#my friends dad passed away and the funeral was today

[emmaspolaroid]

cried so much my head hurts <3 but now the hard part is over

[macfrog]

the sweetest con cowboy like me chapter fifteen

well. this is it. we made it, kids. thank you so, so much for reading for all this time. for all your patience, and kindness, and loyalty. i will carry this pair, their story, and all of your love for them with me forever. love you guys. xx

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader

summary: every cowboy deserves his ride off into the sunset.

warnings: age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), lotsa guilt from reader, dreamy love sequence & mention of unprotected piv/creampie, more greys anatomy spoilers, reader's dad is either Bald or has a Receding Hairline (you choose), more sex - this time reader and joel sixty-nine, face sitting, oral (f and m receiving), more (inferred) unprotected piv, making dirty, hot love ALLAT, cursing, a little smut n a lotta fluff n a droplet of angst at the end

word count: 10.8k

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“How the fuck did this take you three minutes? Three?”

“I’m telling you. I’m a genius.”

You snort. “Shut up. You only passed Math ‘cause you were fooling around with that nerd – Thomas? Was it Thomas?”

“Timothy. And you don’t need math to do a sudoku puzzle, loser. You just need brains. Logic.” Anna taps two fingers against her temple, tilting her head.

“Logic,” you murmur, shaking your head.

Sal’s is quiet today. He’s out of town for his father-in-law’s funeral and made the genius decision to leave the two of you in charge. Since opening at nine, you’ve had four customers. The to-do list left for you was completed by ten, and since then, you’ve been hunched over your phone at the cash register, messing around on some puzzle app Anna made you download.

It's a Wednesday. Nothing exciting ever happens on Wednesdays.

Anna’s behind you, tearing apart and flattening the cardboard boxes you spent all morning emptying. “That level,” she clicks her chewing gum wetly between her teeth, scent of mint over your shoulder, “that ain’t even the hardest one. Ooh, no, babe. Three goes –”

“Shh!” You bat her arm away, curving your hand over your phone screen. She snorts and wanders off through the back, wad of cardboard under her arm.

Anna wasn’t your closest friend in high school, and you sure didn’t stay much in touch past the odd Facebook post update when you left. But working with her, and her dad being your dad’s buddy – she’s sort of become one of those people you just can’t shake.

Like a stray puppy. Or…an annoying hangnail.

She’s nice enough – talks a lot of crap sometimes, but she cares for you. You’d go as far as saying you two have grown pretty close since you came home. Still, the acidic sting of resentment sits on your tongue, anytime you think of her involvement in the unravelling of your little lie. Think of your dad calling hers, Hank asking her where you were.

Think of the fact that, if she hadn’t been honest with him – I don’t know where she is, Dad – nothing would’ve gone wrong.

That’s not fair. If you’d never touched Joel in the first place, nothing would’ve gone wrong.

It’s just – she had a hand in pushing the first domino.

The bell above the door jingles and you lift your eyes from tiny numbers and blank squares to meet a familiar pair of hazel. An Alanis Morissette T-shirt under a denim jacket. She tucks her thick, soft hair behind her ears and smiles, then skips around the counter and links her hands at your tummy; her ear flat against the nape of your neck.

“Why so clingy?” you ask, and Sarah straightens up.

“Just excited to spend some time with my favorite person. That allowed?”

Your eyes scan her up and down as she leans against the counter, stealing a gummy from a jar beside the register. “Been staying with you for nearly three weeks now, you ain’t sick of me yet?”

She shakes her head, jaw chewing, cheeks swollen with a grin. “Are you done yet? I wanna make sure we get good seats.”

“We will,” you assure her. “It’s only, like, three p.m.”

“But it’s Barbie,” she says, “and I wanna get some snacks before we head in.” She holds the decapitated gummy worm up, eyebrows high, before pulling it between her teeth until it snaps. She drags the withered red tail over her tongue.

“That thing you just mauled,” you gesture to the masticated shape in her fingers, “candy. Snacks. Just take some of that.”

“You won’t even buy your date movie theater candy? Damn. Mom’s a cheapskate. Wish I could say my dad’s a lucky guy.”

You shove her off, disguising your laugh with a shake of your head. “You are on thin ice, I’m not even kidding.”

Sarah’s laughing, reaching for another worm. “You know what that sounds like?”

“Hm?”

“What you just said.”

“What’s it sound like, Sarah Miller?”

“Something a mom would say.”

“Alright,” you stand, “get out. Get outta my store.”

The door opens when you point to it, Texan heat sweeping in to swarm the one rickety fan you have in here. The brass bell trembles, and beneath it, a man in a tucked shirt and jeans, glum face and tired eyes.

You blink at him and he blinks back, and no words are spoken between you, but your dad understands to move, to keep walking – and you understand to let him.

“Shoot,” Sarah whispers, twisting her gummy around her finger. “That was awkward.”

Three weeks of staying with them – Sarah and Joel – also means three weeks of zero contact with your dad. The most you’ve heard from – or, rather, about him is that, last week, Joel bumped into Hank at the gas station, and the old man mentioned that he and your dad had grabbed a beer the night before.

What’d he say? you asked Joel, dragging a dish towel around the rim of a glass.

He shrugged, flicking his hands dry over the sink. Said the Rangers aren’t doin’ too good. I said, Yeah, that’s cause a’ –

No, Joel. What did he say about me ‘n my dad?

He waited a second to let the offense of your interruption soak in. Took the towel from your hand, replaced the glass on the draining board. Nothing, he said, I don’t think he knows.

It sat with you the entire night. The three of you watched a movie, occupying either side of Joel’s couch, though you’re sure you don’t remember a word of it. The image of him sat center-stage in your mind until you pulled yourself against Joel’s body in bed that night. Sat in his recliner, flicking through TV channels, the only sounds in the house that of Ice Road Truckers, the ticking of the kitchen clock, and his own fucking breathing.

Alone. Not even Hank to talk to about – well.

You’ve done your best not to think about him. And it works, most days, when you’re with Joel. Helps to go do stuff: ride shotgun while he picks up supplies for work or grabs groceries. Helps to play pretend like his house is yours, too. Tidying when he’s not home, lighting candles and sinking into a bubble bath for him to find you in when he finishes. Helps to be at Sal’s, with Anna. Sudoku and her fucking Tinder account to keep you both occupied.

Most days, you forget to consider the lonely shape of your dad at all – but that seems to hurt all the more. Like forgetting to tend to an open wound; instead, letting the infection blister and bubble so that, when you do bump it again, the pain feels sharper. Hissing at you, poison seeping from flesh.

His showing up, waltzing straight into the store – feels less like a bump, and more like a pair of hands diving straight into the gash, tearing it wide open again. Blood and poison gushing all over the checkered floor.

Anna materializes between two aisles, hands on her hips when she stands behind you. “Y’all still not really talkin’?” she asks.

You and Sarah shake your heads. The three of you watch the shape of your dad’s skull over the shelves, bobbing from bay to bay. Door hinges to fence paint. He painted the fence last summer. He doesn’t need fucking fence paint.

