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muzaktomyears · 2 months ago

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John Lennon and Yoko Ono: his affairs, binges and diet pills

For years the radio host Elliot Mintz was the only person the former Beatle and his wife trusted. Now, he has written a book about his intense relationship with the couple — including what really happened during Lennon’s infamous ‘Lost Weekend’

John Lennon, Yoko Ono and Elliot Mintz outside the Mampei Hotel in Karuizawa, Japan, 1977. Right: Lennon and Ono in 1980

I am holding a pair of glasses. They are antique, made of steel wire and perfectly round. The trademarked name is the Panto 45. This is the 26th pair of John’s glasses I’ve examined on this snowy night in February 1981. It’s been about two months since he was gunned down in New York outside the Dakota, the gothic edifice where he and Yoko Ono had been living since 1973.

I’ve been tasked with the responsibility of inventorying his personal effects so that Yoko, and posterity, would know precisely what he had left behind. I did not want this task. For one thing, I live 2,500 miles from the Dakota, in Los Angeles, where I host a late-night radio interview show. But Yoko asked me to do it, and I have rarely been able to say no to Yoko, let alone John.

I found their idealism infectious and inspiring. Still, as I got to know John and Yoko as flesh-and-blood friends, I began to see their flawed human sides as well.

The trio at a restaurant in Kyoto, 1977

Yoko, for one, was even more airy and ethereal in private than she was in the media. She could be a fountain of aphorisms, dispensing endless nuggets of Zen-like philosophy. Her haiku-esque homilies on manifesting one’s desires or the wisdom of the nonrational mind could be a bit much for some people.

There were moments when even I was a bit baffled by it all. Except then she would say or do something that would absolutely convince me that she was connected to some higher plane.

John, meanwhile, was every bit as charming, funny and intelligent as he came across in public. But I gradually discovered he was far from perfect. For starters, for a guy who aspired to be a world-shaking peacemaker — a thought leader on a par with Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr and Nelson Mandela — he was surprisingly uninformed about historic figures like, well, Gandhi, King and Mandela.

He also had some Luddite-like notions about science, particularly medicine, extending well beyond his annoyance at “daddy doctors” for not letting him perform his own weight-loss injections. Even though John had smoked, ingested or snorted just about every illegal recreational drug he could get his hands on, he was weirdly suspicious of the ones that were properly prescribed and proven efficacious.

Lennon and Ono on The Dick Cavett Show, 1971

John and Yoko could be incredibly sensitive, honest, provocative, caring, creative, generous and wise. They could also be self-centred, desperate, vain, petty and annoying. In John’s case, also shockingly cruel — even to Yoko.

An example…

Early one morning in November 1972, the red ceiling light that would flash whenever my hotline to John and Yoko rang started blinking. I picked up.

“Ellie, I f***ed up,” were the first words out of John’s mouth.

“Why?” I groggily asked. “What did you do?”

“We were at this party last night,” he said, “and I got loaded. And there was a girl…”

I sat up in bed.

The party was at Jerry Rubin’s Greenwich Village apartment. A small crowd of well-connected peaceniks had gathered to watch the presidential election returns on television. As it became clear that Richard Nixon would win re-election by a landslide, the mood grew bleaker and the crowd began drinking more heavily.

Alcohol was not John’s friend and on this occasion, John’s evil inner gremlins truly outdid themselves.

I got some of the specifics from a hungover John during his morning-after call. The upshot was that John had indeed hit it off with some girl at the party and had slipped into a bedroom with her, where they proceeded to have such loud, raucous sex that everyone sitting around the TV in Rubin’s living room — including Yoko — could clearly hear them going at it.

Lennon and Mintz in 1972

At one point, a well-meaning guest put a record on the turntable — Bob Dylan’s 11-minute ballad Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands — at high volume. Yoko sat on the sofa in stunned, mortified silence.

Whatever they said to each other later, I suspect the conversation was not a pleasant one.

“I slept on the sofa,” John told me, sounding defeated and embarrassed — although, frankly, not quite as contrite as I thought his situation warranted. “Things like that happen,” he said, way too matter-of-factly for my taste. “A bloke cheats on his wife… If I weren’t famous, nobody would care.”

Yoko, unsurprisingly, felt differently.

“Are you OK?” I gently asked her when I phoned to check in on her a few hours later.

“There is no answer to that question,” she said shakily.

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive him?”

“I can forgive him,” she said. “But I don’t know if I can ever forget what happened. I don’t know if it will ever be the same.”

After a few weeks of cooling down, though — during which Yoko wrote and recorded Death of Samantha, her bluesy ode to burying one’s pain for the sake of outward appearances — the crisis seemed to abate. John and Yoko chose to roll the cosmic dice with a spectacular gesture of faith and hope in the staying power of their love. They bought an apartment in the Dakota.

“It’s apartment No 72,” Yoko announced when she called to tell me about the purchase. “Do you see the significance?”

Lennon’s 38th birthday party, 1978

When you add seven and two, you get nine, Yoko explained, which was a hugely significant numeral to the Lennons, a magic integer that seemed to mysteriously recur throughout John’s life. Yoko would rattle off the number’s many repeated appearances: John was born on October 9. She was born on February 18 (1 plus 8). Paul McCartney’s last name has nine letters…

I was somewhat mystified as to why they chose this particular neighbourhood. “Aren’t you worried it’ll be too stuffy for you?” I asked John. “Will the people who live there even know who you are?”

“I don’t want them to know who we are,” he said with a laugh. “I don’t want to know who they are. We just want to be left alone.”

The Dakota struck me as one of the most eerily beautiful — and oddly daunting — structures in all of New York. John and Yoko greeted me in the vaulted vestibule, eager to begin our tour, which started on the ground floor with the new headquarters for Studio One, the business entity behind John and Yoko’s creative enterprises. Tellingly, John did not have an office in Studio One; Yoko did.

The main attraction was on the seventh floor. It was nearly 5,000sq ft, with massive windows offering eye-popping views of Central Park. Virtually everything in its expansive living room, from the plush carpeting to the grand Steinway piano, was as white as Japanese snowbells.

Lennon, Ono and Mintz at a Shinto temple in Kyoto. The custom was to hang your horoscope on a line

There was only one highly conspicuous work of art in the White Room: a Plexiglass case on a white pedestal, in which was a 3,000-year-old sarcophagus. John and Yoko had scored the very last mummy allowed out of Egypt before the Egyptian government put a ban on exporting their national antiquities.

“You should x-ray it and see what’s inside,” I suggested. “There might be something of great value, like precious jewels.”

“I don’t care what’s inside,” Yoko responded. “The great value is the magic of the mummy itself.”

Another thing I clearly remember about that long afternoon at the Dakota was how enthusiastic both John and Yoko seemed about the life they were building together in this new nest. John giddily described the “entertainment centre” he wanted to construct in a nook off the kitchen. Yoko, ever the artist, chattered about the endless design ideas she had. It was all too easy to forget about the pain and stress they’d been dealing with. I managed to convince myself that the worst was over for John and Yoko. I was wrong.

There are those who believe Yoko not only approved of the affair but arranged it. That she planted May Pang in the seat next to John on that American Airlines flight from New York to Los Angeles knowing full well what was likely to happen. That their comely 23-year-old assistant would sooner or later end up sleeping with her husband.

It’s possible, I suppose. It could be she saw some strategic long-term advantage in setting up the affair; by handpicking John’s mistress, she might have felt she could exert some dominion over his extramarital wanderings. Perhaps, thanks to her mystical advisers, she really did see that John was heading for a free fall and was endeavouring to soften his inevitable crash.

If any of that is true, though, Yoko never breathed a word of it to me. All she said in October 1973 was that she was sending John and an assistant to LA. Could I please meet them at the airport?

With his assistant and lover, May Pang, 1974

I was by then aware that their marriage was in deep trouble. Despite their best efforts to mend the relationship, the red light on my bedroom ceiling had been blinking even more feverishly than usual leading up to what would later be known as John’s “Lost Weekend”, the 18 months he spent in exile from his wife in New York.

Yoko’s demeanour back then, as always, was not demonstrably emotional but it was clear from our phone conversations that she was in pain. John’s calls were every bit as depressing.

“Has Mother been talking to you about us?” he asked during one early morning chat.

“Yoko talks to me about everything,” I answered vaguely.

“The other day I shaved and got dressed up and told her I wanted to take her to her favourite restaurant and she turned me down,” he lamented. “She said she didn’t have time. Me own f***ing wife said that to me!”

Yoko has always been a methodical person, and my guess is that she precisely and carefully orchestrated John’s eviction from the Dakota. John might not have even realised what was happening to him. He certainly didn’t seem like a man who’d been kicked out of his home when I met him and May Pang at LA airport.

“You look trim, Ellie,” he said with a big grin when I greeted them. “Have you been taking those diet pills again?”

They had very little luggage, suggesting that neither of them was expecting a long stay. My instructions from Yoko were to drive them to music manager Lou Adler’s house in Bel Air, a mini-mansion up on Stone Canyon Road.

“I need some money,” John said as we settled into my weary old Jaguar. “Mother said these could be used for money,” John continued, shoving a fistful of traveller’s cheques in my hand.

The couple outside the Dakota building in New York, 1980. They bought an apartment there in 1973

John was functionally a child when it came to taking care of himself. But then, that was what May was for. Whatever other intentions Yoko may or may not have had for the assistant, her primary job was to make sure John was properly fed and cared for, that all his basic needs — or at least most of them — were satisfied.

John and I spent a lot of time together over the next several weeks. He was also expanding his friendship circle in LA, hanging out with people like Harry Nilsson, the brilliant but notoriously hell-raising singer-songwriter. But after three or four months, much of his initial enthusiasm had boiled off and his mood was starting to curdle. He was missing Yoko: he began asking me when I thought she’d be ready for him to come home. He started spending more and more time with Nilsson, drinking at the Troubadour till all hours. After John famously got thrown out for drunkenly heckling the Smothers Brothers, the late-night shenanigans moved to the Rainbow Bar & Grill on Sunset. That’s where John and Harry and a collection of others — including my old pals Micky Dolenz and Alice Cooper — formed an infamous drinking club known as the Hollywood Vampires.

It would be difficult to exaggerate the level of unbridled indulgences that took place in the Rainbow’s VIP room, a small alcove atop some stairs overlooking the bar. The amount of alcohol imbibed was staggering, to say the least, and there were also small bags of cocaine discreetly passed into the room. Nilsson, a great big bear of a man, could pound down a dozen or so brandy alexanders — a potent mix of brandy and cream, his cocktail of choice, which John soon adopted as his own — in a single sitting.

Not being a celebrity, I was never invited to become a member of the Hollywood Vampires, but I was a welcome visitor and spent many a late night on the edges of their wild, sometimes harrowing saturnalias.

Lennon with his Hollywood Vampires drinking partners, from left, Harry Nilsson, Alice Cooper and Micky Dolenz, November 1973

There was always a crowd of attractive young women at the bottom of the steps leading to the Vampires’ VIP lair. Frankly, though, by the time the boys descended, usually at closing time, most of them were too wasted to take advantage of the opportunity. I lost count of the number of times I all but carried John down those stairs and poured him into whatever car service I had called to the bar’s car park.

For the most part, I kept my promise to Yoko: I kept John safe. But one night, I realised things were starting to spiral out of my control. Normally, John didn’t put up much of a fight when I helped him down the stairs at the Rainbow Bar but on this occasion, he resisted. He didn’t want to go home.

He pushed away and dived straight into the crowd. It was my worst nightmare: a drunken star lost inside a drunken mob.

Finally, I spotted John with Nilsson at the edge of the car park, the two of them climbing into the back of a black limousine. A moment later, it pulled away into the night, going I had no idea where.

John, I realised with a sinking feeling in my gut, was slipping away.

I was about to walk into the nadir of the Lost Weekend, John’s rock bottom. The call came not on the hotline but my regular house phone, and the voice on the other end identified himself as a security officer working for Phil Spector. John was in trouble: could I please hurry over to Adler’s house and help “calm him down”.

What I saw when I stepped into Adler’s living room some 20 minutes later looked like a scene out of The Exorcist. Drunk and wild-eyed, John was strapped to a high-backed chair, his arms and legs restrained with ropes, which he was struggling against with all his might as he shouted obscenities at his captors, a pair of beefy-armed bodyguards who stood in awkward silence nearby. The place was a shambles. John had torn some of Adler’s framed gold records off the walls and smashed them to pieces. Bits of broken wood and shattered Plexiglass littered the floor.

The couple in Selfridges in London where Ono was signing copies of her book Grapefruit, July 1971

Apparently, the meltdown had started earlier that evening at the studio, where John and Phil had nearly come to blows. What precisely they were arguing about, nobody seemed to remember. But the session ended early with Phil’s guards restraining John and shuttling him to Adler’s house, where John slipped away from them long enough to pick up some sort of walking stick or cane, which he swung wildly around the living room until the guards were able to subdue him.

I slowly stepped up to John, who had stopped shouting. His head hung low on his shoulders, his chest heaving furiously. After a long beat, he slowly lifted his eyes to me. He looked possessed.

“Get these ropes off me!” he erupted. “Get them off me, you…”

And then John spat out an epithet so hurtful and offensive, I can’t bring myself to repeat it.

I looked straight into his eyes, barely containing my disgust and disappointment. He looked back into mine. And that exchange of glances seemed to reach some shred of humanity buried deep in John’s alcohol-addled brain. Suddenly he became very, very quiet.

After a moment or two, I turned to the guards. “I think you can take those ropes off him,” I said. “I think he’s done.”

John stood up, rubbed his wrists and, without another word, slowly made his way down the hall to the bedroom, where he must have collapsed on the mattress and passed out.

The next day, as I was getting ready to leave for work, the hotline started flashing.

“Ellie?” John said. “I’m sorry for what I said. But if you think about it, if that’s the worst thing I could say about you, you couldn’t be all that bad, right?”

“Thanks for the compliment,” I said.

“Well, welcome to the real world, Mother Virgin Mary. I’m me. I have a big mouth and express meself the way I feel when I feel it. I don’t hide behind some microphone. I sing into it or speak into it when it suits me. I’m not always the Imagine guy or the Jealous Guy or the Walrus. So I said I’m sorry to you. That’s all I can do.

Lennon and Ono in 1972

“Do you want to have dinner?”

“No,” I answered. “I think I’m going to take the night off.”

For the first time I can remember, I was the one who hung up the phone.

Obviously, our friendship took a hit after the incident at Adler’s house; how could it not? For the next several months, John and I barely spent time together — at least, not in person. We would talk almost every day on the phone, as we always had, and eventually our rapport began to feel as easy and familiar as ever. But I no longer joined him for evenings at the Troubadour or the Rainbow.

John, meanwhile, had shifted from the mayhem of the Spector sessions to the slightly lesser bedlam of producing a record for his pal Harry Nilsson. The most notable thing about the Pussy Cats sessions was who else was in the room. Ringo Starr sat in on drums. And although it never made it onto Nilsson’s album, another ex-Beatle unexpectedly turned up and even sang with John, the first time the two of them had performed together since the Beatles split.

I wasn’t present but later heard that Paul McCartney and his wife, Linda, had popped in without warning, bringing Stevie Wonder with them. According to those who were there, John and Paul seemed to pick up their friendship as if they were teenagers again, but when John told me about it later, he was kind of dismissive about it, saying, “They were all just looking at us, thinking that something big was going to happen. To me, it was just playing with Paul.”

Lennon with Harry Nilsson, left, outside the Troubadour club in West Hollywood, having just been ejected for heckling a performance by the Smothers Brothers, March 12, 1974

What John didn’t know, though, was that, according to Yoko, Paul had an ulterior motive for the visit. A few days earlier, she had called me to explain the machinations behind the visit.

Yoko told me she spoke with Paul, who offered to speak with John. “I thought it was very kind,” she said. “I was very appreciative. But I made it very clear to Paul that it wasn’t something I was asking him to do. It would have to be Paul’s idea, not mine.”

To me, there was never any question that John desperately wanted to get back with Yoko. Yes, he had feelings for May, yet at some point during virtually every phone call I had with him, John would sooner or later beseech me to talk to Yoko on his behalf. “Tell Mother I’m ready to come home, Ellie. Tell her I’m a changed man.”

“I don’t think she wants to hear it from me,” I would say. “She wants you to show it to her.”

Paul, I later heard, gave John similar advice. Sometime after popping into the studio in Burbank, he sat down with John and laid out, step by step, what he would need to do to win Yoko back.

It’s impossible to say if Paul’s presentation was what did it, or if John experienced some other epiphany around that time, but over the ensuing months he did indeed begin to clean up his act. In the summer of 1974, he started working on his next album, Walls and Bridges, regularly flying to New York for rehearsals and recordings at the Record Plant on West 44th Street. By all accounts, those sessions were entirely professional, with John showing up 100 per cent sober every day.

At the Grammy Awards in New York, March 1, 1975

Then, as work on the album neared completion, John made a fateful decision: he decided not to wait any longer for Yoko’s invitation to return to New York. Instead, towards the end of the summer, he and May rented an apartment of their own on the Upper East Side. It was a small but comfortable place that had a wraparound balcony with spectacular views of the East River.

When I flew to New York to tape some interviews, I took the opportunity to pay them a visit — my first face-to-face meeting with John since the ugliness at Adler’s house. It was an awkward encounter for numerous reasons. For one thing, I had just spent an afternoon with Yoko at the Dakota, some 20 blocks away; taking a cab across town to John and May’s felt something akin to betrayal.

Perhaps sensing my apprehension, May gave me a wide berth, leaving to make some phone calls in a bedroom while John and I stood together on the balcony, catching up.

“Does this make you feel uneasy?” John asked after a beat.

“You mean being here with you and May? Yes, a little,” I admitted. “It just reminds me of the fact that you and Mother are still separated, and that makes me sad.”

“Well, that’s the way Mother wants it,” he said. “At least for now.”

Then, unexpectedly, he wrapped his arm over my shoulders and added, “Don’t look so glum, me boy. Put on your radio face. There’s nowhere you can be that isn’t where you’re meant to be.”

It was one of the few times he’d quoted a line to me from a Beatles song.

Walls and Bridges was released a month or so later. John sent a prereleased signed copy (“To my little dream lover on ice, with love and old pianos,” he wrote, referring to my affection for Bobby Darin’s hit song).

As it happened, Elton John had joined John on keyboards for one song on the album. Elton made a bet with John. If the song was a hit, John would have to perform at Elton’s upcoming concert at Madison Square Garden. John agreed, never imagining he’d have to honour that promise.

Of course, Elton was spot on: Whatever Gets You Thru the Night did indeed become John’s first No 1 solo single. And so it came to pass that, in November 1974, onstage at Madison Square Garden, in front of thousands and thousands of fans, that the Lost Weekend finally began to fade to a finish.

Lennon’s surprise appearance at Elton John’s concert at Madison Square Garden, November 28, 1974

The details of what exactly transpired backstage that night remain, 50 years later, shrouded in some mystery. What is known is that Yoko, who’d been invited to the concert by Elton’s manager, was in the audience. She couldn’t have been prepared for the reaction around her when Elton announced, about two thirds into the concert, that he was bringing John onto the stage for his first public performance in two years. The crowd went berserk.

After the show, Elton’s manager approached Yoko and told her that Elton had requested her presence in his dressing room. Yoko was led backstage to a door with a star on it. She knocked, the entrance opened, and inside she saw her husband standing there, alone.

I cannot tell you what happened after the dressing room door closed behind them. Nobody but Yoko knows that, and she has never shared with me any details. What I can tell you is that in the weeks and months that followed, there must have been many more rendezvous as Yoko and John re-established their connection, even as he continued living with May in their East Side apartment.

According to one of May’s early accounts, John was ultimately hypnotised into ending his relationship with her; she has long claimed that Yoko hired a mesmerist to help John quit smoking but that it was all a ruse to brainwash him into splitting up with her so he could return to Yoko. To this day, many people believe that story. But I know for certain that it wasn’t true. Because, as it happens, I’m the one who arranged the hypnotist.

Yoko had nothing to do with it.

John had remembered that I had interviewed a hypnotist on my radio show and asked me if he might be able to help him kick nicotine.

At the Lincoln Center in New York, circa 1975

I called the hypnotist, planned for him to fly to New York, booked him a room in a Midtown hotel, and set up an appointment with John. In just about every respect, though, the hypnosis was a total bust. John told me immediately afterwards he was never put under; the hypnotist claimed John was but just couldn’t remember. The hypnotist also turned out to be something of a diva. He disliked his hotel — he thought the desk clerks were rude — and checked out the next day, flying back to LA in a huff.

John didn’t quit smoking, not for a minute, so it’s hard to imagine the hypnotist had succeeded in brainwashing him into anything else — like, say, leaving a lover. But the very next day, John did break it off with May and returned to the Dakota, resuming his marriage to Yoko and ending, at last, the long and lonely winter that had been the Lost Weekend. He called me in LA shortly afterwards to share the happy news.

He said, “Let the media know the separation did not work.”

‘He’d weigh himself twice a day’

Elliot Mintz on his friendship with John and Yoko. By Georgina Roberts

When a red light in Elliot Mintz’s bedroom flashed, it meant that John Lennon or Yoko Ono was calling him on a special hotline. “In an average week, 20 hours of phone conversation would not be unusual,” the 79-year-old former radio DJ and talk-show host says from his Beverly Hills living room.

Mintz describes the friendship with the couple that “dominated” nine years of his life as “almost a kind of marriage”. He was taken aback when Ono called him in 1971 to thank him for not asking about Lennon when he interviewed her on his radio show. When they began to speak for hours at night, she batted away his concern that her husband might get jealous, saying, “Aren’t you giving yourself a little too much credit, Elliot?”

Lennon first called Mintz to ask if he could get him fat-melting pills. “That was my first conversation with John Lennon. It wasn’t philosophical. It wasn’t about Elvis or the Beatles. It was about weight loss,” he says. Sometimes Lennon would weigh himself twice a day and the couple “were obsessive about diet”.

In Hotel Okura in Tokyo, October 1975

After six months of speaking, the couple summoned him to meet them in Ojai, California, where they were trying to kick a methadone addiction. Ono barely spoke until she was in a bathroom with the tap running. “She whispered to me, ‘This house is bugged. Everything we say here, they’re listening. So you have to be very careful what you say.’ ” FBI files released years later showed that Ono wasn’t being paranoid. President Nixon had placed the couple under surveillance after rumours they planned to disrupt his convention, Mintz says.

His clandestine friendship with the couple wreaked havoc on his love life. When he couldn’t explain whom he’d been speaking to in the middle of the night, one love interest assumed he was married and stormed out. “I realised at that moment that my love life would have to take a back seat to my relationship with John and Yoko,” he says.

There were times when lines were crossed in the friendship. One morning, Lennon summoned Mintz to kick out a girl who’d stayed the night. “I told him, ‘Please don’t ask me to do something like that again.’ He flipped out. He said, ‘I will effing ask you to do anything that I feel like asking you to do. Do you understand that?’ ” Mintz was hurt and offended. The next day was one of the few times he said no to “grabbing a bite” with Lennon.

Becoming parents was “the biggest game-changer” for the couple. After his son Sean was delivered via caesarean section in 1975, “John was outraged that when Yoko was clearly struggling, doctors would come up to him and say, ‘I’ve always dreamt of shaking your hand.’ He would bark at them, ‘Look after me wife!’ ”

While Lennon threw himself into childcare, Ono, who came from a banking dynasty, handled the couple’s finances. After becoming stratospherically famous so young, Lennon was “clueless” about money. “I doubt if John was ever in a supermarket, went to a bank, wrote a cheque. That’s what Yoko did,” Mintz says. “If not for Yoko, there’d be no money in the Lennon-Ono estate today.”

A drawing by Lennon on a postcard from Japan sent to Mintz in 1977

The first time Mintz met their son, Lennon said protectively, “Not too close. Germs.” “He said, ‘Look, we were going to make you the godfather, but we decided on Elton, because he would at least give him better Christmas presents.’ ” “This is typical John,” Mintz says.

Sean would only spend five years with his father before Lennon was murdered outside the Dakota in December 1980. Lennon had always “poo-pooed” Mintz’s requests for him to employ more security. “John said, ‘I’m just a rock’n’roll singer. Who would want to hurt me?’ ”

When Mintz speaks about learning of Lennon’s murder from a weeping flight attendant, his honeyed radio-presenter voice cracks with emotion. “Even now, after all these years, just thinking about that moment…” He trails off. The most gut-wrenching of his responsibilities was making an inventory of Lennon’s possessions. When he signed for a stapled brown paper bag that came from the hospital where Lennon was taken after he was shot, he could not bear to open it. “It was what John was wearing, what he had on him when he fell, including his broken, bloodied glasses.”

He is reticent about his friendship with Ono today. “I want to give her a sense of privacy,” he says, but adds, “It still feels like family. I still love her dearly.” The last time he saw her was at her 91st birthday in February. It was there that Sean encouraged Mintz to write his book, We All Shine On. Does he think Ono will like it? “I’ve never tried to predict a Yoko Ono conclusion.”

How different would his life be if he had never met the couple? “I could have got married. Could have had children.” Were the sacrifices worth it? “Of course. I got to spend that amount of my time with these two extraordinary people.”

We All Shine On: John, Yoko, & Me by Elliot Mintz (Bantam, £25).

(source)

#john lennon #yoko ono #elliot mintz

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swordsandholly · 7 months ago

Text

Keep it Casual

NSFW | MDNI

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x fem.plus size.Reader

cw: injury mention, death mention (in passing - no character death), brief weed smoking

Word count: 3.7k

One-shot/Drabble

Boy loves girl, girl loves boy. They’re not allowed to admit it, though. It’s good, right? All the benefits without any of the commitments. It’s what they both want, right?

Johnny MacTavish is an enigma to you in many ways. You’ve known each other for years - ever since you came over to the UK for Uni. He was in basic training then, out drinking when he approached you. His buddies were brutish and rude, only looking to add a soft American to their list of conquests, but Johnny… he spoke to you differently. Looked into your eyes, listened intently, gave you his full attention and nothing less.

You’ve been thick as thieves ever since. Beyond that, even. You and Johnny are entirely indivisble. Even when he’s gone for weeks, months, at a time, you’re inheretnly interlinked. Whether by phone calls or the matching tattoos you got on your ankles one drunken night, you’re connected.

There aren’t any labels for it. When people ask you default to best friends, but that doesn’t quite encapsulate it. There isn’t a word in the English language for what you have. You’re not partners - you’ve both had plenty of those each, however briefly. Even those always end. You and Johnny can’t be torn apart, though.

You know what the problem is. The reason you both keep it this vague, amorphous thing between you. Labels are frightening. Labels make things real. Labels mean you have to tell other people what you are, that suddenly there are expectations to live up to.

Labels feel like a death sentence in his line of work. Too many lost husbands, partners, lovers.

You lay on your belly in bed, legs kicked up in the air as you engross yourself in a book when the door knob clicks to the side. Johnny has a key to your place, of course, just as you have one to his. You don’t bother to get up. The chain always hangs loose when he’s gone - knowing he’ll come around at any moment. The door would stay wide open if it could, just for him.

You hear a thunk as as he drops his duffle on the ground. He didn’t go home yet, just came straight here. His boots fall on the floor next, then his jacket drops quietly in the hallway as he slowly makes his way to your room - to you.

“Bonnie lass…” Johnny greets, crawling across the bed toward you. He managed to get down to just his standard issue t-shirt and boxer briefs before climbing in. He knows you hate outside clothes on the bed.

“Johnny.” You smile, rolling onto your back as he climbs over you. Your fingers card through his mohawk, tugging gently on the strands curling at the base of his neck. “Need a trim there, bud.”

“Aye.” He chuckles. “Was waitin’ tae see ye. No one does it as good as my girl.”

His girl. Your boy. That’s the closest either of you ever get to tempting fate.

You hum. “How was work?”

Work. That word doesn’t even come close to what Johnny does. You can’t say more - can’t utter the word deployment. Coward.

“Ach no’ tha’ bad this time. Go’ my heid knocked around a bit.”

“So the usual?”

“Oi.” He scoffs in mock offense. “Donnae be rude.”

