heaven. Maybe she had been right about the food. Maybe.

“Enjoying yourself?” Y/N asked smugly, tearing off a piece of croissant and popping it into her mouth. Campbell shot her glare, mouth too full to attempt any sort of dignified comeback. Not without spitting food out all over the table, and he was not about to waste it.

As the his hunger-driven delirium subsided, he noticed the way Y/N was so focused on eating, she had barely said a word. Basked in an emotion he had never seen from her, she looked content. It felt a bit weird to see her eating, but Campbell could quite put his finger on why. Surely he’d seen her eating before, they’d known each for years. Every function they were forced to attend together were stuffed to the brim with a damn near gluttonous amount of food.

Y/N felt his eyes on her and stiffened. He was staring again. He really needed to get a handle on that. She put down her fork and turned to address Campbell. She took a deep inhale and let out a shaky breath.

“Campbell,” there was his name again, “I know that we haven’t always gotten along-“

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the understatement of the century!” Campbell interrupted. Y/N glared him and clenched her jaw.

“Will you just shut up for one minute, and let me get through this!” Y/N seethed. Campbell’s eyes widened. He comically mimed zipping up his mouth, locking it up, and tossing the key over his shoulder. She rolled her eyes at his antics, but his delusions swore there was a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

“I need your help” Y/N admitted, her eyes fixed firmly on her lap. “A lot has happened, things that are difficult to explain and even more difficult for me say out loud.” She began twisting the rings on her fingers. “It wasn’t my choice to leave… to disappear like that” Campbell found himself leaning closer to hear her voice as it got quieter and quieter. He wondered if she had always looked this small. “Most people don’t really understand but I thought maybe… well I was hoping that you might-“

In the middle of what seemed to be a kind of confession, sounds of commotion came from outside. Y/N paused and slowly looked up, as if afraid of what she might see. Slowly and then all at once, camera flashes filled the once quiet restaurant. Reporters gathered outside the windows of the bistro, shouting over each other like a flock of seagulls. Cutting each off in a second creating an overlapping onslaught of noise.

“Y/N-“ “LOOK OVER HERE” “WHY DID YOU LEA-“ “Y/N” “Y/N” “LOOK THIS WA-“ “DID RODGER REALLY DUMP YO-“ “CAN YOU GIVE A COMMEN-“ “WHERE DID YOU G-“ “Y/N!” “IS IT TRUE YOU WERE IN REHA-“ “LOOK OVER HERE!” “HAVE YOU SEEN MR. DEL REY’S NEW FIANCÉ!” “Y/N!” “LOOK” “LOOK!” “LOOK!” “LOOK!”

The lights became blinding in an instant. Campbell was covering his eyes and trying to make sense of the commotion. The crowd outside was growing. The noise from them becoming louder and louder and more nonsensical. A few of the reporters had managed to make it in, only being held back by the ill-prepared waitstaff.

Y/N had dealing with this for years, she would know what to do. Campbell turned to her for an answer. And found her paralyzed. Eyes wide and glassy. Mouth hanging open slightly pushing tiny quick puffs of air in and out. None of them large enough count as an actual breath. Like a wounded deer staring down a man with a knife come to put it out of its misery.

“Y/N?” He said softly. She began shake her head ever slightly. The tiny puffs of breath of air almost sounded like a word, just barely: no. Campbell touched her hand, lightly trying to her attention but she was entranced. Staring at the lights and the shouting and the commotion. All of those people hoping to tear off just tiny little piece of her.

Campbell wasn’t stupid. He recognized that look. He’d seen it on Rosalie’s face a million times. She was having a panic attack, not the loud screaming kind. The kind that pulled you inside your own mind and made you a prisoner. Watching the world around yourself though a tiny little window, unable to do a thing. It was in that moment Campbell made a decision. A decision that went against years of bitter resentment and petty rivalry. She had asked him for help. And he was going to do just that.

Campbell stood up, gathered up all of Y/N’s things, and snatched the last croissant off the table. He was going to get her out of here. He took off his jacket and held it up with one hand, blocking the light from her face. He grabbed her hand and tugged on it slightly.

“Let’s get you out of here” Campbell said, a silent proposition hanging in the air. ‘Just trust me’. An invisible echo of those three little words she said to him not too long ago. Y/N looked up at him, still panicked but clinging to his hand like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth. He was happy to ignore the way it hurt his knuckles. She bravely stood up from the booth with shaky legs. And he smiled so wide it scrunched up his nose and nearly took over his whole face.

“Now, we run.”

_________________________________________________

Next Chapter

A/N: so i finally finished chapter three, not gonna lie this one fought me every step of the way, but we got here! i decided i’m gonna to try to post a new chapter weekly on wednesdays! thank you so much for reading, love you! have a good week!

(how do we feel about the paragraph breaks? i can’t tell if they’re obnoxious or if they make it easier to read. I can make them smaller if need be. if anyone has any strong opinions about it lmk!)

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Writing Resources: Chronic Migraines

Sp's resources for Content Creators Materialist

This is a long post!

Trigger warnings for discussion of chronic migraines. Other authors are more than welcome to add their own points and I will update the link in the masterlist as more is added. Alternatively, send me an anon ask or DM if you want to remain anonymous. I live with this condition every day and it has a serious impact on my life, don't be an ass.

This is a follow to this post I am over the moon at how many people are using/sharing it. Thank you so much!!

Basic facts

If you take anything away from this post, please make it this, migraines are not just really bad headaches. Migraines describe a wide range of neurological issues.

Remission happens, but it is a pipe dream for most people and many people who go into remission end up getting them again. This means that there is no cure, only treatment. Partial remission (less than ten migraines a month) is far more common and is what most people aim for.

Three out of four people who have migraines are AFAB, as the last post states being AFAB makes it much harder to access treatment.

Migraines are a registered disability and cost people/counties millions of dollars a year in treatment.

Miragines run in families but that doesn't mean they can't come from other sources.

There may be no clear cause.

Some people have spots on their brains that show up in MRIs others do not. Not having spots doesn't mean you are lying.

Some migraines mimic strokes.

For some people, nothing works, they have tried everything below and get no relief.

The Migraine

It starts with the prodrome this is the attack phase. Some people get an aura which might mean vision changes or smelling things that aren't there. Some people (myself included) don't get auras this does not mean we are lying.

The attack phase, this is when the pain starts. See symptoms for more information.

Postdrome, this is what happens after. Some people become very hungry, some people get huge bursts of energy, and some people are so tired they can't get out of bed.

Symptoms

Head pain, but not always, silent migraines and/or stomach migraines exist. The pain can be crushing/squeezing, pounding, sharp, burning, stabbing or a mix. Pain is often not isolated to the head and can affect the face, neck and shoulders as well.

Sensitivity to light (this is a huge one of me, I live in the Batcave) it can be so bad during an attack I can't even stand the light of my powerboard.

Sensitivity to sound, some people may find the spinning of a fan unbearable.

Sensitivity to smell. Anything from flowers to strong perfume and food smell can make a person feel very ill.

Sore skin, being touched can hurt.

Aggravation by movement/changing in position. Imagine being worried about getting up to use the bathroom because you know your pain will go from severe to "oh my god I want to die." When I am very bad, I have to spend around five minutes going from lying down, to sitting up to standing.

Tingling and numbness.

Facial drooping.

Nausea and vomiting. I have often said that if it was just pain, I could cope (bullshit) feeling nausea is horrible.

Brain fog. This can be so bad that people can forget very basic things.

Emotional ups and downs, being in pain can be really rough.

Triggers

The heat/cold.

Getting not enough/too much/poor sleep.

Certain foods.

Alcohol

Strong smells, I cannot use public transport without serious planning because most people don't know how strong their perfumes are.

Too much/too little/any exercise or exertion.

Changes in the weather. I used to love the rain, but I had to stop taking a drug due to its side effects, the rain now ruins my day.

Treatment Information/Treatments

A neurologist is the main treatment doctor.

People have to keep headache diaries.

To be diagnosed with a migraine disorder a person has to have more than head pain and/or head pain a certain number of times a month.

For some treatments a person has had to have others fail.

Emgality

Emgality sends people into remission. However, its use is limited because the body devolves antibodies. Imagine finally being pain-free years after of trying, then having something that works fail a year down the line, that's what many Emgality deal with.

Emgality is an auto-injector that goes in just below the skin, the is less body fat you have to more it hurts. My pain ruins my appetite and I'm thin, had it worked for me (it didn't) using it would have been difficult as I found the injection very painful.

Emgality can be very expensive.

There are two initial injections then one, once a month. They need to be kept in the fridge.

Botox

Botox can be very effective, it consists of up to forty injections every 8-12 weeks in the jaw, forehead, scalp neck and shoulder. I don't find these painful. In the case of where I live, the co-pay is every 12 weeks.

It is nothing like the botox you get for wrinkles.

Protocols for getting botox can be very strict, like all other treatments, botox can become ineffective over time. In the case of where I live, you had to either have had 8 days a month with migraines and/or 15 days with head pain.

Cost without a co-pay can be in the thousands.

Continued treatment with a co-pay may mean botox has to be effective after two rounds, it can take up to four for things to really work.

I start feeling it wear off at 9 weeks, which means for three weeks I am back to 5 pain days a week. This is very common and is mentioned in a lot of botox information.

For me the injections feel like being grabbed by tiny little hands.

Many people (myself included) get a post-botox migraine, they are not fun.

For some people botox does nothing or makes them even worse.

Below is the most basic injection map, I and many people I know get more than what is listed. It varies from person to person and often takes multiple rounds to find out what extra sights are helpful.

Preventive Medications

Daily pills that can be anything from anti-depressants to epilepsy medication.

They may work wonders, but side effects can ruin them. These can include, damage to internal organs, serious changes in weight, brain fog so bad you can't function and some drugs cause fetal deformities.

Most people will try a lot of preventive before they find one that works, some people will never find anything.

Daily cannabis can also be a preventative, both CBD and THC.

The list below is the most common

Abortives

These are used in the prodrome or attack phase.

The drugs could be triptans in the form of pills, injections and nasal sprays, muscle relaxants, sleeping pills, antihistamines and opioids and other pain medications including cannabis (both CBD and THC).

Other options.

A dark, comfortable room.

Heat and or cold treatment.

Magnesium injections and fluids.

Hot showers.

Physical therapy.

Dental treatment.

Roll-ons, creams and pain sprays with or without THC and CBD.

Tips on writing

Suggesting things like drinking water, doing yoga, taking xyz out of your diet, getting some sun, going for a walk or seeing a therapist is a really shitty thing to do. If you're doing this in your writing, then try to show it for what it is, an invading experience that happens over and over and over again. It's really nice when someone I know calls a person out on this.

Miragine sufferers often force themselves to function, if your character has a migraine and they have stuff to do, show that it's hard for them. Show that they are angry and distressed and want nothing more than to go home and rest and be out of pain.

Show the desperation that can take place. There are times I would have done anything to get out of pain. I would do whatever I could even if I knew it wasn't going to help. When all you can think about is how much pain you're in you will do anything to make it go away.

Being in pain all the time can make your normal abnormal, I can function fine at pain levels that send some people to the ER. You have no choice but to cope and many people (myself included) grow to dismiss their pain. Putting into words "it doesn't matter that I can't even keep water down or that the light shining through my eyelids makes me want to die, there's shit to be done."

I have cried when people have told me they have believed me, Many people do not want to be looked after, they just want to be acknowledged.

Fiction around someone looking after someone else can be wonderful (it's a part of many of my fics) If you want to write a caretaker fic/screen have the caretaker ask what the person needs, have them do research and show them being an advocate.

Please DM me if you have any questions.

[9tzuyu]

eat the cake

note: the way i could only come up with something for my 20th birthday and its tied to my mental illness </3. i'm so sorry i haven't uploaded in awhile, i haven't had much motivation for anything really. but i am going to try and push myself a little more.

also, this isn't very good but i wanted to kinda get something out as a gift for myself even though i won't ever read this again.

anyways, hope you guys are okay and i will try to work on requests asap!!

oh and this fic has wanda in it cause that's gf fr.

warnings: ed fic + semi proofread

. . .

wanda and natasha had been great throughout your recovery process. they always knew just how much to push you and when to leave you be, though not without a few trial and errors.

slowly, things got better. you could eat three meals a day without lying about it, control became less of a battle, and guilt faded more and more as the days passed by.

however, all of this didn't mean you were immune to have bad days or slip ups.

today just so happened to be another one of those days - because it was your birthday.

both wanda and natasha could tell that you were off a week prior. they knew what was coming up. meals were met with a little more resistance than before, time was spent away from them, and your favorite snacks hadn't been touched once in the past five days.

in your mind this was what had to be done in order to celebrate your birthday the 'right' way. you were compensating for the dessert no one else seems to have a problem with eating.

yesterday had been a day wanda and natasha hadn't experienced in awhile. you skipped both breakfast and lunch, only agreeing to dinner because your stomach wouldn't quit growling. but even then you only consumed about a third of your plate.

the night finished off with your back turned away from your girlfriends. you flinched at their touch, too grossed out by your body to have either of them spoon you.

. . .

wanda brushed a few stray hairs away from your face before placing a kiss on your cheek.

"happy birthday my love." she kissed you again, causing your eyes to flutter open ever so slightly. you smiled at the sight of both sets of green eyes staring down at you.

"up!" natasha cheered, "we've got a fun day ahead of us."

you groaned, "what if i just wanted to stay in bed all day with my beautiful girlfriends." wanda giggled. "well that's too bad now, isn't it? now rise and shine! up, up, up! it's your birthday!"

natasha wanted to take you shopping, much to your dismay. but you ended up enjoying the time spent and (very) reluctantly agreed to let both of them buy you a piece of jewelry that cost more than your rent. you knew there was no changing their mind though, no matter how much you told them the only thing you wanted was to spend time with each other.

"okay i have a little request..." you trailed innocently. "natasha might hate it, but wanda i think you might have fun with it."

natasha stood with her arms crossed, a smirk plastered on her face. "is it that photo booth you've been eyeing for the past ten minutes?"

you sheepishly nodded, "it's okay if you don't want to though, natasha. i know it's not exactly your thing."

the older redhead frowned, cupping your face in her hands. "whose birthday is it?"

"mine."

"so it doesn't really matter what i think about cheesy stuff right now, does it?" she smiled, easing your state of mind. "but just so you know i'd be happy to go in that photo booth over there and take silly little pictures with you - both of you." she emphasized.

and so she was.

all three of you took a series of funny pictures, some with bunny ears, a few with your tongues out. but your personal favorite was the one with wanda and natasha kissing both sides of your cheeks, your face scrunched in a fit of laughter.

all three of you left the booth with nothing but love on your mind.

that was until you remembered what day it was. the impending fear of what was to come later slipped back into your mind, resulting in the smile on your face falling down to nothing.

natasha caught on rather quickly and took your hand in hers, bringing it closer to her face to place a kiss on the indentions of your knuckles.

“you’re okay, i promise.”

wanda rubbed your back softly as a means of support. you peered up at her, “lunch?”

both wanda and natasha nodded, sympathy pouring from their eyes knowing lunch wasn't something you'd been overly excited about lately.

but surprisingly the meal went smoother than any of you expected. you chose to focus on wanda's laugh and the way natasha teased her about the movies she liked.

even afterwards you didn't have time to think of getting rid of the meal. your girlfriends had a way of distracting you so that your attention was held on them and not the overwhelming guilt flooding your mind.

. . .

the day slowed down in the evening, all three of you resting on the couch until wanda got up and made her way to the kitchen. you looked at natasha curiously, to which she shrugged her shoulders.

wanda came back with a pink homemade cake in her hands before setting it on top of the coffee table. she hurried back into the kitchen to get a few plates and a knife.

"i know how rough this week has been, but what's a birthday without cake?" she attempted to lighten the mood. "i also know this is going to be difficult for you, but at the very least we just want you to try. if you don't try now, there's a chance you might never try again and we all know what that would mean for you."

wanda was met with silence.

she wasn't wrong though. if you were to go into a full relapse there wouldn't be any coming out of it.

you were too comfortable, you needed to challenge yourself by doing this.

because it was just cake. that's all it was.

it was not the monster you'd created it to be in your head. it was a treat, a way of celebrating your life on this earth, a way of showing you that you'd made it another year.

it was just cake.

and if you didn't have it now then you might miss the chance of ever having it again.

so you nodded your head giving wanda permission to light the candles.

natasha kissed your temple. "you got this," she encouraged softly.

your wish was to be at peace for the rest of the night.

seconds later natasha cut a slice of cake for you with a hopeful smile on her face.

natasha was the first eat with wanda following suit. you could tell they were waiting on you although they tried their best not to show it.

your hands were shaky, but after the first few bites it got easier.

"is it good?" wanda questioned. you nodded, "very good. but anything you make is bound to be delicious."

"what about you, nat? do you like it?"

"how could i not?" she teased, sending a wink in wanda's direction.

when you finished, natasha gathered everyones forks and plates into a pile before putting them in the sink. she came back and scooped you in her arms, carrying you into the bedroom.

wanda crawled up next to you shortly after. her face rest comfortably in the crook of your neck looking up at you. "happy birthday, we love you more than you can even imagine."

"and we're proud of you for not only trying, but doing." natasha added. "now do you want to watch something or go to sleep?"

you thought about it for a second, "you can put on whatever, i just want to stay sandwiched between you two."

"well we can make that happen, right nat?"

"i wouldn't want to do anything else."

[talesofstyles]

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain. 

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder. 

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment. 

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car. 

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.” 

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later. 

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald. 

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.” 

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later. 

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks. 

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off. 

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.” 

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors. 

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve. 

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING. 

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head. 

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her. 

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals. 

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom. 

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife. 

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process. 

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop. 

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache. 

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink. 

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers. 

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest. 

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room. 

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward. 

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket. 

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages. 

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side. 

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket. 

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door. 

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.” 

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going. 

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him. 

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear. 

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat. 

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes. 

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt. 

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige. 

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down. 

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.” 

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching. 

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

[solalunar-eclipse]

A Gift To Remember

Summary: Shadow receives a gift for his birthday that causes a series of very interesting (and often cute) events.

Word count: about 7500 words

Author’s Note: I didn’t realize today was Shadow’s birthday! At the moment I’m more than a little confused because the release dates for SA2 say everything from the 18th to the 23rd, but this seems to be the one, so here this is!

Also, to that one anon whose question about this fic I never quite managed to answer- sorry about that and I do hope you’re still here to read this!

...

The main room of Team Dark’s home was, on a normal day, at least somewhat clean- which was in and of itself surprising, considering the fact that three teenagers lived there. (It was, of course, slightly less surprising when it was noted that one of these teenagers was a giant robot, one was already a businesswoman, and one had grown up in an incredibly clean environment.)

At the moment, however, said room was currently rather less clean, instead covered in various colorful signs, streamers, balloons, and other such decorations. After all, today was a very special day.

When Shadow and Rouge had discovered they shared a birthday (or creation day for Shadow, technically), they both became infinitely more determined to celebrate it for the other’s sake. This had actually, interestingly enough, also ended up making them enjoy their own festivities more than they had in quite some time.

Omega, meanwhile, had officially decided that this was his favorite day of the year.

Over the past few days, Rouge had already received a few presents from various people she knew in the line of clothes, makeup, or jewelry- but as much as she loved gems, her favorites so far were definitely the ones Omega and Shadow had gotten for her: a laser cutter that could slice through anything and a pair of (stylish) infrared goggles, respectively.

Shadow had just opened his present from Omega, which happened to be a sword that looked very cool...but was also longer than his actual body. This wasn’t actually as big of a problem for him as might be expected, as he’d gotten used to handling weapons several times his size during the alien invasion a little while back. 

He had, however, been told rather quickly by Rouge to put it away ‘before you slice the wall in half, this place does cost money, you know!’.

Next, Rouge placed her present in his hands, but at first all Shadow could do was just stare at it. This was likely because the gift wasn’t actually wrapped, but instead consisted of a box made of wood slats and filled, oddly enough, with paper shavings. There were quite a few ribbons on it, though, in an attempt to make up for the lack of other decorations.

“I couldn’t wrap it, or else the present wouldn’t have worked.” she explained, sitting back down to watch him open it.

After prying off the top and shifting aside some of the paper pieces, the hedgehog froze.

Inside, there sat a single white chao egg.

Carefully lifting the egg out of the box, Shadow held it gingerly, as though he were afraid it might try to bite him if he wasn’t gentle enough.

“Rouge…” he began nervously. “Don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate this, but...are you sure I’m the best person to be taking care of a chao?”

“Of course, hon!” she said. “You’ve taken care of them before, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but…” Shadow protested, “...are you sure I’ll be able to do as well at home? The garden is their natural habitat…”

Omega folded his arms. “YOU ARE THE ULTIMATE LIFEFORM. OF COURSE YOU CAN RAISE A CHAO.”

“That’s right!” Rouge added. “The chao are always happy when you take care of them- this time isn’t going to be any different.”

“…I suppose so.” Shadow conceded, taking a deep breath. He began to rock the egg slowly from side to side. “Here we go-”

A crack appeared across the pristine white surface. The split spread rapidly while Shadow sat and watched, making sure not to move the egg about much. Chao had to hatch their eggs on their own- it was the way they first began to strengthen themselves. 

Rouge laughed. “See? You know exactly what you’re doing!”

Shadow studiously ignored her and continued to focus on the egg. Then, suddenly, a chirp came from inside and the whole top half came flying off.

The hybrid looked at his newborn chao...and his heart (though he’d never admit it) immediately melted. Soft, big eyes gazed up at him, an overjoyed smile on the creature’s face. It cooed happily upon seeing him give a small smile back, and he reached out and began to gently pat its head.

The chao broke into an even wider smile as its eyes closed blissfully, the little sphere above its head popping into a heart. Shadow continued to pet it, offering gentle words of praise, and might have continued like that for the next ten minutes had a camera noise from Omega not made him look up in alarm.

“ADDING IMAGE TO FILE: SHADOW BEING SOFT.” he declared, while Rouge looked on with a giant grin.

“You will do nothing of the sort-” Shadow growled, jumping to his feet, before a soft whimper from his chao stopped him. Its eyes were watery, wide and distressed, and the hybrid immediately scooped it up in his arms, holding it close. It relaxed quickly, snuggling into his chest fluff, and he shot Omega one last semi-serious glower before turning his attention back to the newborn.

Omega promptly took another picture.

…

Later that day, at the party that all of their friends had thrown for them, the chao and Shadow were nearly inseparable. It tended to rest in his lap when he was sitting or rode in between his ears whenever he stood up to get something. Eventually, though, the excitement of a new environment overwhelmed its initial nervousness, which unfortunately led to Shadow returning from the dining room with his hands full of plates of food to discover his chao crawling along the precarious edge of a bookshelf.

Suddenly, the chao’s footing slipped, and Shadow froze, unable to move or do anything- but then Sonic of all people noticed and was already there, leaping up and catching the chao before resting it snugly in his arms. “Looks like someone’s already progressed to the giving-their-owner-a-heart-attack stage, hm?” he asked, smirking at the little creature.

“Thank you.” Shadow said as his chao was returned to him, trying very hard to ignore the way his hands and Sonic’s brushed in the process.

(He’d been nursing a bit of a crush on the hero for a while now, but had decided to ignore it until it wore off. Sonic had admirers from all across the globe vying for his attention- it was absurd to think that anything could happen between them.)

…

Over the coming weeks, all three members of Team Dark made sure to rework their schedules so that someone was always home to watch over the chao- no more climbing on bookcases for the little one now. Shadow did most of the caretaking, feeding, training, cleaning, and providing Chaos Drives (mostly green) to the chao. Rouge did, however, occasionally claim she could ‘handle the extra work’ to give him some spare time and Omega even took it upon himself to watch it every so often.

Sometimes, Shadow and his chao would even cook together in the kitchen (a hobby he’d discovered he enjoyed after finding out that Rouge tended to eat takeout all the time- “You can’t live off that day in and day out- you’re not me, Rouge!”). The sight of a tiny pale blue creature determinedly lifting a bag of flour and flying it across the room was awfully cute- especially after Shadow bought it a tiny apron in what he unconvincingly claimed was an accidental purchase. 