“Nope,” you reply. “’s been, what, two and a half weeks now?”

“Yeah,” Anna mutters, the slope of sympathy in her voice. “My dad’s been talkin’ to him about it. They’ve spoken, like, almost every night on the phone.”

“Oh, fuck,” you hiss, head falling into your hands. “Are you serious?”

“Not about you and Joel. Just about the fight.”

Your jaw slowly slackens, eyes thinning as your gaze slides over to your friend, a saddened expression on her face.

Sarah nods, like an accessory sat on the dash of a car. Bobbing bobbing bobbing, until her brows drop and she turns to you, finally realizing. “Wait, what?”

Anna blinks between the two of you. “What?” she asks, lips pressing together.

“You know?” Sarah asks, glaring at her.

Anna snorts. Neither of you break. She quickly quietens and clears her throat, bending to stuff more cardboard under her arm. “Well…” She sucks in a deep breath. “At rodeo night, when you left your phone on the table, me ‘n Kara wanted to leave a bunch of selfies for you to find later. But when I went to grab your phone, you had a text from him. Joel. Something about someone winning you over like he did, or something. I can’t remember. But that was the first thing.”

Sarah’s face sours at the mention of her dad’s flirty text, scoffing as she swipes another gummy from the jar. “Real fuckin’ subtle, Dad,” she murmurs.

You sharpen your gaze at Anna, blurring the brown curls and low brows from your peripheral. “Uhuh…?”

“Then, there was the lying to your dad about where you were. That Monday – you said you were at mine. You weren’t. Your dad called my dad to ask, ‘n my dad asked me why the hell you’d lie. I figured, What a weird coincidence, right?”

You slip off your stool, legs feeling more liquid than bone. “Oh, Jesus…”

“But then…then, I saw how you were when he called on the way to Frank’s. In the car. You were…fucking weird. And then Joel punched that dude – that basically confirmed it. I don’t think either of your dads would do that for me. It felt…it felt personal. He took your hand ‘n dragged you outta there, and it felt like…somethin’ else.”

You’re leaning against the counter, head in your hands. Struggling to even listen to her piece it all together. Were you this fucking obvious, the whole time?

Anna answers for you. “Yeah,” she says, nodding, “I didn’t catch two fucking boyfriends cheating on me, and not pick up some detective skills, babe.”

You stand straight, composure slowly building over shame. “And your dad doesn’t know? My –” you flick your head across the store, lowering your voice, “– my dad hasn’t told him?”

A laugh spurts from somewhere deep in her chest. “Hell, no. Are you tryna give him a second heart attack? No. He just thinks you were somewhere you didn’t want your dad to know – a boy’s or something. Which – well, I guess you were.”

You nod, half-appreciation, half-resignation. Alright. Now shut up about it, would you?

“But listen,” Anna says, apparently not as good at mindreading as she is at secret-revealing, “y’all gotta work on being sneaky. You’re, like, really bad at it.”

“Yeah,” you sniff, “thanks, Anna.”

You grip the edge of the counter and try to draw your eye away from your dad; a little angry that he’s here, and yet, a little more thankful that you’ve had at least a tiny glimpse of him. Desperate for him to come over, to acknowledge your mutual existence in the same room, and yet – petrified that he does.

He keeps his back to you, though you notice him turning every so often, looking at you from his peripheral. Nope – your black shirt and blue jeans are still behind the counter. He turns back to the shelf.

“Hi, sweetie.” A woman in a pink blouse approaches the counter. She lays down a couple pairs of plyers and you ring her up, asking if she found everything okay. Choking a little when you inhale the scent of her perfume.

“Beautiful day for you to be in here workin’, huh?” Her rosy cheeks fill as she hands you the cash.

Oh, yeah. It’s a beautiful day to be stuck selling plyers to pink women in pink blouses smelling of pink perfume, while my dad – still reeling from the revelation that I’ve been sleeping with his best friend, by the way – pretends to peruse the store.

“I’m almost done,” you reply, blunt enough to deflate her expression only a little, sliding the paper bag stamped Sal’s back across the counter.

She nods in thanks and slinks off, suffocating aroma following her. And like a magician, when she disappears off to the side, your dad stands in her wake. A few feet from you, keeping his distance, watching carefully before he dares to move. Waiting for your go-ahead.

When you lift your chin, beckoning him forward, Anna takes Sarah’s arm and yanks her away, shoving some shredded boxes into her arms. “You wanna help me?” she asks the nosy Miller, tossing something of an alarmed glance back at you and your dad.

There’s a funny feeling behind your eyes when he steps up, empty hand resting hesitantly on the counter. “She coverin’ up the smell of a dead body or som’?” he asks.

The air pushes from your lungs, a laugh barreling with it. Your hands clasp on the surface opposite his. A scorch of white heat at the nape of your neck. “Very vibrant, huh?”

“Very.” He clears his throat, shakes his head a little, and takes a deep breath. “I figured this might be as good a place as any to find you. I didn’t want you to think I was…cornering you, or anything, if I showed up at Joel’s.”

“I wouldn’t – I mean, maybe. But, y’know…this is fine.” Your arms cross defensively, the baggy material of Joel’s shirt wrapping snug around you.

Your dad seems to know. Evidence being that it’s you, in a shirt all too big – a shirt he’d likely see his best friend in, too. It forces your arms tighter, sucking in the scent of Joel to combat the dizzying feeling of nerves.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright,” he says eventually, fingers drumming awkwardly. “I just wanted to know you were fine.”

“I am fine. I promise. Just – working a lot.”

He nods, looking down to his feet. Twists the toe of his boot into the linoleum.

“I’m glad to see you’re alright, too,” you offer, the words fluid and spilling from one to the next – something forceful in their nature.

Your dad’s eyes lift at the same time that his cheeks do. Relief. “Thanks, kiddo. I actually – I was hopin’ that maybe we could talk. If you’re free. I don’t know what time you get off today.”

“I finish in ten minutes,” you say, and hope seems to paint across his face – washing away instantly when you add, “but I’m going to the movies with Sarah.”

He’s nodding again, eyes fixed back on his boots. “Right, right.”

“…But maybe once we’re done I can swing by?”

“Oh, well – I’m workin’ late again. I’ll be out by the time…Yeah. Sorry, hon.”

“That’s okay.”

“Late one again tonight.”

“This, uh – what’s his name again? Kel–?”

“Kelman, yeah. Yeah. How ‘bout I call you tomorrow ‘n we can work somethin’ out? You and Sarah, you enjoy your night.”

You lean back from the counter, slowly more confident in your ability to hold yourself upright. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Dad.”

His lips press together in a flat attempt at a smile. “I’ll leave you to it. You mind if I…give you a hug?”

And then you’re the one awkwardly, forcedly smiling. Your teeth gritting behind taut lips. “Not at all,” you whisper, and wander carefully around the counter to where he stands.