“I’m never rude.” You snicker, turning over and reaching for the top dresser of your nightstand. “Do you want to roll or me?”

“I think I’ve earned some princess treatment.” Johnny flops back on the bed, a finger hooking in the hem of your cotton panties as you sit up. He always does this when he first gets back - has to have some part of him touching some part of you. Not that you’d ever complain. You need it just as much as him, though you’d die before admitting to it.

Those blue eyes bore into you as you roll. It’s tradition - a celebratory joint when he gets back. Then you’ll binge all the TV shows and movies you saved up while he was gone and order an ungodly amount of take out. Indian. His favorite. Sometimes Johnny will go back to his apartment the next day to get some quiet time, maybe visit his parents, before he has to go back to work on the base but other times he’ll stay with you his whole time back home. Just taking up your space and being so domestic it makes your teeth hurt like too-sweet candy.

You always hope he stays.

“First hit for the guest of honor?” You smile, holding the joint out for him.

“Och, yer a blessing, hen.” His hand is warm as it brushes yours when he takes the joint from you, eyes locked on your own. There’s something intense in his stare that you aren’t used to. It makes you look away, almost shy under his gaze. He coughs suddenly, a harsh burst of smoke puffing from his lips.

You can’t help but laugh at him, “Getting weak lungs, soldier boy?”

“Oh, feck off.” He elbows you gently.

Somehow you’ve already got the giggles. It’s just something about being around him that makes everything feel better - brighter. More lively. Even the colors of your ugly little ashtray (the one you painted terribly when Johnny’s niece insisted the three of you go paint pottery while babysitting) feel so much more clear with him near.

“Oh!” His brows shoot up suddenly, as if he just remembered something direly important. “I got somethin’ fer ye. Be right back.”

You watch him jog down the hall - definietly not staring at his butt, no ma’am - and listen to the sounds of Johnny rooting around through his duffle bag. Your lips quirk up into a smile when he lets out a distant “aha!”

He comes back with a small, velvety box, flopping back into bed beside you and criss-crossing his legs. “There was this little artisan shop in a town we stopped through. The Captain wanted tae get his wife somethin’ an’ I saw this an’ thought of ye.”

The box slips into your hands. It’s small and light. You roll it between your palms a couple times before shaking it with a grin. Before you can make one of your usual silly quips about what might be inside, your eyes meet Johnny’s. They’re on fire, sparkling with anticipation for you to open the little gift. He’s gotten you things before (you actually have a shelf dedicated to his nicknacks from around the world) but this seems… different. There’s a heaviness to his expression that you’re not used to.

You glance between him and the box briefly - opening it slowly. Your eyes turn to saucers as you come face to face with a finely crafted silver necklace. A little four pointed star with a sparkling gem in the middle that looks the same icy blue as Johnny’s eyes. Little flecks of pink and green catch the light as you turn it between your fingers.

“Johnny-“ You gasp, at a total loss for words.

“Ye like it?” He asks with an uncharacteristically nervous pitch to his voice. His palms rub together absently as he glances between you and the necklace in your hand.

“I love it.” You smile softly, heart fluttering as Johnny breaks out in a grin of his own. “Put it on me?”

“Course.” He whispers, pushing your hair to the side and locking the clasp with deft fingers. It hangs perfectly underneath your clavicles, resting between the other jewelry you wear daily.

Those hands linger for a moment, before both slowly brush down over your shoulders. Rough, calloused fingers glide across your skin and leave an electric current in their wake as light kisses trail up your neck. “Missed ye, bonnie.”

You sigh and lean back against his broad chest. “Missed you too.”

Teeth sink into the crook of your neck, pulling a gasp from your lips. Large, rough hands grab and knead your tits through your thin tank top. He plucks at your nipples - rolling them between his fingers as he sucks deep marks into your neck.

You open your mouth to complain about leaving visible hickies but all that comes out is a breathy moan. You run your hands up his thighs on either side of you, dragging your nails across his skin in the way that always leaves him panting.

One hand travels down, grabbing onto the softness of your belly appreciatively before continuing. His fingers glide over your covered pussy, teasing you to gasp and squirm under him. Rough fingers continue to pluck at your nipple, eventually pushing their way under your tank top for better access. A low hiss escapes Johnny’s lips as your breasts fall free of the camisole.

“Fuck, bonnie. Can I taste ye? Please? Need ye so bad.” Johnny groans in your ear. “Please.”

How could you ever say no to him? He doesn’t even have to ask, really.

He repositions you on your back, tucking a pillow under your hips. Ever the considerate type. His fingers hook in your panties, a low, pleased rumble echoing through his chest as he shucks off the soaked fabric.

No matter what he’s doing, Johnny’s eyes always find yours. He could be across the most crowded room in the world and, imminently, they’ll find yours. They crinkle at the sides with his smile that pulls the scar on his chin.

“So pretty fer me.” He murmurs, lowering himself between your thighs as he bites and kisses up the soft flesh between your legs.

Johnny is a lot of things, and a total much is easily near the top of the list. Maybe number one, even. He presses his face into your cunt - mouthing over your clit and dragging his tongue down between your lips. It’s almost more for him, you think, the way he drags his tongue through the crease between your thigh and pussy. You can’t complain - you would be a fool to with the way he absolutely worships your body.

A harsh suck to your clit as your back arching. Strong arms wrap around your thick thighs to hold you down as he devours you.

“Taste so good, lass. Sweet as fuckin’ candy.” He moans against your cunt.

“Johnny!” You gasp, hand tangling in his overgrown mohawk. A low moan pulls out of you as he licks from your back hole to your clit before stuffing his tongue as deep in your pussy as he can. Chants of obscenities and pleading and oh, god, Johnny please you’re so good fall from your lips.

You know better than to try to hide your sounds. If he could he’d devour them just as much as he already does you - inject them straight in his veins to live there forever. Two fingers push into you, the stretch causing you to gasp. Johnny chuckles as you buck into the touch. The fingers curl directly up into that spot inside you as he nips at your clit.

Your climax hits you like a train - stars blooming behind your eyes and your back arching sharply. You’re always so sensitive after he’s been gone. So ready to have him again.

“Thassit, tha’s my good girl.” Johnny kisses up your thigh, working you through your orgasm with his fingers. “Ready fer me, baby? Missed this pretty cunt so bad - thought about her every day.”

You nod excitedly - mind too fuzzy and content to come up with the words to respond. Lazily, Johnny reaches over to the nightstand to grab a condom. He knows your home, like you, inside and out. Every nook and cranny might as well be his.

It could be his.

It should be his.

Johnny cups your cheek, kissing you slow and deep. His tongue parting your lips gently before exploring every inch of your mouth. Those rough hands trail down your body with reverence. One going from your cheek, to your sternum, over your belly to sink into the softness of your waist. The other holds tight on your hip as he lines up.

You gasp and moan against each other as he pushes in. The stretch is delicious. Your nails sink into his strong back.

“Practically made fer me, bonnie.” He groans as he moves. It’s slow, languid.

He’s so beautiful. Always has been. No matter how he changes - new hair, new scars, new tattoos - he’s still beautiful. The prettiest man you’ve ever met. You run your fingers through the downey layer of dark hair over his chest - tracing the outlines of his muscles, up over his thick shoulders to cup his cheek.

Your bodies move together easily - a well practiced dance that you’ve perfected over the years.

“Christ.” Johnny gasps into your ear - strong forearms bracket your head, burying you under him. “I lov-“

You turn your head, catching his lips in a kiss. It’s terrible of you, you’re sure, but there’s nothing those words can communicate that a well timed gasp or a perfectly placed caress can’t say better. His nose knocks against yours, your hands travel all over him, seeking out any purchase they can find.

It turns desperate. A clawing need as you rediscover each other for the millionth time. Wet, open mouth kisses against each others skin and bodies moving perfectly in tandem. The light high from smoking leaves your skin warm and buzzing with electricity. It borders on overstimulating - just barely this side of too much.

“Johnny…” You whine, tilting your head back.

“Aye?” He pants, laving at your clavicle. “Gonnae cum f’me? Cream all over my fuckin’ cock?”

All you can manage is a keen, teeth sinking into his shoulder to hide you face form him. A hand tangles in your hair, pulling you down to stare up at him.

“Eyes on me, hen. Want - ah - want ye lookin’ at me when I make ye cum.”

It’s too intense. It always is looking into those baby blues. As if they can see right through to the most buried parts of yourself. Johnny shifts your hips up ever so slightly, the new angle bullying his head against your g-spot with each thrust. Your nails claw across his shoulder blades.

It doesn’t take long before you’re careening over the edge with him, bodies tensing against each other. Clenching down around him like a vice while you gasp for air.

“There she is. Tha’s my girl.” Johnny murmurs against your lips, still rocking into you in short, sloppy motions. Just to drag it out a little longer until you whine at the overstimulation.

You let yourself lay back to catch your breath, floating back to earth while Johnny disappears to toss the condom in the trash. He’s back nearly as fast as he left, pulling you against his chest and burying you both under the soft sheets of your bed.

“Shower?” Johnny whispers into your hair, eventually. You nod against his chest, slowly peeling yourselves apart. Your fingers remain tangled all the way to the bathroom.

He whirls you after you turn on the shower, kissing you slow and deep as you wait for the water to warm up. A warm hand splash across your lower back - keeping you close. You’re left breathless when he finally pulls back, pupils blown so wide in the low evening light that you can hardly see the blue of his eyes.

You sigh to yourself as you step into the shower, grateful that you splurged on the apartment with the especially large bathroom. It definitely wasn’t with Johnny in mind. You’d never make your decisions based around such a nebulous relationship.

Not the size of your bathroom - enough to fit both your wide frame and his broad shoulders.

Not the location of your apartment - only a few blocks from his.

Not keeping his favorite snacks stocked at all times just in case he comes home early.

Not referring to your apartment as his home.

“Lean down a bit.” You smile, pouring a glob of shampoo into your hand for him. Johnny’s always been picky about his hair care. You always make sure it’s on hand in your bathroom.

He does the same for you, of course, when he can, but somehow you both always end up at your place instead. Not that you’d ever complain. You like your place. It’s safe. Warm. A cocoon away from all the parts of the world that have scarred you so deeply.

Johnny groans happily as you scratch his scalp, the quality shampoo cleaning far more deeply than any of that standard issue stuff he gets on deployment ever could. You watch the suds slowly drip down over the lines of his back, breath catching as your eyes settle on a nasty, raised patch of skin you hadn’t seen before.

It looks like a chunk got ripped out of his back, right under his ribs.

“Johnny.” You gasp.

“Hm?” He looks over his shoulder at you, brows raising as he realizes what you’re looking at. “Oh tha’? It’s nothin’. Just go’ a bit knocked around, remember?”

You bite your lip, tamping down the rising fear in your gut. “D-does it hurt?”

“I’m fine, lovie.” Johnny turns, giving you that sparkling, million dollar grin. He knows it scares you, shakes you to the core.

You’ve already lost everyone else in your life, having the ever present threat of losing Johnny as well is too much to handle sometimes. It keeps you up at night, when he’s away, imagining all the worst that could happen to him.

How easy it would be for a simple bullet or knife to shatter your world.

That’s why the two of you keep up this little arrangement. This song and dance at arms length. To spare you. Both of you. Either when he doesn’t come back or you break and run.

You won’t run, though. As much as it hurts, the good is too good to give up. You’ll stay through it all, with just enough distance to keep your sanity.

“Ye with me?” Johnny asks gently, slowly pulling you out of your thoughts and back into the moment.

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Long week.” You lie, leaning up on your tip toes to plant a small kiss in the corner of his mouth.

He hums, turning to meet your lips. You let yourself fall into him, fingers running through the hair on his chest, up to the back of his neck. He just feels right under your hands. Perfectly molded to press up against you - hard muscle to balance out the softness of your body. Angles and curves. Push and pull. Sun and moon.

Holy hell, you’ve become a sap.

“Sit.” You point to the chair you drug into the bathroom and Johnny happily plops down - big, fluffy towels tied around your chest and waist respectively. A content smile settles across his face as you slowly work your way across his scalp with the electric razor. You let your fingers to scrape along after you just the way he likes.

When you were young, you watched your mother cut your fathers hair. It seemed so subservient to you. Shameful, almost. You said you’d die before doing that for any man.

You carefully raise each section of his mo-hawk, cutting it down to the exact length Johnny likes to style it. A little on the short side, actually, so that it has time to grow before looking messy. Shearing the sides and taking extra care around his ears. He doesn’t need any more nicks or scars.

Johnny suddenly looks pensive as he watches you in the mirror - carefully taking in each of your movements.

“You’re worrying.” You murmur.

“I-“ He sighs. “It’s nothin’.”

“Johnny.” You level your gaze on his in the mirror, he looks off to the side.

“I’m just- I cannae-“ He sighs. “I miss ye.”

You snort. “I’m right here.”

Johnny shrugs. For once, he stops talking. You hate when he does. It’s the only true hallmark that something is wrong.

“Johnny-“

“Do ye want tae hear a new Ghost joke?” He interrupts. It’s an out. You’ll let him have it.

“Lay it on me.”

“Whit’s the difference between the bird flu and the swine flue?”

“What?”

“One requires tweetment an’ the other requires oinkment.”

A huffy laugh escapes you despite yourself. “That’s terrible.”

“Aye. Imagine listenin’ tae that in a life or death situation. Could be the last thing I hear!”

You giggle, finishing up with shaping the edges of his hairline. “How is it?”

Johnny stands, leaning close to the mirror and running a hand over his hair. Your eyes lock onto that newly forming scar again. It makes your throat feel tight.

He stretches his arms way over his head with a groan. “Think it’s time f’some proper lazin’ about.”

The rest of the night goes by as they usually do when he gets home. Indian take out, a romcom in the background, another round of fucking. Or two. It’s near eleven when you finally settle into the sheets, Johnny long asleep beside you. Comfortably snoring with that angelic peacefulness you only ever see in his sleep.

Will he look that peaceful if he dies?

The thought makes you want to throw up.

It takes all your mental fortitude to push that train of thought away. Opting to lay beside him, eyes flicking across his features as you attempt to memorize them all. The curve of his strong brow, the arch of his nose, the slight part in his lips as he sleeps. Your thumb traces the scar on his chin while you cup his cheek. As if sensing your current state - and, if you’re honest with yourself, you’re sure he can - a strong arm wraps around you to lock you against his chest. You let your legs tangle, breathing him in and following the pattern of the rise and fall of his chest. Real and tangible under your hands.

You’re just so glad that, at least right now, he’s home.

263 notes · View notes

loveshotzz · 1 year ago

Text

Is It New Years Yet?

steve harrington x fem!reader ✨Part One✨

Santa Tell Me

summary: When you meet Steve Harrington the first time it’s by accident, the second time a coincidence, and by the third he’s calling it fate.

wc: 8.1k

warnings: 18+ series, a christmas meet cute with steve who’s in his 30’s, smut in later chapters, drinking, smoking, eddie munson is our best friend/roommate, him and steve don’t know each other in this AU.

authors note: this wasn’t supposed to be this big or long but here we are. thank you for all your patience and sweet words, I’m so excited to share this with you.

series masterlist -> ✨ part two

The Marshall Fields feels alive with only three weeks left until Christmas, making it a next to impossible mission to get to your job in the restaurant that sits on top of the seven story tourist attraction. At least on time.

Bing Crosby’s ‘It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas’ spills from the speakers overhead, the deep baritone of his voice is barely audible over the low murmur of conversation happening all around you. Lush, large boughs of green pine hang pristine from the historically tall ceilings, shimmering tinsel draped with purpose at the ends of them catching in the light. It reflects off the gold ornaments that cover it in a perfect pattern. It’s almost enough for you to forget how annoyed you are.

Your slip resistant shoes catch and scuffle along the deep crimson carpet as you move through the shoulder to shoulder crowd. It doesn’t take you very long to find a break in it, still scratching at your nose that itches from your walk through the fragrance department. Your small victory is quickly diminished when you see a swarm of families standing in front of the golden doors of the elevators.

You silently curse yourself for not leaving earlier, completely forgetting that Santa was on the fifth floor today. As if on queue, a little girl with perfect blonde curls that bounce as she runs smacks into your legs just like your realization, falling back on her butt with a thud. Her pearly white dress flutters around her, and the two of you stare each other down for what feels like an eternity until her mother rushes over with panicked apologies right as her daughter breaks out the waterworks.

The noise makes you grimace, mumbling a ‘it’s fine’ under your breath before turning on your heel. Reaching behind, you pull your phone from your back pocket to see just how late you really are, accepting defeat with having to take the scenic, much more time consuming route up the escalators. The bold white numbers that flash across the screen tell you that you’re already five minutes past the start of your shift. A long sigh slips from between your lips as you give up on trying to rush.

Moving with the flow of the crowd, the beginning jingle of Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ starts to play, and with the grand spectacle of the yearly decorations, it’s hard not to feel all the emotions of nostalgia they’re trying to pull from you, making you roll your eyes singing along with her under your breath.

The big water fountain in the middle of the men’s department comes into view from the tops of bobbing heads, one of the many physical markers in this building you’ve had to use so you don’t get lost in the retail maze they’ve created, letting you know that you’re close to your destination. Weaving through the sea of people, you try to gear up to break free from the human traffic jam, the signs pointing to the escalators in your sights. His panicked voice is what you hear first, an obvious friendliness still hidden underneath it despite the way it shakes every time you hear him say “excuse me?”

Your eyes search for the owner, and when you find him, regret buries itself deep in your gut when they land on his face.

A perfect mess of dark chestnut hair, with tips that look like they were dipped in honey sits on top of his head. The hints of gold hidden inside shimmer under the lights, as it curls wildly behind his ears. It almost looks styled that way, that is until you see his big hand run through it twice in the span of a few seconds. Warm brown eyes squint as he turns in a full circle glancing between his phone and the signs the point to the city street exits on either side of him. The hoards of people surrounding him completely ignoring his existence as he looks around painfully lost.

His nose is sharp, just like his jaw that’s dusted with the faint hint of a five o’clock shadow. The two prominent moles that sit side by side on his cheek stick out on his unseasonably sun kissed skin that seems to glow against the dark maroon color of his sweater. It’s snug across a broad chest, just like the washed out black jeans that fit a light too well around his thighs. His chocolate colored peacoat looks tailored to fit his biceps, with shiny gold buttons that match the buckle on his russet leather loafers, and the chain that dangles from around his neck.

You watch him try to ask a few friendly faces for help, only receiving a shrug and a half smile by the ones that actually acknowledge him. He mutters something that sounds sarcastic to himself as you get closer, his hands moving animatedly before he huffs pinching the bridge of his nose.

Maybe it’s the Christmas decorations, or the Mariah Carey, or maybe it’s just the fact that you’d rather take pity on a handsome stranger than go to your job. Whatever reason it is, you decide to make the stupid mistake to help him.

“Hey,” you greet timidly, getting just close enough to smell the cedar and cinnamon that seems to cling to the expensive wool of his coat, ignoring the way your stomach flips because of course he smells good right?

“Are you lost?”

He doesn’t hear you over the internal battle going on inside his head, not even registering that someone is finally stopping to offer the help he’d just been pleading for, quietly grumbling, ‘you wanted to move to the city, now you can’t even find your way through a damn store’.

You clear your throat before it can get anymore awkward, alerting him of your presence while letting your curious gaze wander up his tall broad frame. Those squinted brown eyes look big now as they meet yours, and you can see green inside them that you couldn’t before and it sparkles brighter than the tinsel hanging from the boughs behind him.

Yeah, you’ve made a huge mistake.

He blinks a few times, before a wide smile stretches across his face somehow making him even more handsome as he reveals a set of perfectly straight teeth. The smile pushes up his cheeks, and crinkles the skin around his eyes, and you watch all the aggravation from before melt off of his perfectly sculpted face and you wish you could go back those few minutes in time and abort the mission. This is no damsel in distress.

“Hi” is all that he says, peony’s painting his cheeks as he runs his hand through his thick hair again. It looks even softer up close.

“Hey,” you giggle, nerves taking over and you want to pinch yourself for it. “I just wanted to see if you needed some help, you look a little lost.”

You try to seem indifferent when you catch the way his gaze roams quickly down your body, thankful you did laundry last night and had on your tight fitting work slacks today that showed off your curves.

“So lost!” He groans, the blush on his cheeks deepening with the tips of his ears. “If I’m being completely honest with you, I don’t even know what floor I’m on.”

You try to hide the way you snort, slapping your palm over your mouth.

“Hey, be nice!” He laughs, trying his best to fight it to put on a hurt expression, “this is like my first time here, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you try to fight off you smile, “I didn’t mean to laugh at you —“

“Steve,” interjects with a grin, those perfect teeth biting at his full bottom lip as he sticks out one of his hands for you to take, a gold band wrapped around his middle finger you didn’t notice before gleaming when it hits the light.

“Well, Steve,” you try not to laugh, which ends up being easy to do when you slip your hand into his and watch it disappear behind his long fingers when they wrap around them. “You’re on the first floor if you can believe it.

“That’s fucking embarrassing. Wow.” He groans, letting your hand go to run his palm down his face, and you hate that you feel the loss in your gut. “Sorry I didn’t mean to cuss.”

“I’ll let it slide this time,” You tease with a wink, enjoying the way it only makes the color on his face deepen. “Where are you trying to go? I work on the seventh floor. I might be able to take you on my way.”

It takes Steve a minute to formulate an answer to your offer, still stuck on the fact a complete stranger was being so nice to him, and the silence between you goes on just long enough to make you second guess everything.

“Or I could just try and give you directions if that’s more comfortable for you.” You offer, adjusting the straps of your backpack nervously.

“I’m trying to get to the women’s department,” Steve finally blurts out, sensing the shift in your energy and quickly tries to recover with another card through his hair and a crooked smile, “specifically the handbags, and I absolutely think you should take me.”

His gaze narrows the color in his eyes darkening into something more flirtatious than nervous.

“Who knows how long it’d take me to get there without a beautiful, clearly smart woman such yourself to help me anyway.”

Your stomach does that thing that you hate again, and all the heat in your body licks at your cheeks like flames. You can’t remember the last time a man actually used the word beautiful. Hot? Absolutely. Cute? Sure. Pretty? Yeah, a few times, but never beautiful. It sits in your chest where it blossoms into another painfully big smile that pushes your cheeks up even more, and you have to look away from his face for a moment when he matches it with his own.

“O- okay, if you just, uh wanna follow me?” Words get lost on your tongue and it comes out more shy than you would’ve liked, but you turn on your heel before you can think too hard about it when he gestures you forward.

You hear him mutter ‘are you kidding me?’ under his breath as you lead him to the escalators just around the corner, making him realize how close they were this whole time and you wonder just how long he was actually looking for them. The smell of mint hits your nose as you pass the Frango chocolate stand and it mixes with the spice of his cologne as he trails close behind. Butterflies threatening to break from cocoons hearing the way his steps match yours.

He stops next to you as you come to halt to wait your turn to hop onto the moving metal steps. You look up at him and there’s an awkwardness that threatens to fill the small space between you that has you giving him a tight lipped smile that he returns with the kind of confidence that makes your palms sweat and you have to look away.

“I say we make our move after white puffer coat comin’ up here.” His voice startles you when it comes out low, close enough to the shell of your ear that you swear you can feel the whisper of his lips. Spearmint stings your nose from the gum that snaps between his teeth, and the heat of his breath makes goosebumps jump along the back of your neck.

Why did you do this?

You meet his gaze from the corner of your eye, letting him see the playful glint that dances in them before giving a curt nod of your head.

“On the count of three…” You play along, despite everything inside you telling you to stop flirting back and it makes Steve’s whole face light up, long fingers flexing at his side with the need to find yours again.

“One..” He starts, and your eyes meet ‘white puffer coat’ who’s now only a few steps away before finding Steve’s again who’s stare very obviously never left your face.

“Two..” You giggle trying to hide the way your body starts to buzz and if it wasn’t for Steve’s giddy expression you’d be more embarrassed than you actually are.

“Thre-“ His final count gets cut off by the feeling of your fingers wrapping around his, tugging him onto the stairs early with a loud cackle that has you throwing your head back and he swears the sound tilts his world off its axis.

His cheeks dust pink under the bright light looking down his nose at you with a wide smile that shows all his teeth. An expensive loafer sits wedged between your work shoes and the other on the step above, caging you against the side as you ride up to the next floor, and he’s close enough for you to see a smattering of more freckles that dot the bridge of his nose and the side of his neck, even one on the tip of his earlobe.

He’s still holding your hand.

Your fingers twist and flex at the realization, dropping from his hold and Steve clears his throat because of it. Adam’s apple bobbing as you land on the second floor, he shoves his hand in his pocket, standing a more appropriate distance from you as you get on the next set of stairs going up.

“So what’s on the seventh floor?” He asks, finally breaking the silence that crackles with something you aren’t prepared for today.

“Oh, um, The Walnut Room.” you know where the big Christmas tree is?” You answer with a small smile and it makes him snort, the noise making your eyes go big and the corners of your lips twist up more.

“I couldn’t find the escalators, you think I know where the big Christmas tree is? Don’t flatter me so much or I’ll think you’re flirting with me, honey.” Steve grins, the cool air of confidence from before coming back and you hate that it makes your cheeks burn even worse the second time around.

“Well,” you start unable to bring yourself to meet his gaze as the two of you make your way to the next set of escalators with nerves rattling in your chest as the new floor brings more people, and it makes it impossible for him to keep his distance this time, “now you know where it is.”

“Is that an invitation?” He smirks looking down at you, teeth gleaming even whiter from this close and butterfly wings tickle at your rib cage.

“Getting a new purse for your girlfriend?” You ask in an attempt to dodge his obvious flirting, doing your best to ignore the way his fingers keep bumping into yours as you share the same step.

“Mom, actually. No girlfriend.” Your obvious prying makes something smug flash behind his eyes. “Is that the answer you were hoping for?”

You huff with a roll of your eyes, unable to fight the way your cheeks push up again despite the shake of your head earning a deep chuckle from Steve who can see right through you.

“I actually just moved here, maybe a month ago,” he starts, your heart sinking a little at his reveal and your walls that had started to slowly retreat quickly go back up the few inches they dared to come down. “M parents, they’re….they’re tough to impress, and I’m just trying to find something nice for my Mom. Something that screams ‘Hey! Merry Christmas! I didn’t make a big mistake moving here!’ You know?”

You nod with the kind of laugh that makes his eyes sparkle at the noise.

“A purse absolutely says that, I think.” Your words drip with sarcasm as the two of you make your way onto the third floor, shoulders bumping as you turn towards the next set of moving stairs, both your feet landing on the same metal step again.

“You know, I thought so too.” He beams, not missing a beat. “What about you? Got any fun plans with your boyfriend for Christmas?”

Before you have a chance to answer, an impatient woman choosing to walk the escalators in the kind of rush you should really be in knocks into Steve’s back with her shoulder, making him lose his balance and stumble into you. Large hands grab at your waist to steady himself, the warmth of his palms spreading through your body as it seeps through the thin material of your slacks. The steady beating in your heart stutters before your pulse kicks into overdrive when the mint on his breath fans against your neck for the second time as he mutters an apology finding his balance again. You bite at the inside of your cheek when he finally lets you go, straightening up to his full height again.

“Gotta love the holidays.” You laugh, letting out a shaky breath that threatens to give you away.

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year, or that’s what they say.” Steve sighs, running his fingers through his hair again.

He somehow leaves it even messier than before, and you have to fight the urge to fix it for him, as the top of the fourth floor comes into view along with the end of your time with the man you only half way regret helping now.

“The answer to your question is no, by the way.” You finally speak up, a mischievous glint in your eye that matches your smile.

“No you don’t have any fun plans? Or No you don’t have a boyfriend?” He tries to clarify, with the kind of lopsided grin that has your knees wobbling under it.

You don’t have time to recover when the ground underneath you stops moving as you both hit the bright red carpet of the women’s department. The fast moving crowd and the fact that you’re pushing nearly twenty minutes late for work is the perfect escape you need to get yourself out of making the mistake of staying long enough for the charming new to the city bachelor to ask for your phone number.

“Handbags are over there.” You point to the giant Michael Kors logo that shines gold against a hot pink wall behind him, and you seize the moment he turns to follow the direction of your finger to hop back onto the escalators without a word.