Shadow never made accidental purchases.

As much as the hybrid took care of it, though, the chao also seemed to be helping him. He smiled more, glowered less, and generally seemed more tolerant of mistakes than he had been in the past. Nowadays, errors that would once have caused him to go off on a rant or huff about were now met with a calmer ‘it’s okay’ or an offer for help fixing it.

He often laid a hand on it in his sleep or curled around it protectively, and could easily be seen patting its head, carrying it around, or even- when he thought he was alone- nuzzling it gently. The amount of time and care he put into making sure that his chao was happy would have been astonishing to anyone who hadn’t already seen how much he cared about his friends.

It was no surprise then that, before long, Rouge and Omega woke up one morning to find the chao inside a cocoon (and also a very stressed-out Shadow).

The hedgehog promptly called in sick for the entire week- an incredible occurrence for him. He’d originally sworn that since he couldn’t get ill, he’d give his sick days to others when they needed it, but now that was all out the window. He wanted nothing more than to stay home and essentially sit and stare at the cocoon until it hatched.

While the two other members of Team Dark managed to convince him to eat, sleep, and do chores on regular intervals, whenever Shadow had a spare moment he’d stay in his room, watching and waiting. Their friends got so worried that Rouge and Omega had used everything in their power to coax him out of the house twice over those five days, but he refused to do any more. Even then his outings had to come with the promise that they’d both stay home, check it every five minutes, and call him the absolute moment something happened.

On the sixth day of waiting, the cocoon began to hatch while Shadow was attempting to discreetly read out loud to the chao from one of his favorite books. The moment he saw the split, he dropped the novel, jumped up, and shouted louder than he had in months- “Rouge! Omega! It’s HAPPENING!”

He hovered so closely around the cocoon that Omega had to physically pull him back as Rouge reminded him to give the chao more space. Within moments, the split had widened enough for a single black paw to poke out, feeling around carefully for some sort of purchase to pull itself the rest of the way outside. Soon enough, it had succeeded, earning- impressively enough- widened eyes from Omega and a gasp from both Shadow and Rouge.

Frowning light blue eyes were set in an equally grumpy (albeit adorable) face, with two little black ears and three tiny quills on the chao’s head. The ears and quills both had red stripes, as did the arms, legs, and even its tail. A red crescent shape sat on its chest, and two tiny purple bat wings flapped slowly behind it.

In short, it looked a lot like a tiny Shadow.

The hedgehog in question reached out carefully and began to pet his chao, offering some quiet words of praise, but before long it flew up and settled in its favorite spot in between his ears. When Shadow turned around to face his friends, they were met with the sight of a little glowering creature settled on top of his head…which really did look far too similar to the hybrid himself when he was irritated. 

Rouge covered a smile with both of her hands. “Shadow...hon…”

He frowned at her, only serving to make the resemblance more obvious. “What?”

“It looks exactly like you!”

“Not really- it has blue eyes and...bat wings…” He looked up at her suddenly. “Rouge...how much time have you been spending with Spark again?”

“Oh, just a little- wait, Spark?” she said quickly, redirecting his attention.

Shadow flushed a bright green at that. “I might’ve already picked out a name...does it sound alright?” he asked, studiously looking anywhere but at his friends.

The chao chirped at the name and snuggled a little further into the fur on his head, seemingly pleased with the title. 

He began to smile at that. “You like that name, do you?” he asked teasingly.

“It sure looks like it! I think it’s a lovely name, hon.” Rouge added.

The chao cooed, cementing its name with all of the team (whether Omega would admit it or not).

Now, if anything, Shadow and his chao were even more close than before. Rouge even bought it a tiny leather jacket to match his style, which was quickly deemed by everyone (especially their friends, to whom she’d sent about fifty photos) the most adorable thing ever. 

...

One day, Shadow came home from lunch out with Silver and Blaze only to discover a quite unexpected scene- though he really should have seen it coming, considering what he’d noticed after his chao had hatched. Rouge was kneeling next to the sofa, scratching Spark behind the ears and saying in what could only be described as a baby voice, “Who’s your favorite momma? Me, that’s right. That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Uh….” he interrupted, feeling more than a little uncertain as to how to respond to this. He was torn between “I didn’t know you had a baby voice” and “I’m glad to see you and Spark getting along” and wasn’t entirely sure which one to go with here.

The bat, on the other hand, jumped a good three feet in the air at the sound before glaring at Shadow furiously. “Don’t startle me like that!” she shouted, more than a little tense...and also a bit worried?

The hybrid didn’t react, instead saying “It’s nice to see you spending time with Spark too, Rouge.” with a smile. 

She relaxed a little at that, and Shadow sighed. “Rouge, I wouldn’t make fun of you- I do the same kind of thing, don’t I?”

“You’re right, you’re right.” the bat admitted. “I just had to! It looks like me- it even has my wings! How could I not?”

Shadow moved to sit down on the sofa at that, reaching out to pat the chao as well. Rouge smiled at him gratefully, and then they both looked down at the cute creature in between them, who was promptly staring up at both with a confused look on its face. After a moment, though, it seemed to realize that everything was alright and nuzzled both Mobians before curling up on the couch happily.

…

Another time, the entire team was out grocery shopping at their favorite store when Spark’s eye was caught by the soft, warm cinnamon buns sitting behind a glass case. After a minute or two of desperate pulling at the seams- to no avail- it flew over to Shadow and began to poke at his shoulder until he turned to look at it.

“Yes? What is it?” he asked, giving the chao a little scratch under the chin.

The chao pointed excitedly at the sweet treats, but its expression melted into one of dismay upon hearing him say “No, Spark, that’s not very good for you- and it’s too big for you to finish all by yourself, too.”

It mimed a clock insistently- they didn’t go to the store that often, after all- its frown deepening all the while. Shadow felt a little uncertain- he enjoyed giving the chao treats, but was now really the best time to feed it so much sugar? It could end up flying all over the place, and he really didn’t feel like getting banned from yet another grocery store. (The last one had been because Omega got a little too excited while messing around with the shopping cart and had melted it and twisted it into a knot...somehow. They were rapidly escorted out after that.)

Suddenly, though, the chao shuffled forward, took one of his fingers in between its tiny paws, and stared up at him with the softest, most pleading look it could possibly manage, its eyes wide and mouth quivering. “No...no, come on…” Shadow protested weakly, but already his resistance was melting away. It practically seemed to be saying haven’t I been good all week? Can’t I please just have this one treat? and the hybrid was in no condition to fight back.

Within moments, Spark was holding a cinnamon roll and dug into it with glee, only pausing once to nuzzle Shadow happily and offer him a quick bite as thanks. He accepted the gesture of appreciation easily (even though now his face had sugar on it after the chao’s affectionate thank-you) and was more than happy to see his chao smiling broadly with the treat in its hands.

…

The chao was, of course, still a great help to Shadow as well. One night in particular, it woke up to the sounds of quiet whimpering and began to look around, startled. For a moment, it turned to its caretaker for help- and then discovered that he was the one in trouble.

Shadow was curled up on his side, his brow creased in distress and his whole body shaking terribly. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut and occasionally the most terribly saddening sounds would escape his mouth. Once or twice, a tear escaped and trickled down his face.

Spark crawled up to his face gently, licking away the tear and nuzzling his cheek. Shadow shuddered briefly, but seemed to relax almost infinitesimally when the dark chao pressed itself against his chest for a moment. Eventually, the creature managed to get him to roll onto his back, at which point it crawled onto his chest, hoping that this would help him begin to relax.

It really did work- within moments, the small, warm weight on his chest made Shadow’s breathing even out and his shivers ease as the nightmare that was plaguing him began to fade.

Spark curled up, pleased with itself, and fell back asleep not long after.

…

There was just one problem amongst all this newly-discovered happiness that came with the chao. Ever since it had evolved out of its cocoon, Omega seemed as though he were hardly willing to interact with it.

Rouge or Shadow would hand it over to him, only to get it back less than a minute later. He spent the least amount of time with it out of the three, but when he was asked if he didn’t like the chao, he never said as much. 

Omega didn’t tend to lie...but then why wouldn’t he do anything with it?

Once or twice, they’d caught him merely staring at Spark as the little creature sat on the couch, his optics clicking but otherwise utterly silent. The two Mobians hardly knew what to make of it- he’d never acted like this before.

They finally had the opportunity to discover why he was behaving strangely several days later, though, entirely due to an accident on Shadow’s part. Rouge and Omega had been answering a distress call regarding some rogue G.U.N. robots and needed to call in the hybrid to help. He’d driven his motorbike directly to the scene and leapt straight into battle…

...and hadn’t noticed Spark peeking out of the bag he’d left on his bike.

The chao- while fast, to be sure- was in no way prepared for a full-on battle. While at first it had hoped to help its little family, flying about uncertainly in hopes of doing something, it quickly discovered that the only thing it could really do was to hide behind an upended concrete slab and hope it wasn’t noticed.

That, unfortunately, didn’t quite work out.

It didn’t take long before one of the rogue drones spotted a fourth heat signature aside from the three it was fighting and began to stalk towards it, charging its laser cannon in the process. Shadow, confused at first, felt his stomach drop in horror upon seeing his tiny chao shaking in fear as the machine advanced on its hiding spot. He hadn’t thought to bring a Chaos Emerald, believing this would be an easy battle- and Rouge was busy in the air.

The laser cannon on the drone was almost fully charged, and Shadow fired up his skates in a futile attempt to somehow reach Spark before-

A white hot blast lit up the area.

Shadow couldn’t have stopped the strangled cry that came from his mouth if he had wanted to. The smoke began to clear, and he almost couldn’t look…

Something stirred within the haze, and as it cleared away, Shadow felt his whole body sag with relief upon seeing Omega shifting to an upright position from where he’d shielded the chao with the back of his chassis, blocking the full force of the laser. He let out a sigh as he caught a glimpse of Spark held safely in Omega’s hand as the other one retracted to reveal a flamethrower.

“MY TURN.”

Within moments, the drone was just so much melted slag on the floor and the battle’s tide was turned. Shadow and Rouge dispatched the other robots and then rushed to Omega, who had held onto the chao this entire time.

“Omega...thank you.” Shadow said, taking Spark from his friend and holding it tightly.

“IT WAS- zzzt- NOTHING.” Omega said, a sudden staticky buzz splitting his sentence in two.

“Omega?” Rouge asked, her eyes narrowing. “What happened to you?”

“NOTHING.” he said hurriedly, his voice still glitching. “WAIT- DON’T YOU D-DARE-”

The three had already begun looking to see what had happened...but then froze when they saw the damage his back panel had taken while shielding Spark from the blast. A giant, smoking hole of warped and fused metal was burned into his chassis, revealing a bunch of melted and sparking wiring that definitely needed urgent attention.

“Omega…” Shadow looked horrified.

Rouge frowned, confused. “Why would you do this to yourself? I know how much you hate having to go get repairs.”

The robot let out a burst of static that sounded almost like a resigned sigh. Turning around, he muttered, “IT’S LI-LITERALLY YOU. AND ROUGE. BUT TINY. THAT APPEARS TO HAVE… STRANGE EFFECTS- zzzt- ON MY BEHAVIOR.”

“Do you...not like those effects?” Rouge asked, now clearly shifting into ‘I’m figuring things out’ mode. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding it so often?”

“I AM A ROBOT OF MASS DESTRUCTION. I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO CARE FOR TINY CREATURES SUCH AS THIS ONE. I SHOULD NOT FEEL ANY ‘WORRY’ ABOUT IT- AND YET-” Omega cut off there with a frustrated crackle.

Shadow still didn’t understand. “You’ve always been a robot of mass destruction, but you never thought it was weird to worry about us before.”

“THAT WAS DIFFERENT!” Omega insisted. “YOU BOTH ARE POWERFUL. IT IS NATURAL THAT RESPECT AND CONSEQUENTLY OTHER THINGS SHOULD COME FROM THAT. BUT THIS-! IT HAS NO DESTRUCTIVE QUALITIES! BUT STILL I...YOU KNOW...”

“It’s official, Omega.” Rouge said at that, a smirk growing on her face. “You’re becoming more and more like us...organics are always weak for cute things.”

“IT IS SHAMEFUL THAT I SHOULD COME TO THIS.” he grumbled.

“It’s not so bad, really.” Shadow said, placing a hand on his arm.

“And that’s coming from the guy who never used to admit he cares about people!” Rouge insisted. “Omega, you know you don’t have to be embarrassed about that kind of thing here- you’d never make fun of Shadow for not being tough all the time, would you?”

“I GUESS NOT…” he said, still seeming irritated.

At this point, Spark flew up to sit in Omega’s hand, looking up at the robot with its little frowning face, before reaching out and patting a single finger solemnly with its paw.

“OH NO.”

“Oh yes.” Rouge answered, grinning. “Let’s get you to Tails now though, okay? Then once you’re fixed up you can come home and pet the chao.”

Omega turned his head away and refused to dignify that with a response.

(He did, however, pet the chao when he got home. Nobody teased him about it, for which- while he’d never say it- he was rather grateful.)

…

It was inevitable, eventually, that Team Dark’s schedule wouldn’t be perfect and that they’d all have to be out and busy at some point. This, of course, meant that Spark would have to be dropped off at the chao daycare. 

Shadow had managed to force himself to reconcile with that fact, but the chao wasn’t nearly as good at that sort of thing.

On the day of, it was sobbing desperately, clinging to Shadow’s jacket with a tight grip as though it’d been handed a horrible punishment instead of a day spent at the warm, welcoming building in front of it. “It’s going to be alright. You’ll be okay, it’s just for a day. See, the Mobians who run it are very nice- won’t you look?” the hybrid whispered in a soothing voice, gently rubbing Spark’s head.

Omega stepped forward. “DON’T YOU...WANT TO SHOW HOW BRAVE YOU CAN BE?” he said awkwardly. Talking to the chao was still taking some getting used to for him, but he was definitely trying his best.

Rouge smiled warmly at that. “Of course! We’ll all be so proud of you, don’t you know that?”

“We can make a cake especially for you when you get home too, alright?” Shadow said, and that was the final thing the chao needed to hear. Wiping its eyes with a final few sniffles, it flew over to the little walkway towards the entrance and stood up tall, its body shaking slightly with leftover stress and its attempts not to cry.

“We love you!” Rouge called, blowing it a quick kiss.

“See you soon.” Shadow said gently, waving with a smile.

“YOU’LL BE THE BEST ONE THERE.” Omega added, shuffling in place a little.

The chao whimpered briefly, but then turned away and bounded into the daycare before it could lose its nerve. 

Throughout the morning, it remained relatively antisocial- a bit like the hedgehog whose appearance it had taken- during the music and karate lessons. The other chao all babbled and played together, being mostly neutral and hero-types, and the few dark chao that were there wanted to cause an awful lot more trouble than Spark was in the mood for.

One thing that it noticed very clearly, though, was the extraordinarily frustrating presence of a royal blue hero and speed-type chao.

This chao didn’t seem to think even once (let alone twice) about anything it did. It banged on the drums until Spark’s ears were sore during music class and then somehow managed to smack it in the face during karate lessons twice, and all the while it chatted away with about five other chao all around it.

Needless to say, by midday, when it was playtime, Spark had just about had enough.

When the blue chao rushed directly through the little sand city that it had been carefully building, swiping everything away with a single dash, Spark growled, picked up the plastic shovel it had been playing with, and threw it so hard it whacked the other creature in the arm.

Snarling, it began to stomp off when it felt a hand on its shoulder. The blue chao darted away and began hurriedly to try and rebuild the city, occasionally glancing up at Spark with an apologetic expression in its eyes.

It...looked awfully sad, actually.

Suddenly, the dark chao remembered how it had quickly stopped banging on the drums when the teacher had told it to, and how it had looked rather guilty when it had smacked Spark in the face, and how excited it was when talking with the other chao…

Maybe it was just a little clumsy sometimes.

Spark sighed a little. The other meant well, it decided, as its anger began to fade. It appreciated the apology...but now the sculptures were gone and it couldn’t get them back. Then, though, its gaze fell upon a pair of toy cars sitting nearby. 

Pulling the blue chao over to a strip of flat, packed earth nearby, it gave one car to its surprised companion and then set its own down at a line that could work quite well as the start of a race.

Soon enough, the other creature worked out the idea and began to cheer with delight, and before long they were racing cars like they’d been friends since the start. Eventually, they even switched to running races themselves, over and over again until they were all worn out and collapsed on the cool grass in a heap. Before long, though, they were up and at it again, only this time they started with a building game, and then had a little fun with the musical instruments, and soon enough Spark couldn’t help but wonder how they had ever fought in the first place.

Eventually, they decided that their next activity would be a race to the top of the jungle gym they noticed nearby. Spark was determined not to lose as it scrambled up the bars. It pulled itself paw over paw up the structure, getting closer and closer to the top, until-

Suddenly, a bar that it had been sure existed in front of it only a moment ago was now clearly just a little too far away, and the mistake caused it to reel forward, desperately clinging to the slippery bar it sat on. It twisted head over heels until it slid and fell all the way back to the ground, the wind slammed forcefully out of its little lungs.

Spark gasped soundlessly, trying and failing to pull air back into itself. After several agonizing seconds, it finally caught its breath- and then nearly got it knocked back out again by the impact of its new friend.

Regaining focus, the dark chao realized with a start that its friend was practically wailing into its chest, the soft blue creature shaking with desperate, panicked sobs. It looked up quickly, its eyes swollen and teary, and then reached out with its paws and hurriedly patted Spark’s body down, as though to reassure itself that the dark chao was still there. 

The creature in question sat up and pulled its friend into a tight hug, feeling nothing less than awful as the blue chao sniffled and whimpered worriedly in its arms. Eventually, it managed to calm down enough to amble over to a small nest made of blankets especially for tired chao and lay down there next to Spark. The two chao curled up together, nuzzling gently as the shaky breaths of the blue one finally evened out.

Spark felt the little ball over its head pop into a heart shape, and noticed briefly that its friend had done the same. They remained curled up like that for the last half-hour or so of their time in the daycare, alternately simply cuddling or talking about their respective owners.

Spark hoped they’d get to spend more time with this friend of theirs soon.

…

Shadow pulled up to the daycare on his motorcycle at closing time, doing his best to smooth out his frazzled quills. It wouldn’t be very good to let his chao know that he’d been nearly as worried about it as it had felt itself. 

He sighed, making his way towards the entrance of the building- and instantly felt the last wisps of his composure vanish upon seeing Sonic standing just inside. Before he could panic and flee the area at top speed, his legs (which didn’t seem to have received the message just yet) carried him through the door and inside.

Almost immediately, the blue hedgehog turned to face him with a bright smile. “Oh! Hey, Shadow!” Sonic said happily. “I didn’t know you brought your chao here, too! I’ve gotta say hi to the little guy again sometime!”

“This is my first time bringing it here. If it’s alright with that…I suppose you may.” the hybrid said, trying his best to sound coherent and cool (but actually just seeming stiff and awkward).

They talked for a little while as they waited for their chao to come out, chatting about their lives and friends. More than once, Shadow had to pinch himself in order to stay focused. His mind kept threatening to wander off into dreamland when he was around the hero, ready to admire his many great qualities (and wonderful appearance) at the drop of a hat.

Eventually, though, he became a bit worried by the fact that chao after chao were wandering out through the playroom door, being collected, and leaving…but neither Spark nor Sonic’s chao had even showed up. Soon enough, the two decided to walk into the room and find their tiny charges themselves.

“Uh, hi, mixter!” Sonic greeted the leopard who ran the daycare. “Didja see my lil’ buddy somewhere around here?”

“Oh, hello Sonic!” they said brightly- clearly the hero had been to this place quite a few times before. “Yes, your chao is over there in that nest there, sorry. I just hated to disturb those two…”

Shadow frowned. Those two?

His question was promptly answered when Sonic whisked aside the blanket covering the nest, only for both of them to stare at the sight inside.

Two purring chao, one clearly Sonic’s and the other obviously Shadow’s, were snuggled up together with big hearts floating over their heads. Even the hybrid’s dark chao, notorious for its ever-present frown, looked completely at peace with a small smile on its face.

He tried his best not to freak out.

“Erm…” Shadow began eloquently.

“Uh…” Sonic replied.

The two chao perked up at this, looking happily at their owners before nuzzling gently together in a manner that made Shadow’s stomach leap into his throat and then crash straight through the floor. In a further twist (both in events and in the striped hedgehog’s internal organs), Sonic’s chao then leapt happily into his arms, leaving Shadow to stare at the tiny version of his crush cuddling into his chest fur.

He sincerely hoped there was a convenient couch nearby for him to sit down on.

“Blu- come on-” Sonic began, looking oddly panicked for some reason, but then Spark sprang eagerly onto his shoulder and the hero rapidly fell silent as the dark chao nudged his cheek.

The two hedgehogs stared at each other for a long time. Shadow tried to move or do something other than just stand there, but it was awfully difficult when the hero was looking at him with those wide, soft green eyes….

“Er…Sonic?” Shadow finally choked out, in an odd, strained sort of tone.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’d like my chao back now.”

“Yeah.”

They each handed over their respective creatures, though Shadow felt rather reluctant to let such a tiny version of Sonic out of his arms. And for a moment he could almost have sworn that the hero held Spark a little longer than necessary, too…

…

Once he got home, the hybrid collapsed onto the couch and covered his eyes briefly with a hand. Spark, who had at first rushed into the kitchen (not having forgotten the promise of cake), came back and began to tug on his arm briefly before realizing that maybe Shadow wasn’t quite up to doing much of anything at the moment.

Rouge and Omega walked in just a moment later, their work having ended a little after Shadow’s. Upon seeing him slumped on the furniture, though, their greetings were cut short and instead replaced by worried questions.

Shadow sighed. “Spark...just spent a bunch of time cuddling with Sonic’s chao. And he noticed.”

“And that’s a good thing, hon.” Rouge shot back, having resisted a facepalm the moment she realized what all this was about.

“It is not!” the hedgehog cried out, before realizing that Spark was more than a little stressed by his tone of voice. “I’m not mad at you, don’t worry, it’s just...I already make enough of a fool of myself around him on my own. He’ll figure it out soon enough if we keep this up.”

“SO LET HIM.” Omega said. “EITHER HE STARTS DATING YOU OR HE’S AN IDIOT.”

Shadow blushed furiously. “It doesn’t work like that!”

“EXCEPT WHEN IT DOES.”

“Why don’t you tell him, hon?” Rouge asked. “I mean…” and here she developed a devious smile, “...didn’t his chao technically also act all affectionate with yours?”

The hybrid’s ears were bright green by now. “He’s nice to everyone, Rouge.”

At this point, Spark- who had left temporarily to get a pencil and paper- held up a drawing it had made of the scene at the jungle gym earlier. Shadow, of course, immediately began fussing over his chao, checking for any bruises or scrapes, but the bat in particular saw something entirely different.

“Kinda...reminds me of what happened on Space Colony ARK.” she mused. 

Shadow’s head shot up at that. “What?”

Rouge smirked, but it was bittersweet this time. “Your fall...it really hurt him too, y’know? He didn’t go out in public for a long time after that.”

“He...he never mentioned that to me…”

“He wouldn’t have!” she said. “Sonic isn’t the type to ‘bother’ others with his feelings.” Rouge explained, doing air quotes at one point.

“HE ALSO STARES AT YOU WHEN YOU ARE NOT LOOKING.”

“He what?!” By now Shadow had been reduced to just looking back and forth between his two friends. 

Spark flew in front of Shadow’s face and began to mime something. First pointing at Shadow, then a heart, then talking, then a hedgehog with all its quills pointed down…

“No! I can’t just tell him!”

“We’re hanging out with his team next week at the park- you should do it then.” Rouge replied, ignoring the last thing he’d just said.

“Did you not hear me, I can’t-”

“YOU WILL NEED SOMETHING NICE TO WEAR.” Omega said loudly over the rest of his sentence.

Spark cheered approvingly.

“So...you three have just decided for me whether or not I’m going to confess to Sonic.” Shadow sighed, beginning to resign himself to the fact.

“Absolutely, hon!” Rouge said brightly, slipping an arm around his shoulders.