He opens his arms and pulls you against his chest, your head tilting to rest your ear on his shoulder. You hook your arms under his, feeling his wrists crossing at your spine. Like two statues, two figures of stone fixing their crumbling bodies in an embrace, suddenly disjointed and ill-fitting. Your heart hurts beneath layers of rock, swelling in attempt to reach for his, shrinking back crestfallen when he feels too far.

He kisses the side of your head, pulls away, and taps your cheek once. “You know,” he says, letting you withdraw from his grasp, “I really miss you.”

You nod. “Miss you, too.”

“Let’s talk soon, alright?”

“Yeah.”

And then he’s leaving, drifting back out into the summer sun, rock disintegrating as the light catches him again. More human, less monster-under-your-bed. He’s just your dad again, just that swaying, bumbling man who used to sprinkle rainbow flakes over your ice cream and double-knot your laces.

The shadows of Sarah and Anna appear at your elbows, the three of you watching your dad sink into his car. You still feel made of rock, splitting somewhere down the middle as you stare at his figure.

“Well?” Sarah asks.

He turns right out of the parking lot, disappears behind a hedgerow.

“Yeah,” you reply, turning in a daze. “We’re gonna…gonna talk.”

“That’s good, right? That sounds…promising.”

You shrug. “I guess.”

Sarah places a gentle hand on your arm, drawing your attention to her kind eyes and infectious smile. “We should probably get goin’,” she says, and you agree.

“What movie are you seeing?” Anna asks, filling your spot behind the counter as you turn, making for the back of the store.

“Barbie,” Sarah tells her.

“Nice. She paying?”

“Obviously. Mom duties.”

You kick the door closed on their giggles.

Two days pass without a word from your dad. No text, no call, no visit to Sal’s when you’re on shift the following day. By Monday, you’ve convinced yourself that the entire thing was a dream, a hallucination conjured up by your imagination in attempt to rid you of some of the guilt still chewing at your heart. Bat it out of your brain, like swatting the rear end of a wild animal let loose indoors.

Guilt which is only remedied, only soothed by Joel. By the feeling which overcomes your chest when you look at him – lungs faltering, heart leaping. The peace of falling asleep in his safe embrace, the heat from his body enough to keep you comfortable all night, and then waking up tangled in his sheets – the smell of bacon and eggs twirling through the house, the distant sound of his humming drawing you downstairs to his side.

Late nights on the porch, watching the sun bleed heavily into the sky. Your ankles in his lap, a guitar over his thigh. Thumb gentle on the strings, soft timbre of song lulling you to some place far from reality: the same rosy, dreamlike state you’ve mostly occupied since he dragged you through his front door, kicked your shoes and all of your worries to the side, and made you forget that anything bad had ever happened.

The most comfortable you’ve ever felt in your life, the most loved – a world where your every word is heard and weighed, rolling around Joel’s palms and slotting carefully into his back pocket. A world where his lips on your neck as you make dinner, where the crook of his arm catching you as you pass by, is all normal. Where I love you and I love you, too become the last words your sleepy ears hear at night, right before you sink into a shared sleep.

All of it becoming as natural as the pale moon switching for her golden sister at dawn. As instinctive as breathing.

“Have you ever made love to anyone?” you ask him one night, the aftershock of an orgasm still soaking into your skin.

Joel pauses, hips slowing between yours. “Yeah,” after a couple beats, “sure.”

“What’s it feel like?” you ask, honestly. Combing his dark hair through your fingers. “I’ve never…No one’s ever…”

“Baby,” he says. “We’ve done it. I’ve done it to you.”

Your body tenses and then melts around him. One blink and suddenly the world softens, seems to bow into the background – the only sharp object Joel, the twinkle in his eye piercing through the haze like blinking white stars in thick, dark clouds.

You whisper, “Can you do it again? So I can feel what it’s like?”

He pushes himself up, one elbow planted by your ear, the other hand lifting your thigh. Hooking it over his waist, lowering his arm again to cage you under his body. He nudges your chin with his nose, lifting it to line your lips with his, hold every part of your body as close to his as he can.

Deeper, in every sense of the word. Slow, hard. Eyes on you the entire time, watching the way your face contorts and your jaw slackens, holding the shape of your head in his hands, swallowing his own moans and grunts to make space between you for yours.

“Look at me, baby, eyes on me,” he says, and by instinct, your eyes roll forward, focusing or half-focusing on the slick hair at his forehead, the red flush climbing his neck, seeping into the skin under his beard. “You feel it? Feel where I’m goin’?”

And yeah, you whine, you do feel it. Feel him dragging you further away from this world and into the next – somewhere a plain away, somewhere new and different to anything you’ve ever known before. Where physicality is a language, a fluid conversation between the melding of his body and yours; where there are a million words swirling around his pupils, hypnotizing and entrancing and drawing you in until you’re tumbling headfirst into the inky pools.

Where I love you sounds like the groan Joel can’t hold back, feels like the pulsing flood as he snaps between your legs. Where making love is as simple as the squeeze of his hand around yours; the shove of his plate over the kitchen table, offering you the last bite of grilled cheese or simply admitting that it was yours before he’d even taken the first. That addictive laugh of his when you stall the fucking truck for the fifth time: You asked me to teach you, baby, I’m tryna teach you. Foot on the gas, c’mon. You got it. That’s it – now, slow. Slower. Try to feel it. No, really feel it.

Feel it. Really, try to feel it. Can you feel it? Do you know the difference yet? The difference between everyone who was before, and the one who is now? Do you finally get it?

“I feel it,” you cry out, and his frame holds yours together as you fall apart.

It feels like – you.

How did I ever know anything before I knew you?

“That one’s nice,” Joel says, his voice jumping the short distance between his lips and your ear.

You tilt your head, body moving with his when he lifts his hand to swipe through some more of the images. The spacious living room, newly refurbed kitchen, the view of downtown Los Angeles.

He adjusts the blanket draped over your legs. “Washer dryer, walk-in closet,” and then, leaning in closer, whispers, “a balcony. That’s cool.”

“Hm,” you turn to face him, your body shelled by his in the corner of his couch, “I bet you like the balcony, cowboy.”

He smiles plainly in response, squeezing your nose between two knuckles. Yeah. Lots you can do with a balcony.

A sharp gasp from across the room pierces the sweet moment. You and Joel turn in its direction, its owner wide-eyed and blinking at the TV.

“Wait a second,” Sarah yelps. “George is the John Doe?” She gasps again when Meredith announces the same news to her friends onscreen. “Shut – the fuck – up!”

“Language,” Joel clips, chest rumbling between your shoulder blades.

“Oh, like you didn’t have the exact same reaction. George is the…Oh, that sucks. Are you kidding me?” She fishes her phone from the waves of blanket surrounding her, thumbs rapidly typing, eyes shooting from screen to screen.

You snort, turning back to your own phone in your hand, when a text appears at the top of the screen.

Dad: Hey kiddo. Sorry to keep you waiting, work been hectic. Off the rest of today if you’re free to come over.

Your thumb latches onto the message, holding it for Joel to read, too, before letting it disappear off into your notifications.