You laugh echoes and bubbles over the even happier sounds of the Christmas music when Steve turns around to find you already half way up to the fifth floor.

“Really?” He throws his hands up, watching as you climb higher.

“I’m late for work! I hope your mom likes her gift!” You wave with the kind of smile that he’s sure will haunt his dreams tonight, that makes the corners of his lips twitch despite himself. “It definitely screams you didn’t make a mistake! Nice meeting you Steve!”

It had been four days since your run in with Steve, and much to your dismay that disheveled head of hair didn’t want to leave your mind no matter how much you tried. His breath stealing smile, and freckled skin invaded every day dream and even found their way into the ones in your sleep. No matter how many times you tell yourself that a man who looks like that has endless opportunities in a city like this, and he’s not going to tie himself down with a waitress who still splits her rent with a roommate.

A change of scenery and a day off spent alone at the Christmas market is almost enough to do the trick as you search for ornaments to put on the tree your roommate Eddie tried to stop you from getting, arguing that he’d have to be the one to take care of it if you got a real one. Which to be fair, ended up being true, but when you catch him reading Lord of the Rings under its twinkling lights, you don’t think he minds it all that much.

A few ornaments, two hot ciders, and a record shop later, you find yourself waiting for the train home looking at the sunset that paints the skyline in sherbet orange and red behind shimmering buildings. Lost in the music that spills from your AirPods, flashing lights catch at the corners of your eye, and the sounds of the holiday train start to get louder as its bright presence rolls up to the platform. The Santa that you know has to be freezing waves at everyone that’s waiting as it pulls in, and you can’t stop the way your cheeks push up despite the annoyance you would have normally felt if you were actually commuting somewhere in a rush.

The workers dressed as elves greet you with baskets of candy cane’s and bright smiles when the doors open, and relief floods your system when you see the train car is mostly empty. You give them a friendly wave and a nod, accepting the sweet treat before claiming your seat for the nine stops you needed to pass to get home. Red and green string lights flash strung up from the ceilings, and the silver metal poles that stick through the middle now resemble the candy they're passing out. The white fluorescent lighting that usually washes everyone out is replaced with a deep blue, and the faint sounds of Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’ battles for dominance with the music in your headphones.

Relaxing into your seat, you let the steady rocking of the train lull you back into your thoughts, disappointed when they inevitably go back to the man you’ve been trying to forget. Thighs pressing at the memory at the feeling of his hands grabbing at your hips on the escalator, you huff and cross your arms in a silent pout. How can you have a crush on someone you don’t even know?

The car starts to fill up more and more as the stops go, and by the third one you’re squeezing your tote bag to your chest with people surrounding you as they hold onto the plastic handles above your head. It’s hard to see anything above anyone’s waist, and you shuffle a little awkwardly in your seat. The spot in front of you frees up by the next stop and at the same time your AirPods die, a sigh of relief slips past your lips at the brief reprieve before the group waiting outside scurries in. That’s when you hear him…again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. First the damn bus, now the train? Jesus fuck- exuse me, god, I’m gonna be so late.”

The familiar smell of cedar and cinnamon envelopes your senses when a pair of black dress slacks fill your vision with a gold belt buckle on his waist that matches the chain you already know is dangling from his neck, and the ring on the hand that’s gripping the handle above you.

You curse under your breath, taking your AirPods out and the muffled sound of Dean Martin’s ‘Let It Snow’ becomes full volume, along with the clinking of the metal tracks when the train lurches forward. Leaning back in your seat, you let your eyes wander up his broad torso you’ve reluctantly thought so much about. Steve’s a little more dressed up than the last time you saw him with a white button up tucked into his slacks. You can still make out the outline of his tank top underneath, despite the dim lighting, and the way he leaves the top two buttons undone flashes you a little bit of chest hair. The chocolate peacoat is replaced with a black one that has buttons to match. It fits around his arms just as good as the other one.

His five o’clock shadow is gone now, and he somehow has even more freckles than before. Too distracted by him to scold yourself for having the urge to find and kiss them all, his messy bed head look he had the other day is replaced with something a little more controlled, and you wonder how much product he needed to use, especially that despite it all, a stray still threatens to fall across his forehead.

“Not a fan of the holiday train are we?”

Steve jumps at the sound of your voice, his eyes looking every direction but down until you clear your throat. They widen when they land on you just like the smile that spreads across his face, wiping away any signs of annoyance that plagued his features just seconds before.

“You!” He almost laughs, and he’s even more handsome than you remembered and you wonder how long it's going to take you recover this time, “Oh wow —“ even in the blue light you can see the way the color in his cheeks redden when he realizes that his crotch is unintentionally in your face, “let me just -“

He scoots back as far as he can which isn’t much but it’s enough to make the position the two of you find yourselves in less awkward.

“Well, well, well so we meet again.” He practically beams taking in your appearance now that you’re not dressed to go wait tables, catching the way he licks his lips before bringing his eyes back to yours.

“It would appear so Steve.” Your smirk, proud of yourself for keeping up the act of playing hard to get.

“What do they call these things? Christmas Miracles?” His confident demeanor reappears and you’re disappointed that it sets your body on fire just like before.

Your snort loud enough for him to hear, earning you a deep chuckle from his chest that gets him that smile of yours he can’t stop thinking about.

“You think you’re so smooth don’t you?” You tease, biting at your bottom lip, meeting his eyes from under your lashes watching the way it makes the green and gold inside them turn into something darker.

“Not really, but I think it’s working for you.” He winks, closing the space he made between you to let someone off behind him holding your stare from down the slope of his nose.

You narrow your eyes at him before you roll them but the twitch of your lips gives you away making his grin turn Cheshire.

“Where are you off to this dressed up? Hot date?” You question with an arched brow.

“For someone who’s pretending not to have a crush on me, you’re certainly fixated on if I’m dating someone aren’t you?” Shaking his head, he’s even more smug than he was on the escalators, “but no, beautiful, I’m on my way to meet a business partner for dinner.”

There he goes using that word beautiful again.

“What about you? The missing uniform tells me it must be your day off, spend it with that boyfriend of yours?” Steve smirks trying to get the definitive answer you refused him a few days ago.

“You’re calling me fixated? I’m not the one obsessing over an imaginary boyfriend I made up for someone else.”

Steve throws his head back in a booming laugh as a bright smile lights up his face in a way that rivals the train.

“I bet you think you’re so funny don’t you?” He mimics your previous sentiment with an intensity in his gaze that has you squirming in your seat.

“Not really, but I think it’s working for you.” Biting your lip as you wink, his hold around the handle tightens, and the gold in his eyes darken more. “I’m surprised you’re heading out of the loop so dressed up, where’s this hot business date?”

Steve’s smile falters, and the color you’re so used to warming his face drains along with the intensity of his gaze.

“What do you mean out of the loop?” That panic you’d heard shaking his voice a few days ago returns, as he tears his eyes away from you to look at the map above your head.

“Oh no, Steve.” You realize the mistake he’s made before he does.

“No, no, no, no,” he groans, stomping a shiny wingtip oxford on the dirty ground. “God, Richard, fuck - he’s going to be so pissed at me.”

He says the last part more to himself, regripping his hold on the handle, brows furrowing as he pinches his eyes shut in frustration. His chest heaves a few times, and the veins in his neck start to show before you hear his quiet exhale over the sounds of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’.

“Hey,” You start, and sweetness drips from your tone as you resist the urge to reach out and comfort him, “I’m getting off on the next stop, you can come with me if you want and I’ll help you get on the right train. It’s an easy mistake, really. We’ve all done it.”

He doesn’t open his eyes immediately, and you can tell that he’s trying not to completely break down but slowly they blink back open and meet yours. The teasing edge behind them is gone as they soften around the edges with exhaustion.

“I think I owe you my life at this point, honestly.” He huffs with a weak laugh and you know if his hair wasn’t done his hand would be running through it right now.

“Just a little bit.” You tease pinching two fingers together with a scrunch of your nose.

“Thank you,” he holds your stare, sincerity painting his features with something that makes you want to stand up and hug him.

“Anytime,” you shrug and it’s harder to fake being nonchalant when he looks at you like that.

The train starts to slow down as it approaches your stop, and the people around you become restless as they prepare to push through the crowded car to get off. Your body reacts like muscle memory when it comes to a halt with another lurch, and you stand up without thinking about the little bit of space that separates you and the man you haven’t been able to stop thinking about all week.

Your chest brushes against a hard set of abs before and even harder set of pecs, the cedar and sandalwood of his cologne is stronger than the last time it took over your senses like this. Fresh. The faint smell of his aftershave tickles your nose, and the heat of his breath warms against the berry chapstick on your lips. The realization of your mistake hits right as you lose your balance, and your body falls flush against his.

“Whoa, honey.” Steve chuckles, one of his big hands grabbing firmly on the soft curve of your hip to hold you in place, and you swear you can taste the spearmint of his gum against your tongue from his proximity.

Your hands reach out on instinct grabbing at his waist, making the muscles underneath flex from your touch and you can just faintly hear his sharp intake of breath because of it.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m so sorry.” You bumble, instantly regretting looking up to meet his gaze. The smirk of his pink full lips has all your blood rushing to your cheeks as you quickly try to untangle yourself from him.

“You’re fine,” he laughs in your ear as you push past him, and it sends a shiver through your bones, especially when you can feel the heat of his body behind you as he follows.

The wind hits your face stepping onto the platform and the chill in the air feels good against your skin. People rush and zoom all around you as they try and make their next connection while you and Steve stand under the sign that flashes the next train times. In a loud roar, the holiday spectacle departs with jingling bells that ring off into the distance along with the whir of the crowd leaving you and Steve alone. You try to ignore the tension that bubbles under his stare against the back of your head, threatening to spill over any second as you pull out your phone.

“You live around here?” He’s the first one to break the silence stepping next to you, his gaze shifting curiously to your phone screen.

“Yeah, like three blocks away.” You answer absently, scrolling through the train lines too distracted by your search for the right directions to give him.

He hums quietly in response, pulling out his own phone from his coat pocket. His energy shifts from the panic on the train to something calmer, and you can’t quite put your finger on it. A nervousness still lingers in his shaky exhale that pushes through his nose, rocking back on his heels before shoving his phone in his pocket.

“What if we went out to dinner instead?” Steve blurts out, and his hand that’s been itching to run through his hair finally does, “I mean if you don’t have any plans right now.”

“Didn’t you say it was a work dinner Steve?” You laugh, finally daring to look up at your phone at him. Big mistake.

The wind catches his hair, and that long dark honeyed strand falls against his forehead while his teeth gleam at you in a hopeful smile.

“I feel like I kind of already missed it,” he chuckles, “I’m supposed to be there now and if I read those directions on your phone correctly it said what? - 45 minutes to get there?”

You glance down and see the bold numbers that only seem to go up as the minutes pass and rush hour starts to kick in.

“Besides, I owe you dinner for coming to my rescue twice in one week. I think the universe is really trying to get us to go get drinks if you ask me sweetheart.”

You laugh a little nervous, rolling your eyes to try and hide how you aren’t immune to his charms but the glint that sparkles in his stare tells you that it’s not working.

“I mean, I guess it’s only fair. I don’t want to mess with fate and all.” You sigh, and it makes his whole face light up, “but if Richard fires you, that’s not my fault.”

“You have my word, if this dinner ruins the entire reason I moved out here. I will not blame you.” He raises his hand in the air like he’s swearing under oath.

“Steve!” You gasp, shoving his arm, and it has him throw his head back in a loud laugh that echoes through the empty platform.

“I’m kidding, that’s not going to happen. I don’t think.” He grins, earning another eye roll from you, but he’s too giddy to care.

You choose the cozy little Ramen spot on the corner called The Furious Spoon that’s only two blocks from the train station. It’s a close enough walk to easily brave the deep chill that follows with the setting sun and casual enough so that this doesn't feel like something you’re telling yourself it’s not.

A date.

The warmth of the restaurant hits your frozen cheeks, thawing the parts of you that got bitten from the cold. Ainese hangs thick in the air, making your mouth water while the two of you make your way to the empty seats at the end of the long table that lines the side of the restaurant. You pretend not to feel his hand on the small of your back despite it burning a hole through your jacket as you push through the puffy coats that drape over the stools on either side of you.

Shrugging your layers off, both of you follow suit finding a home for them on the wide rectangular seats. Steve tuts at you when you go to pull your seat out waving your hand away.

“Seriously? No.” You half whisper yell, but the corners of your lips twist up and he decides it’s an empty objection pulling your seat out for you with a wave of his hand gesturing you to sit.

“My mom would kill me if I didn’t,” he swears but his smirk tells you not to believe a word he says as he puts both his hands on either side of your stool, spearmint hot on his breath against the shell of your ear. Cedar and clove on the fabrics of his clothes, it feels like he’s everywhere as he gives you two pushes in.

His knee bumps into yours as he takes the seat next to you, and another waft of his cologne hits your nose. Biting your lip, you decide to distract yourself with the menu as you actively try to make sure your leg doesn’t bounce with anxious energy. The restaurant is more crowded than you expected and Steve’s closer than you wanted. Your heart thumps wildly against your rib cage, scaring the butterflies that laid dormant for the few days in his absence right as they had started to stretch their wings.

“This all looks so good,” he hums, eyes scanning over the menu before bringing his attention back to you, chestnut and gold shimmering in the low light as he looks down the slope of his nose, licking his full lips, “Do you have a favorite?”

You can’t stop your gaze from flicking down to his mouth, words threatening to get caught on the tip of your tongue watching the way the corners curl up into a grin, small dimples pushing into his tan skin when he catches you.

“Depends on what you like protein wise, but my go to is The Mother Clucker.” You manage to get out, trying to clear out the nerves out of your throat.

“Excuse me,” he snorts, “the what?”

Rolling your eyes, you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth as you lean over tapping a red polished nail to the chicken option on the top.

“Do you need glasses Steve?” You giggle watching him squint to read it.

The question makes him look at you out of the corner of his eyes with a narrow stare.

“I’ve had perfect vision since high school. Thank you very much.” He scoffs holding the menu further away as if to help him focus on the small bold lettering.

“Sure looks like it, my mistake.” Raising a hand in mock surrender, the gesture makes him knock his knee with yours earning him a giggle.

“Here I am skipping out on an important work dinner to spend my night showing you how grateful I am and you’re just bullying me.” Steve only manages to keep a straight face until you hit him with a soft smack on his shoulder, a full bellied laugh escaping him when whatever retort you’re ready to give gets cut off by your server finally coming to the table.

Steve’s charm flows from him with ease as he speaks to the young guy with a big septum ring and spiked hair. He talks to him like they’ve been lifelong friends when you place your orders and it reminds you how easily he got that same genuine smile from you just a few days ago at work, and again now as you sit next to him for dinner instead of writing him off like you told yourself you would. Your stomach twists in knots when his knee bumps against yours and stays there, the warmth of his body seeping through the fabric of his slacks and your jeans.

“So did you end up finding your Mom a gift that screams ‘I didn’t make a mistake’?” You question resting your cheek in the palm of your hand as you lean on the table with your elbow, you lift your chin up a little at him and it makes him flush.

“Oh yeah,” he laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck, “I-I didn’t actually, so that's great. I’ll probably just get her a nice set of earrings or something, it won’t matter in the end anyways.”

His eyebrows knit together and for the first time all night he purposely avoids your gaze with a sip of his water. Your eyes follow the movements of his throat as he swallows.

“What do you mean it won’t matter?” You press, curiosity getting the best of you watching his confidence slip.

“My parents aren’t exactly thrilled that I moved out here to help with this start up, instead of taking over their family business back home. It’s a long story, but it was a big argument, well - multiple big arguments when I told them I was leaving.” He sighs, and you can see the dread of their arrival start to hang over his head like storm clouds. “Besides we never really spent Christmas together my whole life anyway, they were always traveling for work, so this whole thing is just -“ He rubs at his temple, “a thing.”

He runs his fingers through his hair without abandon this time.

“Ahhh,” you hum as missing pieces of Steve’s puzzle are revealed and you hate yourself for finding him more attractive because of it.

“What about you?” He nods his head in your direction, mimicking your stance resting his head in his hand, “What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Well,” you start, more nerves settling deep in your chest as you start to lay some of your cards down, “I don’t go home for the holidays cause I usually have work. But me and my family get along fine, I guess. But my roommate usually goes to visit his uncle so I’ll probably order something really expensive to eat and watch a Christmas movie I don’t hate.”

You shrug trying to hide that sometimes it does get to you, not having a full house of loud laughter or even someone to spend the day with, but the look in Steve’s eyes makes you feel like he sees you. He gets it.

“Favorite Christmas movie?” He asks without missing a beat.

“Oh, easy, The Grinch.” you snort.

“Fitting for you.” he winks, despite the tips of his ears turning red when your shoe finds his under the table.

“Rude. What about you? huh?” Your lashes flutter as you bite your lip feeling him start to play footsie with you.

“Jingle All The Way, Arnold’s my guy.” He smiles big at the giggle you give him, and it warms your face just like his hand that slides further down his thigh, dangerously close to yours.

The bubble you find yourselves in pops abruptly when the smell of your soup hits your nose. Two large bowls get set down in front of you, steam pouring off the tops so much it fogs the glass window.

“You would like Arnold,” you manage to whisper yell over your servers arm and it’s Steve’s turn to roll his eyes, ignoring you giving the waiter a pat on the back with a ‘thanks man.’

The rest of your dinner is filled with easy conversion and touches that linger more than they should, just like the secret paths heavy lidded gazes make to each other’s lips that aren’t so secret in the dim lighting with your feet still intertwined. You hate that as you learn more about him, the more you want to know. The questions come with follow up questions as he tells you about the life that he left behind, his best friend Robin who he hasn’t spent more than six hours without for the last five years and how it feels like he’s missing a limb.

It feels mutual as both of you sit there long after your bowls are empty, snow falling from a now completely dark sky as Steve listens to you tell a story from high school like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever heard. Just like the stories about you and Eddie before that, or the one about how you lost your I.D on a crazy night out. All of them felt like he was hanging on every word, and having his full attention like this made your stomach flip. The buzzing of your phone is what ends the night when your eyes catch how late it really is.

“Oh my god, is it really almost nine?” You gasp, but Steve seems unfazed, just like the tip of his shoe running up your calf.

“I’m actually surprised they didn’t kick us out,” he smirks, chuckling to himself before straightening his back. Deep crimson filling his cheeks when you both can hear the loud pop.

You’d tease him but you were too busy already missing his touch. God. Dammit.

“I should really get going, I didn’t realize we’ve been here for like three hours. I gotta be at work super early for this breakfast with Santa we’re doing,” You huff, standing up and the change in energy is almost enough to make Steve’s head spin.

“You live like a block away, I think you’ll get home fairly quickly.” He looks at you confused as he stands up, watching you stuff your arms in your coat with a struggle with tangled sleeves.

“I just, I promised Eddie I’d be home at a certain time and he gets all worried when I’m not,” It’s a lie but you aren’t going to tell him that your panic is from the fear that spending this much time with him has now pushed you past the point of no return.

He’s never going to leave your mind now.

“Let me walk you,” He insists, slipping on his coat with ease, broad shoulders filling it perfectly.

“I think you should worry about getting yourself home,” you tease, buttoning your coat that you won the fight with.

“Yeah, I can’t chance it, not without my good luck charm,” he winks and your knees wobble, “I’m calling an Uber. Can’t get lost that way.”

“Let’s hope so,” you smirk, bumping shoulders with him despite yourself as you walk past.

“Hey! I thought we were friends now.” He whines following close behind, both of you giving a small wave to your server on the way out.

The cold air hits you the moment the swinging glass door opens, sending a shiver up your spine, tugging your coat closer, you silently curse the hint of cedar you catch on the fabric.

“Are we friends now?” You arch a brown turning on your heel to face him as you both hit the sidewalk.

“I was hoping,” he gives you that smile, the kind that you know always gets him what he wants, and god do you want to give it to him. But the gold shimmering on his belt and the reminder that he just moved here makes you stubborn and weary. “Maybe if you give me your number, we can do this again sometime and find out?”

“How about this,” you suck at the inside of your cheek loudly, and you almost feel bad when you see how his face drops, “If we run into each other again, you can have my number.”

Steve stares at you for a second, disbelief painting over all of his pretty features, but he’s quick to recover with a hand through his hair and a new poker face.

“Deal.” He sticks his hand out and now it’s you who has to take a minute to recover, “What? I accept.”

You narrow your eyes at him before you place your palm into his, that charming smile outshining the white snow that falls onto his long lashes. He purposely holds it longer than he should, the butterflies in your stomach coming to life when the warm pad of his thumb starts to rub small circles into your soft skin.

“Till the next time beautiful, who knows, maybe I won’t take an Uber home. Take a gamble. I wonder who could possibly show up to rescue me.” He starts, earning another shoulder slap and a gasped ‘Steve!’

“Do not do that, Uber home you maniac.” You pull your hand away no matter how much you don’t want to, especially when he trails the tips of his fingers down your palm as he lets go.

“You win this time,” He grins pulling out his phone, and you watch him click the app before you start to walk towards the direction of home.

“I win every time, Steve.” You wink, taking a mental picture of the way it makes him bite his lip before you turn away hoping you didn’t just make some huge mistake.

Secretly hoping Steve Harrington gets lost again.

#steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrrington x reader

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nolita-fairytale · 2 years ago

Text

comfort & chaos (carmy berzatto x fem!reader) chapter two: covid & carbonara

summary: in a time of isolation, you and carmy find unexpected connection in unexpected places: each other. (the five times carmen berzatto fell in love with you a little and the one time he finally told you)

warnings: swearing, no use of y/n, she/her pronouns, drinking & smoking, suggestive language, mentions of covid-19/the pandemic, eventual smut.

word count: 4k

listen to: hot sugar - glass animals | hard to live in the city - albert hammond jr. | alone together - del water gap | foreign girls - bleachers

read: chapter one

March 2020:

“Carmy, can you hear me now?” you ask, listening carefully for his response.

“Yeah hold on. Wifi’s shit in this room,” he mumbles. You hear a rustle of sounds and the picture on your phone goes blurry for a second. This is just something you’ve come to accept is a part of your life now as you wait.

Suddenly, the picture is clear again and it looks like Carmy’s in his living room now. He wears a white t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants as he tries to get comfy on the shitty sofa in his Flatiron apartment.

“Ok there we go. I gotta-, yeah, I can hear you now,” he says, finally settling in.

“How are you?” you ask as you grow more sure that you’re going to be able to talk now. “It’s good to see your face.”

“Yeah, no uh. It’s good to see you too,” he replies. “Shit’s so weird right now, huh?”

“Totally,” you agree. “So… what’ve you been up to? I mean… how are you spending your time?”

He sighs, shaking his head, as if to say that he barely knows how to answer that question. He thinks it over before answering with:

“I don’t know. Workin’ on some recipes. Tryin’ not to lose my fuckin’ head. You?”

“Same,” you commiserate. “Though… I don’t know. I’ve kind of been enjoying some of the down time, you know?”

He couldn’t agree less.

Carmy tells you about the recipes he’s working on. You share with him the plot of the show you’re binge watching right now. He tells you he hasn’t really been in touch with family much and you let him know that you’ve been running errands for your parents where you can. It’s a fairly normal conversation for a very uncertain and strange time, but it brings you comfort – talking to Carmy.

You talk about the state of the restaurant industry. The state of the world. The two of you wonder when the restaurant might open back up – if they’ll consider doing to-go’s. He’s not sure and neither are you.

It’s almost two hours later when you realize your phone is dying, and that somehow, time has flown as the two of you have been talking.

“Shit, uh. My phone’s dying. I may have to go,” you say remorsefully.

“Oh yeah! No problem,” Carmy replies, almost apologetically. “And I uh, if I get in touch with the people at World Central Kitchen, I’ll let you know. I’m sure they can always use more chefs and volunteers.”

“No, that’d be great. Uh… before I go,” you start, knowing that you want to tell him this. “I just wanted to say… I’m glad we did this.”

“Yeah me too,” he agrees, and you can tell he means it.

“Maybe… we do it again? Keep each other company… you know. Virtually?” you propose, hopefully.

“Yeah,” Carmy half smiles. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

And as the pandemic drags on, you find yourself FaceTiming with Carmy more and more. Once a week turns into once a week and a consistent exchange of texts. He shares with you the recipes he’s working on. You bounce ideas around with him on dishes he feels stuck on. You send him silly memes and TikToks, even though he refuses to get an account himself. Once a week turns into twice a week, and then phone calls, and soon enough, you don’t go a day without talking to Carmy in some capacity.

You’re not sure how you’ve done it but you think that maybe you and Carmy just might be friends.

May 2020:

“Thanks so much for all the help guys. It means a lot. Especially having two chefs of your caliber,” the volunteer coordinator says, addressing both you and Carmy.

“Listen, we’re just happy to be a part of something right now. With so much going on… it’s hard to know where to begin helping,” you reply with gratitude. You’re genuinely thankful that you’ve been able to be a part of World Central Kitchen’s COVID relief efforts, and you know Carmy feels the same.

“We’ll see you guys next Friday?” the volunteer coordinator asks.

“Heard,” Carmy answers, thanking the coordinator one more time before the two of you leave the building.

Around the corner, there’s a bench that the two of you find. It’s an easy choice to sit down – neither of you are quite ready to go home yet. You sit on opposite sides before removing your masks as Carmy pulls out a pack of marlboros.

“You want one?” he asks you, holding out the pack.

“Yeah,” you agree, taking one from him at a distance. You watch him light up, before handing you the lighter he keeps in his jean jacket pocket.

It’s nice to take a moment to pause. Between the chaos of being in a kitchen again to the chaos of the world around you, it feels good to smoke a fucking cigarette on a street corner with the man that’s so unexpectedly become your friend. The two of you sit in a comfortable silence, just enjoying the sounds of the city, each others’ company, and your fuckin’ cancer sticks.

You break the silence between the two of you, letting out the smallest chuckle.

“What?” Carmy asks you, your laugh garnering his attention.

“It’s just… it’s almost funny,” you say, continuing your giggle.

“What?” he asks you again, a look of amusement on his face. He can’t imagine what must be so funny.

“Just… seeing you here… Mr. Fine Dining…makin’ sandwiches,” you tease playfully. “Thought you were too fancy-pants for that.”

“Fuck off,” he rolls his eyes playfully, sucking on his cigarette as he inhales. You laugh again as he shakes his head, shooting you another look.

He takes his time, exhaling the smoke out in the opposite direction, before addressing your playful remarks.

“Nah. It uh-, actually reminds me of my family’s place a little. Back home,” he shares with you.

It catches you off guard. Carmy rarely ever talks about home, let alone his family.

“Yeah?” you ask curiously, hoping he’ll elaborate.

“Yeah,” he answers with a nod, before placing the cigarette back in between his lips.

To your disappointment, you realize that’s all he’s planning to share. You resign yourself, taking another drag of your cigarette as the two of you smoke to the sounds of the city. After a long shift at the volunteer kitchen, your exhaustion begins to catch up with you. It’s been a few months since you’ve had to stand for that long, and as exhilarating as it’s been, you can feel the fatigue in your back and your feet already.

“So… I was thinkin’ about something,” Carmy says, breaking the silence between the two of you.

You angle your body towards him before asking, “What’s that?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s dumb.”

He’s suddenly shy, and your eyes flicker over his cheeks that have turned a darker shade of red than they were before.

“Carmy, what is it?” you ask, leaning towards him, now intrigued.

He avoids your gaze before he replies, “Nah. Nevermind. It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not! What is it?” you continue to press him.

You’re not going to let this go.

“I shouldn't've said anything.”

He sighs, taking one more drag of his cigarette before leaning forward and tossing it on the ground. His left foot hovers over the cigarette butt as he stamps it out, his forearms resting on his legs as he finally turns to you again.

“I don’t know how you feel about it, and you can totally say no because like… shit’s still fucked, you know but-,” he starts, shyly. Was Carmy about to ask you out?

He pauses, his eyes scanning the pavement beneath his feet before saying, “It’s just-, I’m not like, seeing anyone else in person. Except you.”