He glowered at all three of them, but it lacked any real malice. “Alright, I’ll play along...for now.” he grumbled.

“EXCELLENT. LET THE PLANNING COMMENCE.”

…

One week later, Shadow was standing in the middle of a patch of grass, feeling like his knees were about to buckle as sweat trickled through his quills. He was no longer resigned to telling Sonic about his feelings and was in fact considering jumping into the nearby lake and hiding there for the duration of the hangout. His stomach- along with whatever scraps of resolve he may have had- were currently all the way back at their house.

On top of all that, he was frankly surprised he didn’t just spontaneously burst into flames when the other three Mobians showed up, Sonic in the lead.

“Hey guys!” he said excitedly. “Long time no see!”

Rouge snickered a bit at his catchphrase (it was one of many) but Shadow just felt his ears burn. He was just so cute and cheesy and already the hybrid’s mind was devolving into a mushy mess.

“Rouge, Omega.” he greeted them each, but he seemed to pause for a second on the last name. “...Shadow.”

The hedgehog in question thankfully managed a reply, and then the fun began in earnest. Knuckles and Shadow competed in several arm-wrestling matches with narration from Tails (“...aaaand Knuckles looks like he’s in the lead!”) and commentary from Omega (“YOU’RE LUCKY I DON’T ARM-WRESTLE OR ELSE BOTH OF YOUR ARMS WOULD BE BROKEN.”). Rouge and Sonic were busy pranking other innocent people, though once in a while the latter would look over at the competition, distracted.

Eventually, Tails and Omega got bored- which of course meant Knuckles and Shadow had to play the role of caretaker (“No, you can’t blow up trees. No, not even for ‘science’.”) for a little while.

At one point, though, Rouge got bored with the pranks and had dragged the echidna off to a park bench and was now flirting with him enough to turn his face as red as his spines. Tails had promised to behave- which now meant that he was halfheartedly attempting to convince Omega not to modify his cannon to launch ducks from the nearby pond- leaving Sonic and Shadow to themselves. Blu and Spark had been playing in the grass all this time (since both of them had brought their chao without really realizing that the other would do the same), and Shadow had very definitely not been thinking about how lucky his chao was that emotions were easy for it.

He remembered the talk his friends had given him before this outing then and wondered if maybe, just maybe, it could be that easy. Before he could stop himself, he’d already spoken.

“...Sonic?”

“Yeah?” the hero asked, turning to face Shadow.

“I...wanted to talk to you about something.” he said, regretting everything already because look how stupid he was about to seem...yet Shadow Robotnik the Hedgehog had never been one to do things by halves.

“Oh, really?” Sonic said, and now he almost looked relieved, for some reason. “I, uh, was actually hoping to do the same. That’s cool, what is it?”

“No, no, you go first.” Shadow urged him, hoping that he’d take the offer.

Unfortunately, today was not his lucky day. “No, man, you asked first! Go ahead, what was it?”

“Really- it’s fine.”

“No, you had something you wanted to say!” Sonic insisted.

“It’s okay, I swear-”

“Well, I guess-”

“I mean, if you want-”

“Okay-”

“You see-”

“I like you!”

Both hedgehogs shouted the words at the exact same time, before freezing and staring at each other.

“Wait…” Shadow began.

Sonic’s eyes were wide. “You like me back?!?” he gasped, hands flying up to his mouth.

“...yes.” he admitted, looking off to the side in embarrassment. Then it hit him. “Wait. You like me back?”

“Of course! How could I not?” Sonic asked incredulously. “You’re smart, funny, nice-” He’d begun listing off attributes while counting on his fingers, but cut himself off upon noticing Shadow’s confusion.

“Yes, but you’re a hero. The world’s hero.” Shadow began to frown, staring at the grass. “Why would you settle for someone like-”

“No.” Sonic growled, and the hybrid looked up suddenly to see his face twisted in anger. “Don’t ever say that.”

“But everyone thinks it…” Shadow protested weakly.

“Yeah, well, ‘everyone’ isn’t part of my love life.” Sonic assumed a slightly less aggressive stance, placing a hand on his hip. “Whoever’s been telling you that can either leave you alone or get their face introduced to my sneakers.”

Shadow blushed. “Nobody needed to. I just assumed...but perhaps I shouldn’t have.” he added quickly, seeing the hero begin to glower again. 

“That’s right!” he said, zipping over to stand directly in front of Shadow. “No assumptions here- talk to me from now on if something’s worryin’ you, ‘kay?”

Then, he seemed to notice the sudden stiffness in the hybrid’s posture, as well as the green flush slowly creeping up his ears. Sonic leaned forward with a smirk, resting his forearm on Shadow’s shoulder. “Thinkin’ about something?”

Shadow gulped.

For once, he decided that he could do what he wanted. So, he slowly reached up a hand and touched the peach fur on Sonic’s arm gently, like it was the most delicate thing in the world. 

Rather more quickly, Sonic turned a shade of bright red to rival Omega’s paint job.

“So, uh…” he began, his voice shaky. “Erm...do ya feel like sitting under that tree? Together?”

Shadow agreed, and the two walked over to the shady patch, sitting down and resting against each other. Soon enough, though, Sonic turned to face Shadow, a little nervous. “Do we, like, need to talk about this? Figure out...what to do about…us?” He started turning pink again.

“Maybe later. We have a lot of time, after all.” Shadow said, trying to contain the soaring feeling inside when Sonic said ‘us’- until he realized that he didn’t have to any longer.

“What’re you smiling about?”

“You. And me. Together.” Shadow said simply, making Sonic laugh and snuggle up against him, resting his head on a black-furred shoulder.

“Wow. That’s, uh….that’s new. I really like it though.”

Then, the hero looked up at him. “I really like you, too.”

At this point, a loud whistle could be heard from Rouge, who was standing not too far off and had likely heard a lot of what they’d said. Sonic just giggled, while Shadow shot her a death glare. She just winked and mouthed I’ll keep them occupied, at which point the hybrid tried not to show how very much he appreciated that and failed miserably.

And Sonic was purring now. Which of course meant that every single brain cell in Shadow’s head was promptly dead for the next five minutes.

After he’d recovered from that, Shadow wrapped his arms tightly around his...boyfriend? Maybe? He thought for a moment. “Hey, Sonic?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you feel about being my-” Shadow paused briefly to cough, trying to get the words out- “-boyfriend?”

“I think I like that a lot.”

Shadow smiled warmly, feeling the beginnings of a purr rise up in his own chest.

“I like that a lot, too. Almost as much as I like you.”

[piccolina-mina]

Our girl is thriving this season, but what the fuck is this Wyatt plot? I need your thinks about this one. I just knew you'd be six posts in on this by now. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

*sighs* For fk's sake, nonny. I don't even like talking about it because I get ranty.

What do you want me to say? Honestly, everything you can imagine I would feel about this, you're probably right. Because you know, I'm that b*tch always getting ranty about racism and stuff.

In short, I hate it. I think it's unnecessary, tone-deaf, random, pointless, lowkey offensive, and illogical. I legitimately find it triggering AF. And it doesn't make sense.

It's Unnecessary. There is a fraction of a chance that it will connect to something more significant, but even if that's the case, I'm confident that end result or connection could've taken place without this random reform racist Wyatt storyline. This series has struggled enough as it is properly utilizing all of its primary characters as well as providing them with decent screentime and arcs. It literally makes no sense to spend any of that time that could be used elsewhere on primary characters on a recurring guest star.

This isn't actually about Rosa, it's about Wyatt. Following up on the previous point, this specific arc caters to Wyatt. Revolves around Wyatt. Rosa is just a passive participant and vessel for this Wyatt storyline. So again, the arc itself is about a recurring character. At least when they did something similarly bringing back Cam to siphon time and arcs away from its main cast they found ways to implement it better and tied her to multiple main characters, so it wasn't a total waste.

The intended Wyatt/Rosa parallel is illogical. I know what they're intending to do with this storyline, drawing parallels between Rosa's experience coming back from the dead after ten years and trying to make sense of that and atone for things before and having this second chance to make things right and go down the right path and so forth and Wyatt losing his memory and his racist ways and having to reconcile with who he was to who he can be and all of that. I understand the concept they're trying to sell. It just doesn't work. Rosa's addiction is not equivalent to Wyatt's racism and violence. Her mental illness isn't either. It's dangerous to invite the comparasions with this storyline.

It's not successful redemption. True redemption is Wyatt knowing and remembering his actions and then trying to atone for them. It's not the convenience of amnesia wiping out his memory only giving him distance from his actions rather than really facing up to them. Because of the amnesia, to Wyatt, it's like he's hearing about another person. It's a cop out. He doesn't Actually have to do the work to redeem himself or atone or learn or grow. IF we're supposed to compare it to Rosa, she knew what she did and remembers and knows how she hurt her loved ones or whatever and she's actively trying to make amends for that as part of her program... a program that Wyatt isn't working or anything BTW.

They've contradicted themselves too much and are rewriting their own work and thus twisting everything up just to make this storyline work and it still doesn't. The timeline is all fkd up... what they established already all of it..The Longs were racist before Kate's death. Kate was racist. To suggest that a 10+ amnesiac blackout clean slates and erases all of Wyatt's racism is just wrong. As in it literally doesn't even make any sense. That is not how the amnesia works but they keep playing both sides of it trying to make it work. To sell us what they're claiming, he would have to have ALL of his memories wiped and have forgotten who he was completely.

Wyatt is behaving like he's shocked by racism in this town but they're also trying to argue that he was born into it. Wyatt was surrounded by racists and his friends come from racist families but he's acting like the very concept of him ever being ingratiated in it is some huge surprise. Wyatt looks affronted by things like Confederate flags. Wyatt being steeped in and surrounded by racism predates his amnesia period.

Kyle mentioned that line about Wyatt putting Whites Only on water fountains, and it sounded like a school prank. It also sounded like something Kyle was reminding Rosa of as if she was alive when that incident happened. Therefore, Wyatt was doing racist stuff before she died. Kyle would've been out of school by then so how else would he know that or why would he bother retaining it?

IF Wyatt and Rosa really were friends before (which holy retcon), then it makes no real sense that he would get psychopathically angry about his "friend" who does drugs getting into a car accident with his sister who does drugs. He would've mourned them both not jumped to severe racism and violence. But both he and Jasmine's family (who are MIA for all of this) did that... jumped to racism. So was Wyatt indoctrinated by his family or indoctrinated by message boards and shit? And if Wyatt and Rosa were friends than why was Kate such a racist bitch to Rosa?

They're backdrafting history JUST to make this storyline that we don't need with a character who isn't even a main one to work.

By not actually addressing that Wyatt has to unlearn racism and giving him an out through amnesia, there is the very realistic issue of that latent racism to come out at any given time. What happens when he's drunk? What happens when he's really angry at a POC?

Tying Wyatt's redemption with his clear affection for Rosa is again dangerous and irresponsible. I know we would all like to think that love is the way and through love it can heal racism, but that puts the responsibility on the disenfranchised person to be "lovable." Because if Wyatt WAS friends with Rosa once then that means the second Rosa did something unlovable she was just another *insert racist slur of choosing* right? It means that there's a possibility that if his feelings for Rosa dwindle or things go sideways in some way there's a chance that he could revert back to those racist ways. Loving Rosa(linda) and pinning all of his wanting to be better on her because of her makes his actively learning to be anti-racist conditional. Right now he's not doing this for him. He's doing it because of Rosa.

This entire storyline has placed the burden of forgiveness on Rosa, his victim. Without him ever having to actually make amends. It's this turn the other cheek BS that means there's nothing too big or harmful that can't result in forgiveness. It relies on Rosa and all that she represents to extend an inhumane level of mercy and grace to their tormentor and oppressor that was never once extended to them. It's such a consistent and problematic thing projected on disenfranchised parties that ONLY benefits the majority and makes them feel good. It's a narrative of meeting someone halfway when the playing field was uneven and the minorities are in actuality doing more work and making a longer trek. Halfway and meeting in the middle only works if both sides were even. They are not. It's the reaching across the aisle both sidesms when one side was clearly and actively more harmful than the other and than calling that peace and equity. It is not.

This storyline was meant to scintillate some viewers with this "what if" notion and teach others a meaningful lesson or be this poorly thought out gateway to exploring a complex storyline but it came at the expense of other demographics who actively have to deal with racist crap. And because of their problematic approach what is simply "just entertainment" to some who has the luxury of not having to think about it beyond that, is just gross and insanely triggering and uncomfortable to others. The others who deal with the reality of the subject at hand.

They wrote themselves into a corner with Wyatt so trying to dig him out of that no matter the cost or logic is absurd. This storyline could've worked better if Wyatt's racism didn't also include conscious, constant, extreme violence. But they spent all of this time making Wyatt the face of violent racism and now are trying to redeem him with no real effort. He wasn't just using slurs or making microaggressions. He wasn't some insensitive or aloof white person. He is a murderer. He has killed people. He technically murdered Liz in cold-blood. He knew she was in the crashdown when he shot up the place. The lights were still on. He beat up Arturo so badly he nearly killed him well after his friends even stopped. He attacked and intended to kill Rosa. And his handiwork was a constant thing, enough for Jenna to comment on it. And now we're supposed to ignore all of that because he has amnesia and has puppy dog eyes?

The fact that we can entertain (and for some succeed) Wyatt in all of his hot white dudeness' redemption after everything he has done slips into the inherent racism of society in the first place and is enraging. Because systemically and culturally and inherently society will bend over backwards to find a way to absolve a hot white guy no matter his actions. Flint and Noah couldn't get this type of redemption... So their intended storyline about evolving from racism STILL plays into the racist structures set up in society.

And because some people like it, there's this slippery territory of NO everyone who genuinely enjoys this aren't racist for enjoying it. But yes, this entire storyline and how it is playing out is at the very least racially insensitive.

In order for this storyline to work they would actually have to show Wyatt doing the work. They don't have enough time to dedicate to such a delicate storyline. It's been a C and D filler storyline with 45 second to a minute scenes. That's not enough time to explore this properly. We would've needed to see Wyatt returning home from the hospital. We would've needed to see Wyatt with his friends and it not feeling right and his discomfort. We would've needed to see Wyatt going through his yearbook and googling himself and the horror and disgust he felt. We would need to see this through his eyes. But we didn't have the time for that and we wouldn't have anyway because he's not a main character. We only get Wyatt through Rosa's eyes and they haven't even dedicated enough time to that for it to work. Rosa isn't conflicted at all. She didn't struggle to forgive him. She was reduced to a school girl with a crush and an insane level of grace and they just threw that at us with no buildup whatsoever. I don't know where Rosa's head is and how she got to this to place. Not really. And the only thing working about this is the chemistry between two actors who are allegedly dating so of course there's chemistry.

It literally feels like another instance of a favorite actor being shoehorned into a storyline just for the hell of it. Just because they didn't want to let Dylan go or something. Just to give him something else to do.

[dj-yukio]

Pokémon Scarlet and Violet hurt me in ways I didn’t expect so now I have too many ideas for an au

Spoilers ahead:

Honestly had only one bug in the entire game (an unclaimable pokeball item in the lake of false dragon titan), so my gameplay was great and I loved the story, looks like Pokémon is now leaning hard on the friendship zones more than having to catch them all or become champion or what not

I really like Area Zero’s soundtrack, gives me those mystical vibes like something powerful lurks here beyond one’s comprehension. Also love that we have our friends with us, more to share the trauma!

Poor Arven with his parent, but like I think the AI managed to traumatise everyone individually, because there’s nothing worse than realising you can’t do anything even with our preparations (nemona can’t battle, which is pretty damn bad when your opponent is known to have killed and possibly will kill again, and penny can’t hack us out of the situation)

Our poor protag too, can you imagine going like “ah we’re gonna help this famous professor, wanna come” and then thirty minutes later going “I have just killed all of us, we’re gonna be like the professor, no one will know we died and our bodies are gonna rot here forever or be pokemon food” like holy shit the AI battles were nightmare fuel like professor chucking master balls with barely contained Pokémon within from a height and then our poke balls being locked too

The whole game gives me Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz vibes for some reason, like we’re Dorothy, and all of our friends are a mix of the scarecrow, tin man, and lion (penny is def lion, but I can’t quite agree on nemona and arven being which one), and the whole time we go through a journey to find a treasure and head to Area Zero (the land of Oz), only to find that the wizard isn’t real

But anyways bad AU idea time, hear me out

Look we know that there were a bunch ofscientists before Sada/Turn took over the whole thing alone (and with themself as an AI) studying terastalizing including clavell and others

And we also know that the crystal is what powers the AI and why they cannot leave etc.

So all I’m saying is that the likelihood that the other initial researchers weren’t almost as brilliant as Sada/Turo is low

Which brings me to the concept of our protagonist being sort of an AI

I already said this was a shit idea don’t hate me

Okay but like let’s just say that our protagonist (who is 12-16, look nemona and arven are def older and in that range, plus no ten year old masterminds an operation to stop bullying), so it’s still possible that we can have the protag’s dad working with the professor

And now our protag has a serious illness (say cancer in the brain touch wood) that is in its late stages, so by the time the dad is no longer working with the professor he’s trying to look for another solution to save his child

to the point of obsession

biomedicine has failed him, and so he turns to a little souvenir that he brought along with him from the paldea

and actually creates a solution

it’s not a hundred percent perfect (unlike a certain AI-powered robot), but he manages to craft a mechanical brain powered with the crystals that can analyse situations and respond accordingly

And one night he takes the kid and does the transplant (he’s working at a pharmaceutical facility or hospital, either one)

Our protag lives! Sort of

See the thing is these sorts of projects cost money, money he doesn’t have

So he embezzles funds from his company to fund this project, and on this night the police are staking him out

And when they come out to catch him, it looks worse for him than it ever is

His child is in a coma, there’s blood everywhere, and the dude is covered in blood

He gets sent to jail, the real truth of what they saw is covered up (ie only the embezzlement is covered), and the mom looks after the protag who is in a coma

So at the start of the game this is why there’s no mention of the dad at all, partially because of the crime, partially because the protag’s mom knows that whatever he did might have potentially saved the protag’s life, so it’s a very touchy subject

But before that, when our protag wakes up, they don’t know that they’re an AI, instead it’s just feeling empty and numb. This is coupled with a great overprotectiveness from their mom. But word spread about the very ill child suddenly making a recovery after the dad’s arrest, and eventually the mom takes the flight back to Paldea just to shield the protag from the rumors

Which is when the game starts, when the mom finally is willing to let the protag explore their surroundings a bit

But as the story progresses, the protag learns about being human, learning to feel again, and friendship :D

Also this is a bit random but due to the AI, the protag doesn’t have the ability to terastalize. This is partially because I hardly did during my gameplay, and also because I feel like terastalizing is a bit similar to mega evolution, so for an individual to terastalize a pokémon they need to be in sync with their pokémon, same with wild pokémon terastalizations, either they cannot control it or they’ve just become very in sync with themselves. Instead, the protagonist gets a really bad headache when they try (the crystals syncing with their skull is not fun)

As for what happens to Area Zero, I have plans

[luxekook]

chapter three.

⇥ pairing: ot7 x reader (insert gif of elmo with flames behind him here)

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 2.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, dirty talk, jimin propositions the reader accidentally, taehyung is a menace, noona kink jumps out A LOT, chaotic ot7, talk of poly relationships, overall kinda smut free (the next chapter should quench fuel your thirst)

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

characters | prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

Chapter Three

“It means that we’re going to date the shit out of you.”

We’re going to date the shit out of you.

We’re. Going. To. Date. The. Shit. Out. Of. You.

Those words play on a constant loop in my head for the rest of the week. After Namjoon had dropped that bombshell on me, I’d kind of freaked the fuck out, faked an immediate illness, and ran at full speed.

When I had told Luna about it later that night, she had been just as shook as me. Surprisingly enough, she had also given her full support of whatever I decided to do but “would have her banana slicer on standby and would order six more if need be”.

It appears that she had drunk-ordered a banana slicer off Amazon when the last boy she talked to pissed her off. I had apparently drunk-approved the decision. Rad.

Jenni’s reaction had been even better. We’d been in the library on Monday and her screech of “he said what!?” had led to multiple events:

An abundance of shushes from every student within a 50-yard radius

Her continued rant: “Your own personal harem! Can you say goals? Maybe I should infiltrate EXO and collect my own...”

Us getting kicked out by our ancient librarian

For the rest of the week, I had Luna and Jenni both giving me shit about the BTS boys. It had helped that I hadn’t run into them at all on campus between classes. But I had known it wouldn’t be long before my luck would run out...

Quinn Library – 2:31pm

Typically, I don’t spend my Friday afternoons deep within the stacks of the library’s quiet floor. Yet, here I sit typing frantically due to my incapability to stop procrastinating. My fingers fly over the keys of my aging MacBook in hopes that whatever spur of productivity I had going on is captured in its fullest.

General education classes could burn in the pits of hell as far as I'm concerned. If I wanted to be a psychiatrist, why did I have to take – and pay for – an art elective that I would likely never utilize in the workforce? Plus, the only class within the category that fit my schedule ended up being “Writing About Dance”.

Yeah, I’m still a tad bitter, but in all honesty the class isn’t that bad so far. It mainly consists of watching different dance performances and learning how to write about them in different styles.

Today’s assignment is to write critical commentary on videos of the university’s dance team that the professor provided for us. Sighing, I finish my review of the second to last dance video provided by the professor, take a quick second to stretch, and then open the link to the last video on the assignment page.

“Park Jimin – Final Performance Solo, Spring 2019”

Slack-jawed, I fall into wonder as Jimin moves through his routine flawlessly. He dances like it’s easier than walking to him. His movements are somehow precise and fluid all at once. I barely realize a few tears have run down my cheeks until the video cuts off, signaling the end of Jimin’s performance.

Jesus, (y/n), get it together. I laugh lightly as I dig in my backpack for a tissue. How could I possibly capture the ethereal beauty that Jimin exuded into words? Am I even worthy of commenting on such exquisiteness?

Definitely fucking not. And before I can second guess myself, I type: “Park Jimin is art in its purest form. Watching him dance is like watching the sun rise over the ocean – raw beauty accompanied by the hopes brought with a new day. His performance left me wanting for nothing except an encore.”

Boom. Submit Assignment.

As my email pings with the confirmation that my assignment is turned in, my eyes widen in realization. Park Jimin of BTS is a dance god, and he – allegedly – wants to date me? That is just ridiculously unfathomable.

Namjoon must be off his rocker.

Closing my laptop, my phone suddenly vibrates with an incoming notification from snapchat...

President_RM has added you!

Before I can even comprehend the absurdity of Namjoon adding me, my phone bursts into a series of buzzes. Cursing, I switch my phone to silent and check my screen.

minsuga93 has added you!

jhopeworld_ has added you!

handsomeJIN has added you!

JKookie97 has added you!

vantae_BTS has added you!

95jiminie has added you!

Are they serious? How did they even get my SnapChat username?

vantae_BTS has added you to a chat!

Curiosity wins out over aggravation as I swipe to open the chat.

Heart pounding, I fight the urge to chuck my phone into the depths of the bookcases winding around the room. What did those idiots want with me?

(y/n) & Luna’s Apartment – 9:45pm

“What do those idiots want with me?” the decibel my voice has risen to is shocking even to my ears.

Luna cringes, accordingly, “I can’t tell if that’s a rhetorical question...”

I steamroll onwards, “And don’t even get me started on how they could have even gotten my snapchat. It’s a complete invasion of privacy!”

“You could just ask them,” Jenni’s voice cuts through my rambling tirade.

I pause, “No, I couldn’t—”

...Or could I?

Turning on my heel, I rush into my room and head straight for my closet. Grabbing the nearest sweatshirt and pair of leggings, I tug them on and then grab my keys from my nightstand.

Whirling back into the living room, I storm past a dumbfounded Luna and Jenni, “Be right back.”

Opening the apartment door, Luna shouts, “Wait! Where are you going? You’re not even wearing shoes!”

Whoops. I glance at my feet and note that she is, in fact, correct.

Jenni bounds over to me holding my Doc Martens, “Here, babe. You’re going to the BTS house, aren’t you?”

I nod grimly and salute my two best friends as if I'm going into battle. “I won’t be long. I just have a small errand to run.”