He tightens his hold on you, burying his nose into the cotton of his own hoodie over your shoulders. His breath pushes heavy and thoughtful across the material. “Still seems as calm as the other day.”

“Too calm,” you admit, “it’s freaking me out.”

“What can he do, you know? You’re here, he’s there. Your dad ain’t an idiot, baby. He knows stayin’ angry about it’s only gonna push you further away.”

“Sure made ‘im feel like an idiot…”

Joel catches the comment and pockets it before it gathers enough weight to bruise. “Well,” he clears his throat, “it’s up to you. I ain’t letting you do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Mhm,” you reply, and wait for more words to fall to your tongue. An answer, a response. A decision that you know you don’t feel equipped or even rightful to make.

“Do you want to go talk to him?” Joel asks.

“I…I want to make things right. I wanna fix it.”

“Okay. And will talking to him do that?”

You turn to face him, frowning. “I don’t fucking know,” you mutter. “Will it?”

He smiles sympathetically. “Wish I knew, darlin’. Would it help if I came? Sat outside in the truck, waited for you? It gets too much, you decide you wanna leave – we leave.”

“You ain’t scared to be near him again?”

He gulps back a laugh, Adam’s apple bobbing awkwardly before he allows himself to answer. “Only thing scary about your dad is the sunlight reflectin’ off his damn head. No, I ain’t scared.”

You study him a minute longer, eyes roaming from the lips you could sketch every score of from memory, the beard you’re sure has forever altered your prints from the number of times you’ve run your fingers over the bristles. The eyes which know every secret, every whisper, every thought behind your own.

You sigh, smiling dumbly as he wraps his arms tighter around you. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Joel pulls up by the curb, parking politely at the end of your driveway rather than alongside your dad’s car, like he usually would. Like he used to.

You crane your head, looking past the shape of him to survey the unassuming house. Quiet, still. No sign of hurricane or earthquake, no tremors of rage or words like rocks raining down on the truck roof. Your thumb plunges into the buckle of your seatbelt, the webbing whipping over your shoulder.

“Sure you’re okay?” Joel asks, watching your fingers lift to the door handle.

“Mhm,” you reply, distant. “’s just my dad, right? What’s the worst that could happen?”

His eyebrows lift, agreeing. He takes your hand in his and holds it to his lips. “Whatever it is,” he mumbles into your fingers, “if it happens, you come straight back out here, you hear? I ain’t moving.”

The urge to stay exactly where you are and let him carry you off back to his place overwhelms you for a brief second. To stay in the safety of the truck cabin, stay within touching distance of Joel. And as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone. Overcome by the memory of that stony hug in Sal’s, the vacant, lonely eyes boring into late-night TV.

A sharp chap over your shoulder shocks you back to life. You twist in your seat, looking down at a face wrinkled by curiosity and wisdom, sheen of lipstick curved in a mischievous grin. You roll the window down, mirroring her smile.

“Joel Miller,” Rita calls, lowering her ring-adorned fist and pointing over to her car. “Help me with these groceries.”

“Afternoon to you, too, Rita,” he calls back, and she raises two thin, penciled eyebrows. His sigh trickles into a chuckle as he snaps the door open, leaning into you. “I ain’t moving,” he mutters, swinging out of the truck.

“Sure looks like you’re movin’,” you call back, letting Rita pull on your door to let you out.

“How are you, darlin’?” she asks. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

You hop down beside her, helping her tug the shawl around her arms back over her shoulders. “Yeah, I’ve, uh…I’ve been busy.”

She nods, and then her eyes drift to somewhere behind you. “They go in the kitchen, son.” She points to her house. “I’ll come help you unpack ‘em.”

Joel’s face twists, eyes wide, hands outstretched. You swallow back a laugh when he looks to you, an almost teenage expression which asks, You seein’ this? as he turns back to the Nissan.

“I better go,” Rita says then, giving your arms one last squeeze. “You take care, now. Tell your dad I’m askin’ after ‘im.”

“I will, Rita.” You turn on your heel and saunter around Joel’s truck, giving him one last twirl as he hoists two bags under his muscled arms, rolling his eyes as you spin.

You pull the weight of yourself up your drive, passing past versions of yourself as you near the front door. She’s stumbling towards her dad’s car, a bucket of soapy water sloshing around between her knees. She’s sat on the curb, waiting for Joel’s truck to roll up, praying she never hears another Marty Robbins song again.

She’s naïve, still. Knows no better, knows no worse. Chasing a high, chasing the thrill of being caught and the thrill of nobody ever knowing. A relationship built entirely on lies and deceit. A love woven with dark threads of shame and anger, a tattered mess in one corner where the edges fray and loosen.

And you think: you’ve never felt more jealous of anybody your whole life.

The front door clicks open easily, like the building welcomes you home with a relieved sigh. You follow sunlight into the hallway, feeling it easier to walk through than before – less dense, less suffocating. Less guilty. An honest thief, back to return the bleeding heart she dragged out the door with her.

Secrets like shards of broken glass on the floor, debris from that day. And as if he hears the crunch of your footsteps, your dad appears at the bottom of the hall.

“Hi, hon.”

Eyes wide with a misplaced shock, you say, “Hey.”

“You okay?”

“’m good.”

“Good. Come in, come through.” He beckons you forward, a smile only half-forced on his lips. “You want a drink or anything?”

You follow him into the kitchen, politely accepting a glass of water when he offers it.

He turns with two steady palms on the island, watching as you drag a chair free and sit at the table. “How’s Joel?” he asks, swallowing roughly.

The words come delayed, your open mouth lying in wait. Your body selfishly trying to hoard the information, protective the second the image of that six-foot, two-hundred-pound man crosses your mind. “He’s fine. He’s out front.”

It sounds like a warning, though you don’t mean for it to. Just conversation. He’s helping Rita with her groceries. She’s asking after you, by the way. But your dad seems to sense the natural amber tone of it – the sparking of a flame, daring to catch. He’s waiting for this to go south.

He nods, accepting the fact of it. His own failed attempt to separate the two of you only drove you closer together. Only made you want Joel more.

But then he’s nearing you again, pulling out the chair opposite yours. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, settling with a sigh. “Glad we’re…we’re talkin’ again, at least.”

Your head angles. “Are we?”

His body jerks, flinching from the sting of the question. “Well,” his head wobbles, jowls quivering, “I sure hope so. I was takin’ it as a good sign that you’re here.”

“I’m here,” you repeat, “but that doesn’t mean I’m staying.”

“No, I know. I know. Joel’s out front, ‘n all that.” He looks down at his hands, clasped in his lap. Holds his tongue behind his front teeth, waiting for the next turn of conversation.

You lean forward, elbows on the table, softening your voice. “Dad?” you say, and he looks up. “This whole entire thing – I think…I think we oughta try and understand each other, a little better. Hear each other out.”

“I am tryin’, hon. I’m really tryin’. You dealt me an awful lot to hear out ‘n understand.”

You rock back, sinking against the hard chair. Tracing the wood grains in the table, nails digging between. Shame coiling like a snake beneath your tongue, taking up too much space in your mouth. Its venom dripping between your teeth, acrid and sour; tendons in your neck jumping with the bitterness of your dad’s tone.