“Yeah, no me either,” you agree.

Where was this going?

“Would you maybe wanna-?” he asks, before trailing off, his piercing blue eyes so intense it feels like he’s looking right through you. He nods towards the kitchen before continuing with, “... see each other in person. Like outside of here. As long as we’re being safe you know?”

You nod, quick to put the poor man at ease, and only a little intrigued as to why it was so difficult for him to ask you that.

“Yeah no. I’m not seeing anyone else in person either. And at this point if we had COVID, we’d probably already have exposed each other, right?” you reply.

“Yeah,” he answers.

“Yeah, I’d be down. To… you know. Maybe move some of our FaceTimes… in person, if that’s what you mean,” you agree, a smile on your face.

You’re not sure what you expected, but you weren’t expecting for Carmy to ask you to become his quarantine buddy – even if you’d already kind of been doing it anyways.

“Cool,” he says, taking a breath.

You can tell that it was a big deal for him – to ask you that – even if he doesn’t want to show it.

“Can I walk you home?” he asks.

You smile in return, “Yeah. And if you’re feeling wild… we can… pick something up on the way there. You can come up and hang.”

“No, yeah. That uh-, that sounds great,” he replies, something softer in his eyes this time. “If you don’t mind. I mean-, if you want the company-.”

“Oh shut up, Berzatto,” you roll your eyes at him. You shoot him a look, even though you’re kind of loving this softer side of him.

“I wouldn’t have offered, if I didn’t.”

July 2020:

Carmen Berzatto becomes an unexpected yet pleasantly surprising part of your support system, and your COVID-pod. It’s hard to believe that less than a year ago, you thought the man absolutely hated you. He’s still the hot and cold, emotionally turbulent man you met last October, and he’s also become your friend. You’ve learned that he can be soft, that he’s terribly uncomfortable in any and all social situations, and that he’s the most single-minded, driven, obsessed motherfucker you’ve ever met.

By now, the restaurant has pivoted and reopened for to-gos only. It’s nothing like the fine dining establishment it was before. You’re only open Thursday to Sunday and it’s a much more family style, to-go kit sort of operation these days: to-go cocktail kits, to-go curated menus, to-go assemble your own dishes at home.

It’s strange. And it’s a strange time for all of you.

You’re finished with your shift today, ready to head home and spend the next three days off. You’re not sure when you’ll ever get three days off in a row once all of this is over, so you’ve decided that you’re just going to embrace the slower lifestyle right now. You’ve been more creative in this chapter of your life than you can remember.

“So you layin’ it down for Carmy or what?” a voice asks, jolting you from your thoughts.

“Excuse me?” you snap, turning your head to a very smug looking Nate Walker, stripping off his face mask.

“What the fuck, man?” Tim exclaims, as he’s changing back into his street shoes. “Not okay to say.”

“What?” Nate defends himself. “I’m just wondering who I have to thank. This is the most relaxed I’ve ever seen the boss man.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, “Really nice, Nate.”

You shake your head, before slinging your backpack over your right arm, exchanging a look with Tim.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but Carmy and I are just friends,” you correct. “Ever think that some time off has been good for all of us and that’s why Carmy’s been chill?”

“‘S not like we’re working at the same capacity we used to be. I think it’s been good for him,” Tim chimes in, trying to offer you a little backup.

“Sure,” Nate replies, unconvinced.

“What’s it to you anyways, Walker?” Tim asks, putting the spotlight on his coworker.

“Nothin’,” Nate replies, defensively. “Just noticed you guys spendin’ a lot of time together lately. Besides, the guy could use a good lay.”

“You’re a child,” you snap with an eye roll. You slide your left arm into the other strap of your backpack, ready to leave. “Now if we’re done with the girl talk, I’m going home.”

As you begin to walk away, you can hear Nate defending himself as Tim points out how inappropriate it was for him to say that to you. You’re grateful for people like Tim, because you’re not sure that Nate would listen to anyone else lower in the French brigade system – let alone a woman.

“We still on for tomorrow?” Carmy asks you, as you're on your way out. He’s still in his chef whites because, as the both of you know, he’s going to be the last person to leave. A smile spreads across your face as soon as you see him.

That’s right. You’re spending your day off tomorrow with him.

“Yeah,” you smile with a nod.

“Mine or yours?” he asks.

You shoot him a look – a ‘I know you haven’t cleaned up your place’ kind of look.

“Mine,” you reply.

“Sweet. There’s a cool market nearby I wanted to check out. I’ll pick somethin’ up on the way,” he says back.

“Heard.”

You wait a beat before adding, “Try not to work too hard, chef.”

He likes that you’re looking out for him.

He smiles, “Heard.”

As much as you’ve tried not to let Nate Walker get to you, you can’t stop thinking about what he said the day before. Did people think you and Carmy were sleeping together? Did the whole staff think you were trying to sleep your way to the top? Your mind races, and you notice the anxious feelings you have have settled deep in your chest. Carmy moves around your kitchen, intentionally, and while you’d like to enjoy how happy he looks when he cooks for fun, you can’t seem to shut off your brain.

“You sure I can’t help? I went to culinary school too, yknow?” you ask, trying to put on your best lighthearted tone.

“Nah,” he dismisses, pulling together a sauce in one of the glass bowls you keep in your kitchen for prep.

As Carmy steals a glance your way, he’s surprised to find that whatever weight it seems you were carrying when he first walked in, hasn’t gone away. He returns his focus to the stovetop, shaking the stainless clad frying pan that holds his precisely-cut lardons.

“What’s up?” he asks you, keeping his back to you.

“Uh… nothing,” you reply, trying your best to shake it off.

He knows you’re lying, and he turns to look at you again, more intently this time. Your lips are pressed together in a thin line and there’s a new tension knitted between your brows that’s not normally there. As much as you’re trying not to let it get to you, your face betrays you and he knows that something’s been bothering you all day. He shoots you an unconvinced look and you sigh in defeat.

Since when had Carmy learned what that look meant.

“Just-, you’re gonna think it’s dumb,” you start, almost embarrassed that you have to bring this up to him.

“What’s up?” he asks, patiently.

You shrug, “Just something that Nate said yesterday’s been… bothering me, I guess.”

He rolls his eyes, letting out a dry laugh as he asks you, “Well Nate’s a dick. What’d he say?”

“I-, I don’t know if I should tell you,” you admit hesitantly.

“Why?” he asks, a pang of nerves hitting him right in the gut.

You wait a beat, trying to figure out how best to convey what Nate said without freaking Carmy out.

“He uh… he kind of… suggested that everyone thinks we’re sleeping together?” you say cautiously, your voice going up at the end of the sentence, almost as if it were a question.

“Oh,” is all Carmy manages to get out.

“Yeah,” you exhale.

“Well, we’re not,” Carmy replies, simply.

Right.

“Right,” you agree.

You’re surprised by the feeling of disappointment that wells in your chest in response to Carmy’s reply. This had been eating away at you and for him to shut it down so quickly – like it was that simple – doesn’t quite make sense to you.

Maybe it’s because men never bear the burden of an inappropriate workplace relationship, not that you’re having one with Carmy, but you know it’d be a bigger cost to you than it’d ever be for him.

“I just…” you start, beginning to understand why it’s bothering you so much. “Do you think… like is it a problem that we’re hanging out? I mean, you are kind of my boss and… I don’t know. I guess we never really talked about the ethical implications of… you know. Us. Being friends. And also working together.”

Friends.

Right.

Maybe because it’s because he’s never really had friends, let alone a girlfriend, that catches Carmy off guard.

You’re just friends, motherfucker, Carmy thinks to himself.

It’s like he’d almost forgotten.

Perhaps it’s the isolation – the way of the world right now – but he’s never thought about what you were to him. Ever since the two of you had decided to start spending time together, it had been you and him against a very scary and uncertain world. Carmy’s surprised to find that, hearing it said aloud, friends, leaves him with a feeling of dissatisfaction – like the word friend didn’t quite describe the way he felt about you.

But he’s terrified to think about what that could mean. That anything else would probably scare you away – push you out of his life – and there’s no way in hell he’s going to let that happen right now.

Because he likes this too much.

Because he likes who he is when he’s with you.

Because you’re all he has.

He pushes the thoughts out of his mind for another time, because right now, you’re sitting right in front of him, and he’s got a problem to solve for you.

“As long as we’re professional in the kitchen… I don’t see why it should be a problem,” he says.

You’re not sure how it seems so simple for him, because it doesn’t feel this simple for you.

“Yeah, no. I-, I agree,” you lie.

Carmy returns to what he’s doing, and you accept that that’s probably the full conversation that you’re going to have with him. At least right now. You watch as he continues to cook, pulling together the sauce as he tosses the pasta and cheese in your frying pan. You open up your phone, scrolling through a few social media posts to try your best to get your mind off of your worries as Carmy finishes up in your kitchen.

It’s not long before he’s returned to your small dining table. You set your phone down, watching as he approaches you.

“I remember you mentioning that it’s hard to find a good carbonara so uh… thought I’d make you one,” he says confidently. Carmy hands you bowl containing a perfectly twirled nest of spaghetti, along with a fork he’d gotten from your kitchen.

“How do I know it’s gonna be up to my standards?” you challenge him playfully.

He shoots you a ‘don’t play with me’ kind of look and you giggle in response. You exchange glances with Carmy before messing up the perfectly plated nest by digging your fork into it.

“Make sure you get a little bit of everything,” he reminds you. He watches as you twirl the spaghetti around your fork, making sure to scoop up a bit of crispy guanciale. You lift the fork to your mouth before taking a bite, your eyes closing as the salty, cheesy, bite hits your tongue.

It’s perfect.

“Holy fuck,” you practically moan in response to your first bite. You open your eyes and he smiles back at you, proud of the response he’s earned from you. Your face twists into a look that falls somewhere between ‘this is so good I’m angry and hello, I’ve reached nirvana.’

“This-, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m pretty sure your talents are being wasted on fine dining, my friend. This is… this is fucking unreal, dude,” you say, as you continuing processing the most perfect carbonara you’ve ever had in your life.

“No offense taken,” he says.

You shake your head at him, “Best carbonara ever.”

September 2020:

“So we go upstate, and we’re searching for outdoor activities we can do, you know, safely, at a distance, with masks on. And we end up at this goat farm,” Maya says, describing her and her fiance’s last few months spent in upstate New York.

“...Was the goat named Milo?” Carmy asks, a humorous tone to his question.

“Carmy!” you exclaim with a laugh, shooting him a look.

“What?” he asks back.

Both Liz, Maya, and her fiance Patrick send you questioning looks.

“I-, it’s an inside joke,” you explain, shaking your head once again in response to Carmy’s very silly interjection.

“Anyways, it’s so nice to be back in the city. Seriously, Liz, thanks for organizing this,” Maya continues.

“Oh, I’m kind of getting really into this whole cute picnic thing actually,” she replies, in reference to the picnic she’s organized for the five of you. “Plus, the to-go picnic kit has been killing at the restaurant. Thanks for letting me run with that, chef.”

“No, yeah. You’re killin’ it. It was a great idea,” Carmy compliments.

The five of you spend time in the park, catching up and enjoying time spent in person for the first time in a long time. You, Liz, and Carmy have been back at work, pushing through, what will hopefully be, the last month or so in the to-go only business at the restaurant. As the sun begins to come down, you all agree that it’s time to pack it up and go home. You’ve begun to collect all of the trash in a brown paper bag as Carmy offers to take it.

“You sure?” you ask him.

“Yeah,” he answers.

As he takes a walk, in search of the nearest trash can, your friends are immediately on you about whatever the hell it is that you and Carmy are doing.

“So what I’m hearing is… you talk every day, you have inside jokes together, and you’re basically quarantining together. How are you trying to tell us that this man is not your boyfriend?!” Maya exclaims. Her partner shrugs in agreement.

“I know that what Nate said was hella inappropriate, but he’s not wrong… that this is the most I’ve seen him relaxed in… maybe since we met him,” Liz adds in as your friends make their case.

“He seems into you,” Patrick offers.

“I-,” you start, knowing you don’t have much time before Carmy returns. “I don’t know. All I know is… I like what we have. And right now, we’re friends so.”

“God, you’re so good at it,” Maya sighs.

“What?” you ask, looking from her to Liz as they exchange glances.

The both turn to you, before saying in unison, “Compartmentalizing!”

Patrick holds his hands up as he says, “I’m gonna stay out of this one.”

“You ready to go?” Carmy asks, rejoining you and your friends.

You can practically feel Liz and Maya staring at you.

“Yeah,” you reply to Carmy.

You say your goodbyes before going your separate ways, and Maya swears when Carmy isn’t listening that you’re not done talking about this. It’s just been you and Carmy for so long that you hadn’t thought about what it might look like to other people. Now that things were slowly reopening… you were beginning to get more questions, and maybe, you were beginning to have more questions too.

But the last time you’d tried to bring up any conversation about your relationship with Carmy, he’d shut it down and distracted you with the best carbonara you’ve ever had in your life. Not that you were complaining, definitely not, but you were hesitant to bring it up any time soon. As Carmy looks at you, there’s something about the way you look against the backdrop of the city, the setting sun, and the sparkling lights, that catches him off guard. He’s not ready to part ways with you yet.

“Can I walk you home?” Carmy offers, hopefully.

“Sure,” you nod.

read chapter three

taglist: @allthefandomstogether @gaysludge @sobshoney @harrysmatcha @starbritestarlite @tpwkkmila @cool-girl-is-hot @nunya7394 @galaxyprincess51-blog @carmensberzattos

#carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto #carmy x oc #the bear hulu #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmen 'carmy' berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto headcanon #the bear headcanon #carmy berzatto imagines #carmy berzatto fluff #comfort and chaos

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volklana · 9 months ago

Text

I Could Drown Myself In Someone Like You

Part One

Title Comes From This Song:

You can find my other Biker!Bucky fic here:

Request: Hey girl I literally just found your blog and when I tell you I BINGED your Ride series. Please I beg could we have some more Biker Bucky? Maybe barmaid reader? I really don't mind as long as we get some BikerBuck!

Warnings: Mentions of unwanted physical attention. Future chapters will allude to past domestic abuse. If that isn't for you, please don't read, protect your peace and you can catch me next time xx

Bucky pulled his bike into the parking lot of his bar and grill.

A customer stepped outside to light a cigarette and the light from inside spilled out into the dark, along with the music playing inside.

Bucky was nothing if not a creature of habit, every night he would ride his bike through winding forest roads, down to the creek, and sometimes he would lay on the riverbank smoking cigarettes like he and Steve used to do when they were teenagers, before they’d gone to war, before he’d been fucked up. Before he became whatever this version of himself was.

And then in the evenings he’d pull up here to his bar and drink nearly not enough whisky to drown out the nightmares in his cabin behind the bar.

Sighing, he let himself into the bar. Steve as always was pouring drinks and chatting easily in that light hearted way he had, Bucky would have been envious if he hadn’t loved him so much. Steve had managed to hold on to all the best parts of himself, but Bucky’s were buried somewhere in a bunker in the Middle East, and even if he wanted to, he could never get them back.

Sam was busy flipping steaks at the grill and gave Bucky a wide eyed grin as Bucky passed him by and pushed the swing door into the back office.

He stilled all action at the sight of a girl in his office on top of his chair, on her tiptoes still unable to reach the top shelf as she fumbled to reach something.

“Can I help you?” he said gruffly and god damn if he didn’t startle you half to death and nearly cause you to fall off the chair.

“I’m looking for the grenadine syrup, Steve said I would find it up here.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Bucky laughed “And did he also tell you it was fine to climb all over my shit in the process?”

“No, Sir,” you offered meekly, stepping gently down off his chair “I’m sorry,” but you couldn’t fight the smile that was threatening to spread across your face.

Bucky huffed and reached over your head with ease, pressing the bottle of grenadine into your hand.

“Next time Steve sends you on a mission like that, tell him to pull his lazy, tall ass in here and reach the damn top shelf himself,”

You smiled up at him, and he felt the ghost of a butterfly in his stomach.

“I’m y/n,” you offered with a smile and he couldn’t help but return a lopsided one himself.

“Bucky,” he returned.

Bucky made your mouth water, his tight black jeans were ripped at the knees, and he wore a well worn leather jacket but it did absolutely nothing to hide his muscular frame, his hair was long and messy and was just begging for you to run your hands through it. You had to shake all thoughts of him from your head as you returned to your shift.

“What’s her story?” Bucky asked Steve, eyeing you as you made your rounds and he sipped on his whisky.

“Why do you assume she has a story?” Steve cocked his head now following you in his line of sight too.

“C’mon Steve, no one ends up here unless they have a story. They’re either running away from something, or someone. Or they’re on their way to somewhere else, and they’re simply stopping off here.”

“Bucky,” Steve sighed, clapping him on the back “You always assume the worst in people.”

“And they always prove me right,” Bucky countered while taking another sip.

As you finished mopping the floor, you made your way into the back office, looking shy, wringing your hands, nervously.

“What is it?” Bucky asked.

“Sam said to talk to you about if it would be okay to get this week’s wages upright,” Bucky could see straight away how embarrassed you were “Bucky I wouldn’t ask, but the bnb are asking for payment upright and I’m just 40 bucks short.”

Bucky was reaching into his wallet straight away and you tried to put out a hand to stop him.

“Please..Please,” Bucky shook his hand and handed you some notes, you scrunched your eyebrow at his kindness.

“Take this for tonight and I’ll get you your full wages for your shift tomorrow.”

“I’ll pay you back Sir,” you said, voice so low it was almost a whisper and he shook his head softly.

“Let me give you a ride back,” he offered and you shook your head profusely.

“You’ve done enough for me tonight,” you reminded him, notes in your hand, “I’ll see you tomorrow for my shift.”

Bucky watched you go, and again that ghost of a butterfly fluttered in his stomach and he grimaced uncomfortably.

Bucky watched you over the next few nights, always the first to your shift and always the last to leave.

And every night you refused any offer to drive you home from him, Sam or Steve.

He was filling out papers in his office when he heard a gentle knock and you were before him.

“I wanted to give you this,” you said meekly with some notes in your hand , “I can’t thank you enough Bucky.”

“Doll,” he sighed, surprising even himself with the nickname “Please keep it, consider it a welcome gift.”

“If it’s all the same I would like to give it back to you,” you smiled, placing it on his desk “It was awful kind of you and I’ll never forget it.”

Before he could even respond you had dipped out of his office and began your shift.

The bar went quiet when a particularly menacing looking gang wandered into the bar, and immediately Steve and Sam stood to attention, you were in the back fetching more pitchers.

They seemed to be scouting the area out before choosing a table at the opposite end of the bar to settle at.

Steve caught your arm as you went to take their orders “Be careful,” he nodded towards them and you went to take their orders gingerly.

Amid the wolf whistles and cat-calls you finally managed to take their orders, which you promptly relayed to Sam and Steve.

After you had successfully served their food and first round of drinks, you retreated to behind the bar before they summoned you back again.

“C’mere baby,” one of them slurred pulling you onto his lap.

You initially tried to laugh off how uncomfortable you were, but when he wouldn’t let you wrangle free, you felt trapped and felt your panic begin to rise.

“Let me go,” you tried weakly when he began to try kissing your face, trapping your hands in his much stronger ones, you tried to make pleading eye contact with Steve but he was nowhere to be seen.

As he let go of your hands to toy with the waistband of your denim jeans you finally managed to bolt free, but when he grabbed your arm and spun you around you reacted with a swift slap to his face, shocking even yourself, but you were in no way expecting the sharp sting of a returning slap, tears welling in your eyes and hand flying up instinctively to your burning skin.

Everything else passed by in a blur as you recognised Steve and Bucky kicking into action, you just about managed to get your feet to move before you were collapsing down behind the bar, feeling the all too familiar feeling of a panic attack ripping through your body and the awful sensation of not being able to breath.

It seemed like hours before Bucky was before you where you sat, rocking back and forward, hands covering your ears.

“Doll,” he tried and you cowered away from him, he got down on his hunkers and gingerly reached for you, “it’s me doll, it’s Bucky. Breathe for me. Breathe for me.”

When you finally felt like you could breathe again Bucky went to fetch a glass of water and leaned up against the counter, arms folded, he examined you over, eyes honing in on the red, swollen skin of your cheek.

“I’m so sorry Bucky,” you finally broke the silence, refusing to meet his eye.

“Hey,” he shushed, dropping down to his hunkers in front of you again “You have nothing to apologise for!”

You couldn’t help the tears that sprung to your eyes with shame and you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

You rolled your eyes and sniffed, “This was meant to be a fresh start, and it seems like trouble just follows me wherever I go.”

“What can I do doll?” Bucky said softly reaching out to put a reassuring hand on your knee, it was only then you realised his knuckles were bloody.

You realised with a startle that he had got his knuckles bloody for you.

“Can you take me home Buck,” you asked swiping your thumb over his knuckles, your silent thank you for the trouble they had gone to on your behalf.

Bucky pulled into the parking space of the bnb, and helped you take your motorcycle helmet off.

It had been weeks since you first reached town and Bucky was curious.

“What are you still doing here? You don’t want to find somewhere proper?”

“Nobody will rent to me,” you said sadly “I’ve tried everywhere. Even that shack out by the creek that’s been abandoned since before we were born. Nobody wants to rent to me because I’m an outsider.”

Bucky was suddenly angry at how the town had been treating you.

“Thank you for taking me home and I’m so sorry about tonight,” you said softly and Bucky turned to examine your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, your eyes fluttered closed at the touch and something jolted inside Bucky.

“You sure you’re okay?” he whispered and you nodded softly.

You stood gently on your tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, “I’ll see you tomorrow Buck.”

Bucky tossed and turned all night. He had briefly fallen asleep only to once again be woken by a nightmare. The same one. That same bunker. That same chair. But then something unexpected, when he tried to close his eyes again, your eyes were staring back at him, and if he was honest that was what was keeping him awake. He knew he was in trouble….

“Keep your coat on y/n,” Bucky ordered as you arrived for your shift.

“What? Why?” you cried, fearing you were being let go, Bucky huffed a laugh at your horrified expression, “Doll, you’re not fired. We’re taking a little road trip.”

You climbed onto his bike and held on tight to his torso, winding through Californian redwoods, the mountain air all around you.

Bucky finally pulled onto a little dirt track that led up to an opening in the trees and a singular cabin stood against the backdrop of a small lake.

“Come on,” he motioned, removing your helmet, and leading you inside.

It was cosy, the living room and kitchen were open plan and there was an old cast iron log burner in the middle of the room with logs stacked either side of it.

There was one room off the side which you assumed was the bedroom.

“Well, what do you think?” Bucky asked motioning around.

“It’s beautiful Buck,” you said, still unsure why he had brought you here “It’s a beautiful home.”

“It’s yours,” Bucky stated simply, back turned to you and hands on his hips.

“What?” you almost shrieked and he replied in the same nonchalant tone “It’s yours!”

“Bucky, wait!” you deadpanned, catching his shoulder and forcing him to turn around to look at you, eyes scanning his face until he conceded.

“It was my Mom’s cottage, and seeing as she’s not here anymore and I’ve got my place at the bar, I think you should have it, you can’t stay at that bnb forever. You need a place of your own.Plus it’s about time some life was breathed back into this place ”

“Buck,” you cried, eyes watering, not letting go of your hold on him “Are you sure?”

“It’s yours doll,” he whispered, eyes flicking briefly down to your lips, “For as long as you choose to stay, and I hope you do stay, it’s yours,”

You extended your hand out to him “You take the rent out of my wages,” you ordered, waiting for him to shake on your deal.

“Doll,” he sighed “The place was lying empty, I'm not going to charge you rent,” you looked like you were about to argue when he stuck his hand out too, “Counter offer, if you do this place up. Make it somewhere lived in and beautiful. Somewhere my Ma would be proud to look down on, then we’re quits.”

You nodded and shook his hand ferociously, tears threatening to spill.

“Thank you Bucky,” you whispered, pulling him into a hug and relishing in the feel of his strong arms around you, and your heart hammered in your chest when he placed a gentle kiss on your head.

After a month or two of working at the bar you had saved enough to buy a second hand, beaten up old pickup truck, and Sam brought you out to pick it up.

“Are you sure you want this hunk of junk y/n?” he argued but you were enamored and being able to drive it home to your cabin filled you with an enormous amount of peace.

You had been growing closer and closer with Bucky, sometimes he would stop by on your days off to do some of the diy you pestered him about on your shifts and if you were honest you really enjoyed the company.

The first few nights on your own in the cabin had been nothing short of terrifying. You weren’t used to being alone and on the second night a huge storm knocked all your power out and you shivered in bed all night terrified of the darkness.

Bucky came around the next morning and fixed your generator so that would never happen again.

“There,” Bucky sighed “All done!”

You came to join him on the porch and passed him a bottle of beer and he flicked a switch and the fairy lights he had hung all around the cottage flickered to light.

“They’re beautiful Buck,” you smiled, hugging him tightly, eyes lighting up like a child as you looked up at them.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he said softly, hands coming to rest on your waist, and his breath on your neck made you shiver.

“Bucky,” you tried softly but he cut you off with a kiss. You melted into his touch completely and he gently became more ferocious in the way he clasped your body and kissed your lips.

He backed you through the open door of the cottage until you collapsed down on the sofa and he climbed on top of you, he was making quick work of your shirt when you finally came to your senses.

“Wait, Wait,” you panted, hands planting on his chest “Maybe we should slow down for a moment.”

“You want me to slow it down baby doll?” he panted and you nodded gently.

“I’m not ready Buck,” you cried and Bucky suddenly noticed how terrified you looked, feeling guilty that he had pushed you to a place you weren’t ready for yet.

“I can wait babygirl,” he promised, cupping your face in both of his hands “I can wait.”

“Bucky, no. No.” you cried, pushing him away with your leg and running your hands through your hair, “I can’t do this,” you cried.

Bucky sat still on your sofa not quite sure what to do for a moment “You don’t want this?”

You shook your head, tears springing to your eyes “It’s not that Buck, it's just I can’t be what you need right now. I can’t be with you like this.”

“What do you think I need?” he rose gently “All I need is you,” he countered

“Hey, hey, why are you crying?” he shushed brushing your hair behind your ears “Don’t cry.”

“Please Buck,” you were pleading, “Please can you just leave, I can't do this. It’s too much for me.”

Bucky was torn between wanting to assure you some more and respecting your request for him to leave. He hesitated just a moment too long for you to take it the wrong way completely, your eyes were wide and ferocious like an animal that had been cornered.

He scratched the back of his neck before he could find his voice “Doll, if I’ve read this wrong-”

“-You have,” you snapped “You’ve read this wrong and I need you to leave now, please,” you paced until you found his leather jacket hanging across the back of a chair and tossed it to him.

He couldn’t help the anger of rejection that rose up in his chest, and the shame for having read the situation so wrong.

“Fine. Fine. I’m going,” he sighed, pulling his jacket on and stomping towards the door.

“You know what..” he started one hand on the handle, but stopping to face you “Forget it,” he deadpanned, pulling the door open and slamming it behind him.

Work the next few days were less awkward than expected, Bucky and his bike were nowhere to be seen. You’d heard Steve mention to Sam that he was worried that Bucky was gone on another whisky fuelled bender and you couldn’t help the pang of guilt that gnawed away at your stomach.

Days turned into a week with no contact from Bucky and the guilt was eating you alive. You had texted him days ago to apologise, and asking if you could talk it out and explain, but he never replied. Not only were you angry with yourself for fucking everything up but now you were really beginning to worry.

You were closing the bar by yourself tonight, it was a quiet Tuesday night and business was slow. You knew Steve had a date after work so you dismissed him early so he could go buy her some flowers he’d kissed you on the cheek and almost skipped out of the bar.

It gave you the opportunity to pop your headphones in and listen to your music as you mopped and cleaned.

It was nice to do a deep a clean without Steve or Sam trying to hurry you out.

And as you made your way into the back office to put away the takings into the safe your heart almost fell out of your chest.

Bucky was laying back in his office chair, eyes squeezed shut while some girl with her skirt hitched up at the sides was grinding her hips on him, her own head thrown back in ecstasy as she rode him.

You froze on the spot, you couldn't help the way your stomach sank to your toes in a feeling of betrayal, or the way your eyes stung with tears.