“Well, you’re not going alone,” Luna declares, pulling on her sneakers.

Jenni snorts and shoves her feet into her beat-up Converse, “No way am I missing out on this action.”

As we head out the door, I link arms with Luna and Jenni, “Have I mentioned I love you both recently?”

“Right back at you, bitch,” Luna laughs.

Greek Row – 10:17pm

Ten minutes later, we reach Greek Row. Fraternity and sorority houses dot the street on both sides. Personally, I think of this street as home to the chaotic rich, and I tend to avoid it at all costs – except tonight.

The line to get into BTS is so long it wraps around the block. Students dressed in the latest fashions converse as they wait, huddling together in their groups. I glance down at my outfit of a worn university hoodie and leggings.

“Well, shit. We’re underdressed, huh,” Jenni deadpans, causing all three of us to burst into laughter, “Do you think they put you on the list, (y/n)?”

Pondering that thought, I shrug, “Maybe,” and begin marching past the line of waiting students towards the front door of BTS, “But I sure as fuck am not waiting in that line.”

“Hey, there’s a line here!”

“Yo, bitches! What are you doing?”

“What the fuck?”

Paying the hecklers no mind, I saunter right up to the BTS pledges guarding the door, “Hi, I need to talk to Kim Namjoon.”

The pledge on the right rakes his gaze over me incredulously and then makes the same assessment of Luna and Jenni, “You know this is a party, right?”

I don’t deem that comment worthy of a response and instead cross my arms over my chest. He shrinks under the collective glare of me, Luna and Jenni.

The pledge on the left awkwardly clears his throat, “Names, please?”

My answer barely escapes my lips before the pledges visibly straighten, looking at me with new eyes, “You’re (y/n)? Why didn’t you just say so?”

And before I can answer, the front door swings open for us.

People are everywhere. A haze of smoke looms in the air, and rap music blares from the speakers. The bass is turned up so loud that the beat seems to take over the rhythm of my pulse. That cannot be healthy.

Turning to my friends, I do my best to communicate, shouting, “I’m going to find them! Are you going to be here?”

Luna and Jenni exchange a look and nod. Jenni shouts back, “We’re going to get some drinks. Might as well capitalize on free booze! Text us when you’re ready to go.”

And with that, we part ways.

Maneuvering around the sea of gyrating bodies in the main living room area, I scan around for any signs of my seven menaces.

“Do my eyes deceive me? Or is that my future wife?” The deep voice booms from behind me.

I sigh, recognizing the voice, and turn around.

Kim Taehyung is striding towards me with his arms outstretched, smiling like the damned fool he is and looking like he just stepped off the runway for Gucci. “Come to daddy.”

An idea forms. I smile sweetly and walk to meet Taehyung halfway. His boxy grin widens and just as he thinks I'm going to let him wrap his arms around me, I grab him by the ear.

“Ouch!” He cries, “Devil-woman!”

Ignoring him, I drag him behind me towards the stairs.

“If you wanted to get me alone, you could have just asked—OW!”

My hold on his ear tightens as we arrive on the second-floor landing, “Where are your brothers?”

“I don’t know, n-noona!” Somehow the honorific coming from Tae sounds divine, but I file that thought away for another time.

Removing my hold, I corner him against the wall of the hallway, “Okay, Kim, here’s what is going to happen. You’re going to point me in the direction of your room, go find your six idiot brothers, and then report back here so I can finally understand what the fuck is going on. Got it?”

My chest heaves as my directions conclude and I realize how close together we are. Taehyung stares at me with an indecipherable expression before breaking into a slow smile, “Noona is bossy.”

“Noona is going to shove her foot up your ass if you don’t get moving,” I growl.

“Kinky,” he laughs, backing away from me and my brewing anger, “Last door on the left is my room. I’ll be back with the six idiots.”

As he thumps back down the steps, I close my eyes and count to ten, trying to steel my nerves and rein in my anger. When I open them, my eyes are met with the amused gaze of Min Yoongi.

Slapping a hand to my heart, I wait for my pulse to settle from being scared out of my wits, “Motherfuck—how did you even move that silently?”

“It’s a skill,” Yoongi drawls, nodding towards to end of the hall, “So, group meeting in Tae’s room?”

Shooting him the best side-eye I can muster, I stalk past him, steadfastly ignoring the chuckles and light footfalls that follow behind me.

Throwing open the door which Taehyung indicated was to his room, I pause, taking in the horde of photos and art taped to the four walls. The light blue wallpaper barely peeks through the absolute massive amount of artwork.

“It’s overwhelming at first, isn’t it?” An angelic voice shyly breaks through my reverie, “Tae likes to collect pictures and things he finds beautiful.”

“Ah, so that’s why we’re friends.” The joke is followed by a laugh that can only be compared to the sound of a windshield wiper squeakily moving back and forth.

I shift my eyes from Taehyung’s walls and onto the two newcomers – Park Jimin and Kim Seokjin.

Meeting Seokjin’s gaze first, I cannot help but agree that he is a very, very beautiful man. With pushed back dark hair, mischievous brown eyes and impossibly broad shoulders, Seokjin can easily be mistaken for an idol. And, oh fuck, I’m still staring.

Shooting my eyes back up to his, I crinkle my nose at his shit-eating grin. Before he can even comment, I turn and lock eyes with Jimin.

“Your dancing is gorgeous,” I blurt out and immediately want to crawl under a rock and live out the rest of my life as Patrick Star.

Yoongi and Seokjin are cackling as Jimin’s face lights up at my embarrassing compliment, “You really think so?”

“There's no shutting him up now,” Yoongi is in tears, “Watch out, (y/n). Jimin loves his fans.”

“Shut up, Yoongi-hyung!”

Jimin looks ready to swing, but luckily Taehyung chooses the right moment to return, “What have we missed? Why is Jiminie about to fight Yoongi? I’ll put $10 on hyung.”

Gasping in betrayal, Jimin sits on the edge of Tae’s bed and pouts.

The rest of the boys file in behind Taehyung as he flops down onto his bed and reclines like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Hi, (y/n). Good to see you again. I’m glad you’re here,” Namjoon greets me with a slight bow, a crooked smile and wicked eyes.

He’s followed closely by Jung Hoseok, the only BTS boy I hadn’t met thus far, “(y/n)! It’s so nice to meet you in person! Wow, you look so pretty tonight!”

“Noona always looks pretty,” Jungkook cuts in, throwing an arm around Hoseok’s shoulder, “She’s bae.”

A collective groan arises from the rest of the boys. “Sit your ass down, JK,” Yoongi grumbles, “(y/n)’s going to break up with us before we even start dating.”

“Dating—!” I break off that train of thought. Other matters need to be attended to first, “No, I didn’t come here tonight to say ‘hi’ or to be your ‘bae’. I came here to get answers.”

I take my time making eye contact with each boy.

Taehyung is still spread out on his bed and Jimin has now joined him. Seokjin, Hoseok and Jungkook are sprawled out on the floor at the foot of the bed, while Namjoon and Yoongi slouch against the opposite wall of the bedroom facing me.

“Alright,” Namjoon lifts his chin, meeting my stare head on, “What do you want to know?”

a/n: sorry for the cliffhanger, hehe. i wanted to get something up for y’all! hopefully next chapter won’t take too long to finish/edit :)

taglist:

@hazeljrz @sessi03 @catsandstrawberries @h5naaa @meowmeowyoongles@leftflowerprunedonut @rjsmochii @athletes-of-god @karissassirak  @weallhavesecretsinthebestway @cvbachacbitch @bewitch3dforivar @honeyspillings @xxonyxpearlxx​ @fivesecondsofsarang @oii-f-eli-x2 @joonsroses @theevilyouknow @jooniescupcakes @expensive-grl @i-dont-even-know-fck @doingmybestalltheftime @elraeee @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh @laced-brds @aokay1010 @breeeeh17 @lpayne612 @peachyharmoney @rilakoya @chulchuchi @tabula-rasa0 @guccishookv @nomimits7 @i-like-puppy-mg @s-noir @anna-sorel  @valiantcollectorofsandwiches​ @cage7241​

blogs that wouldn’t let me tag them for some reason: 

@awkwardhumambean

[itcamefromthetoybox]

I Love Lego Dragons

My fiancee’s really awesome, and sometimes she buys me pretty things. We’re both big fans of Lego, so sometimes, she’ll get me a little set and she and I’ll hang out, build, get annoyed we didn’t get the Lego blind bags we wanted, and just have a great night. She picked me up a set a while back I’ve been meaning to write on, and I finally have the chance, so I’m pretty happy. So today, we’re looking at Lego’s “Shang-Chi and the Great Protector!”

As of writing this, I still haven’t seen “Shang-Chi.” I know, I know, I’ve now done multiple reviews of “Shang-Chi” merch without watching the movie. In my defense, I work, I have a chronic illness, Netflix made a really good live-action “Cowboy Bebop,” and so on. The point is, I’ll get to it when I get to it! The good news is that this review is definitely spoiler free, because I can’t spoil something I never saw, and I know better than to use Lego to try to predict what’s going to be in a film. I learned that lesson the hard way when I tried it with “Iron Man 3” Legos.

This set’s a polybag set, which means it’s a much smaller Lego set packaged in a little plastic bag for an affordable price, which is great, because normally Lego sets cost so much that it’d honestly be cheaper to get hooked on meth. The set comes with a Shang-Chi minifigure, a staff for him to wield, a dragon to build, and a base to stand on.

Shang-Chi’s a typical Lego minifigure. He’s got removable legs, hair, and a head, with articulation in his neck, wrists, shoulders, and legs. If you’ve ever played with Lego, you know what to expect. If you haven’t, then now you know what to expect. He looks good and does a great job capturing the characters likeness.

Even as a Lego, he’s so handsome!

The dragon, though, is the focus of the set, and is wonderful. The dragon has no stickers or detailing on any of its parts, so literally every detail of the dragon comes from how you assemble the bricks. It comes out looking great and has a blue base it can peg onto. It’s based off the Asian dragon design, which, considering the entire premise of the movie, shouldn’t be surprised. The dragon also has a little stand on its back for Shang-Chi to stand on, so he can ride the dragon.

“Ride the dragon” sounds like a drug thing, which, to be fair, would probable have made “Thor 2″ watchable.

The dragon’s articulation is great. While each pair of legs is one piece so the legs move at once, the dragon’s body is made up of hinges and ball joints, which gives it a lot of movement. I love it.

The set’s a quick build, and not super complicated. I did it in about ten minutes, and that’s mostly because I was building it on a dark bed and misplaced a few of the smaller pieces for a bit. As long as you don’t do that, panic, and rip up half your bed looking for parts, the dragon’s a fast, fun build.

The glamor shot.

I do have one complaint, though. If Shang-Chi’s not on the dragon’s back, the base for him to stand on really sticks out like a sore thumb. Seeing as how it’s Lego, though, you can just pop the back base off with no problem. The set’s available at most major retailers, with a price ranging from about $5-$10. It’s aimed at kids, though it has a ton of small parts (duh, it’s Lego), so make sure not to give it to someone prone to eating tiny things. Would I recommend it? Absolutely! Especially now that we’re in that time of year when snow and ice can trap us inside in need of entertainment. Definitely give this set a shot. This is JL, signing off and wishing you Happy Toy Hunting!

[leavesofolive]

🌞🧹🌻Hearth Witch Tips!🌻🧹🌞

04: Your kitchen eats with you!

Just like with the rest of the house, what you put into the kitchen also heavily affects its energy. When you treat the hearth in certain ways, it reacts in certain ways. Your relationship with any room in the house is give-and-take. That means that if you don’t give back occasionally, the room will grow cold and stop appreciating your presence. But there are plenty of ways to mend your relationship! And the first step is to identify the problem!

From my experience, there are three main reasons why the kitchen stops being a warm and inviting place: 1) You are filling the cupboards with too much toxic, processed foods; 2) You aren’t spending enough time in that room; 3) Or you aren’t keeping the room clean enough.

When there’s a problem in the hearth, it’s always either one of these things or some combination of them. We’ll start with number three since it’s the easiest to explain. The kitchen should be anyone’s top priority to keep clean. It’s where all of your food, the nutrition and fuel of your physical and spiritual bodies, comes from! What you eat is your first defense against illness, injury, and your mental health. If the kitchen is filthy, then the food you take into your body will also begin to develop the same properties.

To keep the kitchen clean, I always start my day by washing last night’s dishes and give the counters a quick wipe. Once a month, I take stock of what’s in the fridge and freezer and scrub them out to prevent bacteria build-up. Sweeping the kitchen floors happens once a week and takes me all of three minutes to complete, tops. Once per season, normally at the beginning, I scrub the floors with soap and water, descale the coffee maker, wipe down the other appliances, and clean out the cupboards. So the only true “cleaning days” for the kitchen is four days out of the entire year. The rest of the time, the chores only take me about 30 minutes. As a quick tip, rinsing your dishes before setting them in the sink speeds up the dish washing process a ton! I’ve personally never trusted dishwashers since they don’t clean stuff well enough and it’s easier, faster, and far more cost effective to do it by hand.

The next problem the kitchen’s energy might be suffering from is how much time you’re spending there. First, spending a lot of time in the kitchen is a great thing! It absorbs the energy you feed to it, so when you don’t go in the kitchen very often or just don’t spend much time in there to begin with, the kitchen grows darker and colder. It loses the warmth and emotion and love that would’ve been sinking into it when you aren’t there.

The way to fix this problem is actually really easy! Cooking your own meals ensures that you are in there for a good amount of time each day because of the prep work and meal planning, etc. Plus, you get healthier, tastier food that way too! If you can’t cook all that well yet, don’t worry! Just like any skill, there’s no talent involved in learning something. It just depends on how much effort you apply to it. Another way to boost the hearth’s energy is to just hang out in that room. Invite some friends over, set out a snack tray, and just chill in the kitchen. Of course, since it’s pandemic right now, it’s best to wait until that’s over with to try this approach. But you, yourself, can still hang out in the kitchen!

The last problem, and a very, very common one in this day and age, is the influence of toxic food. Just like how your house absorbs energy from the land its on and what its built with, the kitchen also absorbs energy from the ingredients you keep within it. Toxic foods include anything processed or with a bunch of added sugars, and even GMO ingredients to some extent due to the trace chemicals that are still on the crops. These kinds of foods, if that’s the only thing in your house, will rot the energy. Not to mention, easy to grab snacks also end up causing you to spend a lot less time in the kitchen if that’s all you eat. Needless to say, no one eats healthy all the time. I don’t either! But having only toxic food in your kitchen isn’t great for you or the hearth.

Once again, cooking comes to the rescue! Even if you’re bad at it, it’s the thought that counts and little by little, as your skills grow and improve, the kitchen will learn to help guide you. There have been many times where I’d be stuck on how to fix something and a bottle of spice would fall of the shelf right next to me. If you listen to the kitchen, it will listen to you, too! Even if you don’t have time to cook, snacks like apples, berries, seeds, nuts, and dried meats are all healthy alternatives! I usually keep kale chips in the house for some yummy, salty crunchiness!

                                    ------------------------------

If you are worried about cost with this approach (believe me, due to my own situation it’s been a struggle at times), I’ve found out several tips and tricks to significantly lower the grocery bill. Anymore, my bill would actually be bigger if I bought crap food instead! Here’s my advice:

☀  Plan your week ahead! I always plan four meals a week that I’ll cook, and three days that I’ll scavenge for snacks and leftovers. I also stick to the rule of “one simple, one chicken, one meatless, one freebie” to remain more cost effective! The “simple” meal is just something I can make quickly if I know I’ll be short on time. The reason for have one of the meals be chicken is because it’s a much less expensive meat than beef or pork, and it’s a little better for the environment. The meatless meal is for the same reasoning. Meat is expensive and commercial brands are horrible for both the environment and the animals themselves. When I do buy meat, I make sure to buy local, grass-fed, organic meat as often as I can afford to. Keep in mind that every time you purchase anything, you are casting your vote for what is acceptable for society to continue. The “freebie” meal is just whatever I’ve been craving. If I want some kind of beef, I wait until this day.

☀  Learn to bake your own bread! For those of us with the time, this is a great way to save money and to stay healthy! Basic, white bread is actually pretty easy to make and only uses a couple ingredients. Those ingredients also go a long way. It costs me about 24¢ to make one loaf of bread because things like flour, sugar, salt, butter, honey, and yeast are all things that you buy once and can use for several loaves before you have to buy them again! It’s also not as time consuming as you’d think. Yes, it takes about 2 hours, but most of that time is proofing so you can easily be running around doing other things in between.

☀  Grow a garden! Even if it’s just a small, window herb garden, it can take the edge off of your overall food cost. Portobello mushrooms are also super easy to grow inside with minimal effort and equipment. If you have outdoor space, planting a small garden with the ingredients you use the most can help immensely!

☀  Only buy what you need! I know those sales look crazy tempting, but most of them are actually bogus and don’t actually save you any money. Think about what you are actually going to use before it goes bad and stick to your list. The bottom shelves at the store, aka the ones not in your direct line of sight, are usually where the grocery stores hide the better priced goods. At the back of most stores that have bakeries, there’s also usually a spot to get baked goods left over from the previous day for a slightly cheaper price. Day-old baked novelties like bread, cookies, and cakes are still perfectly good, and much easier to enjoy where you don’t have to spend as much!

☀  Check what’s already in your fridge before making your list! This is a huge one, since it prevents food waste, which in turn prevents money waste! What can you make during this week that can use up some of the ingredients leftover from last week? You’ll be impressed how quickly your food cost drops when you aren’t throwing things away. Waste not, want not! This trick also applies in another way, as well. When making your weekly meal plans, what types of foods use similar ingredients? If one meal calls for a slightly pricier ingredient, what other food can you cook with that ingredient to make the cost worth it? This also ensures that you get full use of things without wasting them. For example, this week I bought some fresh mozzarella cheese. Because this item is a little more expensive, I’m using it to make both the tomato mozzarella sandwiches and the beef wellingtons I’m making this week!

☀  Buy mostly produce! One of the best ways to lower your bill while still eating healthy is to simply add more fruits and veggies into your diet! There are so many tasty recipes that call for these babies that you’ll never run out of options, and there’s several things out there for everyone! Because I deal with sensory issues, I had to experiment a lot with what textures and tastes I could handle, especially on the bad days, but even still I found an over-abundance of things I love to eat. Fresh produce is way less expensive than meat, and much less expensive than many of the more mainstream snacks like chips or other processed foods.

                                     ------------------------------ All in all, taking care of your kitchen will also end up taking care of you, as well! Spending time there, actually using the kitchen the way it’s supposed to be, and just keeping it clean can work wonders in opening up your home and making it ten times warmer and more inviting! Trust me, your health and home will thank you for it!

[hermannsthumb]

So I know you don't really write PRU things but how about PRU averting? Like when Newt starts to realize something is wrong he goes to Hermann for help?

this isn’t exactly what you wanted (at all) but the concept for this fic has been making me laugh all week. sometimes a bitch just wants to write a slightly unhinged jealous ex hermann unknowingly seducing aliens out of newt

safe for work except for some makeouts and implied past banging, but hermann tries very hard for it to not be. also ive definitely written similar plots before but who cares

—————

They send a ranger-in-training to break the news to Hermann. He’s not sure what they expected him to do, really, or how a teenager in oversized khakis might have prevented it in the first place. Rage? Cry? Break things? His relationship with Newton Geiszler has been highly publicized at this point, he supposes, down to every last gory detail; their scientific rivalry, their heated laboratory debates, their–er–rather dramatic love affair, which ended on a deeply sour note when Newton packed his bags and left Hermann for better funding and a swanky flat with more windows than walls seven years ago. As far as gossip is concerned, that is.

“Tomorrow?” Hermann says.

The ranger nods and says nothing. She’s awfully young–too young, Hermann thinks. And awfully afraid of him. Right, of course: he’s crotchety, daft old Dr. Gottlieb, notorious for his short temper and avoidance of socialization at all costs. He furrows his brow an appropriate amount and nods, as if to appear deeply consternated, or perhaps lost in brooding abstraction. “I see,” he says. “Hm. That wretched Dr. Geiszler, here, after so many years. The nerve of him. Thank you.”

The girl doesn’t move.

“Ah,” Hermann says. “Dismissed, I mean.”

Between the bare bones staff and Hermann’s incredibly low rank back in Hong Kong, he still hasn’t quite gotten used to the notion that he has things like interns and underlings again, let alone people who–when sent to deliver him a message, or paperwork, or lab equipment he submitted forms for–need to be explicitly dismissed to leave his presence. Newton would love it. Or, at the very least, he’d love teasing Hermann for it. (Control freak, that was what he’d call Hermann.) 

Back in the safety and solitude of his private laboratory, Hermann brews a fresh pot of tea and mulls the news over. It’ll hardly be the first time Newton’s set foot at the Moyulan Shatterdome. It’ll hardly be the first time Hermann will have seen Newton since the Events of seven years ago, either. It will, however, be the first occasion on which the two collide: Newton always seems to schedule his routine Moyulan visits when Hermann is tucked safely away in some conference or council in some other bloody country, leaving their paths to cross at the most inane social events, banquets and fundraisers and black tie occasions that leave Hermann stifling under his collar and his leg aching from the strain of standing for so long. 

Their words to each other in such situations have always been terse, brief, polite. Newton, after all, is a very important (and very rich) man these days, and he has plenty of elbows to bump and high society buggers to flatter without Hermann getting in his way. It’s pleasantries, is all. Lovely to see you, Dr. Geiszler. How’s work, Dr. Geiszler? The champagne is excellent, isn’t it, Dr. Geiszler? By Jove, it’s maddening. Just once Hermann would like to shout and snap at him like the good old days, to grab hold of that stupid bloody tie and shove him against a wall and kiss him, or bite him, or do anything that isn’t smile and pretend to care when he mentions that–that Alice floozy he’s shacking up with. And now, with Newton finally giving Hermann a window to meet in his own territory…

Hermann keeps a small volume of Newton’s early research on his desk–compiled long before he even knew the man–and he takes it out now, slipping a well-worn polaroid out from between its pages and propping it against his tea mug. Newton smiles out at him. “Horrible little man,” Hermann says, lovingly, and gently brushes his index finger against that handsome face.

He feigns a stomach bug to clock out of work early–fooling no one, of course, but his staff chalks it up sympathetically to the prospect of seeing his notorious ex tomorrow and says nothing–and makes a mad dash into town for a haircut and manicure. After some consideration, he pops into a clothing store for a new button-down, too. A nice one. One that fits him well. (You have a hot bod, dude, Newton would always say, you should be flaunting it. 

No, no raging, or crying, or breaking things. It’s been seven years since Newton walked out on Hermann for a cushy job and designer suits, and Hermann has exactly one course of action in mind: winning him back.

——

Newton is not exactly as Hermann remembered. The changes in him are noticeable, and–for the most part, barring the loss of his glasses and personal sense of style–Hermann feels entirely neutral about them: hair more neatly tamed, stubble more neatly shaved, body ever-so-slightly more toned. Hermann seems to recall Newton saying something about CrossFit or some sort of damned exercise bike he bought at the last banquet they attended–lost ten pounds this past month! New Year’s Resolution, you know, ha, gotta stay in shape for Alice (and this was the point at which Hermann clenched his champagne flute so tightly it burst, and he excused himself to find a napkin with which to tend to his bleeding and a tall glass of whiskey from the open bar with which to tend to his agonies). Whatever it is, it seems to be working.

He manages to lure Newton out from under the thumb of his boss with vague claims of research, though Newton is not happy about it. “I got shit to do, man,” he complains. His eyes are inscrutable behind his expensive sunglasses. “It’s just not a good time. Busy, busy, busy, you know.”

They’ll have the laboratory to themselves, even more so than usual. I’ll need to have a few private words with Dr. Geiszler, Hermann had ominously announced to his staff that morning, and they’d all looked at each other in excitement. An infamous Geiszler-Gottlieb row! Hermann locks the door behind them.

“You poor dear,” Hermann says. “Running yourself ragged. You must be exhausted.”

Newton shrugs. “I am a little. I guess.” He shrugs again, and this time preens a little with it. Good: Hermann wants him nice and flattered. “It’s hard work being as important as I am, you know.”