He sighs. “Be honest with me a second.”

“Huh?”

He waits a beat, watching you carefully. Opens his mouth, pauses, and then speaks. “Who instigated it?”

Your finger pushes harder into the surface. Digging new divots. “Um…kinda both of us. Was sort of a two-way thing from the get-go.”

His lips twist, almost imperceptible. He looks behind you to the patio outside. You can’t read what’s in his eyes. It makes you say more, say things you reckon you’ll regret later – but something to fill the silence between you. Something to let him sink his teeth into.

“There was flirting. Lotta flirting. And then it…it just sort of snowballed.”

“Snowballed.” He looks uncomfortable, lifting his hands to cup over his face. “I just didn’t take him as the type,” he says, muffled into his palms.

“As what type?”

He drops his hands, hitting his thighs with a slap, and looks you dead in the eye. Sad, almost. “Arthur Kennedy type.”

“He’s not.”

You say it instinctively. Your ears hear it at the same time your dad does. He looks at you blankly.

“He’s not,” you repeat, a little looser. Less hasty. “Look,” you sigh, “I know it’s not what you want to hear, but…everything that we ever did, I wanted to do. I already told you. There ain’t nothing we did that I didn’t ask him to. I swear to you.”

You think back to the cookout, how angry Joel was at the thought of Arthur Kennedy hanging over you. How pissed he’d be, hearing your dad line him up against that old leather boot of a man. Comparing, contrasting. Here’s how you measure up, son. How much of a phantom Arthur Kennedy has been, your whole life, and how much of a sanctuary Joel is in comparison.

Your stomach twists at the thought. A tight knot, wound by a desperation to clear the name of a man whose worst offense was doing exactly what your dad would’ve told him to: leave.

“This whole thing,” you go on, “it’s a mess, alright? It’s – totally fucked. And we shouldn’t’ve lied, shouldn’t’ve been keeping things from you, but then…what did you expect?”

Your dad cuts in like a bullet: “I expect the two of you not to do what you were doin’.”

“No, I know that. But we did it, right? It’s done now. I meant, did you really want us to sit you down in the living room ‘n say, Hey, Dad – guess what?”

He grimaces at the thought.

“Didn’t think so. We didn’t even know what it was. We had no idea what it’d turn into. But you gotta hear me out: it wasn’t just…some fling, or whatever you’re thinkin’. I swear, Dad, it wasn’t.”

He still doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t lift his stare from the table. You feel like a little kid, desperate to make him love you again. Desperate to make him listen. The space between you fills with the bored tick tick tick of the kitchen clock. Each second hurting a little more than the last.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry I let you down, but…I’m not sorry that I did it. If I could go back, knowing everything I know – I’d do it all over again.”

The words roll across the table to him like billiards. You lean back again, watching them as they rattle from his side to yours – your sentence delivered back into your ears. You nod, a sure thought in your mind.

I’d do it all over again. All the covering, all the hiding. The aching, the wishing and wanting. Staring at Joel’s empty hand, dying to slot yours into it. Dying to put any part of yourself near him; your head under his chin, your arms linked around his waist. Knowing you two would feel, knowing everyone else would see, just how perfectly you fit together.

The chasing your own tails: Did you lie well enough? Do they suspect anything? Did we leave any evidence? Disturbed sheets, a collar still upturned. Can they hear us? Have they noticed we’re missing? We’re always fucking missing.

You’d do it all over again. You know what it cost, now, sat directly opposite the price. His polite smiles like veneers over rotten teeth. The tremble in his lip when he opens his mouth to speak.

And it was worth it. Joel. He was worth it all, in the end.

All over again.

“Do you know that every time I look at you, there are…probably four versions that I see?”

You frown. Did he hear what you just said? All ov–? “What?”

Your dad laughs to himself. “When you walk outta that door, I see a little pink backpack over your shoulders. Gym bag in your hand, maybe. I see missin’ front teeth, I see those little clip-on earrings you used to love so much.

“And – and when you’re mad at me, when we fight, I see you at fourteen. Growing pains, y’know? I still remember you slamming your bedroom door in my face, all ‘cause I wouldn’t let you go to that girl Molly’s birthday party.” He looks up, smiling at your perplexed expression.

“I don’t even…remember that, hardly.”

“Long time ago now. My point is,” he continues, “you’re twenty-three. You’re grown. And I just can’t figure out how to make those other versions…grow with you. You still feel like my kid. Still that little girl with the pink backpack.”

“But,” you clear your throat, trying to swipe her from your own memory, “I’m not. I’m not her anymore, Dad. And I think maybe you gotta give me the space to be someone different, now.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, nodding. “I know, I know. I just didn’t think this new version of you would…y’know. Be with Joel, ‘n all. That is something I did not see comin’.”

“You think I did?” You spit a laugh. “If you told me when I came home that this is what was waiting for me…that I was gonna fall…”

Your teeth close around the sentence, dropping your dad’s eye. But it’s too late.

He stares back at you like the sun. “…Fall in love with ‘im?”

And you cower. You wince, almost. The last secret. The last thing he doesn’t know. “I don’t…I don’t know, I –”

“You love him. You do, don’t you?”

Your thumbs run circles around one another, fingers locking until your knuckles hurt. “I don’t know,” you mumble, wishing for the tenth time since you sat down that Joel was beside you, in front of you, around you.

“’s what Anna seems to reckon.”

Your eyes flit up. “Anna?”

He hums. “She is her father’s daughter. A damn meddler. She called here, last night.”

“Oh, Jesus,” you groan, head falling into your hands. “Ignore her, please. Ignore all of it. She doesn’t –”

He holds a palm up. “Now, hold on. You don’t even know what it was she said.”

You huff a sigh, twisting your hand in the air. Go on.

“She reckons you do love him. Reckons he loves you back. More, if that’s even possible, she said. Told me all about the way he stepped in front a’ that boy at Frank’s. About your face when he picked you up from rodeo night, how ecstatic you were. The difference she sees in you.”

“Difference,” you scoff, glancing out to the backyard. “What difference?”

“Same difference I see, probably. Same difference Bill said he saw, too: you’re happier. Even I can’t deny it, hon. It’s damn hard – you never make nothin’ easy on your old man – but…but I am willing to try.”

The hurt begins to slowly fizzle away. Cooling, washing from your skin like foamy waves. Curiosity left to shine through.

“You may not understand this ‘til you have kids of your own – if you have kids of your own – but there ain’t a thing in this world that I love more than I love you. And when you love somethin’ that much, you’ll do anything to stop it from getting hurt. Anything. That’s all I want you to know.”

A silence falls between you, thoughtful and waiting. The clock’s ticking grows sharper again. It seems to consider the same as you: there should be more to this. More to be said, to be convinced. More yelling, even.

But you arrive at the same conclusion, at near enough the same time: there is nothing more. Cards flat on the table, eyes pouring all over them. To question it, to second-guess any of it, would be to tempt fate.