Bucky wasn’t yours, you had seen to that with your stupidity the other night so you had no right to feel the way you were right now and when his electric eyes suddenly bore into yours with an expression you honestly couldn’t read you were backing out of his office quicker than lightning.

He followed you out into the carpark catching you just as you were about to climb into your truck.

“Doll,” he reached for you exasperated, “Doll wait, please.”

You turned to face him, tears rolling down your cheeks, and he reached for you gently, relieved when you didn’t bat him away as he cupped your face.

“I have no right to be crying,” you sighed.

“I don’t understand,” He stuttered, somewhere between annoyed and confused,” I thought you didn’t want me?”

“Bucky, of course I-” You were about to answer when Bucky’s name being yelled across the lot caught both of your attention.

“What the fuck is this?” The girl who had been with Bucky only moments before came storming over and smacked him straight across the face as hard as she could.

“You always fucking do this shit James,” she cried “This is the last fucking time.”

She looked at you genuinely hurt and for a moment you wanted to apologise, until her expression turned to contempt.

“Seriously, this is who you keep blowing me off for?” she huffed out a laugh, “Good luck with that, you’ll be crawling back to me in no time.” You felt yourself shrink down to half your size under her words.

She took one last seething glare at Bucky before smacking him again and he made no move to stop her, watching guiltily as she stormed away.

“I deserved that,” he said glumly, you made a face to argue when he cut you off, “No doll, I truly deserve it. Hell if you wanted to have a pop too I would understand.”

“Buck,I don’t want to slap you” you sighed and he ran a hand through his hair before kicking at the dirt.

“Then what the hell do you want y/n? Goddamn it.”

You were floundering like a fish out of water, trying to grasp at words and coming up short.

“You wouldn’t understand,” you tried and he cut you off with a pointed finger.

“Don’t give me that shit,” he warned “You literally could not throw me out faster the other day and then you turn up crying when I’m clearly fucking trying to get over you so what is it? You don’t want me but you don’t want anyone else to have me?”

“No,” you scoffed, your own anger rising now too.

“No” he repeated exasperatedly, “So what do you want?”

“I- I don’t know,” you mumbled.

“You don’t know?” he goaded and goddamn was he intimidating, looking at you like a predator stalks his prey, waiting for an answer to pounce “Well, I sure as shit can’t figure that out for you sweetheart,” he sighed, running the back of his hand across his lips, before spitting on the ground.

You were not used to this Bucky, this agitated, whiskey drunk version of him. The one most people were used to. But not you.

“Look, just go,” he sighed eventually, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

“I don’t know what you want, but it sure as shit ain’t me. And I'm done with whatever the fuck this is.”

You could hear your heart pounding in your ears, tears welling in your eyes as you reached for the handle of your truck door and pulled it open, gasping back in fright when Bucky slammed it closed suddenly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He looked like he was going to yell at you but nothing could have prepared you for what came next.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded. “Please don’t go,”

Trapped between his body and the door of your truck you melted into his touch, whimpering as he leaned forward to capture your lips with his own demanding ones.

Tagging:

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#bucky x reader #biker!bucky #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky x reader angst #bucky barnes au #biker #volklana writes

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3months2mordor · 2 months ago

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On Hobbits and Existential Dread

or Why “The Scouring of the Shire” is the True Climax of The Lord of the Rings

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Or more accurately, there lived a human who had been in hard COVID quarantine for six months and certainly felt like a hobbit, what with all the staying inside and eating second breakfast and trying her best to ignore the world, which seemed in the summer of 2020 to be spiraling towards something unknown. And she, well I, was packing for college. On an impulse that I cannot explain except to say that I had previously binge watched all the movies in my seemingly infinite quaran-time, I packed a large red volume of JRR Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings with the intention to read it over the course of the semester.

What began as a simple personal challenge to read a chapter a night instead of doom scrolling on Twitter became a profound experience not only in terms of discovering that my parents were right in saying the book was actually really good, but also in realizing that the Hobbits, in their edenic Shire perched on the edge of a world about to enter catastrophe, were more like me, more like a lot of us, than Aragorn or the Elves or Dwarves or Men who people Middle Earth. And here is why the chapter at the very end of the last book where the Shire is nearly destroyed is so very, very important.

Tolkien takes careful time in his books to establish the attitudes and habits of his hobbits who live in pastoral harmony in near complete isolation from the rest of the world. They are content with what they have and don’t have the greed that drives Dwarves to dig, or the ambition that drives Men to war, or even the worship of nature that drives Elves deep into their forests to protect them. They build their hobbit holes, smoke what is definitely pot, and eat and drink heartily. They care little for news of the outside world and tend their fields instead. That’s it.

But the world does not cease to exist just because they want it to. It never does.

As Gandalf warns in Rivendale, “We are sitting in a fortress. Outside it is growing dark.” (Part 1 Book 2 Chapter 1).

Regardless of how much the hobbits might ignore the coming of the Dark Lord Sauron and the existential threat that is his attempt to control the world, it will not go away. They will not be safe from the darkness just because they want to be and they have a supply of candles in the cupboard. And so, at the start of the story, evil comes to the Shire in the form of the Black Riders and Frodo, our hero, must leave to keep the Shire safe from the forces of darkness. Still Frodo is just a hobbit, albeit a brave one. So he laments to Gandalf, “I wish it need not have happened in my time” and Gandalf replies “So do I, and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.” (Part 1 Book 1 Chapter 2).

I feel this quote more deeply every year. A deep childish wish for things to exist as we expected them to be, but a solemn and more mature knowledge that Gandalf is right. That our time has already been given to us. All that we have left is what we do to make that time matter.

But back to Frodo, who takes a good seventeen years to heed this advice, but eventually sets off on an adventure to save the Shire which, spoiler alert, ultimately saves the world. Along the way people despair and seem to lose hope. Theoden, recovering from a spell that robbed him of agency and clearsightedness, cries “Alas! That these evil days should be mine, and should come in my old age instead of that peace which I have earned” (Part 2 Book 3 Chapter 6). Even Sam, in his darkest hour thinking he has lost Frodo for good, groans “I wish I wasn’t the last. I wish old Gandalf was here, or somebody. What am I left all alone to make up my mind? I’m sure to go wrong” (Part 2 Book 4 Chapter 10).

Yet despite it all the One Ring is destroyed and the King returns and good wins. Everything is set right and our heroes get a chance to rebuild the world rather than watch it crumble. They get to go home.

Now this is a fine story and one I desperately needed amongst all of the *everything* going on in 2020. However it is not the ending that stuck with me. For you see once Frodo and his companions return home, the Shire is not the same place they left it.

The Shire, in their year long absence, has descended into a despotic police state run by a wealthy, privileged hobbit who stays in his hole rather than try to help his people as Men, who tower over the hobbits, and are specifically and on multiple occasions called bullies, abuse their power. They use their strength to take food and (let’s face it) weed from the hobbits, desecrate their land with deforestation and pollution, and create a state of fear and paranoia that anyone could be taken at any moment to prison without trial after only a mere whiff of seditious behavior. The world has come to the hobbits and they are so paralyzed with fear that they are unable to do anything other than sit in their hobbit holes and keep their heads down, hoping that they and their families will make it through.

Now, Frodo and his companions, having seen the change that can be wrought from people who stand up to bullies and fight to make a difference, see the state of their home and immediately understand the despair their friends and neighbors have fallen into because they too have felt it. These are the hobbits who faced thousands of orcs and rode in battle and walked to Mount Doom with only each other to lean on and they know how deeply despair of impossible odds can affect someone. But they have also learned that that despair is not inevitable. They saw the Ents on their last march when Treebeard said it was “likely enough that we are going to our doom… But if we stayed at home and did nothing the doom would find us anyway, sooner or later. That thought has been long growing in our hearts; and that is why we are marching now” (Part 2 Book 3 Chapter 4). They saw the Rohirrim ride to battle against impossible odds because it was the right thing to do. They saw even the most pitiful Gollum play his part in saving the world. And they saw the Eagles fly in to help carry the day.

There’s always hope if there’s something worth fighting for.

And so, back in the Shire which was not the Shire they knew but still the one they love, the four heroic hobbits do what had once seemed impossible: they get the hobbits, in their apathy and terror and existential despair, to stand up and fight. And it’s hard, and people die, and it gets worse before it gets better, but in the end the bullies are run off and the hobbits are victorious and they begin to rebuild, not just their homes but their forests and their relationships with each other too.

The hobbits, and me really, wanted to curl up in their holes and hope the world would go away. And sometimes, God, that seems like it’s the only thing you can do when darkness is spreading far on the horizon and it keeps creeping closer but isn’t here yet. But Sauron is not the scariest thing in this book. Tolkien’s real villain was the fear and despair that can paralyze you to stay in your hole until the Shire is burning around you. Yet even the most comfortable and secure hobbits have to stand up and face the world because if we don't, no one else will.

There is a reason Frodo is able to see the mission to the end. And it’s not that he’s exceptional in the way other heroes are. No. In fact it is because he is unexceptional and unambitious and also uncompromising that the deed is able to be done. He, like the hobbits he helps at the end of the series, has to get up and work to fight the evil that hurts people every day. And Frodo doesn’t save the hobbits of the Shire; they save themselves. Then they rebuild. They grow things again, not better, not the same, but they have to go on living. And, I don’t know, I needed to realize that.

We aren’t Aragorn with a throne and a legendary sword and a destiny to be king, we aren’t the Elves with their centuries of knowledge and skills, we aren’t the Dwarves with their mountain holds to hide in. Heck, we’re not even Frodo, or at least I’m not. There’s no way I could handle a walk that long. We’re the hobbits. We see the existential wave of dread and terror that is coming and our instinct to hide from it, to hold it off as long as we can and then silently accept it when it comes. Because what can one little halfling do against a thing like that?

But even the hobbits of the Shire stand up eventually. Even hobbits can take that dread for a bleak future and turn around and create new life. There’s a reason why the symbol of the Shire returning to peace and throwing off the yolk of oppression is a tree. The bullies cut down Bilbo’s old one and it can’t come back. But Sam plants a new one anyway and hopes it will grow.

I’m reading the Lord of the Rings again before this election as I did last time. But this time I’m not alone. I’m reading it with friends. I marked passages like the ones above that made me think but also ones that made me laugh because there is joy in amongst the shadows and if we cannot find those moments it’s hard to keep looking for the light. In rewatching The Two Towers film the other day I was struck, as I usually am, by Sam’s speech at the end of the movie, based on one he gives in “The Stairs of Cirith Ungol.” I think it bears quoting in full.

Sam: It’s all wrong By rights we shouldn’t even be here. But we are. It’s like in the great stories Mr. Frodo. The ones that really mattered. Full of darkness and danger they were, and sometimes you didn’t want to know the end. Because how could the end be happy. How could the world go back to the way it was when so much bad happened. But in the end, it’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. And when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something. Even if you were too small to understand why. But I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand. I know now. Folk in those stories had lots of chances of turning back only they didn’t. Because they were holding on to something.

Frodo: What are we holding on to, Sam?

Sam : That there’s some good in this world, Mr. Frodo. And it’s worth fighting for.

Hobbits are remarkable people, Tolkien says, and I hope we are too. I hope we can get through this by raising up our own Shires full of hobbit warriors to face the world and not lie down and give up. Because if everyone did that there would still be a One Ring and Sauron would rule forever.

But we have to save the Shire. It’s only a passing thing, this shadow. Even darkness must pass. A new day will come. We have to believe that. I have to. I will do my part to make sure it does, but first I have to believe it’s possible. We have to take that existential terror and turn it into righteous fury because we have seen what a shadow can do and we cannot let it spread again. We have been there. But we will not go back again.

#lord of the rings #lotr #lord of the ring-along #three months to mordor #read along #the return of the king #the fellowship of the ring #the two towers #lotr meta #us elections #us politics #election 2024 #the scouring of the shire #this is why we read this story #do not give in to despair #a new day will come #this darkness must pass #but only if we open our eyes to the light

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deja-yu · 1 year ago

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One last deal - Jung Wooyoung Chapter 1/?

Synopsis: You end up having to make a deal with a demon, you decide he can be your pretend boyfriend for a month to get your parents off your back.

Fake dating trope, Demon!Wooyoung

2.9K

Warnings (for this chapter only!): small mention of death and Wooyoung can't be called by his name, so he is mostly referred to as Demon or Woo.

It had been a while since you found yourself stumbling through the rooms of a loud houseparty, you blame your friend who insisted you were getting boring. But as you side-step some puke on the floor you feel like you were very much having a better time being boring. Face scrunching up in disgust you continue, trying to push your way to the living room, just wanting to find your friend and drag her home, refusing to leave her alone here. Tiptoeing to look through the crowd trying to find her, you wonder who in their right mind enjoys having this many people in their house. You spot her on the far side of the room, somewhat relieved she looks incredibly annoyed at the guy trying to talk her up. Should make it easy to convince her to leave. When you are half way through the room you get dragged along when everyone suddenly turns to a commotion near the couches. You groan trying to get past some guys. The room is growing so quiet you can’t help but try and peek to see the reason for all the commotion, or lack thereof. When you see a haphazardly drawn (of course) pentagram with a variety of symbols, you can’t help but roll your eyes. Deciding to use the moment of peace to finally reach your friend. Whoever created the drawings starts chanting, you deduct it’s two people but don’t look over. An eerie feeling settles in you and when you meet your friend's eye she looks equally perturbed. So with a silent nod towards the door and an agreeing nod in return from your friend, you hold each other's hands and shuffle out the room. As you open the front door the chanting stops and you and your friend look back, when the group of drunks starts cheering you take your first step through the open door. But you hit another body with a thud, jumping slightly from the surprise, he definitely wasn’t there when you opened the door. A hand is quick at your side to steady you from the scare. “Sorry” you mumble taking a step back, to separate from what you see is a handsome man your age. He just looks at you as a smile tugs at his lips. “I wouldn’t go inside” you joke when you pass him with your friend in tow.

Once in your car the two of you burst out laughing, “I hate you” you get out between laughs and your friend admits this was by far the worst party she has ever been to. “It was that hot co-worker who invited me, I swear if I knew it was a glorified frat party I wouldn’t have brought us here” shaking your head you get ready to drive home. On the way asking if your friend wants to stay over to which she happily agrees.

After finally getting to have a drink yourself in the comfort of your home, you binge some trashy show with your friend. “Hey what are you doing!” your friend complains when you pause the episode. “I need to pee!” stumbling towards the bathroom you hear her giggle behind you “Go piss girl!”.

The water is freezing when you go to wash your hands and it sends a shiver down your spine, frowning knowing damn well you paid your bills on time. Deciding you’d let your sober self deal with it you open the bathroom door to return to the comfort of your couch. You scream as a dark figure seems to lean against the wall across the door, your heart dropping while at the same time getting caught in your throat. But the smoke(?), the shadow(?), the figure… dissipates before the door is fully open. Your friend comes to your rescue as you stand frozen in place. “What the hell?? What happened?” not sure yourself you stammer out what you saw, your friend gives you a raised eyebrow. “I think you’ve had enough to drink” she mumbles while tugging you back to the room. Replacing the drinks with two cups of water before starting the show again. But the atmosphere doesn’t go back to the light hearted one from before, feeling on edge as goosebumps run down your skin. The two of you decide to call it a night when the episode ends.

The soft snores of your friend do nothing to calm your nerves, the sounds of your apartment and the world outside to which you had gotten so used to are suddenly spiking your heart rate with each passing moment. And worst of all, you really had to pee. After another few minutes of internal struggle you decide that the party earlier tonight just freaked you out and it was indeed some drunk apparition that scared the crap out of you. Taking a deep breath before getting out of the warm bed, the light from your lock screen allows you to get out of the bedroom without waking your friend. Flicking on the hallway light, you let out a breath more at ease now that you’re in proper light. This time after you finish you open the door with some hesitation, but the hallway is without dark figures this time. Not really wanting to go back to bed and stare at the ceiling again, you put on a comfort show on the tv with low volume. Settled comfortably on the couch, your eyes get droopy and soon enough you are finally asleep.

You are somewhat aware that you fell asleep and are dreaming. Finding yourself on a bench overlooking an empty park. The lack of other people, pets or even birds gave you an eerie feeling. “Can I take a seat?” as if out of nowhere the man next to you appears, you look from him to the seat. “Oh, sure” when you look at him again you recognize him as the guy you bumped into while leaving the party. He watches your eyes squint at him in suspicion and chuckles but takes the seat next to you nonetheless. “You were the first person to talk to me at the party” he says, and you wonder if you're still drunk in your dream. Being unable to stop the huh? that leaves you. “At the party, they did the summoning” finger pointing from himself to you to emphasise the same words “You were the first one to speak to me”. So… that clears up nothing for you. For a moment he studies your face, which is radiating questions, he sighs. “The first one to speak is the one who can make the deal. You summoned me and talked to me first, why did you leave?” though he says it with slight sarcasm he has the audacity to pout! A broken laugh comes out of you when you exhale, muttering under your breath what a weird dream you were having. “You’re not dreaming, you just screamed when I tried to talk to you earlier” gasping you pull a face of disgust “Why the hell would you try and talk to me after listening in on me pee”, his ears flush red and he laughs awkwardly, “It was just unfortunate timing, I had been looking for you” which isn’t really a good defence and he seems to catch on quickly adding “I am tied to you, I don’t really have a choice”.

This was ridiculous, you just needed to wake up and put that weird party behind you. You get up from the bench and start walking away. It takes the man by surprise who quickly shoots up while stammering, following your steps. “You can’t leave! I won’t let you” as you stop a bit too suddenly the guy bumping into your back, breathing a sorry under their breath as you turn to him. He seems to shrink under your gaze and apologises once more, for what he wasn’t too sure of. “You need to explain this to me, if this isn’t some weird dream I am having then explain it to me. I have no idea who you are or where I am. Whoever you think I am or what I did…” halting in your words, the sense of dread washes over you tenfold “am I dying?”. He perks up waving his hand in front of him panicked “No! Let me explain, let’s sit again okay?” he turns and the bench that you most definitely walked away from is right by where you're standing. When you finally sit next to him with a sigh he starts explaining.

At the party the circle and the chanting it did summon something, and that something was the man… the demon before you. As the house was filled with people he found himself on the porch, the door open and there you were. Continuing to explain how once summoned a demon can’t leave before completing his end of a deal. “But we made no deal” humming in acknowledgement he explains that he assumed it was a mistake after seeing the party inside, but he found himself unable to venture home. Stuck to you via an invisible string. “I’m not selling you my soul just because I was at the wrong place” and he laughs at that, “The offer was already made, they put in 500 collectively, they’ll probably spend tomorrow morning accusing one another of taking the money” pulling out a stack of bills in an effort to prove himself. “Wouldn’t you have to have a deal before you could accept the offer?” he snickers, huffing out “Details” in the same breath. “Just tell me what you want? We can both go on our way again” you pause for a moment before your mind jumps between ideas. Could you ask him for the endless amount of money in your bank, but he looks a bit too happy with his 500 so you don’t know if a money based request will go over well. Then you remember your parents coming over next week, who are adamant about finding you a partner so you can finally settle down. Because no matter how many times you told them you weren’t meeting anyone interesting enough, didn’t want to settle down or even think about kids, they were not giving up. The anxiety that this back and forth has been giving you washes over you blurting out “Be my boyfriend for a month” he visibly jumps in his seat at the suddenness.

There is a pause before he bursts out laughing and your cheeks heat up, embarrassed but managing to giggle alongside him. “No wait” “Too late!” putting his hand out for you to shake your eyes flick from that to his face. “Deals, a deal” wiggling his hand he chuckles “Come on, won’t you shake a poor sinner's hand”. Deciding to keep the question: you’ve seen princess and the frog? for later, you shake his hand.

In the blink of an eye you find yourself back on your own couch. Firstly scanning your room, even jumping up and checking the hall through the peephole. But the strange demon was nowhere to be found. Checking the time, it was almost five. Not sure if you really just had a crazy dream or if the demon would actually become your pretend boyfriend for a month. You decide to think it all over in your own bed, managing to get back under sheets without waking up your friend. Somehow falling asleep even after all that in the matter of minutes. Body somehow exhausted and as you fall into slumber you know it wasn’t a dream, you hadn’t slept at all.

“Don’t have any more scares now that I’m not here to save you” your friend teases before making her way out the door. Rolling your eyes you turn back to your living room, heart dropping when the demon of whom you still didn’t know the name was lounging comfortably on the couch. “Darling~!” said with a hint of sarcasm he welcomed you back into the room with a cheshire grin. “What’s your name? I didn’t ask last night” the smile falls from his face, “I can’t tell you”. Huffing out a why not as go to grab yourself a drink, hesitating before grabbing the demon one too. “I don’t know my name, it’s one of the things I lost when I became a demon. I know it starts with Woo. It’s how a demon is set free” he takes the drink from you and you swat his legs away to sit down. “How do you know?” something you can only describe as sorrow washes over his face, “I had a friend, once his name was said to him, he lost all his powers. He died” you choke on your drink at the sudden confession, “I’m sorry” you manage to say once you calm down from the coughing fit. “It’s alright, I just wish I got to go with him. I haven't really had friends since, most demons do actually suck”, there is a moment of silence, unsure what to say next. It hasn’t even been 5 minutes.

“Why do you need me to be your boyfriend? I don’t even know your name” He seems quick to recover from the sad memory he just shared. "I’m Y/N” You quickly answer, “My parents haven't stopped bothering me about it and it seemed on the simpler side. I thought about a work promotion but I would just feel cheated?" he snorts "I have to say you're the first who says that. It wouldn’t be because you deserve it no, so I guess I get where you are coming from. I make it happen it doesn't matter how close or how far the promotion was from actually happening without me" nodding you’re glad you didn't pick that, you know you were close to one and you worked hard for it, making a demon arrange it would mean you wasted your own hard work. "When I got this job, I thought they'd leave me alone for a bit. But they just found having a well paying job even more of a reason to find someone and settle down. Me not really looking for someone myself means they try to set me up with people. I just want them to give me a break. If we date for a little and then break-up I get a post-break up buffer" Woo studies you with mischievous eyes. "A month's time, 30 days, I am yours to command, my sweetheart" the last coming out paired with a wink. You roll your eyes at him, “Tone it down, and we have been dating for half a year. If it’s too short they’ll make me move on too soon" thinking about it for a moment before you turn to him. "Can you make it look like we have been together for a while?" he scoffs at the lack of trust in his demonic powers, “anything you want, I am a very giving lover” another wink shot your way. This time you launch a couch pillow at his face, after being hit he gets a playful grin, like a cat waiting to pounce on its toy. “So how will we make it look like we have been dating 6 months?” you eye him, unsure if he will let your attack go without retaliating. “Oh I already took care of it, all your friends know me, your colleagues call the pictures you upload with me on insta cute, and your parents are very excited to finally meet me next week” your mouth being slightly open makes him laugh. “Check instagram if you’re curious!” doing as told you check your profile and find multiple pictures of the demon, they’re slotted in between the few things you posted over the past year. In total there are 4 posts, each being one single picture except the last one. First a picture of you in a cafe with the demon across from you, you can only see his hand on the drink but you know it’s him and the cake has two forks clearly meant to be shared. The second picture it’s dark, taken of the river, he is standing against the railing back facing the camera. The third picture is the first where you can see him fully, it’s a picture of him grinning, it’s the first time you can actually see his face. The last one has 2 pictures, these ones make a shiver run down your spine. You’re in these ones too, the first one being a silly picture of you two together and a picture of a photostrip of you two. You zoom in and see the last picture being one where you share a kiss. “I can’t believe you soft launched yourself” You look at the picture a moment longer before meeting his eyes again “This is weird” you murmur and he chuckles. “Because it didn’t happen, of course it feels kind of freaky. And I never met any of your friends, I made them aware of me being your boyfriend but they don’t (and he emphasises with air quotes) know me”.

You lean further into the pillows of your couch, kicking your legs up so they share the small space between you and the demon. “So… what now?” He smirks at the questions, “Let’s go on a date”.

Been stuck on this and posting ch1 so I can decide whether or not to continue based on the response... This is so far the only Halloween themed fic I have been able to write. I just kept rewriting so I want to have the story set so I am stuck to something instead of redoing it... again.

#wooyoung x y/n #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung fanfic #wooyoung fluff #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez wooyoung

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findingmelissa · 2 months ago

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23 days sober today.

But… I am leaning on cigarettes too much.

I remember when I quit drinking in 2010, I kept smoking cigarettes. Had to have “something” to hang on to. I didn’t quit until about 16 months later when my breathing got bad enough. I used to tell people about when I quit. I would laugh wistfully about how I was using inhalers and still smoking. And here I am doing it again.

When I was out walking and running in my neighborhood this morning, I thought back to when I quit before. I gave up drinking. Then smoking. Then overeating/binge eating. I thought I had finally “made it.” I thought I had finally stopped all the bad habits and was okay with just BEING.

I realize now that I didn’t do that at all. Because running became the next thing. I loved running, which is great, but I turned it another obsession or addiction to cling to so I didn’t have to face myself.

Obviously running is a healthier addiction overall than drugs or cigarettes or food or alcohol. But if you have known me for any length of time you know that I did plenty of damage with running, too. Especially the last few years.

Add to that: drinking again for the last 8 years, smoking for the last 3, doing drugs on and off… I’m right back to square one.

So. Here I am again. No alcohol, doing it. No more cigarettes starting tomorrow. Food, I feel like I’m safe there now. So pretty soon I will just be stuck with me. But for real this time.

It’s time to figure out how to just BE without a drink or a smoke or a drug or food - or even excessive running - to push it away.

It means really working on all the things I have only sort of started working on but are still so fragmented. I have a lot of writing to do and a lot of stuff to process. And god, I want that. So much.

This time I am going to heal.

#trauma recovery #addiction

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blkkizzat · 4 months ago

Note

Kali losing her virginity story time when

sis lmfao it's not glamorous... ngl i 18 and i was crossfaded af at a college party and "superman" by eminem was playing.

LMFAO A MESS, ill talk about it but i don't wanna trigger anyone so under the cut. tw sex under the influence; dubcon

i probably wasn't in the right mind frame to consent or anything tbh (so please dont be like me stay safe). well, honestly now that i think about it, i think it was just that last bong hit that had me out of my mind. although i was already naked atp lol so i was down to have sex. but right after that's when i blacked out and when i came to i was literally moaning as ol'boy had a mouth full of my pussy hjdfasdjhfasdjh. i just wanted to lose my v and get it over with so i was happy to go with the flow. (disclaimer: back in the day when i was drinking hard dark liquor and mixed it with weed i would literally black out, but not go unconscious but just lose that time and not know wtf i was doing for the last 20 mins. But people have told me i was talking/acting like normal so idk.bdjhsdfjh but it happened then too. its only happened to me like 3-4 times tbh all when i binge drank heavy in college and smoked a fuckton of weed. so no it wasn't like i was unconscious and he was hooking up with me anyway).

that said, ngl that was some of the best sex i ever had in college. high sex is always great for me tbh and i dont remember it hurting much (but he had also just ate me out for like 45 min) but i think me and ol'boy just had good natural chemistry. he lived on the 3rd floor and my friends on the first floor said they heard me kfjhsdkjshdfkvjhsd.

one awkward asf thing though is the guy did not know i was a virgin and i would have told him if i wasnt so fucked up fjkhrfkdhgkdf.

also just wanna note, im not sad or upset at all. i always gave zero fucks about the construct of virginity (personally, please if you want it to be nice and special that is your preference and nothing is wrong with that). and sidenote thats why other than the one virgin!reader fic i will write (she wont really give af either tho tbh), i dont like writing virgin!reader cause i dont believe in idealizing it.

honestly i just wanted to lose it cause up until that point i was scared to use a tampon and was tired of being in the bloody dirt trenches with pads fhsdfjkhasfjaksh. like it wasnt even about "losing my virginity to a tampon", i was just scared to put it in. but literally got my period a week later and was like "well a dick has been in me" and found the courage to put it in. i was a silly bitch im fully aware LOL!

but i will say, it was this weird thing after where i felt bad for NOT feeling bad. like i had other friends who idealized virginity so much (then were all pikachu face when they found out i didnt want to tell them i had sex), i felt like there was something wrong with me for not thinking it was a big deal. even sometimes now, i wont want to discuss it just because so may people do idolize it its annoying to have to deal with their reactions and reassure them "no i dont feel like i was SA'd, no i dont regret it, yes i actually enjoyed the experience."

however i will say now im in the middle.

these days im alot more selective with who i fuck as personally i subscribe to the ideas of tantra/tantric sex. That while you can have sex without emotions, you can't have it without an energy exchange. sometimes ive felt shitty after one-night stands or liked the friends with bennies for the pleasure in sex but felt off after. i realized that those feelings weren't due to guilt from slut-shaming but the fact that their energy was off and it was now having an effect on me. so rn im DTF 100%—but yo energy gotta be right. and usually i cant tell that just from the bar or first meeting so ive been waiting more.

i rambled again jsdhsdjhbj but oh well.