“I imagine,” Hermann coos sympathetically. He brushes his hand across Newton’s shoulders, then nudges him at the small of his back towards his desk. “Please, Newt, I insist you have a seat. Would you like some coffee?”

“I mean, if you’re offering,” Newton says, waving him off.

The instant coffee is located on the middle shelf of Hermann’s bookcase, between a dusty variety box of Twinings and an elaborate kaiju action figure Newton left in their apartment when he walked out. Hermann spoons some into a chipped blue mug and watches Newton through the man’s reflection on the kettle. He leans back in Hermann’s desk chair; he rolls his shoulders; he pops open a button on his maroon suit coat; he spies something propped up on Hermann’s desk, and picks it up. The polaroid. Hermann ducks his head to hide his smile.

“Good times, huh, dude?” Newton says. He waves it in the air.

“Mm,” Hermann says. 

He hands the mug of coffee over to Newton, who’s yet to put down the polaroid. Milk and plenty of sugar. Exactly the way Newton always used to take it. “There we are, dear,” he says. “Are you hungry? Might I get you anything to eat? I’ve plenty of biscuits, and, er...” He casts a guilty glance around the mess of his workspace. “...Oranges.”

“No thanks,” Newton says, but it’s vague, unconvincing. His eyes are locked on the photograph. “Good times,” he repeats. 

“Nothing to eat at all?” Hermann says.

Newton shakes himself. “Nah,” he says, and pats his stomach. “On a diet. You know, for Alice.”

Ah, of course; Alice. The mystery woman Hermann despises the very existence of. For years after Newton first broke the news to Hermann he was seeing someone new, Hermann used to pour over magazine articles and gossip sites for even a glimpse of what she might look like (and for the chance to do something cathartic, like crop her angrily from a photograph with Newton or scribble over her face with a Sharpie). Probably horrendously ugly; possibly blonde; undoubtedly lacking taste, and humor, and any other sorts of qualities a mate worthy of Newton ought to possess. At the very least, Hermann knows she isn’t at all supportive of Newton in the way she should be. Every banquet and fundraiser, she’s too busy to come, every dinner invitation Hermann finally accepts so he may properly hate the woman, she must cancel at the very last minute due to some strange illness or another. 

Privately, Hermann thinks she feels threatened by him. As she should be. He and Newton have been in each other’s heads, after all, wrote letters in their youth, shared a laboratory for years, shared a bed for longer than that. It’s a simple fact one will ever know Newton like Hermann knows him.

“Of course,” Hermann says, with icy kindness. “For Alice. How is she these days? I was ever so put out when she caught–what was it–influenza, yes, that night we were meant to dine together. And the time before that, with pneumonia. And laryngitis before that. Terrific bloody coincidences, aren’t they.”

(Sorry, dude, Newton said over the phone, not sounding very sorry, but rather quite distracted. She was probably in the room, egging on his lies. She's sick. Can’t see you after all. Rain check?)

“Yeah,” Newton says. He’s started to shake his leg up and down, a nervous tic Hermann is all too aware of, seeing as he’s picked it up himself after their drift. Along with an annoying tendency to hoard sentimental rubbish. “Coincidences. If I’m being honest, Hermann–I’m not too keen on you two–well.” A strange look crosses his face, replaced in a blink of an eye with a toothy smile. “Old flame and the new flame, it’d be awkward for everyone, y’know?”

“Especially for her, I’d imagine,” Hermann says, and then he swings himself down into Newton’s lap.

Newton goes very still; the photograph slips from his fingers and flutters to the floor. “Hermann?” he squeaks.

Dropping his cane, Hermann nuzzles his face into the crook of Newton’s neck and breathes deeply; the Newton of his memories smells of burnt coffee and the sharp tang of preservation chemicals, but the Newton of now smells more of expensive cologne than anything else. Hermann can’t say he likes it much, but he presses a small kiss there anyway, marveling at the lack of the scratchy stubble he remembers so well. “What–what are you doing?” Newton says.

Another kiss. Hermann slips a hand up to caress Newton’s jaw, and Newton shivers. “I should think it’s obvious,” Hermann says. “Mm. Come on, now, love, I know I can’t be the only one of us who’s been aching for this.”

“It’s,” Newton stammers, “I,” and his sturdy fingers grip Hermann’s waist, though he makes no move to shove him away. In fact, he only draws him closer. Marvelous. “I’ve got–someone, dude,” he says, gazing at Hermann between heavy eyelids. “Alice. I have–”

Hermann kisses him, pouring into it every ounce of longing he’s felt for the last seven years, and Newton melts against him with a moan. “But does she make you feel the way I do?” Hermann murmurs. 

“Uh,” Newton says.

He swipes his tongue into Newton’s mouth, enjoying the sharp jolt that shoots through Newton when he brushes against his own tongue, and pulls back with a small bite at his bottom lip. Newton always liked when Hermann kissed him messily. “Do feel free to touch me,” he says.

Newton does: one hand leaves Hermann’s waist and inches up his side instead, pausing to shove one half of his lab coat off, then the other. The coat slips to the floor as well. Newton splays five fingers over Hermann’s right pectoral. “Nice shirt,” he says, sounding rather dazed. “Good color on you.”

“I’d hoped you like it,” Hermann says happily. “Remember what you always used to say, about flaunting it? I thought it was time I’d take your advice.”

“I do,” Newton says. “I do remember. Ha.” His face splits into a grin, one of the first truly Newton-esque ones Hermann’s seen on him in years, and Hermann feels a small flare of triumph. He catches the hand at his chest and draws it to his mouth, brushing a kiss over the knuckles. Newton’s tattoos, vibrant as ever, poke out from beneath one maroon sleeve.

Hermann remembers kissing those tattoos. He remembers tracing the shape of red-yellow waves with his fingertips, of pinching the eyes of the great kaiju splashed across his chest, of teasing Newton for his rather unadorned arse and how pale it was in comparison to the rest of him. You’re one to talk, buddy, Newton would say, and he’d deliver a playful smack to Hermann’s, all skin and bones, dude, I think I bruised my hand. He used to like to keep his glasses on in bed so he could see Hermann. Make sure it’s actually happening, he’d say. His sunglasses are folded uselessly on Hermann’s desk. “I could make you so loud,” Hermann says. “We’d get noise complaints. Remember?”

Newton nods, eyes fixed on the knuckles Hermann kissed.

“I knew exactly where to touch you,” Hermann says, dropping his voice, “and how to touch you. I still do, Newton.” Newton dissolves into whimpers when his neck is kissed, a certain spot by his left thigh pressed on with a thumb; when being made love to, he likes his sides stroked, fingers pressed against his tongue; when doing the love making, he likes his hair pulled, nails raked across his back.

“Please,” Newton says, his voice cracking. “Can you–?”

Hermann shoves that ugly maroon jacket to the floor, then winds that ugly tie around his fingers and gives Newton a sharp tug. Newton moans, twice as loud as before. “Yes, darling, of course.”

They kiss, Hermann making quick work of the buttons of Newton’s shirt, Newton seemingly too shy to do anything beyond grip Hermann’s shoulders. A pink blush is spreading from the tips of his cheeks down to his neck. It’s very sweet. “Hermann,” he says.

“Mm?”

Newton wets his lips. “You like when I do this,” he says, and gives Hermann’s ear a little tug.

(They’re so big, Newton would say, it’s adorable, you’re adorable, and Hermann would swat him away, but then Newton would kiss the shell of his ear, bite his earlobe, and Hermann would gasp, and sensitive! Newton would say, adorable, absolutely adorable.)

“They’re sensitive,” Newton says. “You like when I kiss them.” He grins again, though it slips away after a moment. “I think they’ll be looking for me soon.”

“You are so terribly important, after all,” Hermann says. “It’s a very good thing I’ve locked the door. I haven’t finished having my wicked way with you yet.”

This time, Newton laughs, though it’s an uncertain little thing. “Listen,” he says, strangely urgent, and he squeezes Hermann’s arm. “Don’t let me leave, okay?” Then he shakes his head. “Actually, no. Take me home with you. Away from–from work. And Alice. Yeah. Let’s go now.”

This is unexpected, though Hermann cannot deny it’s not exactly what he hoped would happen when his foolproof plan of seduction worked. He’s suddenly very pleased he made a few more stops after picking up his new shirt: first for a very expensive bottle of wine and the makings of a dinner the Newton of ten years ago loved, the next a rather discreet one for the sort of supplies they’d need to, er, take this one step further. “Oh, yes,” Hermann says. “Oh, darling, absolutely. Er–now now?”

“Now,” Newton says. He plants a series of discoordinated, rapid-fire kisses across Hermann’s mouth and chin. “Now,” he repeats. “Keep talking to me.”

“About what?” Hermann says, frowning.

“Anything,” Newton says. “And touch me. Keep touching me. Hermann–when we get there, I have to tell you–”

“Alright, Newton, alright,” Hermann says. He did forget how needy Newton could get. He’s also missed it. He strokes back some of Newton’s neat hair, gropes around for his cane, and eases himself to his feet with a small groan. (He’s not quite as young or agile as he used to be.) Newton immediately springs to his own feet and latches onto Hermann’s arm. He's not merely needy tonight--a bit on edge, too, it seems. “Off we are, then. Be a dear and get my coat for me.”

[pinkhairedlily]

goodbye to the clearest eyes

pair: kim namjoon/park jimin | minjoon, rating: G

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33675553

dropping a minjoon fic here as well (because why not)! :>

Namjoon glances at his phone for the seventeenth time that night, the digital clock blinking back 23:14 at him, and his screen flashing low battery warning since the 20 percent mark. He waits again for ten more minutes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the muted sound of the club on the street across and the passing honks of ubers. A ping stirs him up.

Disappointed but not surprised. He knows he set himself up for this.

“Joon hi. Hope you thought better - like before. I actually got a ride. Lucky huh. So anyway, please don’t mind my earlier texts. See you later.” Ironically, his phone thinks it’s the most opportune time to shut down, zero percent, no more warning. He softly thumps his head on the steering wheel, but his fingers are tightly gripping around it.

“I should stop this.” This is the same sentence he repeats for every conquest Jin conjures up every Friday of the week. He sighs, enraged but tired, and he starts the ignition.

Then his passenger side opens and comes in an angel.

“Excuse me?”

It’s Namjoon’s first expression. Blonde hair, lopsided smile that reaches his eyes, plump and pouty lips, flushed cheeks, and fair skin. He waves to his friends goodbye and reaches for the seatbelt.

He misses it and he chuckles. He tries again and almost gets it. Again, another hearty chuckle.

“You’re hammered,” Namjoon says. “But this is not an uber.”

The blonde man fits the seatbelt in successfully in his third try. He looks up at Namjoon, and he is disarmed by bright hazelnut irises which disappear in a wide smile. “Look I managed to wear my seatbelt.” His fingers, dainty fingers, meet each other to give himself a small, silent clap.

Namjoon’s heart is thumping. What is this is a new modus of a local gang? Using an angel-faced to lure innocents into their deaths? He clears his throat and tries to capture the blonde’s attention. “I would appreciate it if you get out of my car right now.”

Yeah, especially since I just got my license at 30 years old. Because Jin had his car towed.

The blonde is heaving and Namjoon knows what comes next. He opens the windows and gets ready to give him a paper bag stashed in his glove compartment. It’s actually reserved for Jin, waiting for its purpose for several weeks now, but at least a single piece gets to see the light for tonight.

The passenger waves away his offer of a vomit bag. He just lets his head loll on the side, eyes shut, smile still plastered on his cherubic face. Namjoon rakes his raven locks with his hand, and he decides then to fuck it. He’s in the neighborhood, he has an available car. He will do one kind deed today and bring this angel safely to his home.

But yeah fuck me too because my phone’s basically on coma and I’m geographically challenged. No choice then. “Hey you, I’m sorry but I don’t have the maps on. I can’t drive you.”

The blonde tries to sit up straight with his eyes still closed. “Can you first drive around? I don’t want to go home yet.”

This is a red flag, Namjoon knows. Far too many dreadful things have been happening nowadays and everyone is hardly to be trusted even when they have the most beautiful countenance he has ever seen. But he had too many losses this year, too many times he held out chances for someone who won’t return them back, too many hopes for beginnings but he got indefinite endings instead. Yeah, fuck it.

“Can you move away from the window so I can close it?” Namjoon asks.

“Can you leave my side open? I want to feel the cold air against my face,” the man replies. Now that Namjoon’s looking at him intently, he notices he must be in his early 20s, not more than 25 probably.

He stuffs the paper bag on his passenger’s dainty fingers (which thankfully he holds onto because dry cleaning would be a bitch) and drives towards the road he frequents when he gets stood up.

“It’s kinda cold.” His blonde locks are swaying with the wind.

Namjoon chuckles and checks his monitor. “Well it’s the transition between fall and winter. Do you want me to close it now?”

“No, not really. I love the cold. It makes my cheeks redder. It makes me aware of the blood in my body.”

“I like this season too although I’m not a fan of snowing. I’d rather walk than drive a car when it’s winter.” Namjoon steals a glance. “Looks like you really enjoyed tonight. Flushed and rosy cheeks are also good signs of life. Would you believe it’s a criteria males would look for in females they want for marriage and reproduction? Of course, this was back when patriarchy was still 100 percent practiced.”

Namjoon takes a right turn amid the dense canopy of hickory trees and into the tunnel. Now would be the most advantageous time for his passenger to kill him.

“Yes, I enjoyed tonight,” the blonde remarks. His hazelnut eyes are now open and trained on the road. “My friends and colleagues organized a farewell party.”

“Changing jobs?” Namjoon breathes slowly, waiting for the blonde to pull out a gun or knife.

“Nope, not really. I’m going away.”

Nothing comes for Namjoon’s life, and he feels the bubble of laughter in his throat. “Another city or abroad?”

His hazelnut eyes roll to the ceiling, and he ponders for a whole minute. “Yeah, abroad. That’s what I told them.”

The tunnel is empty, but Namjoon keeps a safe driving speed on the rightmost lane. Occasionally, a sports car would speed past them, the tires screeching with the echoes. He wonders if he should keep up the conversation, but gauging the other person’s responses, it seems like they don’t mind. “Oh that must be fun. I also went abroad after university, straight to Belgium. It felt freeing that time, but I realized just recently that I was probably running away.”

There he goes again, spilling his guts to a stranger at midnight in the middle of a tunnel. Namjoon’s mind now wonders if this blonde isn’t afraid of him. He’s bigger than this passenger, more muscular, and definitely taller. He can easily subdue him and drop him in the ocean.

“It’s somewhere I have to go to,” he replies. “I’ve never been to Belgium. Chocolates must be good there.”

“The roads are very bike friendly, if you’re curious.” Namjoon remembers the awe when he first set foot in Brussels. No annoying car honks, no bulky vehicles on the streets. Just people biking, in tune with nature, giving way to each other, the tiny bells ringing.

“Ah I also never learned how to bike. How disappointing.”

“It’s a nice skill to have, keeps you active, and obviously it decreases your carbon footprint.”

His passenger laughs like it’s a trill of a nightingale. “You have such a weird thought process!”

Namjoon’s voice wavers, part embarrassed, part socially anxious. He’s never good in dealing with extroverts. “Is it bad?”

The blonde shakes his head. “I’m saying it’s unique. Anyway, I won’t worry much about my carbon footprint.”

Namjoon clucks his tongue against his mouth. “You must be a mindful consumer.”

“Hmm, I’m not really sure. I guess I am?” His little pinky finger rests on the side of his lip. “But it gives me comfort that I’m alleviating Mother Earth’s illness somehow.”

They leave the tunnel and the smell of salt air arrests both of their senses. Namjoon opens the window on his side as well and breathes in the ocean. He normally frequents this area during sunsets, a few minutes when twilight sets in before it finally transitions to the night sky. His existence hovers in between those changes, all beautiful and all passing. It dawns on him that he took a plunge when he decided to drive here at this time. “Do you mind some music?”

“No, go ahead!”

Namjoon opens his radio, and the first notes of 400 Lux drifts from the speakers. The blonde lets an arm out on touches the air on the skin of his fingers. Namjoon notices this and mirrors him. The ocean greets them after a few seconds, quiet in its vastness despite the rhythmic buoy of the waves and the sound they make when they crash against the sandy shore.

“I’d like to visit many more places,” his companion continues. “Like Jeju Island. My grandmother plants the sweetest tangerines, and my ex-boyfriend would often come help out during harvest season. But I broke up with him just recently and cut off all ties.”

“Sorry about the ex-boyfriend,” Namjoon interjects. “He must be missing the tangerines a lot.”

“Let’s hope that’s the only thing he’ll be missing. By the time he’d miss me, he must have moved on already.”

The road comes a bit closer to the waters, and the wind drifts over some of the sea spray to them as the waves break against the side of the cliffs. “And here you are, sounding like you already miss him.”

“I won’t deny it.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “I found that it’s healthy to acknowledge your feelings than keep them all repressed so I’m honoring our bond by honoring the grief.”

“Sounds like good advice.” The guilt creeps up on Namjoon, but he ignores this for a moment. Maybe he can take this bit, store it, and use it in the future. It’s good advice anyway.

“I also want to visit Disneyland. I’ve never been to one. Couldn’t afford it. But I hate roller coasters and pirate ships, anything that has to do with heights. Although, if given the chance, I would try all of them at once even if I vomit after.”

“The lines are freakishly long.”

“How much do you think would it cost if I rent the whole place for a day?”

Namjoon laughs. “Pretty sure it would have at least six zeroes.”

“Oh I thought it would have seven.” They both break into guffaws. After a few seconds, the blonde continues his musing. “I would also love to visit my parents and see them again every day.”

“Can’t you do it now?”

The man stretched his arms in front of him and wiggles in his chair. “I’ll actually drop by tomorrow, spend some time before I truly go.”

Namjoon slowly turns on a blind curve, weighing the last sentence in his mind. “I moved out when I was 18 into the university dorms, and then I got my own apartment after graduation. Most of us go through that linear phase, don’t you think – growing out of our childhood homes and leaving the ‘youth’ behind.”

“You don’t even look like 30 yet.”

“I’m flattered. And you don’t look like you’re over 20s.”

“I get that a lot.” The blonde chuckles, not bothering to hide another set of blush on his cheeks. Under the dim light of the moon, Namjoon briefly notices the redness in his ears.

“But wouldn’t it be nice to come back to it, to that safe bubble when life becomes too overwhelming?” Somehow, Namjoon also feels a hot flush on his skin despite the icy air that has set in their atmosphere.

“We both know there’s no bubble anymore when we go back.”

“I guess it will take you a long time to come back.”

The passenger nods, his hazelnut eyes leaving the road to focus on the ocean. “A very, very, very long time. I may not see them again after I go.”

He must be moving for good, Namjoon thinks. Or he’s cutting off ties. Like I did so many years ago.

“Hey, can we stop over for water? I’m thirsty.”

Namjoon spots the 24/7 convenience store on the side of the road. He remembers this is a junction close to a fishing port hence the all-around operations. He parks on the empty lot and waits for the blonde to finish buying his needs. He comes back with four bottles of water and two bowls of already cooked instant ramen. “Would you like to eat by the shore?”

Sure why not in the middle of almost-winter? Namjoon follows him nonetheless, even sitting on the damp sand cross legged with ramen in between his hands. They slurp the noodles in silence punctuated by the crashing waves and occasional noise of the seagulls and the horn of incoming fishing fleets. They do not talk, too engrossed with the hot food and spicy broth.

Finally finished, they combine their garbage in what was supposed to be the passenger’s vomit bag. Namjoon initially walks to the direction of his car, but the passenger decides to walk along the shore for the minute, barefoot, his black leather mules secured in his other hand.

“Would you look at that? It’s finally used,” Namjoon jokingly remarks about the vomit bag.

The blonde chuckles at his lame attempt to lighten the mood. Namjoon finally notices the muted loss in his startlingly beautiful hazelnut eyes, and the layers of sadness covered up by his songbird laughter, but he knows it’s not his place to ask.

“Have you ever thought about death?” The way he asked it was so blunt, so deadpan, so out of the blue, and so far removed from his lively persona that Namjoon interacted with in the vehicle.

It catches him off guard, of course. He never really delved into it, not when he was too busy running away from his feelings for his college best friend, not when he came back and tried to rekindle that friendship and connection again, not when he was too busy wondering if it was already too late.

He was too busy facing the consequences of his life. “In passing, maybe.”

The blonde walks further into the water, the waves reaching to his knees. “What do you think happens after?”

“I personally don’t believe in afterlife or in God or in heaven.” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck, aware that his being agnostic would sometimes earn an agitated reaction from people. “It just ends. You become food for the detritus, a fertilizer for the plants.”

“Lessening the carbon footprint?” the blonde brings it up again, and this earns a hearty chuckle from Namjoon.

“We could put it like that. You contribute to nutrient cycling.”

“That’s a nice way of describing rotten flesh being eaten by worms.” He turns towards the expanse of the ocean with his eyes closed and that constant smile that seems to hold him together throughout this night. “I….visualize dying as a new birth, a chance of being someone again, a reincarnation. Even if I live as a butterfly with gray wings, a disowned black cat because of superstition, a whale with an alien frequency, a deer hunted in the open season, I’ll welcome it because it gives me another day, another life. It gives me another chance to feel the cold air on my face, the hot flush on my nose and ears, the water between my toes. Another chance to meet people, another chance to fall in love and break and fall all over again, another chance to live.”

The whole monologue untethers Namjoon. It is as if the sand underneath him started shifting.

The blonde turns his attention on the sky, stars invisible behind the fluffy clouds which signal incoming rain. As he silently watches them move across the space, Namjoon follows the change in his expression, the surrender of the smile, and the explosion of dullness in his irises.

“I have a tumor in my brain. Cancer has progressed too far and too deep to consider chemotherapy. Doctor gave me three months at most.”

Namjoon feels like he needs the vomit bag more. He’s tongue tied and numb all over. He feels cold all over, but he doesn’t know if he should blame the season. All the sounds are drowned by a ringing in his head, and he barely hears the blonde come up to him and tap his shoulder with his smile back again.

“I want to go home now. Thank you for driving me tonight.”

---

Now in the safe enclave of his apartment with a fully charged phone, Namjoon composes a long message intended for Jin, his apologies running all the way back since college. An apology for not responding to his confession, an apology for running away, an apology for coming back and expecting everything is the same.

And an ultimatum of a definite conclusion – whether he can let him in or cut him off from his life – because he has spent a long time living in between.

The breakdown comes after he hits send, choking sobs hitched in his throat. A mourning for a blonde stranger.

---

“Have a taste of this.” A grandmother in her 90s offers a peeled tangerine to Namjoon.

He bites through the piece of fruit and the sweetness hits him in full. He relishes the burst of flavor in his mouth with his eyes closed albeit it’s actually a ruse to keep the flood of tears at bay. You were right, they’re the sweetest tangerines. “I think I’ll order a hundred kilos.”

“That’s too much, my son.” The old woman laughs and playfully slaps him on the arm. “So how did you find your orchard tour a while ago?”

“I can’t help but hear a songbird in the area. Must be coming from the nearby forest.”

“Ah, it started singing last year. Since then, we’ve always had a year-round harvest. He must be my lucky charm.”

[thephantomofthe-internet]

My Best Friend’s Wedding

Billy Hargrove x Reader, Steve Harrington x Reader (One Sided), Robin Buckley x OC

Word Count: 7,363

Warnings: Crying, heartbreak, true love!!!!!

Author’s Note: Um...hi. So, I’m back. It’s been awhile. How are you? I’m okay, little nervous to post since my last story flopped really badly, but again I’m confident in this one and that you’ll like this story. I sure do! As always, leave some comments if you like it and criticism if you don’t I like both! I love hearing what you think!

Tag List: @hotstuffhargrove @moonstruckbucky @thechickvic @alex--awesome--22 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @so-not-hotmess @hawkeyeharrington @sunflowercandie @kaliforniacoastalteens @songforhema @spidey-pal @mickmoon @buckybarneshairpullingkink @baebee35 @myrealloveissleep @allfandomxreader

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Steve Harrington was getting married. What a douchebag thing to do. Marrying the first girl to say that she loved him. You’d been doing that for twenty-one years. And he decided to marry a girl that he hadn’t even introduced to you yet. You’d been his best friend since birth. You couldn’t believe it.