“Anyway,” your dad sits forward, clasping his hands on the table, “tell me what’s goin’ on. What’s been happening in your world?”

You shrug. A little, shy thing. “Work. Been hanging with Sarah a lot. And I, uh, I had a job interview last week.”

“Oh, yeah? Where?”

You shift awkwardly in your chair. “For, uh…that one in LA. They called to offer it a couple days ago.”

A smile pulls across his lips. Growing, growing, growing until he’s grinning back at you. Pride, little bit of surprise. Whole lot of amusement and joy. “You take it?” he asks, figuring he knows the answer already.

“Not yet,” you reply. “Think I’m going to, though. ‘s too good to say no.”

He lifts his eyebrows in agreement, looking down at his hands. Shoulders lurch some under the weight of your news. “There goes that little backpack,” he mutters to himself, and you smirk.

“Can’t hold her back forever.”

“I never had a hold on her in the first place. You were walkin’ on outta that door the minute you found your own two feet.”

You snort. “Good! Good for me. Let me go out into the big ol’ world; let me go fuck it all up ‘n come home for dinner once I’m done.”

“I intend to,” your dad says, nodding along to every passionate word you say. And then he asks, “How’s Joel feelin’ about it all? About LA?”

Your shoulder jerks in a half-shrug. “He’s fine, I guess. Says he’ll miss me, but then – we haven’t exactly had the most typical relationship up until now. Survived a lot I reckon would break any normal couple…”

It’s the first time you think you’ve ever said it. Couple. You’ve thought of it – flicked through the words you might use to describe him. Your boyfriend, your partner. None of them seem to fit exactly who he is to you. None of them strong enough to carry the weight of what’s shared between you. He’s Joel. He’s your Joel. Nothing will ever come close.

Your dad hears it, too. The newness of it. The crisp shape of the word, not yet thawed to this new world. Your tongue still learning how to pronounce it, how to pair it with the image of Joel.

“Guess he can fly out ‘n visit whenever, right?”

“Yeah,” you swallow, “and I’ll be back here, too. Christmas ‘n all.”

Your dad smiles. Relieved, assured. Light slowly returning to his eyes.

“We’ll be fine,” your chest swells, “so Joel says. I trust ‘im.”

You both quieten, sitting back in your chairs. What once felt like a room ablaze, flames tearing the skin from your body as you dragged your heels through it – now feels like a gentle warmth. Waves wrought with enough power and force to destroy you, now seeping off with the change of the tide. Bumps on the horizon.

“Speaking of,” you say, making to stand, “I should probably get goin’.”

“Yeah. Yeah, hon.” Your dad follows, arm on your shoulder as he walks you down the hall.

The sun intrudes, tosses herself into your arms as you pull the front door open. In her golden-rayed wake sits that dark truck, same as always. The same dark tee, the same dark-speckled-gray hair. Arms folded, stood against the body, waiting. Eyes on the house, on your figure as you step down onto the doormat. Joel straightens when your dad follows you out, chest sucking in a ragged breath.

They look at one another, and that’s about it. Something of a nod from Joel – not quite returned by your dad. You figure that might take some time to come back around. And that’s okay. You can make peace with it.

You turn back. Your dad’s looking down at you, hand over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

“You know,” you take a deep breath, “the only times he’s ever hurt me, are the times he’s left. The times I haven’t had him around.”

And then you step back, the magnet in your chest telling you it’s time to return to its partner.

In high school, your English teacher tasked the class with writing a short story. Any genre you wanted, any word count up to two thousand. The boys mostly dicked around, wrote action-packed, blood-and-guts garbage. One girl wrote something you’re sure you’d seen in a Hallmark movie before.

But you – you spent two weeks straight, writing. Awake until all hours of the night, hunched over your laptop, sunbathing in the blue hue of an open document. Fingers hammering rapidly into your keyboard.

A man and a woman meet in Central Park. She – hair the color of rust, spilling down her shoulders and lifting at the ends, twisting around the fingers of the blustery wind. A red glow around her third finger where gold once lived. Sat on a bench, alone. Hiding, perhaps. And he – sharp suit and tie, clean-shaven, a steel-blue gaze that might cut glass. Missing the city traffic by taking a walk through the park on his way home. Fleeing, perhaps.

He notices her trench coat first. Bright red, a poppy swaying in the breeze. A little hopeless, a solemn wilt to it. The quickly dampening fire of her hair in the rain, the opaque sheen of polish chipping from her nails. And he thinks he recognizes the constellation of freckles painted across her cheeks. Thinks he might’ve mapped them, once, in some kind of past-life.

She looks up and realizes she recognizes the cut of his gaze. Piercing through her, splitting her in two. Thinks she might’ve felt it before, the opening of her soul to someone who looked just like him – a little more baby-faced, a little more spirited. In some kind of past-life, too.

She stands, and he slows, and they meet somewhere in the middle. Words exchanged; body heat transferred through hugs. Is that really you? You look so different. It’s been years. He doesn’t ask about the lack of jewelry on her third finger. She doesn’t ask about the gray circles beneath his eyes. Just, You wanna grab a coffee? and, Yeah. Yeah, I do.

They sit at the window, watch the yellow taxis and the black umbrellas and the trembling traffic lights. They talk about life then, life now, and silently agree to forget about the part in the middle. They look at each other the same way they must have before they lost one another, before life and love and everything else got between them.

They agree to meet again in a week. They swear that they will not fall back in love.

They know as well as each other that they’re really promising to do just that.

Love – twisted and turned over and over, until it’s a different shape altogether. We started as one thing, and we watched it shift into something completely different. Clay in the potter’s hands. Didn’t you think it might fall apart? There was a moment I thought the heat of the kiln might break us. I’m glad it didn’t. I’m glad we’re made of tough stuff.

I’m glad I found you again, in that park. The pissing rain and the wind so strong I felt it lifting the sense from my mind. In that hardware store, in that bar filled with weed and bad intentions. I’m glad you split me open, glad you could see the good that was still inside. I thought I’d lost her for a minute. Thought she’d forgotten her way home.

Let’s go get a coffee. Let’s pretend it’s always been this way.

Let’s fall in love. The rest will take care of itself.

It takes three weeks in total to properly pack up your things. Two days after you accepted the job, you bought boxes and tape, and began to dismantle the identity you’d spent twenty-three years creating for yourself, a little bit at a time. Taking apart the pink-walled museum of your life, artefact by artefact.

Joel has helped as much as you’ve let him. Laid back on your bed when you’ve dismissed him one too many times, raised his eyebrows and laughed with you whenever you come across some old, forgotten piece of memorabilia. Something ceremonial to it, something innocent and fun. Like a little graduation for all the parts of yourself.

Soon, as the last of the summer sun dampens outside, your room lies vacant. Empty of any real evidence of your being here. Bedsheets and pillows folded, packed away; framed photos and posters unpinned from the wall and wrapped up safely. Drawers and closets barren, left with a selection of your less-loved, less-worn clothes. A wardrobe built from stuff you’ll only ever wear when you come back home to visit, if even then.