#ೃ༝💌⁀➷ 𝓀𝒾𝓏𝓏𝒶𝓉мαιℓ #ೃ💌⁀➷𝓀𝒾𝓏𝓏𝒶𝓉αησηѕ #tw dubcon #tw drugs #° 🎀 𝒽��𝑒𝓉𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑒𝓈 🎀 °

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thevegandarkelf · 2 months ago

Text

Finding Myself, Finding You: Chapter Twenty-Eight

Masterlist

AO3 link

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist <3 (18+ only, MDNI)

Story is 18+ for mature content/themes, minors do not interact please

TW/CWs for this story--implied/referenced past rape, canonical violence, non-canonical violence, blood, gore, referenced past suicide, swearing, surgery, excessive drinking, nightmares, panic attacks, mention of scars, vomiting, amputation, medical procedures, non-con medical procedures, referenced past medical torture, referenced past drugging, attempted sexual assault, panic attacks, mental health struggles, referenced sibling death, referenced parent death, PTSD

Each chapter will have its own TW/CWs listed

This story, Lydia Vector, her family, her bestie & Jake (c) me, TheVeganDarkElf

TWD & its characters (c) AMC & Robert Kirkman, the writer of the comic series

TW/CWs for this chapter--swearing, memory loss around a traumatic event, vomiting, mention of nightmares, detailed discussion of a panic attack, PTSD, victim blaming oneself

Word count: 3.3k

We stayed like that for some time, leaned up against the wall, me wrapped up in his arms as I continued sobbing. Each time I thought I would run out of tears, they kept coming. Daryl didn't even so much as flinch every time I heaved or sobbed. He kept me close to his warm body, occasionally offering words of reassurance, reminding me that I was safe and he was there. Eventually, I picked my head up and looked out the window. It was pitch black outside now.

"Christ, how long have we been in here?"

"Don't matter. We can stay here as long as ya need," Daryl assured. I rubbed my temples in an attempt to soothe the pounding in my skull.

"This is why the whole thing with Jake was extra scary," I elaborated, "I was back in the same situation. Had that same gut feeling that I ignored & something bad happened. I don't know what I did to deserve this."

"Nothin'," he replied, hardly missing a beat after I finished speaking. He sighed. "I ain't gonna pretend to know how ya feel right now. I can't imagine that. But I know that feelin'...somethin' bad happens, and ya think ya deserve it somehow, that it's your fault, but it ain't. I'm sorry ya have to feel that."

"Thanks," I said, rubbing my eyes and taking a shaky breath, "one of the scariest parts is just how much I don't know about what happened. I don't know how long I was out for, I have no memory of how I got out...how many times he did it..." My mind began to wander down a much darker path. "If there were other people...oh god, I might throw up." I used Daryl's knees to steady myself as my head spun. My stomach was doing backflips, and not the fun kind. "Yeah, I'm gonna throw up."

I shifted myself forward a bit to give myself room to stand. Every muscle in my body was screaming as I moved onto my knees and tried to gain my footing. I was aching from head to toe. Daryl was on his feet in seconds, taking me by the arms and helping me slowly stand up. I practically dove for the sink once it was within reach. Thankfully, I was able to scoop my glasses out, which I had forgotten fell in earlier, before I started puking.

It'd been a long time since I last ate, so there wasn't a whole lot that could come out. Even when it felt like my stomach had been emptied of all of its acid, my body was still heaving, desperate to rid me of the feeling of nausea that never subsided. Daryl was a sweetie and held my hair back, just like he did after my night of binge drinking. After several rounds of spitting in the sink in a futile attempt to get the taste off my tongue, I looked up at myself in the mirror for the first time. I looked just how I predicted. My hair was a mess, my eyes looked like I'd spent the last several hours smoking weed, my eyelids were swollen, and my face was puffy.

"Christ, I look like hell," I groaned. Daryl draped my hair over one of my shoulders before resting his chin on the other, making eye contact with me in the mirror.

"Still the prettiest face I ever seen," he commented. My cheeks turned as red as my bloodshot eyes. "How ya feelin'?"

"Honestly, I feel like I could keep puking, but I don't think there's anything left," I said, rubbing my eyes with my fists, "god, I feel like I got hit by a bus."

He gave me a kiss on the cheek. "Anythin' that'll help? Jus’ say the word, I'll make it happen." I gave a half-smile in the mirror and let out a snort-chuckle.

"A lobotomy."

"Anythin' that won't hurt ya?" The look on his face told me that he didn't think my joke was funny.

"I don't know," I sighed. I turned and propped myself onto one of the exam tables, crossing my legs. "Truthfully, all I want is to go back in time. I just...I wish I hadn't said anything." I looked down at my hands in my lap and twirled my thumbs around each other. "Not because I don't trust you. It's not that, not at all. I trust you with my life. It's just that I...I..." I was lightly hyperventilating.

I couldn't utter the thoughts that were swirling through my brain. I couldn't say I felt broken, like a dysfunctional toy that would never work again. I couldn't say that I was concerned about when our relationship reached that level of physical intimacy that I might not be able to partake. I couldn't say that I was scared I wouldn't be able to do that for him. We hadn't even kissed yet, and I was worrying about things far past that.

"Hey," Daryl said, stepping over to me and resting his hands on my shoulders. He ran his hands gently up and down my arms from my shoulders to my elbows, stopping periodically to offer small squeezes, which he knew I loved. "It's ok. I know it wasn't easy. Thanks for sharin' with me. Feels good to know ya trust me that much." I looked up at him, making eye contact for the first time, not in the reflection of the mirror, in the hours we'd been in there.

"Of course I do," I reiterated, "wouldn't have told you if I didn't." He brushed my bangs out of my eyes, running his hand through my hair as he did. It sent tingles down my spine.

"Ya got beautiful eyes," he practically cooed, "I ever tell ya that 'fore?"

"I don't think so, no. But thank you," I gushed, blushing heavily and dropping my gaze back to my hands in my lap.

"Well shit, sorry it took so long. But ya do. Bit red right now, but beautiful."

"A bit red? I look high as a kite."

"Don't take away from how beautiful they are," he complimented, running the hand that was in my hair down the back of my neck, "no rush of course, but I can make ya tea. Ain't sayin' it's a cure-all, but I know it makes ya feel better."

On a run a few weeks back, I'd found a box of lavender chamomile tea. I claimed it for myself, thinking it might help me be able to get some sleep. It didn't, but it became something I'd make for myself after a particularly shitty day or when I wasn't feeling well, and it usually put me in a better mood, even if just a little bit. On the nights Daryl was gone, I'd make it after I woke up from my nightmares as I tried to soothe myself back to sleep.

"I'd love to, but..." my voice trailed off as I thought about being perceived by the community the second I walked out. "Just leave me here. I'll sleep on the floor. I don't want anyone to see me."

"What kinda man would I be if I let m—" he quickly cut himself off, "—a woman like you sleep on a concrete floor or metal table? Let's get ya home. Carry ya if I gotta." As curious as I was, I didn't have the energy to ask what "a woman like me" meant.

"You're sweet to offer," I said, "I think I can walk. I'm worried enough about what people will think when I walk out. I wanna try to appear as confident as possible."

"Hell what any of 'em think," Daryl scoffed. He ran both of his hands through my hair, his nails gently grazing my scalp as he moved my hair around to flatten it out. I closed my eyes and smiled, and I think I let out a soft humming sound. It was so blissful, I wasn't paying attention.

The short walk from the infirmary to our front door seemed to go on for miles. For how late I figured it was, I was surprised by how many people were still outside, sitting on their porches or walking on the path. A lot of them had been out earlier and saw the scene from that afternoon, with me storming off out of the basement and locking myself in the infirmary. I had the chilling feeling of being watched as we walked. I kept my eyes on the ground to avoid catching the stares of everyone around me. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to cover myself despite being fully clothed. I felt so exposed, so small, like they all knew. Like it was written all over my skin. Fuck what I said about trying to be confident, I guess.

"I feel like everyone is staring at me," I whispered. I don't know what Daryl did, whether that was give them a look, mouth something, do something with his hands, etc., but I went from having the feeling of all eyes on me to not having any at all.

"Now they ain't."

Once inside, I kicked my boots off. As we were going upstairs, there was a knock at the door. I couldn't tell who it was, but I could see what looked like a male figure in the textured glass window next to the door. I wasn't sure who'd be coming here so late. I figured it had to be some of our friends.

"I got it," Daryl said, heading for the front door before I could even react.

"Fuck, my head," I sighed, taking a seat at the top of the stairs and holding my head in my hands. Daryl said something to whoever was at the door before coming back to me.

"It's Aaron 'n Maggie. They wanna check on ya," he informed.

"Shit," I groaned, running my hands through my hair. I certainly wasn't in the mood to see anyone, even Aaron or Maggie, both of whom I'd become incredibly close with.

"Hey." He squatted down on one of the steps below me so we were at eye level and placed a reassuring hand on my knee. "Go take care of yourself. I'll talk to 'em." I nodded and took myself to my room to grab my favorite pjs—the matching red flannel set—and tied my hair back, which I always did when I wasn't washing it.

Deciding whether or not to shower felt like a losing battle. If I didn't, I would feel gross and dirty from being out in the sun & heat all day, sweating buckets. If I did, I would feel gross and dirty for having to look at myself, to touch my body to clean myself, and a panic attack would ensue. It felt like I couldn't win. Should I just get changed, go to sleep all sweaty and covered in dirt? Or should I try to get clean and deal with the aftermath of a panic attack? I was already in enough emotional turmoil. I figured I could handle a little more.

I almost wished I'd just gone to bed dirty.

The panic attack that followed was nearly debilitating. At first, I thought I was going into cardiac arrest. I sat on the floor of the tub, as I always did, and was barely able to get myself clean before I was frozen in a little ball. I thought I'd run out of tears by that point, but my body continued to surprise me. I was hyperventilating so hard, I was certain I'd pass out. I sobbed into my knees, trying to keep myself as quiet as possible so Daryl wouldn't hear me.

He knows now, I thought, there's no running. You can't hide from it anymore.

I knew Daryl was telling the truth when he said there was nothing I needed to be embarrassed about in front of him or that he didn't think of me any differently. He meant what he said, and he wasn't afraid to look you in the eye when he said it. He wasn't a liar. Even little white lies seemed impossible for the man. Honesty was one of his top qualities. But I couldn't shake the feeling that he secretly had different thoughts and opinions. That maybe he did think I was gross, nasty, repulsive for what happened. Color me paranoid.

My panic attacks seemed to last hours, but in reality, they were only around 10 minutes. Those 10 minutes, though, were the longest, most excruciating 10 minutes of my life. It felt like my body was going to give up on me, like my heart would stop or my lungs would give out, at any moment. It felt like the ceiling was caving in on me and the floor was going to swallow me whole at the same time. Coming back to reality was always a surreal experience. I'd feel around on the floor of the tub or the tile of the wall to ground myself, and I'd sit in the water for a minute to allow my senses to take in my surroundings. Shortly after that, I was able to pull myself up and out, quickly wrapping myself in a towel so I wouldn't have to look at my body in the mirror.

After I got into my pjs, I examined my face in the mirror. My eyes were still bloodshot and swollen, but at least my hair was no longer a mess, and the puffiness in my face had gone down a little. I left my glasses in the bathroom, thinking I likely wouldn't need them until tomorrow. Daryl was in the kitchen, standing over a pot of water on the stove, making the tea he had promised me. I could smell it all throughout the house, the floral notes of lavender and chamomile gracing my sinuses and bringing a smile, albeit a small and brief one, to my face. It broke through my feelings, even if just for a moment.

"How ya feelin'?" Daryl asked, turning to me as I made it to the bottom of the steps and joined him in the kitchen.

"Honestly? More ashamed than anything," I said. Daryl scooped me up in his arms for a hug, holding me as close to him as possible as he snaked his arms around me. One around my waist, the other across my back, his hand resting on the back of my neck. I buried my face in the crook of his neck.

"Told ya, don't got nothin' to be ashamed of. Not in front of me," he reassured. He was nearly bringing me to tears again. He was such a safe, warm energy to be wrapped up in, and he had the most comforting words to accompany that.

"Daryl, I'm really sorry. I still feel bad for blowing up on you," I said, "I shouldn't have bottled it all like that. I should've done something to prevent myself from exploding."

"Ya don't gotta keep apologizin'. Just wish there was more I could do. Hate seein' ya hurtin' like this. It's a good thing ya said the bastard'd be dead by now. Hafta hunt him down and kill 'em myself if he wasn't."

The sound of boiling water caught my attention, likely signaling that the tea was ready. Daryl tapped on the back of my neck to get me to lift my head and meet his gaze. He kissed the tip of my nose, awakening the butterflies in my stomach and sending electrical pulses throughout my body. "Go sit and rest. I'll get it for ya."

I took a seat on the couch, and I noticed my notebook had been placed on the coffee table. Resting on top of it was a flattened, dried daisy. I ran a finger over the stem, tracing it from top to bottom, taking in its beauty. The white petals were curling ever so slightly around the edges, and the typically bright yellow center had turned darker and more golden in color.

"What's this?" I asked, taking the fragile little flower in my hand. Daryl placed the tea on the coffee table next to my notebook. He'd chosen my favorite mug—the white one with daisies on it—to use.

"Pressed it for ya. Carol showed me. Took a few weeks, but it's finally done," he explained, taking a seat next to me. I thought my chest was going to burst open from the love swelling in it. Making me tea, using my favorite mug, gifting me a pressed flower...if I wasn't already in love with him, I certainly was now.

"Aww, Daryl," I gushed, leaning over to give him a kiss on the cheek. His skin started to get warm under my lips. "Thank you, I love it." I flipped my notebook to the back and placed the flower in with my pictures and notes. Happy tears threatened to break free from the corners of my eyes.

"Glad ya like it," he replied, moving closer to me until our legs were touching. He wrapped his arm around my lower back, resting his hand on my hip.

I picked up the mug and blew on the steam coming off the top. The little tea bag bobbed up and down in the cup, bouncing around the perimeter. I took a tiny sip, enough to taste it but not enough to burn my tongue. The sweet floral notes graced my tastebuds, filing me with a sense of calm and comfort and warming me from the inside. It tasted better when Daryl made it. It tasted like it was made with love.

"It's really good. Thank you for doing this," I smiled, taking another tiny sip before setting the mug down to allow it to cool further. Rather than saying "you're welcome," Daryl kissed the side of my face, letting his lips linger there for a moment before pulling away. The butterflies in my stomach were not just fluttering around now—they were dancing with joy.

"Can I ask ya another question? This why ya blacked out a couple weeks ago?"

"Yeah," I said, clearing my throat, "yeah it is. I...I've had these feelings creeping up on me for weeks now. I couldn't handle them anymore. I mean, I got what I wanted, I numbed my feelings. But I felt like such shit after that I don't think I can bring myself to do that again."

"Probably a good thing," Daryl responded, "by the way, told Aaron 'n Maggie you'd talk to 'em tomorrow. They just wanted to make sure ya's alright."

"Can I ask what you told them?"

"Didn't share nothin' 'bout what ya said," he reassured. That wasn't a concern, as I knew Daryl was a fantastic secret-keeper and would never air someone's trauma like that, but it was still nice to be reassured. "Just told 'em ya's havin' a bad day and ya'd talk to 'em tomorrow. Let 'em know I'd make sure ya'd be ok tonight."

"Thank you for doing that. And thank you, Daryl, for everything. You've been so good to me." I paused to lean over and give him another kiss on the cheek. He was already leaning his face toward me when I did it, like he knew I was going to do it and was anticipating it. And was excited for it. "I can't thank you enough for everything you've done. Tonight in particular, but not just tonight."

"Anythin' for you, Lydia," he said. My stomach dropped upon hearing him call me by my name, and based on his face, he immediately realized his mistake. He looked like he had just insulted me & was feeling terrible about it. "Shit, sorry. Slipped out." I knew it was just a slip of the tongue, but I wasn't ready to be called Lydia again. I didn't know if I ever would be. I let out an exasperated sigh.

"Daryl, my sweet, I need to ask you a favor."

"Anythin'."

"Don't ever call me Lydia."

"Yes ma'am."

Taglist: @raddydaddydude @lovenormandixon @angeldemoncrowley

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javipispunk · 1 year ago

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Same as Yesterday

pre-outbreak Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: We all know “In Girl world, Halloween is the one day a year when a girl can dress up like a total slut and no other girls can say anything else about it.” Well, on Blackout Wednesday you can fuck anybody you want from high school and no one can say a damn thing about it. The night before Thanksgiving you are home, go out to drink and see an old flame, Joel Miller

Warnings: smut, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it folks”, daddy kink, pet names (good girl, sweetheart, darlin), joels age is not specified, binge drinking culture

A/N: started this before thanksgiving but here we are mid december. shout out to @katiexpunk for the support

Word Count: 2k

It was November and you weren’t eighteen anymore. You were twenty-four and fueled by just as much hate as you had been all those years ago. But now it was different, adult anger, and when mixed with drink could rival the hell that was being a teenage girl. Here you were, home, out to the bar with friends from high school that weren’t really friends anymore. They were people you used to know who wouldn’t worry if you drank too much or went home with a stranger. Which was fine by you, one of the joys of being home actually. The biggest joy of your favorite holiday too, Blackout Wednesday. Binge Drinking and talking about the good old days with hasbeens on the Eve of Thanksgiving. Nothing like recklessness and self deprecation to get you through the holidays. Nothing like being drunk and angry to get you through talking to Joel Miller.

He was an ex, if you can even call it that because you had never even dated, at least not officially or according to him. This was the first time you’d run into him after three and a half years of no contact and him getting another girl pregnant. You’d seen him from across the room, leaning against a table with a beer in his hand. He looked good, so good that it pissed you off. You turned around immediately and half told your ‘friend’ you had to pee. Really you went outside to get some fresh air and hopefully bum a dart, a bad habit you had picked up from him of all people. You went up to two random guys asking if they had a cig and a light. Thankfully they did. The shorter guy told you you had to stay and talk to them if they let you have one. Right when you were about to reluctantly agree someone made a noise behind you. And of course it was Joel because who else would it be, definitely not one of your ‘friends who would be so worried about you.’

“Didn’t know you smoked.” He said.

“Yeah, wonder where I picked up the habit.” You said glaring at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“You always are.”

He always was. The on and off hook ups always ended just like that. He’s sorry, he’s sorry, he’s a sorry son of a bitch. But some masochist part of you wanted him to keep ruining you so he had a reason to keep apologizing to you. Each sorry fell like honey off his tongue, golden and sickly sweet when it got to be too much. He looked at you with deep sad eyes, begging you to let him in one last time. And you would relent just like you always did because it was Joel and you loved him through all of his terribleness.

“Sweetheart.” He said it like the truth. He wasn’t begging, he wasn’t dismissive in his tone, Joel whispered your name like it was the only thing he’d ever known. He reached his left hand up to rest on your cheek. You were going to kiss him. He was going to kiss you. Like you knew he would, he leaned in. You pushed up your head to meet him halfway. When you closed your eyes it felt like the first time. There hadn’t been years of heartbreak and apologies yet. Instead it was just you and him, two people on the cusps of the rest of their lives, altering the stars in the light polluted sky. He tasted like cheap beer, and his mustache felt like punishment on your upper lip. It was good and it felt familiar. There had been men here and there who knew what they were doing but Joel felt like home. You didn’t have to try, you just did with him. Well at least when it came to kissing him, talking was a whole other problem. But right now his lips were on yours and your hands were snaked around the back of his neck. With him you always lost track of your surroundings, you could be on fire and not notice as long as his hands were somewhere on your body.

He pulled back and whispered in your ear, “let’s get outta here.” He wasn’t offering, he was instructing you. You grabbed Joel’s hand as he led you to his truck in the back parking lot. Just like always he opened the passenger door for you. Once seated he turned the vehicle on and placed his right hand on the meat of your thigh. The ride was quiet. No pleasantries, no ‘how have you beens’. None of that mattered, both of you knew what you were going to do. You and Joel had long passed the lines of formalities before sex. You didn’t even need to ask where he was taking you, always the same spot. A dirt road out in the woods that led down to an opening by the old railroad tracks. People only went there to get laid, shoot up, or burn something.

Once you arrived he turned towards you and beckoned for you to lean over the center console towards him. You began kissing him again. It was feverish and messy, like if you couldn’t have each other then surely you would dissipate into nothingness. He pushed his tongue deep into your mouth when you moaned. One of his hands was in your hair and the other made its way under your shirt and up over your bra. One of your hands was holding you up so you wouldn’t collapse awkwardly onto him. Like he could tell you were in a weird position he reached over and opened the passenger side door.

“Stay there.” He said. Then he got out and walked around to your side and slid in underneath you. Joel reclined the seat backwards and you straddled him, pushing your face close to his so as to not hit your head on the roof. This also gave his hands better access to your ass. You moaned into him when he pushed you against him and felt him hard beneath his jeans. “Feel what you do to me sweetheart. Been half hard since I saw ya.” That was your cue to start unbuttoning his jeans. You missed the taste and feel of him. It had been too long. He pushed his hips up to push down his jeans and boxers. His weeping cock sprang free, it rested big and hard on his stomach.

“Take your shirt off baby. I been dreamin about those perky tits.” You gave him a sultry smile and complied.

“Yes daddy.” His dick twitched. You went to go suck his aching dick but there wasn’t much room in the cab of his truck to get into position. He pulled your hair and brought your chest up towards his mouth. He grabbed one nipple with his teeth while he palmed your other breast with his large hands. They were callused and sent shivers up your spine when they rubbed against your soft skin. Then he alternated and switched his teeth to where his fingers had been and vice versa. You were soaking your panties. You had been since the second you sat in his truck. You started to rub yourself across his cock and he growled.

“Fuck baby. Gonna make me come right here.” That only encouraged you. You spat in your hand and brought it to him. Slowly you stroked him with your thumb circling his tip. He was much larger than your hand. You could feel him leaking so you gathered up as much as you could and brought it to your mouth. It tasted better than you remembered. Salty and addictive. “You’re so good for me.”

“I know daddy.” you said while smirking at him. He reached his hands down and unbuttoned your jeans. Once they were loose he stuck on hand down towards your sex and brought his other up to cup your breast again. You were drenched.

Joel let out another moan. “All for me ain’t it?”

“Always. Just for you.”

“That’s my girl.” After years of this you both knew exactly what to say to each other. He knew how badly you had wanted to be his so he used it against you. It only fueled the fire. He hurriedly yanked your pants and underwear down in one motion. You lined yourself up with him. Joel moved his cock against your folds teasing you. In turn you bucked your hips and whined, he didn’t wait long after that and shortly notched his tip at your entrance. You were both too pent up to wait any longer. He slowly pushed up into you. He slid into you like your body was made for him. Joel's eyes were on your face, watching how you took him so well. Once he was all the way in you had to rest for a second. Sitting on top of him you felt so full. All you could do was feel, it was like your brain had its switch turned off.

Then you started moving up and down. He tilted his head back and shut his eyes. He looked so beautiful and blissed out like that. You were going fast, as fast as your poor legs could handle. You needed him, you were going to take as much as you could. Once your legs started to shake and the pressure between your legs became too much Joel took over. He held your hips still and started to toy with your clit.

“Shhh baby. I know you can take it.” He said as he thrust his hips into you. You were clenching him so hard and he knew you were close. It’s like you’d been on edge since the last time so it barely took anything to get you there once he finally touched you. Then he froze for a second. “You still got that IUD baby?” You could barely speak so you vigorously nodded your head. “You want me inside then?”

It took a second but you finally responded. “Yes please Daddy.”

He pushed hard on your clit and bit down on your neck, so hard you knew it would mark but you didn’t care. It was a way to keep his essence around a little bit longer. You would let him mark your whole body if you had the time and room. And with that you came hard, creaming around him and letting the liquid drip down onto him. He bucked up a few more times. Each thrust became more erratic. Then he was moaning hard and finishing inside you. At this point you could barely move, you were leaning against his chest and he finished. You both took a moment to catch your breaths. Once you did you looked up towards Joel, his dick still inside you. He looked at you with such wonder.

“Been dreamin of that for so long darlin’.” You just smiled. He always said that. Always the best he ever had, but if you were the best why did you always leave. Before you could spiral you pulled yourself and excused yourself into the woods to relieve yourself. When you returned he was back in the driver seat. Just like before the drive was silent and his hand was on your thigh. He started the drive back to your house, muscle memory for him at this point. You almost started to cry. Everything was too familiar, too much hurt, getting ready to say goodbye for the millionth time. You couldn't bear to look at him for fear of confessing all your sins, the greatest one loving him. Eventually he pulled into your driveway. You turned towards him

“I’m sorry I came into your life just to make a mess. Goodnight sweetheart.” He kissed you on the cheek and you got out of the truck and began walking up your driveway.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller au #tlou fanfiction

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therainbowwarrior4 · 1 year ago

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Why Transgender People Need Gender-Affirming Care (Essay I wrote for school)

According to the Human Rights Campaign, twenty-two states have passed laws that ban minors from receiving gender-affirming care. Gender-affirming care which includes, puberty blockers, synthetic hormones, and surgeries, are a safe and effective way to treat gender dysphoria, which is distress that results from having one’s gender identity not match their sex assigned at birth. The HRC states that, “Every single major medical organization, including the American Academy of Pediatrics, the American Medical Association and the American Psychiatric Association, supports the provision of age-appropriate, gender-affirming care for transgender and non-binary people.” It is essential for transgender people to receive gender-affirming care because it decreases the risk of substance abuse, improves mental health, and gives them the opportunity to be who they truly are.

It is evident that transgender people are at a higher risk of substance abuse and mental health conditions, such as depression and anxiety. According to one study, the use of any type of drug was 3.6 times more likely in transgender people than in cisgender people. Additionally, 47% of transgender adults reported binge-drinking in the last three months compared to 17% of the general population (Shannonhouse). However, a study also shows that gender-affirming surgeries can decrease the risk of substance abuse. A 35% decrease of past year tobacco smoking was found in transgender people who had one or more gender-affirming surgeries and a significant decrease in the odds of past-month binge alcohol abuse was observed when patients got all the surgeries they desired (“New Study Shows”). According to Columbia Psychiatry, “It is well documented that TGNB adolescents and young adults experience anxiety and depression, as well as suicidal ideation, at a much higher rate than their cisgender peers.” In 2020, the Trevor Project found that 54% of young people who identified as transgender seriously considered suicide, and 29% made an attempt on their lives. Despite this, numerous research studies have shown that gender-affirming care leads to improved mental health for transgender youth (Matouk and Wald). In addition to the numerous mental health benefits of letting transgender people access gender-affirming care, this care also allows transgender people to be who they really are. For example, Jaime Raines started testosterone when he was 17 years old. He describes how life was like before and after he started transitioning. “The two are incomparable really, life before transitioning felt like a struggle and I was constantly feeling uncomfortable and embarrassed about how I looked and how people perceived me. Life after, life now, is just me actually living my life as me” (“This transgender man”).