He told you on your winter break. Both of you had only been home for a few days. Steve had gone to Gary to train at their police academy and you’d gone to Indianapolis for college. You both returned home for winter break. You were hoping to enjoy a couple weeks back with your best friend. You’d planned your whole break around it. But you couldn’t even get him to leave the house for ten minutes the first week home. You hadn’t met her yet, but you’d heard her voice when you called. Steve said her name was Cathy. She sounded like she was fifteen. She literally answered the phone by saying ‘yellow?’ like a damn character in Valley Girl. What a fucking joke.

To say you were jealous was an understatement. Steve was your guy. Your best friend. Your one true love. He didn’t know that part yet, but it was obvious. You had the chemistry, you had the mutual attraction, and you had the spark, that bit of electricity Steve had been in search of since you were thirteen. You were it. But there Steve was with Cathy. He brought her to dinner. She was a freshman at Ivy Tech. She was studying nursing. She had mousy brown hair and high cheekbones. She looked like Nancy Wheeler, but with a sweeter, easier going personality. She didn’t know that Steve pissed his pants after seeing Poltergeist. She was everything Steve thought he wanted. He’d be bored of her in five years.

You pouted through that dinner and the rest of the break. Steve barely paid you any mind, he was too busy flashing his hot new soon to be trophy wife around. Her round cut diamond ring on its ugly notched yellow gold band flashing in the sunlight on her pale, milky skin making your blood boil. You just knew he bought her a new ring, his grandmother’s engagement ring was much smaller and classier than what she had on. She made him buy her a new ring. God, what a fucking bitch.

You went back to Indianapolis enraged. You flew through the small towns in your crappy car to get back home. Your roommate, Robin, made it back to your tiny apartment before you did, which meant that Billy Hargrove had his feet up on your coffee table. You let out a beleaguered sigh when you saw the soles of his dirty white tube socks waving to you from atop your psychology textbooks.

“Hargrove, feet off the books. They cost more than you do.” You groaned, dropping your army style duffle bag by your door. Billy chuckled, doing as you asked. You felt his eyes run over you, which you didn’t entirely get the point of. You looked the same, although slightly greasier from your long drive home.

“You don’t know my rates, kid.” He replied, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You rolled your eyes, waving a polite hello to Robin, who was watching the scene with a bemused look from the kitchen. You headed to your bedroom without another word, hoping for solace in the solitude of your private space. You felt like dying the second your knees hit the mattress. He was leaving you.  He was leaving you for a boring brunette named Cathy. He was leaving you for someone who didn’t even laugh at his jokes. The love of your life was marrying someone else. It hit you like running full force into a brick wall. Your brain felt like it was shaking in your skull, your nose crushed into your face as tears began to carve burning streams down your face and your nose turned red and stuffy. You were very aware of the fact that people were in your apartment, that if Robin was home then she’d call Beth and the three of them would probably spark up and would coming knocking on your door soon. But in that moment, you needed to cry. You needed to let go of every ill feeling that had been clogging your chest since Steve had told you of his plan.

You didn’t know how long you’d been in there for, your only sense of time being the markers of when the stereo turned on and off. When you heard a knock on your door, you didn’t move. Whoever was on the other side would just invite themselves in anyway.

“Hey, we’re going to get some food, you coming or-” Billy’s sentence came to an abrupt end when you lifted your face from the pillow, mascara streaking your cheeks. “Oh shit.” He shut the door fast. You both heard Robin yelling from behind the door for him to hurry up, but neither of you moved. Billy didn’t seem quite sure of himself, as if he didn’t know what to do now that he’d closed the door.

“I’m good, go on Hargrove.” You sighed, wiping hard at your damp and warm skin.

Billy didn’t move. “Are you gonna be okay?” he asked quietly.

“Does it look like I’m okay?” you bit back bitterly. You wished he would leave you be. Billy was the last person you wanted to see you cry, much less to be there to comfort you. He wasn’t your damn friend, you hardly knew him. He was just the guy who hung out in your living room and ate your food. He was Robin’s friend, not yours.

“What happened?” he asked, venturing closer to you.

You let out a sigh. Well, at least he wouldn’t tell Steve about this. “Harrington’s getting married.” You replied, your voice cracking. You needed a drink of water or something, crying had truly drained you.

“Isn’t he your age? You can barely drink.” He scoffed. It was almost refreshing. He seemed to not believe it as much as you did.

“Yeah, he is and he’s marrying a near stranger. They’ve only been together like eight months.” Your mouth turned up in a nauseated scowl. Billy watched your lips as they curled up in disgust. He smirked, trying to hold back a bubble of laughter. You looked so genuinely turned off by the thought, it was funny.

“So he’s an idiot. Why cry over him?” Billy asked, sitting down carefully on your bed. You pulled your legs up to your knees, wrapping your arms around them, tucking your chin behind them.

“Because he’s my idiot…” you muttered softly. Billy raised an eyebrow, egging you on. “I love him. I’ve loved him since I was ten years old…”

“Damn…” Billy breathed out.

“I know…” you replied, wiping your eyes on your long grey sleeves.

“You have awful taste.” He said. You gasped, throwing a pillow at his head. It hit with a smack, sending him falling back a bit, his big callused hands sliding back to support himself. You burst out laughing as it hit, you usually had pretty bad aim so you were shocked when it hit. You clasped a hand over your mouth, your eyes crinkling as you tried to hide your glee. Billy rolled his eyes, but his infamous smirk pulled at his lips.

“You don’t know Steve like I do!” you giggled, dodging the pillow as it came back at your head.

“And you don’t know him like I do.” Billy replied. He didn’t actually aim the pillow near your head, he knew he’d hit you square in the head and he didn’t want to hurt you. Your bedroom door flew open and Robin stood in the doorway, adjusting her leather jacket around her shoulders, the hood of her bright red hoodie poking out of the back and over the collar.

“Nerds are you coming with or are you having a sleepover? Beth and I are starving.” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest with a stern expression.   You could see Beth pulling up her long brown hair behind Robin, her emerald green fitted coat buttoned up as high as it would go and her burgundy scarf tucked into it. The weather must have turned on them, the temperature dropping again.

“Geez, yeah gimme a second.” You grabbed your lavender coloured cardigan from its place on the bed next to you and pulling it around yourself as you climbed out of bed. Billy followed behind you, shrugging as Robin raised an eyebrow at him.

From that point on, Billy became your wedding confidant. As the date was set and began to loom closer and closer, he stood by you, listening to you rant about Cathy and Steve and their fucking bliss. You were going to be a bridesmaid, Cathy asked you since Steve’s mother wouldn’t let him make you a groomsman. They were having a June wedding. It was going to happen in Carmel, in the same hall his parents had gotten married in. Steve’s parents were paying for everything, including your awful magenta taffeta nightmare. Billy listened to everything you could come up with, every awful insult you’ve come up with for Cathy. He watched you laugh, you cry, you scream at the sky. For the first time in knowing you, he genuinely felt for you.

In March, you got your invitation to the wedding, along with a note from Cathy. Apparently, all her other bridesmaids had dates and that you should bring a date too, so you wouldn’t be awkward. You wanted to strangle the girl. Billy was sitting on your couch when you walked into your apartment, dropping your heavy book bag on the floor, invitation still held in hand and mouth agape.

“Hey, what’s up?” Billy asked, flicking his gaze away from the magazine in his hands.

You looked up briefly “Shouldn’t you be in class?” Billy was in trade school. He was supposed to be learning to be an electrician. Instead, he had his dirty feet on your coffee table.

“I don’t feel ready yet. What’s that?” he pointed to the eggshell coloured expensive paper in your hands.

“Oh, just my invitation to the Harrington-Bray wedding and a lovely note from the bride herself.” You smirked, kicking off your tennis shoes before joining Billy on the couch. He immediately wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“What’s she bugging you about now?” he asked, unable to hide the small, satisfied grin that pulled at his lips as you snuggled into him. He was glad that your attention was still on the invitation.

Yeah, he was utterly fucked over you. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it to himself. He would never admit it to anyone else, but he wasn’t going to pretend that he didn’t have feelings for you. He did. Sometime between finding you crying in your bedroom and now, he’d fallen head over feet into a pit of mushy gushy feelings that he hadn’t had to tackle before and he couldn’t escape. Before you, women fell into about three categories: old ladies in charge, women he could fuck, and women he wouldn’t fuck. But you didn’t fit into any category. Well, I mean you fit very neatly into the women he’d fuck category, but you were more than that. He wanted to make you happy, to help you when you’re upset and to harm anyone who hurt you, and to protect you from harm’s way. You felt precious and special to him, something he didn’t quite know how to tackle. So, he ignored it. He hoped you couldn’t feel the way his heart pounded in his chest as he looked over the invitation you held loosely in your right hand.

“Well, Cathy has informed me that all her other bridesmaids have dates and that, to not stand out, I should bring one too. Because wouldn’t it be fucking loopy if I didn’t have a damn date.” You huffed out a breath, crossing your arms over your chest.

Billy paused for a moment. Then, squeezing his eyes shut, he took a risk, his first in months. “I’ll go with you if you need a date.” He said.

You furrowed your brow “Why would you want to go? You hate Steve.” You asked.

“Well, for one thing watching Harrington make the biggest mistake of his life in a monkey suit will be pretty funny.” He said, earning a smack in the chest from you. “And for another, I want to help you out. You need a date, I’m there.”

You picked up your invitation, looking it over sceptically. “Are you sure? I mean it’s in the beginning of June, I don’t want to drag you away from your finals or anything, I don’t know when you’re done school for the year…”

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal, my exams are in a couple weeks anyway.” Billy replied with a shrug. Even if his finals were during that week, he would’ve skipped them to go with you. He wanted, no he needed to be there with you. He didn’t give two shits about Harrington, he could make mistakes whenever, but he had to be there to hold your hand when you needed him to.

“You’re gonna have to wear a monkey suit too you know.” You said with a small smirk.

“Its fine, I think mine still fits from my dad’s funeral.” He replied. You sat up, pulling a pen from the spirals of one of your forgotten notebooks and checked off the ‘plus one’ option on your invitation.

“Chicken or Steak?” you asked, checking off the chicken option for yourself. “Oh and also? You can’t laugh at me in my dumb dress. I got sent pictures of it and it’s bad. It’s really bad.”

“Steak and I won’t. I’ll be too busy laughing at everything else.” He chuckled, earning another smack in the chest from you before you checked off the plus one card Cathy’s expensive invitations had provided.

For the next two months, you did everything you could to ignore Cathy’s calls. She invited you to the bridal shower and the bachelorette party, both of which you refused with the same excuse. Steve called you twice to bitch you out. The third time he called to complain, you actually fought back.

“Y/N, can you please try with Cathy? She’s trying to be nice.” Steve groaned. You were sat on the couch, having forced Robin to turn down the radio so you could actually hear Steve on the other end. She and Beth were just making out anyway; they didn’t need to have it up so loud anyway. Hearing Debbie Gibson on top volume didn’t make anything more romantic.

“I am trying; I’m in her bridal party aren’t I? I’m coming up three days before the wedding to help her get ready. Isn’t that enough?” you tried, twirling the phone cord around your fingers.

“She was really upset that you didn’t come up for her bridal shower or her Bachelorette party.” Steve replied.

“I had exams during her bridal shower and I couldn’t afford to take the time off work for the party. I’m not rich like your families are Steve. I have rent to pay and classes to pass. If I fail, I don’t have a soft place to land like you do Steve.” That wasn’t exactly the kindest thing to say in the moment, but you were tired of this conversation. You felt like you’d been having it for weeks.

“That’s not fair, Y/N, you know that’s not how my life is.” Steve said.

“Oh really? Then why are your parents paying for your whole wedding? Why is your dad holding a job for you at his company? Why is Cathy already invited to the country club with full membership? Why does she spend her breaks at her family’s ski lodge in Aspen? Steve, you’re not as put upon as you like to act. I’m doing everything in my power to be there for you and Cathy, but my life and experiences are different than yours.”

Steve hung up without a reply, effectively ending the conversation there. You hung up the phone with a slam, crossing your arms over your chest. What a fucking jerk! He didn’t have the right to treat you like shit, especially over damn Cathy. You’d been his best friend for over a decade and you’d been trumped by a little skinny Minnie with no tits. A rich bitch with a collection of tennis skirts and preppy pastel blazers to rival Princess Diana herself. She wasn’t supposed to be his best friend, his choice for the rest of his life. That was supposed to be your job. You were supposed to be the person who made him happy, not some country clubber. And yet your place was glowing in the horizon. Behind the holy Cathy, your spotlight dimmed and left behind to wail your song alone under the ghost light. Except your song was bursting from your broken heart.

You wouldn’t stand for being left behind for some bitch named Cathy.

There was only thing to do. It was something you were avoiding doing since you were twelve years old.

Billy came to pick you up for the long journey to Carmel even though he didn’t have to be there until the sixth. You both refused to stay in Hawkins, too many bad memories there. He was staying in the same hotel as you. You were going a couple days early for your dress fitting and to tote Cathy around. But that wasn’t the reason you were nervous sitting in Billy’s leather seats. You had to find Steve once you got there.

Of course, Billy was nervous too. This trip was going to end in heartbreak. You were going to watch the love of your life marry someone else. And Billy was going to watch you cry knowing that he would never hurt you like this. He would sit there and try to not let it show how much it hurt to watch you be in pain. The ride to Hawkins was tense and silent, safe for Billy’s static filled radio switching between talk radio and the hits of the day, depending on what frequency it picked up. Neither of you try to fix it. You both were too anxious to bother.

When you arrived in Carmel, Mrs. Harrington and sweet little Cathy were at your hotel. You were whisked off to your fitting and then lunch in Carmel. You left Billy in the dust that day, forced to grapple with the town that tried to kill him twice and almost succeeded. He spent the day in his hotel room and you spent your day trying to get to Steve.

Day two was a free day, safe for the rehearsal dinner that night, beginning at the church. You were told implicitly to bring your date to the dinner, as Cathy had laid out a spot for you both at the wedding table. There you met her three other bridesmaids, her sister Jessica, her cousin Ellen, and her best friend Kelly. All three of them looked nearly identical, with matching shoulder length hair cuts and pristine white pleated tennis skirts. All their boyfriends looked the same too, with their pastel polos and white padded blazers. They all shook Billy’s hand as if it was dirty. The girls looked at the pair of you like you were white trash.

You didn’t find Steve first, Billy did. The meeting didn’t exactly go well. You’d gone to the bathroom and when you returned Billy and Steve were staring each other down with the same intensity that they did in high school. You parted them quickly, smiling at Steve sympathetically.

“What is he doing here, Y/N?” Steve asked through gritted teeth.

“He’s my date, Steve, he’s a friend of mine.” You replied simply, pushing Billy away as he tried to come back into the situation. Steve scoffed loudly, but turned away without another word. You turned to Billy quickly. “What the hell was that, dude?”

“I just came over to say hello and he got in my face!” Billy cried, pointing at his back as Steve stalked away.

“Can you just keep your chill for a day? Please? For me?” you whispered, squeezing his hand gently.

Billy’s expression softened instantly and he nodded, swallowing hard. “I’ll try.” He said.

“Thank you,” you said “I’m going to try to talk to Steve, hang tight okay?”

Billy nodded and you headed towards where you saw Steve go. He had headed out the main entrance, to where Cathy would be sent when they were ready to begin the rehearsal. You wiped your sweating palms on your royal blue skirt. You took in a deep breath through your nose and pushed open the heavy wooden doors, to find Steve Harrington practically ripping out his hair.

“Steve?” you asked quietly. He turned to look at you, his expression not changing when he saw you.

“You couldn’t have brought anyone else, could you?” he bit out, pulling his hands through his hair one more time before crossing his arms over his chest.

“He asked, I agreed. He’s not the same guy he was here.” You replied, adjusting your purse strap.

“Bullshit,” he chuckled coldly “He’s still the same douche he was a couple years ago. Nobody changes that much.”

“You did.”  Steve went to retort you, but closed his mouth without speaking a word. You pressed on “Robin trusts him, they’re pretty much best friends, and I trust him. He’s been really good to me these past few months. Been my friend while my best friend was missing in action.”

Steve was silent for a moment. “I’ve been busy, Y/N, I had to help plan a wedding.” He muttered.

“And I’m supposed to be my best friend. That doesn’t change when you get a girlfriend. You promised me that, remember? After Wheeler that was our deal. And you broke that with her.” You replied.

“Don’t call Cathy ‘her’. She’s not just some girl.” Steve snapped.

“Why didn’t you introduce me before you got engaged? You had the time, it wasn’t like you just met her. I didn’t even know that you were even seeing anyone seriously.” You replied, matching his tone.

“Because, sometimes a man likes to have his secrets! What, Hargrove over there not keeping anything from you?” Steve cried. The large church doors opened again and revealed Cathy, shuffling in her Mary-Jane’s with a shy expression.

“Honey?” she asked, drawing Steve’s attention and softening his expression instantly “We’re ready to start if you are.”

“Just, give me one second, okay sweetie?” he said, his tone softer and kinder with her. He turned to you with a less than kind expression, nodding for you to head to your group. When you didn’t move, he spoke “You should go with Cathy, go learn your job.”

You left without a word. The rest of the rehearsal went by in a blur. You were put second in line to enter the church, supposedly and were given the role of train fixer before Cathy walked into the church. You were given specific instructions on how to hold your bouquet of yellow roses and baby’s breath in front of you. You went through the walk in and then listened to the pair go over the ceremony with the pastor in charge of marrying them. Supposedly they’d written their own vows. You looked to Billy, who looked utterly bored with the other boyfriends. When the rehearsal ended, you were all told to join the Harrington’s at their home for dinner.

Steve grabbed your arm as you were leaving the church. You hung back without a word as he told Cathy to go on without him. “Look,” he began once his fiancé had passed “I’m sorry I got mad at you. I was out of line. I was just surprised when I saw you and Hargrove together. It weirded me out. But I’m okay now.”

“Look, it’s whatever, you don’t like him and that’s fine. I’m a bit tired, will you apologize to your mom to me? I’m gonna bail on the dinner.” You replied with a small shrug, wrapping your arms around yourself. It was seventy-five degrees outside but you were freezing.

“Are you sure? I don’t think it will be a big deal…” Steve said, his warm hands coming to your bare shoulder, warming your skin and melting your heart.

“Nah,” you chuckled “Besides, you don’t really want Hargrove in your house anyway, right? Just tell your mom we went home.”

Steve laughed “That’s fair,” he released your arm “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Duh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You elbowed him in the arm before heading off. Billy was watching from the sidewalk, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes trained on the ground. You ran up and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Let’s blow this pop stand.” You said with a cheeky grin.

“Where’re we going, princess?” he smirked, wrapping an arm around your waist. He usually wouldn’t do that, but then again you didn’t usually wrap yourself around him in public. He took the chance on you pulling away for a moment to hold you.

“Benny’s? If it’s still open, I guess.” You replied. The idea of Benny’s not being open anymore hit you like a truck. How much had Hawkins changed since you left?

Evidently, not that much. The Harrington’s still lived on Pine Street and Benny’s was still open, its owner having been dead for almost seven years. You found yourself in its yellowed dining room, eating greasy burgers and fries while discussing the old days here. You weren’t friends with Billy in high school and you hardly paid him much mind, so all his stories were fresh to you. He told you all about his whoring days and his wild child moments. How he broke into the library to screw around with Diana Krass and denied breaking a window when the police came around. He was the reason the library got security cameras. You nearly died when he told you about catching Melissa Rankers and Caroline Spears writing out someone’s phone number in the boy’s locker room. A ‘For a good time call’ situation. You made him laugh his ass of when you told him it was yours and all the crazy calls you got that year from desperate boys looking for phone sex. He couldn’t top your story about how Tommy Hanson called you after his breakup with Carol and would not believe that you weren’t a phone sex operator. The fact that you knew what his sex noises were disturbed you both. You spent your evening laughing and joking with Billy.

It felt like you were hanging out with Steve. But different. You closed down Benny’s and drove around till almost five in the morning. You barely made it to bed.

You were woken up at ten by your hotel room phone ringing off the hook. Mrs. Harrington, Cathy, Ellen, Jessica, and Kelly were all here in room two thirteen. You had to join them to start getting ready. Apparently, there were mimosas. The call made you feel more exhausted than you felt when you woke up. But you went, grabbing your makeup and the robe the hotel provided, padding over to their room.

The group was rowdy. You were introduced to Cathy’s mother, who hugged you like she meant it. She seemed to have already indulged in a few mimosas before you’d even arrived. You spent your morning mostly drinking and waiting around. They only had one makeup artist and one hair stylist who were styling everyone and no one had decided on how you should look. You ended up looking like a clown, your hair too big and blown out for your face and your makeup hair too bright. And your dress was worse in person. You’d tried it on in the shop, but in natural lighting you got the full picture. Horrid satin and taffeta all the same shade of sickly magenta, with a tulle filled a-line skirt and scratchy puff sleeves and a square neckline. This dress did nothing for your chest and hips, not that your hair and makeup was helping. You pulled a bit of baby’s breath out of your bouquet and tucked it into your up-do. Apparently, you were supposed to bring your own jewellery and hair accessories, so the bit of greenery would have to suffice. You tucked your feet into the matching heels and smoothed your skirt, looking over the other bridesmaids. Jessica looked alright in the dress, but overall all four of you looked a bit like clowns.

And then, Cathy appeared. And she looked just as bad! She seemed thoroughly disappointed, but trying to hide it with a tight lipped smile. Her dress seemed to be modeled on Princess Diana’s, with its off the shoulder cream puff sleeves and sweetheart neckline, but where on Princess Diana it looked royal on Cathy it looked cheap. Her skirt seemed a bit too big to move in and the big bow on the small of her back seemed silly. She didn’t look happy with her dress, but she simply adjusted her veil and fixed her cherry red lipstick, nodding at her reflection. Her mother appeared behind her in a bright purple sparkly number with a matching jacket, complete with shoulder pads. Her eyes were misty. Clearly, this was the most beautiful sight in the world.

Your little group headed downstairs to your town cars and you headed to the church. You hoped Billy had made it to the church on time. You hoped Robin and Beth had made it into town and that no one had stopped them or shunned them for being gay. Most of all, you hoped you could hold it together through this thing.

The ceremony took a long time to start. You contemplated going to find Steve. To tell him how you feel, to convince him to run away. But something kept you right where you stood in the church’s entrance way. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t ruin his happy day. Steve loved Cathy today. Maybe he wouldn’t tomorrow, in six months, in a year or twenty-but today he loved her. And you wanted him to be happy. So you’d shut your mouth and let him have this. But as the ceremony started and you began your walk up to him at the altar, your heart shattered. In another life, that would be you he was waiting for. But it was Cathy. You couldn’t watch them during the ceremony. You kept your eyes on Billy, who was only watching you. His steely blue eyes on yours kept you calm as tears bubbled in your eyes and emotion clogged your throat.

When it all ended, you rushed to get out of the church. Billy’s arm came around you the second he found you. He let you cry into his white dress shirt and ruin it with your makeup filled tears. He held you till your breathing evened out, then he wiped your cheeks and led you to his car.

“Did Robin make it okay?” you asked, your voice hoarse as you adjusted your skirts. Billy stood holding your door, waiting to shut you into the car. He narrowed his eyes, looking you over the same way he did when he first found you crying over Steve all those months ago.

“Is that really what you’re worried about right now?” he asked.

You smiled, your expression still watery. “No, but it’s what I’d rather think about.” You said. Billy frowned, shutting the door and walking to his own, popping it open and climbing in.

“Yeah, they made it in fine. They sat in the back and, according to Beth, they spent the whole time making fun of Cathy’s butt bow. And your dress.” He explained, turning on the engine.

“I look awful, don’t I?” you asked. You weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry, your mind was all over the place.

“No!” Billy corrected, looking into the rear view as he backed out of his spot before turning out of the parking lot. “You look like a beautiful Kool-Aid man.” You smacked him hard in the shoulder, gasping loudly. Billy laughed at this, looking you over. You really did look beautiful, despite the awful dress. Nothing could muffle your beauty.