Joel’s sat on the bare mattress, looking around your room. You’re stood opposite, leaning against your half-empty dresser. The sun filters feebly through your turned shades, averting her eyes.

You look over at him. Golden, like the sunlight outside. Warm, like the breeze through the trees. Yours. Yours yours yours.

“What?” Joel asks, his eyes having finally found their way back to you. He smiles at your focused expression.

“Nothing. I don’t know. Just…”

“Talk to me. Tell me.”

“You are – this is…” You sigh. “This is good. I think it’s good. Not just all the stuff we did. But you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you tell him. “You’re good for me.” You grip the wooden lip tighter, swaying nervously when you add, “But I think it was always gonna go this way, wasn’t it?”

He sniffs. Shoulders jerk in a weak shrug. “Yeah, I think so, baby.”

Your eyelashes flutter, soothing the prickling feeling of tears forming. “I don’t – I don’t know if I want it to.”

“Yeah,” Joel says through a groan, pushing himself up, “you do.”

You shake your head as he approaches, and his hands cup your cheeks.

“Hey,” he whispers, pulling your body tight against his. Your face buries in his chest; your tears wet on his shirt. He shushes you, rocks you gently back and forth with a hand on the back of your head. “Listen to me.”

“Joel –”

“Listen to me.” He pulls you back, swipes the tears from your cheeks as quickly as they fall. “We’re fine. We are going to be fine.”

“I don’t want to leave you –”

“I know, I know. But you want to go do this. And that’s okay. Both of ‘em, at once.”

Your head shakes again. Like an instinctive reaction to the thought of being separated from him.

Joel smiles softly. “I am going to miss you like hell. You got no idea. But,” he pulls your head back to face his, tucks your hair behind your ear, “I want you to go. You gotta go after this. Right?”

“I know,” you whisper, lungs lurching for breath. “I just – wish it didn’t mean leavin’ you.”

“Darlin’…” Joel coos, pulling you in again. “You know how much I love you? What do I keep tellin’ you? We’ll be alright. It’s you ‘n me, right?”

You nod, salty tears slipping between your lips onto your tongue. When you look up, you notice the same expression on Joel’s face. He blinks his own away before they fall.

“’s you ‘n me,” you repeat, and he pulls your lips together.

You roll your tongue onto his, letting him taste you – all of you. Your mouth, and your thoughts, and your tears, and your pain. You let him take it all, let him hold it for this moment as you breathe him in, let his body fill yours in every way.

Your hands are in his hair, your chest pressed against his; he’s every thought on your mind and every beat in your heart. He’s the blood thrumming through your veins, he’s the oxygen filling your lungs; he’s the words between your teeth and the flesh around your bones.

And he pulls you, and you follow, his shirt in your fist, over to the bed where he lays you gently and falls on top.

“When’s he get back?” he asks, taking your bottom lip between his teeth.

“Later,” you mumble, your fingers picking at the hem of his shirt.

He pushes back, letting you tug it up up up over his shoulders at the same rate he peels your tee from yours, both tossing each other’s clothes to somewhere else in the room. Jeans undone, shorts dragged from your hips, underwear discarded until you’re naked under him, and he’s naked over you, and there’s nothing and no one between.

Joel cradles you, holds you close as he presses a palm roughly against the underside of your thigh, opening your body to him in a way only he’s mastered. In a way you only would, for him.

His hand cups your sex, fingers nudging between your folds, pushing in when your jaw slackens and a wanton moan echoes from your throat across Joel’s tongue.

“Yeah,” he coos, wrist jacking between your legs, “’s my girl. Gotta get you warmed up, huh? Get you nice ‘n wet.”

Your back arches, arms linking around his neck to pull him closer, pull him deeper. Hold him tight enough to you that your bodies feel one, feel connected at the meeting of Joel’s hand and the most intimate part of you; the meeting of your tongues between teeth.

And you gasp, the nudging of his fingers against the deepest part of your body, the messy circles of his thumb on your clit. The shape of him, solid and warm against the seam of your thigh.

You reach down for him, wrapping your fingers around his cock, and his breath hitches. Teeth bump into yours. You’re fucking irresistible to him.

“Darlin’,” his voice is low, daring you to keep going, “you wanna cut this short ‘fore we’re even started?”

You breathe a laugh into his jaw, hot and needy. “You get to play with me,” you whine, “I wanna play with you, too.”

Joel growls, seizing his movements, leaning back in what you take as him granting full access to his body. But then he says, “Turn around,” in a strict voice you’ve come to know as meaning one thing, and you pause.

You peel your eyes from his dick to blink up at him. “Turn –?”

“– around, now.” He takes your waist, hoisting you up until you’re straddling him, holding you inches above his body. “Turn.”

“What the fuck are you –?”

“Many times do I gotta tell you? You said you wanted to play.” He twists your waist until you follow his movements, swinging one leg over the other. He grabs your hips, tugging you back towards his face. “So, play,” he mutters, lowering your cunt down to his lips.

You gasp, falling forward and hitting the mattress between his legs. “J– fuck me. Are you s-serious?” You moan, hips rocking against the feeling of his bearded chin at your clit. “You’re like – a fucking – horny teenager. Oh, fuck.”

Your head falls forward, hands splaying out over his thighs, before your eyes refocus and you notice the hardened shape of him, tip oozing precome all over the hair-spattered plain of his groin. Your hand lifts, shakily taking hold of him again, and you lean down.

Elbows hooked over his thighs, you bring his tip to your lips, letting a thick bead of saliva fall and drip down the length of him, meeting your closed fist to be dragged up and down.

Joel’s hips almost buck. He holds it, manages to catch it, but you spot it. You’ve done this too many fucking times not to notice the reaction you draw from him.

“’s good,” you whisper, circling your hips on his face, tongue slipping across his cherry-red tip. “Feels so good.”

He responds in the form of a deep groan, rattling from his chest through your clit, shocking like lightning up your spine until the very same noise is thrown from your lips. You push down, tongue molding around every vein and the slow curve of his cock until your lips meet the thick brush of hair at his base, his tip kissing the very back of your throat.

Your throat which jumps, jolts at the feeling of something intruding – before you’re retreating again, pulling him from your body, warm, wet spit linking the two of you when you come up for air. And then you sink back down, head moving up down up down up down as his stomach tenses beneath your chest.

Joel’s palms keep a heavy hold on your ass, his tongue lapping between your folds like they’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted – like he might die if he doesn’t get his fix of you. And you think, they are, and he might, as your cheeks hollow and you bow down over him again.

You establish a rhythm, two waves swirling between one another: your hips rocking, Joel’s lifting ever so slightly as you suckle on one another. Your hand fisting the parts of him you can’t quite reach, not without choking; Joel holding you fixed to his jaw, letting the tip of his tongue hook around your swollen clit, then dragging it down until he’s letting you ride the wet muscle.

The approach of your first orgasm, a tiny spark catching to life in the pit of your belly, incites you with a need to open up further for him. Your throat taking more of him, your thighs slackening as you drive your cunt harder against his mouth.