Opponents of gender-affirming care argue that sex change drugs, meaning synthetic versions of testosterone and estrogen, are radical and experimental treatments. They state that these treatments are mutilating people’s bodies and that teenagers are not capable of consenting to these treatments (Surgeons). Furthermore, they attest that hormones are given to minors too quickly without any formal procedures to make sure it is in the best interest of the patient and sometimes even surgeries, such as double mastectomies, are being performed (Denny). Challengers to gender-affirming care also allege that some patients have underlying mental health conditions, such as anxiety or depression, which are not being treated (Denny). They claim being transgender is a social contagion because of the amount of people now identifying that way. They also claim that it is mostly teenage girls that want this type of medical intervention because identifying this way is a collective behavior that is commonly seen in people who do not feel comfortable with their bodies (Surgeons). Lastly, they argue that many people regret transitioning and go on to detransition.

Proponents of gender-affirming care argue that hormones have been given to transgender people for decades. The first gender clinic in America was opened in 1966 and these hormones have been given to cisgender people long before that to help with certain conditions, such as menopause (Rosenthal). These hormones are safe for adolescents and adults as long as they are being monitored by a medical professional. Hormones are not usually prescribed until a patient turns eighteen. If they are prescribed in adolescence, it is with parental permission and support after going through the informed consent process (HRC Foundation). Double mastectomies are rarely performed on minors. If these surgeries are performed on 16- or 17-year-olds it is with parental support after talking to therapists, and surgeons. Surgeries involving genitalia are never performed on those under 18 (HRC Foundation). Anyone who wants to receive gender-affirming care is required to speak to a mental health professional before and during their transition. Dysphoria can worsen existing mental health conditions such as anxiety or depression. After talking to the patient, a doctor will make the decision regarding transitioning and if it will help the patient’s mental health (HRC Foundation). The idea that being transgender is a “social contagion” is called “Rapid Onset Gender Dysphoria.” GRD has been thoroughly debunked and over 120 medical associations have issued statements calling for the elimination of this term (HRC Foundation). A study done by the American Academy of Pediatrics found that youth assigned female at birth are no more likely to identify as transgender then those assigned male at birth. Lastly, several studies have shown that the percentage of someone de-transitioning is quite rare. The regret rate of transition is as low as 1 or 2 percent (HRC Foundation).

In conclusion, gender-affirming care is life-saving care for transgender individuals. This care is safe, effective, and can be life changing. It decreases the risk of substance abuse, suicide, anxiety, depression, and allows transgender people to be who they truly are. If “to shine your brightest light is to be who you truly are” (Bennett), then should not everyone have a chance to shine their brightest light?

Works Cited

Bennett, Roy T. “Be Who You Truly Are.” The Light in the Heart, 25 Nov. 2018, thelightintheheart.wordpress.com/2018/11/25/be-who-you-truly-are-2/. Accessed 9 Dec. 2023.

Denny, Doreen. “Exposing the Lie of Gender-Affirming Care.” Restoring America, 13 Mar. 2023, www.washingtonexaminer.com/restoring-america/community-family/exposing-the-lie-of-gender-affirming-care?utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=Pmax_USA_High-Intent-Audience-Signals&gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAiAmZGrBhAnEiwAo9qHiX8vNakZ_bQiz5rDsC-HxFlMyaTmQ2zs8cLde-oqFOfouZYQCoGxIxoCBo8QAvD_BwE. Accessed 9 Dec. 2023.

HRC Foundation. “Get the Facts on Gender-Affirming Care.” Human Rights Campaign, 22 Mar. 2023, www.hrc.org/resources/get-the-facts-on-gender-affirming-care. Accessed 6 Dec. 2023.

Matouk, Kareen, and Melina Wald. “Gender-Affirming Care Saves Lives.” Columbia University Department of Psychiatry, 30 Mar. 2022, www.columbiapsychiatry.org/news/gender-affirming-care-saves-lives. Accessed 27 Nov. 2023.

“New Study Shows Transgender People Who Receive Gender-Affirming Surgery Are Significantly Less Likely to Experience Psychological Distress or Suicidal Ideation - Fenway Health: Health Care Is a Right, Not a Privilege.” Fenway Health, 28 Apr. 2021, fenwayhealth.org/new-study-shows-transgender-people-who-receive-gender-affirming-surgery-are-significantly-less-likely-to-experience-psychological-distress-or-suicidal-ideation/. Accessed 27 Nov. 2023.

Rosenthal, G. Samantha. “Gender-Affirming Care Has a Long History in the US – and Not Just for Transgender People.” The Conversation, 27 Mar. 2023, theconversation.com/gender-affirming-care-has-a-long-history-in-the-us-and-not-just-for-transgender-people-201752. Accessed 6 Dec. 2023.

Shannonhouse, Rebecca. “Substance Use Disorder in Transgender and Nonbinary People.” WebMD, 21 Apr. 2022, www.webmd.com/mental-health/addiction/substance-use-disorder-transgender-nonbinary. Accessed 9 Dec. 2023.

Surgeons, Association of American Physicians &. “Transgenderism: The New Medical Standard?” AAPS | Association of American Physicians and Surgeons, 25 Feb. 2023, aapsonline.org/transgenderism-the-new-medical-standard/. Accessed 6 Dec. 2023.

“The Trevor Project National Survey 2020.” Www.thetrevorproject.org, 2020, www.thetrevorproject.org/survey-2020/?section=Suicide-Mental-Health. Accessed 27 Nov. 2023.

“This Transgender Man Documented His Amazing Journey on YouTube for over Five Years.” The Irish News, 8 July 2017, www.irishnews.com/magazine/daily/2017/07/08/news/this-transgender-man-documented-his-amazing-journey-on-youtube-for-over-five-years-1079578/. Accessed 9 Dec. 2023.

“Youth Assigned Female at Birth Are No More Likely to Identify as Transgender or Gender Diverse than Those Assigned Male at Birth: Study.” Www.aap.org, 3 Aug. 2022, www.aap.org/en/news-room/news-releases/pediatrics2/2022/youth-assigned-female-at-birth-are-no-more-likely-to-identify-as-transgender-or-gender-diverse-than-those-assigned-male-at-birth-study/. Accessed 9 Dec. 2023.

#lgbtqia+ rights #lgbtqia+ community #lgbtqia+#queer #queer community #transgender #lgbtq #lgbtqia #lgbt pride #lgbtq community #lgbtq rights #lgbtqia+ resources #lgbtqia rights #lgbtqiia+#lgbtqi community #lgbt #lgbtqplus #lgbtq+

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i-am-probably-alive · 1 year ago

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Hellenite

Is there ever that one writer that you keep on going back to, over and over, even if you have read and analyzed every single one of their works? And it still gets better each time? There is for me. Fucking Helleniteeeee. I left the DSMP fandom like almost a year ago, yet I still go and have Hellenite binge reads on the regular.

Ad astra was my gateway drug, De Terra is still my favorite fic of all time like ever, possibly even better than most published books I’ve read, anything from LiTWS brings me immense comfort, and Fading Lights….that one stuck with me really really REALLY hard. So did all the other ones, but yknow. That’s a bittersweet ending done right, man. I absolutely adore everything in Hellens style of writing. From the beautiful, captivating description to the absolutely remarkable use of italics, each and every fic has left me crying and begging for more. But there’s three parts that Hellen just does so well, that it honestly shocks me that the whole first page of DSMP isn’t stuffed, head to toe, with Hellenite’s work.

1: Theme

Tackling this first, cause i have a LOT to say about this. Cause, HOLY SHIT!!! Theme! I absolutely just HDRTHHFGGJGJHAZJ. I’m not saying other writers haven’t pulled off themes in fanfic well before, cause they have! But the way Hellenite does it just hits different. Everything has a moral, in one way or another. And the moral is something genuine. Something real, something that happens in real life and that is represented perfectly in all her works. Like, okay. Event Horizon: You can change, you can improve. You are not your past, you are not your family, you are not your mistakes. As long as you’re trying, You’re on the right path. Things don’t get better immediately, they take time. A long, long time, but you are allowed to be happy along the way. Healing is a process, not a teleportation device. LiTWS: A relationship, be it romantic, platonic or familial, can be complicated. They can be difficult to maintain, but you love the other person, so you will work at it to solve your issues. It’s okay to fight, as long as you can acknowledge when you screw up. Communicate. Fading Lights: Life is difficult, but that doesn’t mean you should try and escape it. Find the right people who care about you, even if at the moment you feel or are complete shit. You can recover.

everything just leaves a special impact, because those messages come through. And they come through strong, without being all “LOOK AT ME IM HERE”. It’s just. Wow.

2: Character Development

Change is a very prominent feature in Hellens stories, and it never feels clunky or out of place. You genuinely feel it, but you can’t pinpoint the exact moment things change. Like how in the beginning of Ad Astra, we feel genuine dislike, and very quickly, hatred for Ran. But over time, that changes, and we see how Ran develops and improves. There’s setbacks, there’s relapses, but the change is there. In LiTWS, the relationship goes from somewhat forced, to fully, truly, genuine. Struggles and all. In FL, Tubbo….well. In the beginning, he was an addict who had a gruffish attitude, who was pushing away from society and his friends. He feared that he was turning into his father. He had awful self esteem. By the end, he was willing to change. He was willing to give up smoking and drinking and willing to put himself in an environment that involved Tommy. Change, change, change.

I think it’s all really well done. Cause people change, it’s natural. And it’s done so well here.

3: Love

The way Hellen writes love makes me wish I was in it. But not because it’s written as an all happy and sunshine solution to all wrong. It’s not. It’s written as a strong, complicated emotion. It isn’t written as a one-size fits all. It’s written as something rooted in our hearts that WE get to define, and WE get to use. We love, and it is not a weakness. Love is not a superpower. We all are capable of it, and it doesn’t have to be romantic. Love is…love. It’s so, so SO strong, and I think that this one element is what’s made me cry so much while reading Fading Lights or De Terra or whatever it is. Love. Such a strong meaning for such a small word. I go to Hellens stories and take notes on the way it’s written because it’s just. I hate stories that focus on love, generally. Mostly because they’re written as if it has to be this huge, romantic beats-all card, where the only thing that defines it is the word itself. The characters have to say it for us to know it, and even after that, we don’t believe it. Hellen writes it as it is, which is a difficult feat. These fics are just…wow.

All in all, the way Hellen writes, not only in short term by description and beautiful scenery, but in long term too, leaves such a strong impact. Hellen is definitely, without a doubt, the writer who has most inspired, motivated and influenced the way I write and even the way I think. Hellen has left such a positive mark on me that I’m confident I would be entirely different without having read that one gateway fic. I forgot to mention this, but I read Ad Astra while in a reading slump, and when I say it pulled me out…

also, the concepts in and of themselves are so creative and good and original?? Like how?? And the WORLDBUILDING DONT GET ME STARTED ON THE WORLDBUILDING. HOW??? How does one just make a world so convincing and make it feel so real?? And explore upon it without making it feel like pointless exposition???

TLDR; A year ago, these fics broke into my house, put me in a chokehold, and demanded it be allowed to live there rent free. It still has me in a chokehold, and I give it muffins sometimes.

Theres so much More i can say, and I will probably say it in different posts later. but for now..

I love Hellenites stories more than I love Interstellar, and that’s saying something cause I was a mess by the halfway point of that movie.

Thank you, Hellenite, for each and every one of your stories.

I can’t wait for WGBITN.

(P.S: I realize I sound like an insane fangirl, but whatever. I most likely am one.)

#Hellenite #Ad Astra #De Terra #Fading Lights #Lost in the woods somewhere #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Writing

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theknightmarket · 1 year ago

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HAPPY NEW YEAR, LADS! Here’s some incorrect quotes to celebrate that were meant to be for the anniversary, but I forgot about them. Spoilers for fics that I’m toying with or am in the process of writing!

Dark: If you could guess, how many brain cells do you have? Wilford: Dorito’s cool ranch. Dark: Dark: I'm just gonna assume zero for now. Wilford: I love that song.

Illinois: You know you can die from that, right? Bond!Reader: *smoking a cigarette* That’s the point. Google: *drinking alcohol* We’re trying to speed this up. Bing: *Eating raw cookie dough and nodding*

Dark: I'm going to ask you to be respectful. Mark, after kidnapping the DA: I will politely decline.

Detective!Reader: You’re alive. Murdock: No need to sound so disappointed.

Engineer!Reader, with a headache: Advil me up, daddy. Google: I will short out the language centre of your brain if you say anything like that ever again.

Yancy: If there’s one thing I learned from Bing, it’s to set people’s expectations real low, so you end up surprising them by practically doing nothing at all.

Heist!Reader: Dammit, Mark, you ruined everything! Heist: You’re welcome.

Dark: Fine! I don't give a shit! DA!Reader, watching him keep coming back from the mirror: You seem to give a lot of shit for someone who claims not to give a shit.

Bing: Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, that’s fucked up. Like c'mon, you know I’m dumb as hell!

(Engineer!Reader is on a business trip) Google: Ew. What kind of tea is this? Bing: I boiled gatorade.

Heist: Please, picking locks is my specialty. Heist: *throws a brick through the window* Heist: Okay, let’s go.

*Everyone is standing around the broken coffee maker* Ghosts!Reader: So. Who broke it? I'm not mad, I just wanna know.

Everyone: Engineer: ...I did. I broke it. Reader: No. No, you didn't. Wilford? Wilford: Don't look at me. Look at Mark. Mark: What?! I didn't break it. Wilford: Huh, that's weird. How'd you even know it was broken? Mark: Because it's sitting right in front of us and it's broken. Wilford: Suspicious. Mark: No, it's not! Damien: If it matters, probably not, but Noir was the last one to use it. Noir: Liar! I don't even drink that crap! Damien: Oh really? Then what were you doing by the coffee cart earlier? Noir: I use the wooden stirrers to push back my cuticles. Everyone knows that, Damien! Engineer: Okay let's not fight. I broke it. Let me pay for it, cap. Reader: No! Who broke it!? Everyone: Yancy: Hey, bud… Illinois' been awfully quiet. Illinois: rEALLY?! *Everyone starts arguing* Reader, talking to Host: I broke it. It burned my hand so I punched it. Reader: I predict 10 minutes from now they'll be at each other's throats with warpaint on their faces and a pig head on a stick. Reader: Reader: Good. It was getting a little chummy around here.

Murdock: So you like cats? Detective!Reader: Yeah. Murdock: *tries to impress them by slowly pushing a glass off the table*

Police!Reader: We are gathered here today because someone- *glares at Mark’s coffin* -couldn’t stay alive!

Engineer!Reader: Why are you two always out during rainstorms? Google: It’s so peaceful and refreshing. I love the smell of rain. Bing: Google bet me I couldn’t get struck by lighting, but he’s WRONG.

The police chief, pointing to Murdock’s empty cell: YOU LET HIM ESCAPE?!? Detective!Reader: I WAS ON BREAK.

Detective!Reader: I’m going to take you out. Murdock: Great, it’s a date! Detective!Reader: I meant that as a threat. Murdock: See you at five!

Actor!Reader, struggling to keep upright in their 1 inch heels: Yeah, I-I don’t really think heels are for me. Actor, pointing at them and walking flawlessly in sparkly golden 6 inch heels: WEAK.

Bing: I'm incredibly fast at math. Engineer!Reader: Alright, what's 30 x 17? Bing: 47. Engineer!Reader: That's not even close. Bing: But it was fast.

Police!Reader: Go to Hell. Actor: I wish I could.

Dark: In light of what you did for me, you can hug me for four to five seconds. DA!Reader: FORTY-FIVE SECONDS?!? Dark: No! Four to five seconds! DA!Reader: Too late!!!

*Damien and College!Reader skipping stones on lake* Damien: It’s such a beautiful evening. College!Reader, whispering: Take that you fucking lake.

Actor: So that’s my plan. Police!Reader: Are you alright with constructive criticism? I don’t want to sound mean. Actor: No, go ahead, I want to hear it. Detective!Reader: It fucking sucks. Actor: That’s not constructive criticism.

Bartender!Reader: Can you please be serious for five minutes? Wilford: My record is four, but I think I can do it.

Actor!Reader: How petty can you get? Actor: I once edited a Wikipedia article to win an argument I was wrong about.

Illinois: Yancy and I were crossing the street, and this dude drove by and honked at us. Criminal!Reader: *Sighing* What did Yancy do? Illinois: He chased him to the next red light, then reached into his window and... Yancy: Who wants a steering wheel?

Dark: Why. why did you give the DA a KNIFE?! Wilford: I’m sorry. They said they felt unsafe. Dark: Now I feel unsafe! Wilford: I’m sorry. Wilford: ... would you like a knife?

*DA!Reader and Wilford sitting in jail together* DA!Reader: So who should we call? Wilford: I’d call Dark, but I feel safer in jail.

Engineer: Gunther, can I talk to you for a second? Gunther: Yeah, what’s up? Lemme guess. You and Cap are having problems and you want me to teach you how to kiss? Engineer: What? No, stop that. I know how to kiss. I’ve read books.

Ghosts!Reader: Who the fuck added me to a fucking group chat? Engineer: >:O language. Bing: Yeah watch your fucking language. Yancy: OKAY WHO TAUGHT BING THE FUCK WORD? Google: 'The fuck word'. Noir: Are you stupid? You all use the f word all the time. Wilford: Oh my god he censored it. Illinois: Say fuck, Noir. Mark: Do it, Noir. Say fuck.

Host: If you bite it and you die, it’s poisonous. If it bites you and you die, it’s venomous. Mark: What if it bites me and it dies!? Dark: Then you’re poisonous. Jesus Christ, Mark, learn to listen. Yancy: What if it bites itself and I die? Noir: That’s voodoo. Bing: What if it bites me and someone else dies? Google: That’s correlation, not causation. Illinois: What if we bite each other, and neither of us die? Wilford: That’s kinky. Ghosts!Reader: I hate this house.

Sheriff!Reader: Died and came back as a cowboy, I call that reintarnation.

Mark, setting down a card: Ace of spades. Dodger, pulling out an Uno card: +4. Enis, pulling out a Pokémon card: Jolteon, I choose you! Survivor!Reader, trembling: What are we playing?

Actor: You lying, cheating, piece of shit! Actor!Reader: Oh yeah? You’re the idiot who thinks you can get away with everything you do. WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD! Actor: I’m leaving you, and I’M TAKING JULIET WITH ME. Toby, picking up the monopoly board: I think we’re gonna stop playing now.

#theknightmarket #markiplier egos #fanfiction #writing #markiplier #markiplier egos x reader #one shots #happy new years #spoilers #I misspelt spoilers the first time #x reader #incorrect quotes

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angstyaches · 2 years ago

Text

Payton Gets Spiked

Loosely inspired by reading this post.

If you want more of an introduction to Dani, read this first.

CW: gender stuff, dysphoria, misgendering, brief mention of gendered bathroom dilemma, intense social anxiety, people with varying shitty opinions, spiking with alcohol, references to past binge drinking/alcohol dependency, low self esteem, emeto, crying, panicking, insecure/awkward caretaker.

Word Count: almost 8,000 - oops. If you finish this to the end, you're a real one.

___

“Alright, Dani! I’m just heading out back... to...”

It was fifteen minutes after the coffee shop had closed, night had settled in on the streets outside, and Payton had just finished closing the till. It should have been the most glorious moment of their day, the moment just before their time became their own again and they could bask in the knowledge that they’d done a great day’s work, but that reward was stolen by the swooping sensation in their stomach. Their day wasn’t over just yet.

They’d been in the middle of calling out to Dani, who had been assigned the closing shift alongside them, to tell her that they were heading out back to get changed.

But they stopped themself.

Dani was engrossed with sweeping the floors to the beat of whatever she was listening to on her headphones. Payton decided to leave her to it. She didn’t like being interrupted in the middle of a task, as Payton had quickly learned during her first few weeks here.

And besides, it wasn’t as though Payton was in a hurry to get to the pub, where, if the group chat was anything to go by, the others had already convened. The longer Payton could delay being wedged into a dimly-lit nook surrounded by the smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke from the 80s, the better.

Guilt gnawed at them now, along with the nerves. They shouldn’t be dreading Jake’s birthday; they liked Jake. He deserved to have people coming to his birthday drinks who were excited to be there.

Payton went out back and stood in front of their locker.

They closed their eyes, allowing their mind to wind down after their shift. They stretched their arms out to the side and breathed in, slowly and deeply letting their lungs press out against their ribs. They didn’t feel particularly compressed, but they’d gotten into the habit of doing breathing exercises regularly while binding – in no small part to keep Autumn from worrying about them.

They undid their apron and pulled their polo shirt off over their head. They opened up their locker to grab the cropped purple hoodie they’d brought to change into for the evening. Payton didn’t usually partake in the loungewear look unless they were grocery shopping or travelling or chilling out at home, but Jake had requested that nobody ‘dress up nice’ tonight.

Before picking up the hoodie, Payton glanced down at themself, their sides bare above their waistband. Now that they thought about it, they wished they had worn dungarees instead of cargo pants today. Not for any reason they could put their finger on, which was frustrating. They just had the vague, hollow feeling in the pit of their stomach that they would have felt fifty times better about themself if they’d been wearing dungarees.

They sucked in another deep breath, this time to try to soothe the flare of anxiety.

Their phone screen lit up with a message, and they snatched it up from the shelf in their locker.

A: Finished work yet? X

Payton grinned. The simplest check-ins from Autumn always made their heart flutter.

P: Finished!!! x

A: You've got someone to walk over to the bar with you, right? X

P: Yep, Dani and I are sticking together, don’t worry! <3 x

A: Awesome! Have fun tonight, baby x

Payton kind of wished they’d insisted that Autumn come along tonight, but as far as they knew, nobody else was bringing their partner, so they would have felt a little awkward making themself the exception. Besides, it was good for Payton to get out there and be independent every so often.

And it made Autumn worry less.

P: I will x

A: Message me when you get home x

They glanced over their shoulder as Dani came into the changing room.

She didn’t have her headphones on anymore, but she was humming to herself as she walked. Not in a gleeful kind of way; she hummed intensely, as though her sanity depended on whether or not she hit each individual note. She went straight over to her locker, disappearing from Payton’s line of sight, but Payton didn’t hear her open it.

They put their phone in their pocket and reached into their locker for their hoodie.

“Does that hurt?”

Payton looked over their shoulder again – Dani was looking at them – and then down at their torso. They were still standing there in just their black cargo pants and their binder. It hadn’t really occurred to them that they were topless, but they supposed they were.

“Sorry,” Dani said bluntly, mistaking their embarrassment for offence. “Was that rude?”

“It’s fine,” Payton smiled. “And no, as long as I don’t wear it for too long, it doesn’t hurt.”

Dani blinked. For a second, Payton considered that she might have been working up to asking a follow-up question.

“Okay,” she said instead, turning to open her locker.

The two of them finished getting ready without talking any more. Dani didn’t actually change her clothes; she just swapped her apron for a baggy grey zip-up hoodie that she didn’t zip up. She had already been wearing dark blue jeans and a graphic tee, even though the dress code for staff members was black trousers and block-coloured tops. Dani would never have paraded that outfit in front of Annie or Jake; she must have kept in mind, while getting dressed that morning, that Payton was supervising today.

They weren’t sure how this realisation made them feel. Was it a sign of disrespect that she only challenged the rules on their watch? Or was a good thing that she felt comfortable being herself with them?

Anxiety spiked in Payton’s stomach again. The last thing they wanted was for the newer staff members to dread the sight of them, or watch how they acted around them, but it was also in their nature to be a pushover, and they hated to think they were falling into old habits.

They smiled as they gestured for Dani to step out of the shop before them. Not because they were being a pushover, but so that they could set the alarm, lock up, and then check twice to make sure that the door was actually locked.

It soothed them a little as they stood outside and peered through the glass into the dark shop, sure in the knowledge that nothing was left out of place. Annie was on the opening shift tomorrow, and Payton would rather not get any passive aggressive text messages about crumbs on the floor or lights left on before 9am.

They turned away from the shop. Dani was rocking back and forth with the balls of her feet on the edge of the path as she waited for them.

Payton’s stomach dropped all over again as they observed her in the streetlight. Had the two of them ever even interacted outside of the shop before?

Despite their promise to Autumn, Payton realised they had kind of hoped that Dani would start walking by herself while they locked up, getting enough of a head start so that they wouldn’t have to make conversation. They liked Dani as a person but they didn’t have a friendly banter like Payton did with Paul, and Dani didn’t talk the ear off anyone who would listen like Rachel did.

“You’re opening with Annie tomorrow, right?” Payton asked as they both started walking. They immediately cringed. Defaulting to talking about work had to have been the laziest, most cowardly option.

“Yeah,” Dani said. Her tone might have indicated that she’d rather have all of her wisdom teeth pulled at once. It also might have indicated that opening the shop with Annie was her favourite activity of all time. Payton had no idea which was closer to the truth.

“I... like your t-shirt, by the way.” It’d taken them several glances throughout the day, since the print was faded in parts, but they’d deduced that it was from some horror movie or another.

“It’s vintage.”

“Oh, really?” Payton thought that maybe they’d be treated to the story of how it’d come to be in her possession.

Dani tugged at the headphones that were still sitting around her neck. “I’m putting my headphones back on. For the traffic noise.”

“Oh, okay,” Payton smiled. Since they’d come outside, only about six cars had passed them by, but they weren’t about to point that out. If Dani didn’t want to talk, that was fine. They were still walking together. That was one promise to Autumn locked in.

Now for the second one, which filled them with a little more dread; to have a fun night.

___

The group was still lingering by the bar when Payton and Dani arrived.

The store owner and manager, Annie, stood with one arm across her chest and what looked like a gin and tonic in her hand. She was chatting – probably about one of her husband’s recent business ventures – to Jake, whose cheeks were bright red and whose pint of cider had almost run out.

Rachel was perched on a bar stool, swinging herself gently from side to side as she nursed a Coke-based drink. Paul seemed to be in the middle of telling her a story; judging by the bittersweet smile that played on his lips, and the way Rachel seemed to be completely tuning him out, Payton guessed Paul was talking about Mei, the girl who’d recently broken up with him.

I know way too much about these people, Payton thought with a wry smile to themself.

It was Paul who spotted them first, which brought his story to a halt.

“Hey, boss!” he cheered, shuffling towards Payton and scooping them into a quick but tight hug. They forced a smile despite their surprise, hugging him back. They’d last seen him at the coffee shop yesterday, but he was acting as though it’d been months.

“Welcome! And Dani!” Paul grinned at her as she stood to Payton’s left. “Oh – don’t worry, I’m not going to try to hug you. Learned my lesson on that one. Come on, come over here! What are you guys drinking?”

“I’ve got it, Paul, don’t worry,” Payton assured him. He was drunk enough that he’d probably buy a round for everyone and forget he’d done it, which Payton would rather save him from. They reckoned they should buy Jake’s next drink, seeing as it was his birthday. And Dani seemed tense – either from the walk outside, or from the Paul hug she'd been temporarily threatened by – so they decided to offer to get her first one, too.

“Dani?” Payton tilted their head when Dani didn’t look at them; she still had her headphones on. They waved their hand gently to get her attention.

She dragged her gaze around to look at them, and they gestured bringing a glass to their mouth. Drink?

“Bulmers,” she announced loudly.

Payton nodded and turned, waving to get Jake’s attention this time. He beamed when he saw them, and Payton pointed towards the near-empty glass in his hand.

“Bulmers!” he called over the din, winking his thanks behind his thick-rimmed glasses.

Payton smiled at the bartender and ordered the two pints of Bulmers, plus a Coke for themself. The others started making their way towards a booth. Dani stayed near the bar, not talking to or looking directly at Payton. She was making them think of an anxious stray cat who didn’t trust any of the humans present, but had decided that Payton was the least untrustworthy of them all.

Guilt churned their stomach at that silly assumption. She was clearly just waiting politely for her drink, so Payton wouldn’t be left with three glasses to carry.

She thanked them for her drink as it came out. Payton smiled at her and took their own glass, plus Jake’s pint, over to the table.

Annie and Jake had slid into the booth first, on opposite sides of the table, followed by Paul on Jake’s side and Rachel on Annie’s side. Payton would have preferred – just slightly – to sit beside Paul rather than Rachel, but Dani had already slid into the booth next to Paul by the time they’d decided this.

“Here you go, Jake,” Payton said, handing the Bulmers across the table. They were momentarily relieved to be free of the heavy, sickly smell of it, but as soon as they sat down, they were hit by the equally pungent scent of vodka wafting from Rachel’s glass. First, it made their head swim, and then their stomach lurched. Just the smell of it made them feel like their thought process was being scrambled.