“Your makeup…um…it ran a little bit. There are some tissues in the glove compartment…” he added, looking away. You flipped down the mirror to look yourself over. Your tears had carved black stripes down your cheeks, washing away your foundation and destroying your blush and eyeliner. You sighed, popping open the glove compartment and pulled out a handful of tissues, wetting them with your own spit and wiping away the makeup as best you could.

“Oh god, I look awful. I can’t believe I walked around like this.” You groaned, rubbing at the garish pink blush painted like rosacea on your cheeks. That makeup artist had something against you.

“You look fine, don’t worry about it. Cathy looked worse than you, her hair looked like it hurt.” Billy replied as you wiped away the bubblegum pink lipstick from your lips. Billy tried not to watch you and your puffy lips, focusing hard on the road ahead.

“I look better, now that I’m getting this shit off my face.” You replied, focusing on getting the shit brown eye shadow off your lids. Once you toned it down, you felt a bit better. They’d already taken all the pictures they needed outside the church, you didn’t need to keep up appearances now.

Billy pulled into the parking lot of the reception hall and let you out quickly. He offered you his hand before you walked in and you didn’t let it go until dinner was served. Throughout the couples making the rounds to the tables during cocktail hour and the speeches before the meal was served, you squeezed his hand whenever you felt yourself getting emotional, grounding yourself to him and to something safe. You made your rounds to Robin and Beth, who looked much better than you. They laughed at your little ensemble and made you do a full spin to really show off the skirt. They laughed far too hard at you, but Billy didn’t even chuckle. As soon as you were done, his arm came right back around you. Robin and Beth exchanged a look that you couldn’t quite interpret. You returned to your seat when dinner was served and sat through a nauseating round of the newlywed game while they served dessert. Billy made sure to distract you when the questions got too lovey-dovey, cracking jokes in your ear and, when in doubt, covering your ears.

But he couldn’t protect you from the first dance. As it turns out, Jessica fancied herself a singer and was tasked with performing the couple’s song. Steve and Cathy went to the dance floor as the slow piano intro to Elvis Presley’s I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You began to flow through the room. Jessica’s nasal voice took the lead vocals, crooning out the opening lines “Wise men say, only fools rush in. But I can’t help falling in love  with you…” the song was so cliché for the wedding. You tried to mock it to keep away the emotion, but it was all too much. The tears began to fall as Cathy’s head came to Steve’s shoulder.

“Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling so it goes; something’s were meant to be…”

Billy’s hand squeezed yours. His heart was breaking, watching you try to hold back tears as Steve and Cathy danced in their own blissful bubble. As the chorus came around again, you broke away, rushing to the nearest exit. You both knew that you couldn’t take anymore. Billy followed behind you without a second’s hesitation.

He found you in the lobby, hands crushed to your face. He wrapped his arms around your neck, pulling your back to him. “Oh, please, leave me alone Bill. I need to be alone…” you sobbed.

“I won’t leave out here to cry alone, Y/N, you’re not alone.” He replied, holding you tighter.

“I love him, Billy…” you cried, turning in his arms to press your face into his chest “Why doesn’t he love me?”

“Because…because he’s an idiot, Y/N, any man would be lucky to have you love him.” He replied, petting your hair softly. It felt stiff from hairspray, but he didn’t care. As selfish as it was, this was the best part of his day. Having you hold him like you loved him.

“What does she have that I don’t have? I’ve been there for him his whole life. And suddenly this girl is his whole world. I’ve spent so long trying to maintain a place in his life and this girl can just show up and get a spot without question.” You muttered. That felt selfish to say, but you felt as though you earned a bit of selfish thinking.

“Because Steve lives in his own world. And we just orbit it. But you? You deserve to be someone’s whole world. You deserve to be the first person someone thinks of in the morning and the last thing they think of at night. You deserve all that cheesy shit because you’re worth it.” He said quickly, pulling you away from his chest to look you in the eye. You looked so small and vulnerable in his arms.

“Why am I always trying to love someone who doesn’t give a damn about me?” you chuckled sadly, running your hands up and down the smooth material of Billy’s suit jacket.

In this moment, Billy had a choice. He could go the easy way or the hard way. Billy chose the easy way most of the time, he coasted through life without trying very often for anything. If it didn’t come easy, then he wasn’t going to work to have it. But today, for the first time since he came back the second time, he chose the hard choice.

“Y/N, watching you moon over Harrington is the single hardest thing I have done in my life, that man is an idiot,” Billy said firmly, squeezing your waist slightly to ground himself to the moment.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to burden you with all of this, I-”

“He’s an idiot for not loving you.” Billy cut you off, silencing you with a look. He looked anxious. You’d never seen him anxious before.

“He’s an idiot because you’re so easy to love. I fell in love with you two weeks after I found out about Harrington and I don’t love girls. I don’t. I didn’t think it was in my damn DNA but here you are, with your pretty eyes and your jokes and your smile and I fell for you so fast. And watching you chase after Harrington, cry over Harrington, rant and rave about that damn asshole killed me! Because he’s not worth it! Look, I don’t care if you don’t love me back, you probably don’t, but please move on from him. You deserve the world, not a stupid spot in someone else’s.”

Billy was out of breath when he finished his little speech, staring into your eyes as your tears dried and your mouth fell open.

“Your…you’re in love with me?” you asked slowly. Your mouth felt dry and arid, your heart was pounding loudly in your ears.

“Yeah, shocking I know.” Billy chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. He tried to pull away from you, but you refused to let go. Your hands came up to his cheek, stroking the skin there briefly before placing a feather light kiss on his lips, tentative and slow. You were unsure of yourself, unsure if you were even in the right mind to make this kind of choice, but all your worries melted away when your lips touched. It wasn’t the fireworks Steve had been describing for your entire adolescence, it was safe and comforting. Your heart filled with joy, you worries fell away. Suddenly, without warning, you were home. You were home in his arms and you were home on his lips. You hadn’t felt at home since Steve hugged you goodbye when you made the trek to college. But home wasn’t with Steve anymore, he had his own home with Cathy now. But home could be with Billy.

He pulled away first, pushing you back by your shoulders. “You don’t have to do this, Y/N, it’s okay I understand-”

“Billy,” you silenced him instantly “I don’t kiss anyone unless I want to. I wanted to kiss you. I want to kiss you. Look,” you sighed, scuffing the toe of your ugly wedding shoes  on the linoleum, looking up at him through your lashes. “I don’t know how I feel about anything right now, I’m not certain, but I feel safe with you. I like you. Platonically and romantically.  And all I want is to feel safe with someone. So, can we try?”

Billy looked your face over, his big callused hand coming to your cheek, wiping a stray teardrop from your lower lashes. You nuzzled into the warmth of his palm. He moved his hand to under your chin, pulling your lips to his, kissing you harder and deeper than before, wrapping his free arm around your waist, pulling you flush with him.

This was all he wanted. The moment he dreamed of. Thinking about you made him feel weak, like a pathetic child. But having you in his arms, it made him feel like it was okay to be weak. That he didn’t have to be strong all the time. You made him feel strong, even when he was acting weak and vulnerable. He felt secure with you. That wasn’t a luxury he took for granted.

The kiss awoke the last bit of feeling you were missing with him. Billy was golden haloed, bright like the sun and shining. He was solid and present, a lighthouse in a storm. He was your rock. You hadn’t realized that you’d been clinging to him until he almost disappeared. He didn’t know you like Steve, but that wasn’t a bad thing.

When Billy let you go, the smile that spread across your face was impossible to hide. Billy’s expression matched yours, a genuine smile from a guy who rarely did more than smirk. The look melted your heart even more, turning goo into pure liquid.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly.

“Are you sure? You don’t exactly do this every day.” You countered, smacking him in the chest lightly.

Billy rolled his eyes “Oh shut up, I’m trying here.” You smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Come on, let’s go back in before people start asking questions. I don’t want Cathy in my business, she’s so nosey.” You grabbed his hand, squeezing it in yours.

“Oh, total Carol? I heard her and Tommy talking shit in the back about your dress. Want me to beat him up?” Billy replied, following you back into the hall.

You gasped “No!” Billy laughed loudly, shaking his head. The band had started up again and the leader asked for all the lovers in the room to join the bride and groom on the floor. “I just want to dance, alright?” Billy nodded and let you lead him onto the floor. You wrapped yourself in his arms again, placing your head on his chest and listened to his heart beat.

The day wasn’t perfect, and it certainly didn’t end the way you expected it to, but in Billy’s arms, you felt okay with how it went. You weren’t with Steve Harrington, but that wasn’t something to cry over anymore. Billy Hargrove was here to make you feel invincible again.

[seavoice]

i don’t believe in an interventionist god

Sometimes, Fate sticks you together for years. Sometimes, Fate sticks you together for half an hour.

Or — maybe, you don’t meet each other because of Fate’s best attempts to bring you together. Maybe it’s in spite of its best attempts to keep you apart.

[this IS a pjo fic, i promise. ao3 link in the title]

//

Adam didn’t have the time or emotional wherewithal for dying grandmothers.

It sounded so terrible, but it was the truth. Today had been a hard one. The transfer from Chicago to New York City had been a much needed change of pace, a welcome one, but his workload at the new hospital was so much more stressful than the last. Bigger, more reputed, and exponentially busier. It ate away all of his time and more than a fair bit of his peace of mind.

But whatever. He could take the late nights and early mornings, the incessant paging by his attendants, the neverending piles of paperwork and his Chief Resident’s pissy attitude on even the worst of days. As much as it sucked, he was the one who had signed up for this kind of life. He’d known what he was getting into the minute he’d decided to become a doctor. He had known he would spend the rest of his life paying off the student loans for med school, being bossed around by his superiors and being puked on by his poor patients. Whatever. All of that had been — to be completely cheesy, but also completely honest — a cost he had been willing to pay for a chance to save lives.

Technically, Adam had also known that death would be a tragic but inevitable part of the life he had chosen. As terrible as it was to think about it, Adam had thought about it. He would mourn the patients he lost, he would be kind to the families he broke the news to, he would not forget the losses he witnessed, he would remember each and every one of those faces and names. But at the end of it, he would pull himself up, because he had a job to do, lives to save still. He would mourn each patient, but he would not drown in grief. His seniors had warned him that growing too attached to patients was a slippery slope, a fine balance — you wanted to be kind and warm and empathetic, but losses piled up over the years. To be a good doctor, they had said, you had to be kind and you had to remember the losses, but you also had to make peace with the presence of death.

Easier said than done.

The thing was, it wasn’t even his day to be on call. He’d been covering a shift for a friend with a family emergency, and it was going to be like any other day. Draining. Tiring. But normal.

And then the kid had died.

Sweet. Twelve. Brown haired and bright eyed, and so, so sick. Cassie was her name, and her green eyes had fluttered shut bare seconds before she’d flatlined. Her parents had clutched on to each other, the mom nearly collapsing to her knees while the dad buried his face in his wife’s hair and held her up. Adam had spoken to the grieving, broken parents with steady words, and disconnected the girl from life support with steady hands, and he had filled out the paperwork with his steady handwriting, but after that he’d walked out to the reception on his break and suddenly he was no longer steady. It was like he was coming apart at the seams, and Sarah, one of his friends and fellow residents put her phone down and stared at him.

“You alright?” She asked, hand still worrying the phone cord.

“Yeah, just…” Adam closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He could still hear the parents wailing down the hallway as the senior surgeon in charge spoke to them. “You know how it is. She was — uh, very young.”

Sarah nodded in sympathy, “Cassie right? I met her during rounds when I was on Dr Freehold’s service.” She tucked a strand of her red hair behind her ear. “I’m so sorry, Adam.”

“It’s okay. It’s —” Adam reached into his lab coat and pulled out his beeping pager. He groaned. “Aw, shit. Room 114.”

Sarah winced. “Oh, that’s the—“

“Yeah,” Adam sighed, stuffing the pager back into his pocket. “Jack’s off today cause of the family thing, so I’m rounding with Dr Solanki. Wish me luck.”

Old. Sweet. Terminally ill, but still extremely intelligent and alert. Jack was just one of the residents on the case, not the primary attendee, but the way he’d briefed Adam about this particular patient you’d never know it.

Patient 114. She was famous throughout the hospital for her visitors. So sick, but so visibly loved, because there didn’t go a single day without her being visited by a steady stream of children, grandchildren and friends. A remarkable life led, clearly, a life full of overwhelming love.

Adam wondered, sometimes, how a life like that looked from the inside. Wondered it for himself.

He’d never be lonely, for one. For another, he’d never want anything more.

Adam wondered, sometimes, how anyone could get over the loss of a life like that.

He sighed again and read the name on the patient chart. It was a lovely name. Sarah gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and then he was off to meet Dr Solanki.

Dr Solanki waited a second for him to catch up, then she knocked on the door to Room 114. The elderly woman inside had her eyes closed, grey hair a regal cloud on the pillow. She wasn’t sleeping, she was holding herself too stiff for that. “Ma’am? Can I come in?”

The woman opened her eyes. They were sharp eyes, warm and old, but with an intelligent sparkle. They looked like storm clouds.

“Dr Solanki, hello. How are—Oh,” the woman said, moving to sit up straighter she saw Adam. She propped herself up on her pillow. “You’re the one in for Dr Jack Sullivan? He told me he had to leave for Minnesota. Something about his sister?”

Adam nodded and offered his hand. The woman had a surprisingly firm grip. No. Not firm, strong. A President’s handshake. A football team captain’s handshake.

“I’m Dr Tartal,” Adam said, pushing a smile on to his face. He gestured to his clipboard. “I’ve been brought up to speed on your case—“

“Oh, it’s hopeless isn’t it?” The woman laughed gently at Adam’s inability to school his features fast enough. “Ah, I’m sorry, that was blunt. But I’m quite familiar with my disease and the odds, you see. It’s pretty hopeless. There’s not much to do.” She looked at Dr Solanki. “You’d agree, wouldn’t you, Dr Solanki?”

Dr Solanki smiled politely. Patient 114’s illness was not one with a full-stop cure, and they all knew it. It was a smile Adam knew well, a common shorthand for doctors everywhere— yes, for all practicality, but not technically. While medicine was a lot about practicality, patient care was about technicalities. And tact. “There are still many options for—“

“Dr Solanki doesn’t believe in death,” the woman told him. “She doesn’t believe in my death, specifically. There’s always more options for her.” She said it with a distinct fondness; she and Dr Solanki shared a small, familiar smile. “But, alright. I’ll look into your options, Dr Solanki. You have given me months more than my prognosis ever promised.”

Dr Solanki nodded. “The nurse was here to take the temperature earlier, I believe?”

“Yes, I was running a fever, but it broke.” She pointed to Adam. “This one is shaping up to be a good doctor? As good as Dr Sullivan?”

“Dr Tartal is one of our most promising residents,” Dr Solanki said. “You are in very good hands.” She inclined her head. “I’ll get you the relevant literature, and I’ll come in to explain the treatment plan. Have a good day, ma’am.”

“You too, Doctor,” the woman said. “Thank you for everything.”

Dr Solanki shook the woman’s hand, and then with a nod at Adam, she left the room. Adam gave his chart one last once-over and was just about to take his leave as well when the woman fell back with a weary sigh, blowing a strand of grey hair from her face.

“Dr Solanki,” she began, “is the very, very best. I quite literally owe her my life. But there is no hope.”

Adam didn’t say anything. This was the most difficult part of being a doctor, these conversations. No protocol, no training. It wasn’t so much about being a doctor in these moments than it was about being a human. And there was no school for that, no degree.

Good thing, though, Adam thought wryly. He was already drowning in student debt. He didn’t want to tempt Fate, or the American education system.

“I’m not sure if I’ll even make it through the night, to be honest,” the woman said. She closed her eyes. “Gods, I don’t want to die, but I really am so tired.”

Adam still didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry for unloading this on you,” the woman said at last. “Dr Tartal was it?”

This at least Adam could formulate a response to. “Yes,” he said. “And it’s alright. I don’t mind.”

“My children are running late today,” the woman said. “Weekday, you know. It’s fine, really. I’m glad. They have their own lives, and I’m glad my constant nagging them about that fact has finally gone through their heads. They’ll be here later. But this sudden silence...it’s weird.” She let out a weak chuckle and opened her eyes. “I’ve grown so used to all their overwhelming love, I’ve become greedy. I’ve not been so lonely in a while. I don’t really remember how to be.”

A look inside. Adam had wondered.

“Can you keep me some company?” The woman said. “Of course, only if you aren’t busy. I get that as a doctor—“

“It’s okay,” Adam said. He could spare a moment. The woman reminded him of his grandmother in a way, and how lonely she’d been those final weeks, wasting away in a nursing home on the other side of the country. He drew a chair and sat down next to the bed. “Unless I get paged for an emergency, I can stay.”

“I cannot thank you enough,” the woman said. “I just—I do not want to be alone, now.” She sighed. “Really, I’m lucky,” she said. “Not many get the loving family I have. Believe me, I would know.”

“Is it just your children?” Adam asked. He felt the tips of his ears burn a second later. He was being too forward with this patient. He tried to backtrack. “I mean—“

“My husband passed away ten years ago,” the woman said. Her eyes held a glimmer of sadness, but mainly she seemed amused at Adam’s flustering. “It’s alright, Dr Tartal. I was the one who asked you to stay and keep me company.”

“Has it been terrible?”

“Sad,” she said, “yes. Painful. But we had seen too many of our friends die too early to not take each day for the gift it is. He was seventy. It was a long, good life.”

Adam nodded.

“We built something permanent in our time together,” she said firmly. She wasn’t talking to him now, not exactly. Her eyes were far away. Far away from this hospital room. Far away from now. “Something that will outlast us.”

“That’s—“ Adam struggled to find suitable words. This wasn’t unusual really—people were more willing to share their life stories at the end of their time. It didn’t really make it easier for Adam to react though. “That’s really good,” he finished lamely.

The woman didn’t seem to mind. She was silent for a few moments longer, eyes a million miles away, a million years away.

“Enough about me,” the woman said at last. “Let’s hear about you. You’re from New York?”

“Chicago actually,” Adam said. “Moved here last December.”

“And you like it here?”

“Hm. It’s…” A new start, Adam thought. A new place to call home. He’d worn out Chicago—Chicago with his parents who didn’t speak to each other, Chicago with his old school that had given him nothing to miss, his old hospital that had given him nothing to stay for, Chicago which was much, much bigger than him, but now felt like a glove that pinched his fingers when he wrestled it on, a place he’d outgrown and had to be left behind. “It’s happening,” he settled on. He let out a self-conscious laugh. “I mean, it’s New York. It’s happening. It’s cool.”

“Yeah, I bet. I’m not from New York originally either. But my husband was. Loved it with every fibre of his being. I do too. It’s where I found my home. My family.” The woman weaved her fingers together and looked down. When she looked up, she met his eyes with a tired, knowing expression. “It’s happening certainly. City of the gods, isn’t it?”

That was a strange way to put it, but Adam didn’t say anything. New Yorkers were fiercely and loudly proud of their city—city of the gods wasn’t really the most egotistical or absurd of claims, to be honest. More than a couple of his colleagues had called it “the greatest city in America”, a few even going as far as to say “the greatest city in the world”. Adam didn’t really have anything against the city, or in fact the claim, but he thought that was perhaps a little too bold and presumptuous of his friends, considering that hadn’t lived anywhere else.

“Forgive me if this question is too repetitive,” the woman said. She laughed. “Or too much of your classic “old grandmother you meet at a wedding” question. But I have to always ask, I’m so intrigued; medicine is a gruelling career. What made you choose it?”

A flash of green eyes. Sweet smile. A sob bursting forth as the mother went crashing to the floor, her husband’s arms reaching out to catch her even as tears slipped down his own face. Twelve years old written on a death certificate.

Gruelling was an understatement.

Adam himself wondered why he had chosen it some times.

At first it had been easy to explain—you said I’m going to be a doctor, and people didn’t interrogate you on the hows and whys. They congratulated you, clapped you on the back, went here’s a promising young man! A noble profession! Throughout med school he’d had his reasons, recited carefully to fortify himself during the hardest all-nighters: a good stable job, a way to help people, an interesting profession. It was a fascinating subject to study. It was a noble job, one that could save lives.

And then he had become a doctor. Those reasons shifted and changed, and some days it was worth it. Some days not so much. Everyday it was different.

Today it was this—to see that there were no more Cassies. No more signed death certificates for twelve year olds. No more mothers collapsing to their knees on hospital floors, no more fathers breaking down next to them.

It wasn’t a possible wish, a probable reason. You couldn’t wipe away every tear from every eye, and you could not save every sick child you treated.

It didn’t mean he could not try, however.

That was what it had become for Adam. Trying.

But he didn’t know how to put it in a way that felt impersonal, that didn’t feel naïve and corny, in a way that felt like he wasn’t unloading his deepest wishes on essentially a stranger. So instead he just tried to fix a grin and said, lightly, “Well, I had the scores. And I’ve always liked pushing myself.” This wasn’t the complete truth, but it wasn’t a lie either. And it was enough for a woman he had just met.

The woman seemed to accept the answer. She closed her eyes. “I guess that’s fair enough,” she said. “An ambitious young man.”

That was a way to put it.

“Do you believe in any afterlife?”

Adam shrugged, “Not really sure? Maybe not. My family’s never been big on religion, or God or anything, so that wasn’t really something I’ve thought about.” He paused. “I’m willing to be proved wrong though. After.”

The woman chuckled. “Yeah? Open mind.”

“It would be more interesting than total oblivion, that’s for sure. Do, uh, do you believe? In any afterlife?”

The woman’s hands were clasped tight in her lap. Her good humour seemed to have been replaced by a sudden and jarring sadness, but it didn’t rattle Adam as much as he would have thought. There was something else shining through the sadness, a quiet but ferocious hope that laced her words. “Yes,” she said. “The Underworld.”

Adam’s first thought was underground crime circle, exhilarating despite himself. It was surprising to imagine this woman as part of any crime ring, but it would make a good story for sure. Then he remembered the grainily illustrated “Greek Mythology For Kids!” he had had in his childhood, a birthday gift from a well-meaning aunt who lived too far away and visited far too rarely to get to know his real interests. Adam has only flipped through it once half-heartedly before it had been lost or torn or given away, but he remembered the crude sketch of a dark cavern. Hades it had said. Greek afterlife.

This was probably weirder than the crime ring. But he’d met people with weirder stories. Weirder dreams and hopes. So what if this sweet old woman believed in the Greek underworld? He wasn’t one to pass judgement on people’s beliefs.

And as the people here were fond of saying of the city’s eccentricity—this was New York, after all.

“Hades?” Adam asked.

The woman’s eyes brightened. “You’re familiar?”

“Not really,” Adam said. “But I’ve heard. We all learn Greek myths in school right? Like Icarus, the Orpheus guy…” It has just been a unit in History, to be honest, learnt alongside other cultural tales from around the world. But the woman was alert now. “Something about a cave? Or was it a pit?”

The woman’s face did something complicated, a shadow, a shutter. It was gone as quickly as it came, but some of the hollowness remained in her eyes. “The pit...you mean Tartarus. That’s—well that’s part of the Greek underworld for sure, but not all of it. It’s hell.”

Adam hadn’t signed up for an impromptu Greek mythology lesson, but he guessed he was here now. “Sounds dark.”

The woman didn’t answer.

This was getting weird. Adam hurried on quickly. “Well, if this Tar place is hell, where’s the...heaven? Heaven equivalent? Like, where do the good guys go?”

“Elysium,” The woman said, looking grateful for the sudden change in subject. “The Elysian Fields.”

“The Elysian Fields,” Adam repeated. It had a ring to it, he had to admit. “Sounds—um, very peaceful.”

The woman simply smiled.

“You must really love your colleague if you’re willing to cover their extra shifts.It being Christmas season and your residency and all that. You must be busy already.”

Adam tried not to frown at the woman’s words. It wasn’t like she was wrong—Adam did love his colleagues, they had been through a lot together. Jack was a good friend, his best if he had to pick. But also, it was just one shift. That wasn’t a blood pact. That was a decent thing to do.

Adam played it off with a forced laugh. “Yeah. Basically family.”

Another moment of abrupt silence.