They were seated for a few seconds before realising that all six of them were leaving wet rings on the tabletop.

“Oh! Coasters,” Payton said, relieved for the excuse to get away from the vodka smell for another few seconds. They stood up again.

Rachel squinted up at them, shaking her head. “Genuine question, Payton; do you ever switch out of work mode?”

Payton gave her a smile, wondering how many more they’d have to force before they became relaxed enough for a genuine one. “Yes. Sometimes.”

They started back towards the bar. The smile slid from their face and their stomach took a dive towards the floor as they heard Annie’s voice from behind them.

“Where’s Payton going, Rachel?” she asked.

Except...

She didn’t say Payton’s name, and she didn’t say ‘they’ either.

They pressed a hand to their chest and breathed in slowly through their nose. Misgendering didn’t always get to them like this, but hearing it from someone they spent so much time around felt like a punch to the gut after already enduring so, so many. They tried to force down the throbbing sensation, which was like a scream that was rising to their heart instead of their throat.

They were probably the first trans person Annie had ever met, and they’d always known they’d have to be patient with her. It was either that, or lose their mind, and in this economy, one couldn’t afford to lose their mind at work every other day.

But breaking their chronic people-pleasing habits was hard when this was a constant issue. Correcting people didn’t come naturally to Payton, and on the few occasions where they did correct someone, the weight of the guilt they felt afterwards was almost just as bad.

And guilt wasn’t a compatible companion for self-love.

___

“Oh... getting coasters or something,” Rachel had responded to Annie’s question.

Dani blinked, baffled by what she'd just heard. Had she missed something? Who the hell were they talking about? Payton had just left to get coasters; they had announced that, right before Rachel’s snide remark about how they always seemed to be working. Had Rachel misunderstood Annie’s question, then? Was there some conversation happening that Dani hadn’t –?

Oh.

White noise swelled in Dani’s ears for a couple of seconds. She squeezed one of the beads on her bracelet and focused on keeping her breathing steady.

Say it, she screamed in her head, tugging at her bracelet, They. Where did they go? They went to get coasters. Just freaking say it!

But judging by the murmurs of continued conversations, Dani the moment had passed for her to say anything to fix Annie’s mistake. She found herself equally frustrated with Rachel, who could also have corrected Annie, or at least used Payton’s pronouns in her response.

Through the fog of irritation, Dani became aware of Paul, who was sitting to Dani’s right, handing something to Rachel, who was sitting at the other side of the table. Rachel took whatever it was and whispered harshly in Paul’s direction.

Dani gripped her bracelet harder, resisting the urge to yank her headphones up. She fucking hated the sound of whispers, but she knew if she put her headphones on now, she’d have to deal with eye rolls at best, and verbal lecturing at worst.

A dull clink brought her back into the moment, and she looked up to see Rachel running her finger through a streak of clear liquid that had been spilled on the table in front of her. Rachel put that finger in her mouth – yikes, gross – and grinned as she handed something back to Paul.

A naggin of vodka, Dani realised. In blatant disregard for the no outside food or beverages request that was posted at several points around the pub, Paul had brought shop-bought alcohol into the establishment, and now Rachel was availing of it, too. This night was shaping up to be even more overwhelming than she’d expected.

And they hadn’t even gotten around to singing ‘Happy Birthday’ yet.

___

The bartender looked up from where they had not-so-subtly been checking their phone behind the counter. Payton flashed them a smile of apology and gestured towards the case of paper coasters. They counted out six and wandered back over to the table, sucking in a deep breath before they were once again submerged in the smell of vodka, cider, and the risk of being misgendered.

“Are we going to sing Happy Birthday?” Payton wasn’t sure when Dani had taken off her headphones, but before she’d even taken a sip of her drink, she seemed to have shed her inhibitions. She was speaking now, at least. “Because if we are, you should all know that I am going to have to stick my fingers in my ears.”

Rachel sighed, Paul took a pointed swig of his drink, and Jake half-chuckled as though he was unsure if Dani was joking or not. Payton had the feeling she was not.

Rachel begrudgingly slid a coaster under her drink as Payton passed them around, but not before using it to mop up a long smear of clear liquid from the table. Payton didn’t remember noticing it, but maybe there had been a dribble of water there when they’d sat down.

“And also –” Oh – Dani wasn’t finished apparently. Payton tried to cast her their most sympathetic look, but her eyes were focused on the tabletop, not on any person in particular. “If there’s going to be a billion rounds of for he’s a jolly good fellow afterwards, can you all just please tell me now? I’m not, like, opposed to it or anything, but I would like to know in advance.”

“Oh, god. Can I ask that we… not do any of that?” A nervous grin spread across Jake’s face. “I hate Happy Birthday and all that stuff, honestly. Especially in public places.”

“Ah, come on, it’s a bit of fun,” Rachel muttered, clicking her tongue.

Payton caught Jake’s eye and smiled to reassure him. “How about a toast instead, then, Jake? Just a short one.”

Jake met their gaze and matched their smile. “That, I can endure, P.”

“Oh! Me. Me, I’ll do it. Can I do it, boss?” Paul exclaimed, as though it was Payton’s job to delegate the task. He hoisted his beer into the air, glanced around at the others, and cleared his throat dramatically. “Aheh-hem!”

“Remember, Paul. Short and sweet now, for the love of god,” Jake grinned.

“Happy birthday... to the best senior assistant manager, and, of course, the owner of the best beard in town – Jake. You might be ginger...”

Jake feigned a scoff and put a hand to his hair and beard.

“But we bloody love you, you legend!” Paul waved his glass. “Cheers!”

“Cheers!” everyone agreed.

“Slainte,” Annie tossed in.

After taking a drink from their glass, Payton gasped forcefully, and took another. They were far thirstier than they’d realised, and ending up gulping down half their Coke before making themself stop. They'd had a glass of water at lunchtime today, but barely anything to drink since then. No wonder there was a funny taste in their mouth. Possible dehydration might explain why they felt especially on edge this evening, too.

They grimaced, holding a hand against their sternum and suppressing a burp. That was a lot of carbonation to force down all at once, but they weren’t about to relieve the pressure in front of all of their coworkers.

“Here.” Annie was flapping her fingers in the direction of Jake’s phone, which sat next to his elbow. “Give me your phone, Jake. I’ll get a picture of you, Paul, and the girls.”

Nausea and Coke residue fizzled in the back of Payton’s throat. They parted their lips, hands trembling on either side of their glass as they prepared to correct Annie, but the fear that curdled their stomach also put a clamp on their tongue. What did they even want to her to say? Paul and Payton and the girls? Paul and the others? Just the others?

Anything that didn’t lump them into a group they didn’t belong to would have been nice.

They shivered at the familiar sensation of the moment passing, of another wound officially taking up residence in their body. Autumn would be so disappointed if she could see them right now.

“And Payton.”

Payton’s ears practically pricked up like those of a cartoon dog. They looked across the table to see that Dani was looking vaguely in Annie’s direction, her hands fidgeting with something underneath the table. Her lips were mashed together, her eyebrows tense, and she definitely the one who had just mumbled those words under their breath.

A little bit of the sick feeling in Payton’s stomach dissipated. Annie hadn’t heard, but... just knowing that someone else at the table had clocked the mistake made them feel infinitely less lonely at this table.

Annie stood up, wielding Jake’s phone, and Payton felt a resurgence of queasiness.

“Alright,” Annie declared, “lean in, everyone, lean in. Dani, lean in, please! Thank you. Alright, good…”

In the last few seconds, Payton pulled the clear plastic clip out of their hair, letting their bangs fall loose over one side of their face. They held up a hand in a peace sign to partially obscure their jawline on the other side. They almost retched as they followed Annie’s instructions and leaned in; there was a stronger smell wafting from Rachel’s drink than before, if that was even possible.

Payton could almost imagine they could taste it, it was so thick in the air. God, they really didn’t feel well...

“Say cheese!”

“Cheese!!”

Payton sighed softly in relief when Annie sat back down, satisfied with just the one picture. Payton didn’t hate a lot of things, but they really didn’t like spontaneous photos taken on other peoples’ phones. Jake wasn’t a big social media guy, so maybe that one would never see the light of day anyway.

They took another mouthful of their Coke, hoping to wash away some of the bad taste in their mouth, but it only seemed to make it... worse? They brought the rim of the glass to their nose and sniffed, and then recoiled so fast that they almost fell out of the booth. The glass skidded a few centimetres across the table but, miraculously, didn’t tip over.

Dani jumped in her seat and made the closest thing to eye contact that she’d made with Payton since they’d left work. “What? What? Is it a spider?”

The whole room felt like it was tipping on its side. Payton wasn't just imagining they could taste the alcohol because of the strong smell; they were actually tasting it in their mouth. There was alcohol in their drink, and they had gulped down more than half of it... As they sat there, struggling to wrap their head around how this could have happened, it was inside of them, sloshing in their stomach, swirling into their capillaries, messing with their brain –

Sweat beaded on the back of Payton’s neck.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening –

“Payton,” Dani said loudly. “What. Is. Wrong?”

“N-no...” they whimpered, not caring that no didn’t make sense on its own. The only thing they could feel was the feeling of no, and with it came the heady weight of memories that weren’t supposed to be a part of them anymore.

They felt all alone again, like they were being slowly sucked into a pit of darkness.

“Th-they messed up my – m-my drink.” Sharp gasps littered Payton’s speech, and they couldn’t get a good sense of how loudly they were talking. They... couldn’t even feel angry. Not yet. Maybe they never would; messing up drinks was an inevitability for any establishment. Payton had once served full-fat milk to a lady who’d requested skimmed, and by the time they had realised their mistake, she’d already left with her latte. They still had nightmares about her coming back, months later, to complain.

But this was different, right? This was…

Dani wrinkled up her nose and leaned towards Payton’s glass to sniff it.

“I think there – there’s vod... vodka in it... N-no,” Payton said again, the word bursting on their lips like a giant blister. This was how it always used to start. With a ‘no’. No, no, not this, this can’t be real, this isn’t real.

When had it gotten so hot in here?

Dani put her whole hand around Payton’s glass, eyeing the bar. “You want me to go yell at someone?”

“No, no, no, don’t,” Rachel hissed, leaning conspiratorially towards the centre of the table. It seemed that she only wanted Payton, Dani, and Paul to be able to hear her. Her urgency made Payton stiffen. “Will you relax, for Christ’s sake, Dani? Payton, I took a few mouthfuls of your drink and topped it up with Paul’s vodka. I didn’t know you were such a lightweight!”

Payton’s head swam as they looked at Rachel’s face, searching in her green eyes for any indication that she joking. Her face was bronzed and freckled from all the field hockey she played, and they seemed to shift about nauseatingly in front of Payton’s eyes. She... she had to have been joking, right? Nobody would admit to something like that. Besides, they’d been with their drink since they’d bought it; when would she have had the time to –?

Coasters.

Payton had put their drink on the table and then gone back to the bar for the coasters. She must have done it then. Their body stiffened as they remembered the clear liquid spill on the table.

“Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you drunk, boss,” Paul half-laughed. The fact that Paul was seemingly in on this too, or was in support of it, at least, only piled onto Payton’s horror, but they’d have to process that later.

“Th-that’s because I...” Payton’s voice was trembling. “I-I’m... I’m sober.”

The grin started to slip from Paul’s face, but Rachel didn’t seem to grasp what Payton meant.

She shrugged. “But it’s not like you’re driving home. And you’re off tomorrow, aren’t you? So, what harm?”

“No, I mean I haven’t… I haven’t h-had any alcohol in…” Payton’s lucidity spiked briefly, long enough for them to experience the stab of grief that hit their gut. “About two and... a half years.”

“Oh, on purpose?” Paul asked weakly.

“Yeah.”

Paul half-chuckled, his energy levels dropping noticeably. Next to him, Dani looked like she was witnessing a train crash in slow motion but couldn’t bring herself to move. Payton couldn’t bear to look at Rachel.

“But it’s not, like… that serious or anything, is it?” Paul pressed.

“Is it Alcoholics Anonymous serious?” Dani questioned, as though that were the qualifying factor. “Like in the movies, with the chairs, and the free coffee, and the…?”

She trailed off, gleaning her answer from Payton’s expression.

“It was Rachel’s idea!” Paul complained. “She did it!”

“What’s going on?” Annie demanded suddenly, only tuning into the conversation now that Paul had started raising his voice.

Rachel half-stood up in the booth and pointed at Paul. “You agreed with me, dickhead!”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know...”

“Neither did I!”

Their voices faded into an echoing clamour. Payton felt so detached from their body that they wondered if they were having an attack of some kind. They’d had barely a few mouthfuls of vodka and Coke. Why did it feel like their stomach was on fire, forcing its way up their throat? Why did their whole body feel like jelly? Back in the day, it had taken so... so much more.

Had they gone so long without alcohol that they’d developed an allergy? Were they dying? After all of their work, were their last thoughts going to be swamped in dread and despair and drunkenness?

They didn’t know if it was wooziness or generalised terror that made their knees buckle as they tried to get out of the booth, but either way, Payton crashed to the floor, just about keeping a shaky grip on the edge of the table above. They weren’t sure where they were trying to go. They couldn’t even remember deciding to get up.

A hollow, desperate sob racked their ribs. Their stomach was lurching like an injured, frantic rabbit in a trap.

No...

Lucidity came in flashes again. Were they really hyperventilating on the floor, in front of their co-workers and their employer? Were they really making a scene at Jake’s birthday party? Were... were those Dani’s stockinged feet, resting on the floor next to her chunky Doc Marten boots?

Payton shook their head. They had to get away from here. That seemed fairly rational, no matter which they looked at it.

They started clambering upright. The sight of Dani reaching out to give them a hand up made them snap out of their panicked daze just slightly. They straightened their back and mumbled something to reassure her they were fine, they were good, they didn’t need any help –

They heard Rachel ask them something, and they ignored her. They ignored her on purpose – it felt terrible, but they couldn’t bring themself to react any other way – and raced for the bathrooms with tears streaming down their face.

___

Dani was only vaguely ashamed of her first thought after watching Payton bolting towards the back of the pub.

If someone at a small party has a breakdown, is that it? Can the party officially be declared ruined? Is it fair game for me to just... slip out? There were enough hours left in the night that she could probably squeeze in a few hours of Overwatch before going to sleep.

She flinched. Voices were being raised at the table again, which only made her want to leave even faster. No one was yelling at her, but her cells reacted as though they were. Her nerves felt like they were being twisted, twisted, twisted, until –

“You agreed with me!” Rachel hissed at Paul, much to Annie’s apparent dismay. “You said it’d be good for her!”

... Snap.

“It’s ‘they’!” A wave of dizziness hit Dani right in the face. Rachel and Paul and Annie and Jake all stared at her, and Dani’s stomach wobbled. Oh, stars. How loudly had she spoken?

Rachel groaned. “What?”

“They.” Dani felt out of breath as she reached for a bead on her bracelet and squeezed it between her fingertips. “Payton’s pronouns are they/them.”

“Payton’s... not even here, Dani,” Paul said softly.

“It doesn’t matter! You can’t call them anything else.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Annie interrupted, though she didn’t sound sorry in the least. It was the kind of ‘sorry’ that really meant I have the right to speak and I shall continue to do so, even if I don’t have any idea what I’m speaking about.

Dani hated people who said ‘sorry’ like that, even more than she hated whisperers.

“But ’can’t’?” Annie went on, cocking an eyebrow at Dani. “It’s not very tolerant to go around telling people what they can and can’t say, Danielle.”

Danielle?! White noise clogged Dani’s ears again.

“I swear,” Annie said, shaking her head. “It’s always a morality contest with your generation. It is just –”

“Dani,” Dani grunted. “My name is Dani!”

“Do not speak over me.”

“You spoke over me first!” Dani’s voice turned into a squawk towards the end. Shit, shit, shit. “And I was talking to Rachel before, not to you. Do you even know what she di–?”

“You’re going to have to lower your voice.” Rachel laughed without mirth as she glanced around the pub. It was as if she herself hadn’t just been practically shouting at Paul across the table. “People are starting to look at us now.”

Dani’s head burned. She slammed a hand on the table. “I don’t care.”

Paul put out a hand, as though he was going to put it on her shoulder to calm her down. She flinched, jerking away from him in her seat, and he seemed to think better of it.

“Dani,” Jake said, tilting his head to see her from the other side of Paul. Jake was one of the more reasonable people left at the table, and his round face and thick beard gave him a soothing, teddy bear-like appearance, but Dani still didn’t trust that he wasn’t just talking down to her. Like she was a child having a tantrum. “Let’s talk this out, okay? What did Rachel do?”

“She… she…” Dani stopped pinching her beads and pointed across the table – not at Rachel, but at Annie. What Rachel did was significant, yes, but several things were screeching at Dani from inside her head, and Rachel’s thing wasn’t screeching the loudest right now.

“She said our generation is having a morality contest,” Dani said. “You’re upset about it, Annie, so that must mean... mean that you think you’re losing, and if that’s what you think –” She was getting out of breath. Too many words, too few seconds. “Then – then you must see that I’m being more moral than you, so you know there’s something wrong with what you're saying.”

Annie didn’t say anything in response.

Victory flashed briefly and hotly through Dani’s veins.

So... why did she feel like she was seconds away from crying? She wasn’t a child; she wasn’t about to be reprimanded by a parent or a teacher for speaking her mind. She was an adult. She could make her own choices, and –

Oh, right. She’d just pointed at and then yelled at her boss. She’d probably just thrown away the only day job she’d ever found bearable, as well as the only co-worker she’d ever genuinely liked.

Ah, crabs. Payton. How had it taken her so long so get around to worrying about Payton?

“Oh,” Dani announced, sliding out of the booth. She realised too late that she had taken her boots off, but it didn’t seem dignified to sit down again to put them back on. She looked Rachel square in the eye – for about half a second. Then, she lowered her gaze towards Payton’s glass. “Rachel put alcohol in Payton’s drink without them knowing.”

“You sat there,” Rachel choked out softly, “and said nothing, Dani!” There were tears in her eyes now, her face pale with terror.

Throat tight, hands trembling, and shoeless, Dani got up and went looking for Payton.

___

Payton had thought they’d need to force a finger or two down their throat to start emptying their stomach of the unexpected poison, but it turned out that their tolerance was low enough – or their panic high enough – for their body to begin rejecting it all by itself.

The force of the first heave had their ribs pitching inwards, their belly muscles folding in on themselves. A strangled cry came rolling out of their throat along with a mouthful of frothy vomit, and it took everything in their power not to let the crying continue.

No...

They... they had cried so much back then. They had cursed and screamed and roared like they were trying to invoke some god to come and release them from the pain that they didn’t have the words to describe. No words except no. They had always told themself that they didn’t know why they cried and shouted so much when they were intoxicated, but deep down, they realised that had always been a lie.

It was because they didn’t think it mattered. Whether they were stone-cold sober and coherent, or black-out drunk with vomit and snot dripping down their face, nobody listened to them or took them seriously. At least when they were drunk, they could make noise and act like an ass and convince themself that it was okay, that it was only to be expected, that they were free of the consequences.

All of it a lie.

No.

The tingling in their limbs felt like phantom tentacles reaching up from a dark pit, pulling and sucking them under –

Payton’s belly curdled and they spewed harshly into the toilet. They let out a dry sob that nearly ripped their lungs loose. All those years, all that work, all those miles between their past haunts and their current life... and they were back here. A different pub in a different city, but still the same old them. Hours of therapy; long, honest conversations with Autumn about their past; all those times Autumn had taken their face in her hands, tears in her eyes, and told them she was proud of them.

All of it was washed away in less than fifteen minutes.

Because it was pointless, wasn’t it? The thing they had once drank to escape – the helpless knowledge that nobody was listening to them – was still very much real. It lived inside them, keeping them small, keeping them polite, keeping them trapped as the pathetic, useless teenager who was never good enough...

No...

Annie’s constant criticism of the little things Payton did differently at the shop; the way Dani bent the uniform rules, only during Payton’s shifts; Donnacha... Donnacha’s outright refusal to listen to Payton’s side of the story when it came to their relationship with Autumn –

“No,” Payton whimpered, gripping the sides of the toilet with both hands. The thought of Autumn finding out about this made their soul feel like it was withering. Something slipped up their throat – a belch, a sob, a hiccup?

Even though their stomach had been completely vacated, the lingering smell and taste of the vodka kept their insides twisting and writhing. They wanted to hug their aching belly, but they had no hands left to do it. They were shaking, wilting against the toilet bowl like a dying flower; they’d surely headbutt the porcelain if they let go.

Frantic heartbeats assaulted their eardrums. They could barely see, barely breathe, barely... barely believe this was happening.

No.

___

Dani was glaring at two stick figures – one with their legs spread, the other with their feet together under a knee-length dress – and having a crisis.

Why were gendered bathrooms even a thing? Cubicle stalls existed for privacy. Lesbians and gay men existed, who used the bathrooms of the biological sex they were attracted to. Besides that, people who were inclined to trespass would and could do so, regardless of whatever little plaque was stuck outside of it. She found it hard to believe that anybody woke up one morning, decided to go out to a public bathroom and be a perv, and then end up being discouraged when they found a little plaque on the door that did or didn’t depict a human in a skirt.

Why had it taken her so long to question this? And why was she questioning it now, of all times!?

Right. Because back at the cafe, there were gender-neutral toilets and gender-neutral changing rooms for the employees. If that hadn’t been the case, maybe Dani would have had some idea of which way Payton would choose to go if they were forced to.

She flashed back to the moment she’d walked into the changing room earlier, and seen Payton’s binder for the first time. Right, right... Did that mean they saw themself as more masculine than feminine?

She pushed open the door to the men’s bathroom, leaning as far into the room as she could while keeping her feet outside and clutching the side of the door. A middle-aged dude was finishing up at a urinal, and he jumped when he saw her.

“Wrong place, love,” he half-smiled.

“Oh, gee, thanks, love,” Dani said, employing her Hollywood starlet voice in order to stop herself from retorting with something unsavoury. And then she yelled out, making the man jump on his way to the sinks; “Payton?!”

After waiting for a few seconds, Dani huffed, noting that none of the cubicles were locked anyway, and no feet were visible under any of them.

She retracted her torso from the bathroom and ducked into the one next door.

“Payton?” she called out again.

Two women were by the sink, one of them washing their hands, the other touching up their lipstick with a bit of a sheepish expression.

“Maybe in there?” the one with wet hands said softly, nodding towards the only cubicle that had been locked. Sure enough, Dani noted the presence of feet near the bottom gap in the door. “Is she okay?”

“They.” The correction sprang out of Dani’s throat, already locked and loaded this time. “And... I dunno. Maybe. Payton? You okay?”

Dani’s heart felt like it’d just been dragged down into her stomach when the reply came.

“No! No, no, no.”

___

Payton’s lungs fluttered with the effort of breathing. A mixture of a smile and a grimace sliced their face as they heard Dani talking to the other bathroom occupants. The novelty of Dani gendering them correctly had worn off so quickly that Payton struggled to remember what that rush of serotonin and acceptance had even felt like.

Their teeth were chattering, their fingers still tingled with the knowledge that their internal chemistry had been altered, and their stomach lining was still painfully irritated –

They were powerless against the no blisters that burst on their lips, over and over again.

“Payton, open the door!” Dani screamed, and even though they were the one yelling no continuously, Payton thought screaming was a little over-the-top.

They weren’t dying. They knew that now. They just felt like they were dying.

“NO!” Payton sobbed lucidly amidst the rolling cries of despair. No, I won’t open the door. What on earth might they would unleash on her if they let her in? They had a reputation as the cool, easy-going supervisor; how could they ever face her at work if they were revealed as the fraud they were?

“I’m so sorry,” Dani’s voice said from the other side of the door. “I wasn’t in on it, but I also wasn’t – I wasn’t paying attention to what they were doing. And I should’ve been.”

Payton squeezed their eyes shut. As badly as they wanted to stay quiet, hoping she would go away, they couldn’t leave her hanging. That was what they did. They soothed people.

“It’s... okay,” they croaked, their voice reverberating in the porcelain bowl. They recoiled. Ew. Was that how they sounded right now?

“No?” Dani retorted. “It’s not. It’s awful.”

Payton coughed, feeling the last of their fighting energy drain out of them. She was right. This was awful. It would be very nice if this could, somehow, not be happening.

Panic flooded their lungs again like liquid, and this time they were struck through with fear, because they didn’t feel they had it in them to continue panicking, and they definitely didn’t want to wind up unconscious next to a toilet –

“Come on, get out of there,” Dani was begging. Her voice sounded strange. Maybe Payton was imagining things again, like they’d imagined her without her boots on earlier.

The door of the next cubicle down creaked. A toilet lid slapped down. There was a muffled thump...

Goosebumps pricked the back of Payton’s neck. They tilted their head back, all the way, so that they were facing towards the ceiling.

The sight of a head hovering above the cubicle divider was unexpected and unsettling enough to make Payton’s breath catch, and once it did, it was like a cycle had been broken. They blinked, once, twice, three times, and suddenly became hyper-aware of their surroundings.

“I... Hi?” they croaked pathetically.

“Hi, boss,” Dani muttered. Payton wondered if that was her version of being playful.

Payton scrambled to flush the toilet, their face burning at the thought of Dani getting an ariel view of their neon yellow vomit.

“Get... get d-down,” Payton stammered. “Y-you’re gonna fall–”

“Open the door and I’ll get down.”

They reached up for the latch and then sank back down, still catching their breath. The tears on their face were starting to solidify. They couldn’t bear to look Dani in the eye when she circled the cubicles to stand in front of theirs, so they kept their gaze low.

A dry laugh popped out of them, like it’d been lodged in their throat and then squeezed.

Dani’s socks were black and covered in tiny green alien heads. She was standing on the tiles in her socks.

“You... actually took your shoes off.”

“Yeah, so?” Dani growled.

“Nothing, I just – I thought I was hallucinating earlier.”

“I find it more comfortable.”

Payton nodded, sniffling as they felt their nose run. They felt as though they were already in the throes of a mini hangover – the hollow pangs of nausea in their stomach, the ringing in their head, the burning agony in their throat.

But worst of all was the shame. The storybook of images of themself – ariel view, as though they’d been up on that toilet alongside Dani, watching their own pathetic display from above – flipped its pages over in their mind.

“So, did – did you have, like, a board somewhere at home that said ‘something-hundred and something days since last drink’, or...?”

Payton almost choked at the image. Why had they never thought of that? They’d only ever kept track of their sobriety on the calendar in their head, but even that would have to be reset to zero now. “No.”

“Mmm. Sorry.” Dani shuffled her stockinged feet. “I never know what to say in... Well, any situation. Ever.”

“You’re fine,” Payton sighed. A part of them noted how exhausting it was, to still be the one to comfort everybody else when something bad had just happened to them. They tried to squash that part. Dani was here, trying to help them.

Besides, they felt most like themself when they were making others feel at ease. Maybe they didn’t need to be so ashamed of that.

“Do you... need something?” Dani asked the question stiffly and awkwardly; was this how she took down orders from customers at the coffee shop?

Payton wanted the exact same thing they’d wanted about an hour ago.

“I want to go home,” they whispered.

“Samesies.” Dani’s feet rearranged themselves again. “Do you need me to help you up?”

The reluctance in her voice made Payton want to say no. But they were dizzy and weak, and tired of saying no. The thought of just a little bit of help brought tears of relief to their eyes.

Payton looked up from the floor. Dani’s appearance hadn’t changed at all from the moment she’d turned up for her shift that afternoon, but Payton got the feeling that they were looking at a whole different version of her.

“I... I mean, would that be okay, Dani?”

“Yes. Of... course.” Dani had clenched her fists by her side, and was looking at Payton as though they were a cliff that she was supposed to step off the side of. “Just don’t grab onto my waist, shoulders, back, or sides.”

#Lucyverse Payton #Lucyverse Dani #Lucyverse #OC sickfic #sickfic #emeto sickfic #emeto #emeto fic #alcohol #alcohol mention #angst fic #spiking mention #misgendering mention #gender dysphoria mention #emetophilia #whump fic

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