“That’s an important promise to keep,” the woman said. “Family.”

Okay, now Adam really was confused. He loved his friends like family, but it had been—in all practical ways—a throwaway line.

Sure, it was the most common vein of conversation he’d heard from dying patients, especially the elderly ones. Unsolicited pieces of advice. Family is everything, one man had told him last year, and Adam had grit his teeth and nodded, even though the word family had brought him the memory of his mother crying at him on the phone about his father’s new girlfriend. Young kids like you don’t know how much family means till you start losing then. Well, sometimes people didn’t have them in the first place. Never give up on family. Never. That was advice that only worked if everyone followed it. Often, it was just one person dragging them onto a capsized lifeboat. Adam had dismissed most of the well-meaning advice. It was advice for happy, loving homes, for happy, loving families. Blood and water.

But as much as the woman’s words rankled him, there was a hint of something else, a sort of understanding, in her words. He didn’t think she meant family as in blood. As in parents.

Adam swallowed down the bad feeling and said pleasantly, “I’ll do my best.”

“Sometimes the best isn’t enough.” For some reason, the woman’s eyes looked watery. Oh no. Oh no. Adam didn’t know how to approach this.

Luckily, the woman blinked her eyes and the tear was gone. A trick of the light.

“You will keep your promise,” the woman told him, with a sort of finality. “I know that.”

She offered him her hand. Adam hesitated only a moment before taking it. It was a cold and calloused hand, smelling faintly of eucalyptus oil.

“I don’t think I have much time left,” the woman admitted. “I’ve lived a long life. Longer than I ever thought I would get. I hope I’ve lived a good one.”

Adam didn’t trust himself to speak.

In a day full of weird, slightly off comments from the woman, these were probably the most normal words she’d spoken. Yet, they unwound him like nothing else till then had. Adam had sat with patients as they had died, had comforted them in their worst moments. He had grown used to the losses, the way you grew used to other unbearable things—you were alive, and so you bore them, because there was nothing else to do.

This felt different. All deaths were sad, but something in the woman’s touch was familiar. This felt less like sadness and more like quiet devastation. It was a tilting feeling. He had not known this woman for even an hour.

He tried to keep his tone light. “So, the aim is to make it to these Elysian Fields?”

“There’s another part of this Underworld I didn’t tell you about. Isles of the Blest,” she said. “Rebirth. I think...I’ll try thrice.”

Despite himself, Adam felt himself smiling. “Overachiever.”

The woman’s smile was worn out. “But not yet. I want to meet some people first. I want to see my husband. I’ve missed him. More than—more than I thought ever possible, and I thought every possibility, believe me. I want to see some old friends.”

The hollow, slow devastation persisted. It wasn’t unbearable, because nothing truly was, but it was a burning in his stomach. A dull ache. This was not the worst thing to happen to him, this old stranger’s death, but he could feel a weight press on him anyway, a weight like lead on his shoulders, a weight like lead in his stomach.

He wasn’t sure what else to say, but it turned out that was alright, because the next moment the door flung open. “Mom? Hey, I’m sorry we’re late. We got caught up—“

“Grandma!” A small blur of blond hair flew past him in their hurry to jump into the woman’s arms. She obliged for her part, a beaming smile on her face as she lifted her granddaughter into her lap.

“Don’t trouble Grandma,” a young lady wearing a work shirt said, coming to stand by the bed. She caught sight of Adam and gave him a small, kindly smile. “Oh, are you the new doctor?”

“Yes,” Adam replied. He got to his feet. It seemed his use as company was done. He turned to the old woman and tried to smile as genuinely as he could. “It was nice acquainting myself with you, ma’am. I’ll see you tomorrow on rounds. Have a lovely day with your family.”

“Thank you, Dr Tartal,” the woman said. Her grey eyes looked luminous as she smiled, crinkled with laugh lines. “It was nice to see you again.”

It was a jarring second in a day full of jarring seconds, but for one moment he held her gaze, and she looked—familiar. It was only a moment, right before her attention was grabbed by her granddaughter tugging on her shoulder as she began to narrate an incident from her school, but it was a buffering moment. The woman looked quite young caught in it, grey eyes and greying blonde hair that curled like a princess’s and a smile that ached with familiarity. It was gone with a shift of the light.

Adam shook it out of his mind, the weird sense of déjà vu of meeting her eyes, but he couldn’t shake off the way she seemed to have tripped over his name on its way out from her mouth. The way she seemingly swapped some other name for Dr Tartal at the last minute, a last chance at catching herself.

He couldn’t shake off the way she had said nice to see you. The way she seemed to have been unable to catch herself tacking on that “again” to the end of it.

——

Two weeks later

Adam saw it in Jack’s walk. He saw it in the way Dr Solanki hurried past them into the bathroom, eyes red.

It was a strange sort of grief, mourning for a stranger essentially, but regardless, it hit him like a freight train.

“Oh,” Adam said, as Jack met his eyes and gave him a desolate shake of his head. “Oh, God. Man, I’m so sorry—“

“Thank you.” Jack’s voice was heavy. He sighed and came to join Adam at the nurse’s station in front of the OR Board. His friend closed his eyes. “Everyone knew—“ Jack cleared his throat. “We knew there was a risk. She knew there was a risk when she agreed to the surgery. Eighty years, it was always—“ He shook his head. “I have to go tell the family.”

Adam nodded. “Of course.” He clasped Jack’s shoulder as his mind wandered to the small blonde girl who’d been hefted into her grandma’s lap. The sizable entourage of visitors who trailed into Room 114 day after day. The eyes of the old woman, intelligent and alert as she held his hand on the shift he’d covered for Jack, the one day he’d spoken to her. A single hour.

A single hour with her had apparently been enough to make a mark on him.

Adam watched as Jack made the slow, lonely walk to the waiting room. Then he sighed, closed his eyes for a quick moment and went back to his chart. He had paperwork to finish, three patients left on his rounds to visit, and then the clinic. It was going to be a long day.

Thirty minutes later, he was well into his second pile of paperwork when there was a slight shuffle of feet. Adam looked up.

A young girl, maybe fifteen, sixteen, stood still in front of the OR board, electric blue eyes scanning the names. She had a silver jacket on, accessorised with buttons for bands that had lost relevance in Adam’s father’s time, bands that were now only listened to by edgy teenagers rediscovering “real” music and nostalgic old folks with YouTube accounts. Her hair was spiky, streaked blue and white.

The girl tore her eyes away from the OR board just as Adam opened his mouth to ask her if she was alright. She looked taken aback for a moment.

“Can I help you?” Adam asked.

“I’m Thalia Grace,” the girl said after a pause. “I’m looking for a woman in Room, uh—“ she put her hand in her pocket to pull out a hastily scribbled note. “Room 114? She had surgery today—“

“Oh.” Adam put his pen down. He could feel his chest constricting. Was this another granddaughter? “Oh. Um, Thalia—Thalia was it?—are your parents around? You may want to sit down fo this.”

“Oh gods,” Thalia said. “Oh gods, did—the surgery didn’t go well, did it?”

Adam didn’t have the details. “Look, I will be back with someone to explain it for you—“

“No, that’s—that’s fine, that’s…” Thalia looked like she’d been hit. “Are you sure it’s the patient in Room 114, her name—“

“Annabeth Chase passed away earlier this morning, I’m afraid,” Adam said. “There were complications in her surgery.”

Thalia seemed to wilt like a flower. No—not wilt. Sink.

“Let me get you to a place you can sit,” Adam said, moving to guide her to the waiting room. “Is there anything I can do for you? A glass of water? Can I call somebody for you?”

The girl shook her head, moving away. “No. No, it’s…” She blinked and looked up at him. “Time is weird,” she said, sounding much older than a teenager. “Time is weird. I always think I have so much more time than I do. I didn’t think—I didn’t think it would happen today.” She swallowed. She looked stunned. “It doesn’t—it doesn’t really ever get easier.”

Adam could understand very little of what the girl was saying, but he nodded anyway. “Okay. Alright.”

The girl was shaking like a leaf. Adam watched her for a few seconds before realising he had to get someone—preferably Dr Solanki or Jack—to talk to this girl about Mrs Chase. No, Mrs Jackson-Chase. That was what had been on her chart.

Eventually though, the girl stopped trembling. She looked at her feet for a long, long time before her head snapped up and found his eyes. It was a thousand yard stare. It went through him. It went through him and then all of a sudden, it was no longer going through him, but was instead very, very intense.

More staring. More silence.

Adam wasn’t wholly unused to the staring. He didn’t even mind it all that much now, to be honest, even though he hadn’t been a fan of it in middle school. He had unique eyes—pretty, his mother often had said. Heterochromia, a strange yet alluring variant which gave him one eye blue and one eye a hazel that looked gold in the right light. There wasn’t anything more interesting about his face apart from that; he looked like your average twenty-something year old, with his sandy blond hair and easy smile. The only other thing uncanny about his appearance was the odd birthmark that stretched out under his right eye—a dark jagged mark, somewhat a line. But it wasn’t very noticeable unless you knew to look for it.

“Everything alright?” Adam asked.

“Yeah,” Thalia said. She didn’t shift her gaze away. “Yeah—you just...you just remind me of an old friend, that’s all.”

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

A Matter of Trust

Ao3

Summary: Emile had thought he was perfect. Emile had thought everything was golden. And yet all it took to break it all was one lie. Warnings: Running away, collapsing/fainting, exhaustion, starving (mentioned), lying, distrust, references to a bad past relationship; does have a happy ending Pairing: Romile (Roman x Emile) Notes: I mostly wrote this using google’s voice-to-text feature so don’t worry about my hands guys. don’t kill me for writing with my injuries I swear I did it safely-

     Emile was running away.

    He couldn't believe this day had come. He thought it never would. Roman was  everything Emile had ever wanted in a guy. Charming, funny, sweet, caring; he seemed perfect. Too perfect.

     Turns out? He really was too good to be true.

     So now Emile was running away. It was dark, as it ought to be at 3 am in the morning. He stumbled as he walked, almost falling a few times. But he remained standing, remained walking, intent on his goal- getting away from here.

     He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking, be it an hour or several, but eventually he reached the town closest to Roman's mansion. There, he found a man willing to take him far away, to a town hopefully beyond Roman’s reach. It cost Emile nearly all the money he had, but it was worth it.

    Just as the sun began to broach the horizon, he left the town hidden in the back of the man’s cart, traveling west, taking him far from the man he once thought he loved (and might, if he was being honest with himself, still love).

    When Emile and the man parted ways, Emile was exactly where he wanted to be- no place he knew. The sights and people were all foreign to him, which meant they were all foreign to Roman as well. When Roman began his search for Emile, it was unlikely he'd ever look here.

     At first, all was well. The people were kind despite also clearly being suspicious of him and where he came from. Though he had little money, he had enough to provide for himself food and new clothing- for the clothes he had been wearing when he ran away were not his clothes- they were Roman’s. He could not afford to pay for any sort of shelter, but that was alright, for the nights were clear, and the grass he made his bed upon was soft.

    No good thing, however, could last long, a fact Emile now knew very well; yet he was still shocked when it inevitably applied itself to this situation as well. Soon, his money ran out, and the town seemed completely devoid of jobs for him to refill his pockets with. He lingered there a day longer before deciding he had no future in that place, and must therefore move on.

     With no money to his name, he was unable to pay for a ride to a new town. Instead, he found himself once more walking, following the signpost that promised the pathway to the next closest village. ‘Closest,’ however, did not mean close, and after a full day's worth of walking on nothing more than the crust of the last bread loaf he'd been able to purchase, Emile felt it unlikely that he was even halfway there.

    To make matters worse, even nature had turned against him, and rain plagued his night. Though he sought for natural shelter, none sufficient to fully protect him from the rainfall could be found, and he was forced to spend the night unprotected from and exposed to the storm.

    When morning came the next day, Emile once more started down the path he had been traveling the day prior; but his pace was no longer steady, his steps no longer strong, his gait no longer determined. Instead, he walked weakly, feebly, slowed by hunger, exhaustion, and cold. It was not even noon when he accepted that he would make it little further; indeed, but ten minutes later, he collapsed, unable to convince his body to keep going in its poorly maintained state.

     He wasn't sure how long he laid there, conscious but unable to move aside from curling up into himself, trying to lessen his pains as much as he could while he was still awake to endure them. No people nor horses passed him by as he lay there, for it was an old road, and one seldom used.

    It was only when his vision began to fail him that Emile thought he heard the sound of a running horse coming to a halt, the thump of boots hitting packed ground, the sound of someone calling out what could have been his name; but he passed that all off as nothing more than a hallucination of a failing mind. 

    The feel of a warm, solid hand, caressing his cheek was harder to ignore; but it was very shortly after that that he passed out completely; and in the gentle, all consuming darkness of unconsciousness, he found he didn’t need to worry much about what was likely fiction though he longed for it to be fact.

    Emile was not sure how many times he awoke after that, constantly fluttering between consciousness and unconsciousness in a numb daze. He was aware that he was no longer on the road, for he found himself laying upon something soft. He was also aware of people visiting him, though he was never awake long enough to make out their faces and identify them. One of these people seemed to visit him significantly more often than the others; but despite them often helping Emile to eat and often soothing him so that he could fall back asleep, Emile could not identify them either.

    Finally, after what Emile had decided were a few days of lying about insensible, he not only woke up, but was also properly aware of his surroundings. By way of the cleanly painted walls, the expensive but not distasteful decorations, and the general order of things, Emile quickly knew where he was- Roman’s home.

    To confirm his point, right beside him, slumped over and sleeping in an armchair that had been drawn up beside the bed Emile was on, was the man himself. He looked tired, even in his sleep, and his clothes were rumpled as if he’d been wearing them without change for many days.

    Emile ignored how his heart swelled at seeing him again, how he longed to reach over and rouse him, to ask him if he had been taking care of himself, and to gently kiss him when he inevitably admitted that he had not been. Such thoughts were not for him; not anymore.

     Though his arms shook even when he simply pushed himself up, Emile began to push himself out of the bed, hoping to once more be gone before Roman awoke.

    But his plan was quick to fail- barely had Emile stood up before he was falling down, his legs unable to support him for longer than a moment. He did not hit the floor, however; before he could, strong arms were wrapping around him, halting his descent  and pulling him up.

    “Now, now, can't be having you run off again, can we?” Roman murmured as he placed Emile back in the bed, distractedly pulling the covers back over him. “Not yet, anyways.” He added, tone grim and sad.

     Emile didn't respond, instead simply watching Roman as he sat back down, now on the edge of the seat. Roman looked back at Emile, for some reason not reacting to the fact that he was awake. He smiled at Emile, though it was a melancholy smile.

    “Even now, you still have the prettiest eyes I have ever seen.” Roman told him,  reaching out as he did so to brush some of Emile’s hair behind his ear. Emile flinched back from his touch, however, clearly startling Roman. “Emile?”

    “Don't touch me.” Emile said, albeit hoarsely, his voice rough from lack of use. Roman’s eyes widened at his words.

    “Emile?” He repeated, sounding shocked and hopeful. “Are you- are you actually awake?”

    “I don't know what you mean by ‘actually,’ but yes, I am awake.” Emile answered.

    The shocked ‘o’  Roman's mouth had become now fell into a wide smile. “You’re awake!” He said once more, this time in pure relief. “You're actually awake!”

    “I'm confused.” Emile said truthfully, unsure why this mattered so much to Roman. He had been awake countless times before now- why did this time matter?

    “Of course you are.” Roman said sympathetically, reaching out as though he'd like to touch Emile, but restraining himself before he did. “You’ve been very ill for this past week, and nearly senseless with fever. It broke yesterday, but the doctors kept saying they couldn't make any promises, and I was so worried that you wouldn't- that you wouldn't recover. But you're awake now, and you can hear me and look at me and respond to me and you're alive, and I think you’re going to be okay, and that’s- that's more of a relief then I can put into words.”

    Emile remained silent for a moment, looking at his hands and mentally turning over all that Roman had said. When he finally spoke again, it was not about his week of illness, but instead was,

    “You found me.”

     Though he seemed thrown off by the conversation shift, Roman nodded. “It took a few days, but I soon met the man who took you away from here. He told me where he dropped you off, and from there, it was simply a matter of locating you.”

    “...Why did you go after me?” Emile asked, voice quieter.

    “I was worried.” Roman responded, equally quiet. “You disappeared in the middle of the night, and with no clue where you had gone, I became frightened that I might never see you again.”

    Emile waited a moment to let those words settle before he said, “Didn’t you consider that that was the point of me disappearing so suddenly, at a time when I knew you could not follow me?”

    At these words, Roman hung his head, looking downhearted and ashamed. “I did.” He admitted. “But I couldn't just let you go like that.”

    “Maybe you should have considered that before you lied to me.” Emile responded, tone sharper than he meant it to be, though he didn't try to take it back.

    Roman fell silent at that. “...I’m sorry.”

    “You said you had never been married before.”

    “And I haven’t been, not really.” Roman responded earnestly. “The marriage was brief and painful, and I lost him so quickly to illness- they were bad memories that plagued me often enough, I didn’t want to force them upon you as well.”

    Emile refused to look at Roman. “But you were still wed.”

    “I was.” Roman conceded. “And my reasons aside, I should have told you about it. And I am so, so sorry I didn’t. You deserved to know.”

    “I don’t- I don’t care that you were married before.” Emile said, balling the bedsheets up in his fists. “I care that you lied to me when you promised that you wouldn't. You promised that this wouldn't be like my last marriage.”

    “I know. And I'm sorry I broke that promise. But I swear- that was the only lie I ever told you. In everything else, I have been completely honest. Please believe me.”

    Emile hesitated. “I want to Ro, I want to believe you.”

    When Emile said nothing more, Roman looked away. “But you don't.” He said, voice empty and sorrowful.

    “I just don't know.” Emile said lamely. Which wasn't entirely true- Emile did believe him, he believed that Roman was keeping no more lies from him. But the fact remained that Roman had lied, and Emile was still processing that.

    “I understand if you still want to go.” Roman said after the silence had stretched on too long. “I won’t stop you, nor will I chase after you again. I will give you whatever you need to start a new life wherever you want to go. But please, at least wait until you are well again. I can stand to live without you, but I do not think I could bear to live in a world without you anywhere in it.”

    “I-” Emile started, but soon enough stopped himself, not sure what he would say. Did he still want to go? The answer should be an easy yes, and yet…

    Roman allowed the silence to hold for a few minutes before he stood up. “You need to eat.” He said, heading towards the door across the room from Emile. He paused in the doorway, glancing back. “Promise you won’t try to leave while I’m gone?” He asked, tone light as though he were trying to tease, but it fell flat when paired with the worry in his expression. Whether it was worry over Emile hurting himself if he got up again or worry over him once more leaving Roman behind, Emile wasn’t sure, but that didn’t make the worry any less real.

    Emile nodded in answer, and Roman let out a small sigh of relief before giving Emile a little smile and disappearing down the hall. He was back soon enough, this time bearing a tray upon which he balanced a bowl and a plate that appeared to hold two slices of toast. As Roman carefully placed the tray on the bed, Emile found his guess about the toast had been right, and that the bowl was filled with lightly steaming soup.

    “Do you think you'll be able to stomach that?” Roman asked. “You wouldn't eat much while you were sick, but soup was always a safe bet, and now that you're really awake it's important that you start eating solids again as well.”

    “This'll be fine.” Emile said, already picking up one of the slices of toast, taking a bite off of the corner. He ate a few bites after that before asking, “How long, again, did you say it's been since you found me?”

    “A week.” Roman reconfirmed. “But you had a fever almost the entire time, so I don't expect you to remember much of it.”

    Emile nodded and went back to eating his toast. The silence stretched as he finished it, and it held until he was about halfway through the soup. Roman spoke then, saying quietly,

    “It was terrifying.” He said, drawing Emile’s attention. “Seeing you like that, pale and thin and unconscious on the side of the road. When I first found you, I was worried that- that I was too late.”

    “But you weren’t.” Emile said, softly, reassuringly, turning for the moment from his soup to instead focus on Roman. “I'm okay.”

    “You might not have been.” Roman argued, expression distressed as he met Emile’s eyes. “And that's on me.”

    “Ro, you couldn't have known I would-”

    Roman shook his head. “That doesn't matter. It was my mistake and my lie that led to you ending up in that situation. And I can never apologize for that enough.”

    “You don't have to apologize at all.” Emile told him. “I don't blame you for any of that. Those choices were my own, and therefore so are their consequences mine.”

    “But I still started it.” Roman said, looking away from Emile and messing with his bed sheets instead. “And if you will not allow me to apologize for your current condition, at least know that I likewise can never apologize enough for lying in the first place.”

    “You don't have to.” Emile said, clearing his throat awkwardly before continuing, “Apologize so much, I mean.”

    “Yes, I do.” Roman insisted. “So many things could’ve happened, and they would have been at least partially my fault. I have to make up for that somehow.”

    “You already are making up for it.” Emile assured him. “You found me. You took me back home instead of leaving me on the side of the road to die. You’ve brought me back to some semblance of health. And you've not said one word of me owing you anything.”

    “That's because you don't owe me anything.” Roman responded.

    “I know.” Emile said, reaching out to take one of Roman’s hands into one of his own. “And that's what I mean. You’ve plenty apologized and made up. You’ve done enough.”

    “I don't-”

    “I want to stay.” Emile said, cutting Roman off. “You said it was my choice if I wanted to stay here or go. And I want to stay.”

    Roman was silent for a moment, clearly contemplating Emile’s words. “You don't have to.” He said quietly. “I completely understand why you'd want to leave again. You don’t have to stay just because I'm being miserable. You deserve to have your own life with whoever you want.”

    “I do. And I want to have it with you.” Emile said, looking up at Roman, though Roman remained staring at their hands. “You lied to me. And I can't say that that didn't upset me. But you also apologized to me. You went looking for me out of worry in concern for me. You helped me and have promised to give me anything I need so that if I leave again, I will be safe. You’ve shown in your every action that you care about me.”

    “I do, but that doesn't-”

“He didn't care. My last husband, he didn't care about me. He wouldn’t apologize when caught in a lie, he wouldn't be worried if I suddenly disappeared, he wouldn't have helped me or given me anything. If my husband had found me on that road, he would have left me where I laid.” Emile explained solemnly, beginning to rub circles into the back Roman's hand.

“When I made you promise to never lie to me, it was because I didn't want our relationship- I didn't want you- to be like him. Uncaring. But... you care about me. You truly, honestly, no-strings-attached, care about me.”

“Of course I do.” Roman said, reaching forward with his free hand to hold Emile’s other hand, squeezing both of them gently as he leaned closer to Emile. “I love you. I want you to be only happy and healthy and cared for. I love you.”

“I love you too. And I trust you.” Emile squeezed back. “And I want to stay.”

“Then stay you will.” Roman promised happily, releasing Emile’s hands so that he could hold Emile’s face, smiling as he pressed a kiss to Emile's forehead. “I love you so much.” He said as he leaned his forehead against Emile’s, still smiling, still looking overjoyed.

“I know you do.” Emile told him, just as happily, just as giddily. “Hold me?”

Here, Roman hesitated a moment, glancing at Emile’s unfinished meal. “You really should finish eating first.”

“I’m not hungry anymore.” Emile responded. “I’ll eat more later, promise. Just not now.”

“...Alright.” Roman said, letting it slide. Emile suspected that, while Roman did want him to eat, he also really wanted to hold Emile. Roman moved the food tray to the floor and Emile scooted over, making room for him. Roman easily slipped into place beneath the covers, wrapping his arms around Emile’s torso and holding him close. Emile, in turn, nuzzled his head against Roman’s neck, and held him as well.

“I missed you.” Roman said, pressing a kiss against the top of Emile’s head.

“I missed you too.” Emile replied, closing his eyes and humming contentedly into Roman’s shoulder.

Roman chuckled, well aware that Emile only started humming when he was beginning to fall asleep. One of the hands on Emile’s back began to run up and down his spine, gently convincing him to drift off even faster.

“Rest, my darling.” Roman said quietly and sweetly. “I promise I will still be here when you wake.”

And, giving in to the enticing call of quiet darkness accompanied by gentle warmth, Emile allowed himself to fall asleep, confident in his belief that what Roman had said was no lie.