“’m so close,” you whimper, lips curving around his cock. “So – fucking – ah, keep doin’ that. Right th-there.”

His hands hook around your thighs, tongue darting across your clit. His nose nudges somewhere between your folds, quickly becoming coated in the slick you’re leaking all over him.

“Joel,” you say, fists pumping his cock. Your voice a warning: it’s coming. You’re gonna – Fuck, you’re gonna come.

His voice is looser, more of a shrug of the shoulders when he pulls away from you. He inserts two fingers, curls them like before, like he knows drives you fucking insane. “Let go, babygirl,” he murmurs, lips immediately returning to position. And then, muffled and rough: “Come all over me.”

“Fuckfuckfuck,” you pant, hands squeezing around his cock, feeling that same spark ignite into flame, your entire body bursting with heat.

Your high rips through you, battering through each vein in your system, each nerve electrified. You collapse between his legs, his rough pubic hair sticking to the sweat on your chest, hips rutting wildly against the sharp cut of his jaw.

The mattress absorbs most of the desperate moan which streaks across your tongue, nails digging hard into the flesh of Joel’s thighs. And you hear the deep sound of his voice, the thud thud thud of a chuckle against your clit: the cocky fucker laughing to himself as he unravels you for what feels like the thousandth time.

“Alright,” Joel says, more to himself than to the fucked-out shape of you between his legs. He sits up and shifts you carefully down the bed, settling you face-down on the mattress and lifting your ass to meet his hips. “Okay?” he asks, kneeling behind you.

You feel his tip between your legs, slotting happily somewhere in your opening. Waiting for your response. A response you don’t feel able to give, as much as you’d like to; your lips puffy and confused, words jumbling behind them in a tangle of bliss and love.

“Baby,” Joel says, hand slinking down your back, pressing gentle circles into the nape of your neck. “You okay?”

Your head lifts, glancing over your shoulder to see his hairy torso, his thick arms caging over you. He lifts your chin with two fingers, cranes your neck up until you’re looking into his eyes, heavy lids blinking dumbly.

“Just fuck me,” you whisper, and Joel slips his tongue into your mouth.

You used to dream of coming back home. A few years away, doing whatever you wanted, wherever you wanted. Dreaming things up and then chasing them until they happened. Tiring yourself out, lungs gasping for breath and eyes always searching, always looking for a new target to pin up. But always coming back.

Austin, Texas. Its jagged skyline, the streets lined with a vibrant glow and star-spangled bunting. The river like a silver-bellied snake slithering through. Home.

You dreamt of living out your days here, once your blood had slowed and your mind settled. A quiet life in the country, a big wooden house with a wraparound porch. Two little rocking chairs, so you and whoever your husband turned out to be could sit and watch the sky fade from red into orange into white and then dull gray into deep blue.

Breeze kissing your cheek, his lips kissing your knuckles.

Joel.

Home.

You tell him, and he smirks. “That so?” he asks, wrapping his arms a little tighter around your naked body.

You nuzzle your cheek into the palm of his hand, breathing in the sweet scent of sweat and sex sitting in the air. “Mhm. You could play guitar until the stars come out.”

He hums in agreement. “Sounds like a pretty good dream. Tell you what: you go to LA, do what you gotta do. By the time you come back, there’ll be a big ol’ farmhouse, wraparound porch, rollin’ fields for the dogs. Coffee ‘n sunsets. How’s that sound?”

“And you’ll be there?”

He smiles. Scoops you in one arm and rolls you onto your front, chest to chest with him. His fingers ghost down the curve of your shoulder. “Baby,” he whispers, “I built the damn thing.”

It forces a laugh from your chest, something you’ve gotten used to by now. Joel and his ability to steal a giggle from you, the dumbest moments seeming the funniest. “You’re gonna build me a damn house?” you ask, chin resting between his pecs.

“That what you want?”

Your head rocks left to right, considering. “I just want you. That’s all.”

“Then you got me. I’m all yours.”

In his hazel eyes lives every moment you’ve ever shared. Every conversation, every kiss, every fight. Every minute he’s spent looking for you or at you, every minute you’ve spent looking back at him. It’s all in there. You see it like a movie reel, frame by frame.

It lands like a slot machine on that first night. Cleaning up after pizza. Shoulder to shoulder by your kitchen sink. You wish you’d just kissed him. Even with your dad right there. Wish you’d lifted your heels and put your lips on his, just for the fucking hell of it. Just to condense all of it, every second of longing and hurt and pain into one fleeting moment.

Wish you’d pulled him into you, against you, the weight of his body like an old friend. Welcomed it with open arms, like you’d spent your entire life missing it, waiting for it to come back to you. Let yourself feel your own heart, peeling between the cage of your ribs, reaching out for his. Always reaching for him.

Wish you’d looked him in the eye, tears softening the tufts of graying hair, vignetting the smirk only you can tell is there. Looked at him in that knowing way, that language only you two know; the glint in your eyes translating a thousand messy words into three. Just three – the simplest, lightest words you’ve ever known.

I love you. Let’s skip to the good part.

[djtommotomlinson]

last november i was in china when my little brother called me and told me to come home. over summer my nan, my mums mum, had passed away before i had managed to get back to see her and my mum, my best friend in the world, had a heart attack soon after. i was with her then. we went to the funeral. she got better. we saw robbie williams live. we went out drinking and to the beach and watched coyote ugly and la la land together, our fave movies.

when my brother called me to tell me mum had cancer i knew it was bad. i lost my best friend to cancer when we were just 16 years old. thats never a good word. but its my mum. and to quote her days after her own mums death 'i always knew one day my mum would die but i never knew she would, like, actually die'.

i knew in the back of my head why i was going home but i didnt believe it. i watched spiderverse for like the third time on the plane. i went to grab my suitcase and laughed when i realised i was at the wrong shanghai - gatwick conveyor belt. who knew there were two at almost the same time.

then my brother, my baby brother, who is 30 next year but was 28 and always our baby brother, called me and my life is never ever going to be the same. i knew the moment he called. and i sat on the floor at gatwick airport shaking and people kept coming over to ask if i was okay and finally my sister and my aunties, my mums sisters, arrived and they were let into the baggage area when they explained and picked me off the floor.

i dont think this is a grief that has settled yet. i was meant to see louis that night. i havent listened to a song by him since despite his music getting me through some of my hardest times. my denial, she'll walk through the door and say this was all a joke, phase went on for months after we planned and executed a funeral and wake on the beach in malta. i made a great playlist, i wrote a great eulogy. i did that but it didnt properly sink in why.

i still, almost a full year on, wake up and think about messaging her to tell her how im feeling and check in on her.

my mum used to send me one direction news she found on facebook every day. harrys got a new album emmy did you know? and i was like no mum wow thank you (of course i already knew). she loved niall and we were going to see him live together. she wasnt a big fan of louis' music but ached for what he'd been through. i woke up the day after hearing about liam expecting a text from her checking in because she got me 1d tickets in 2014 for my 23rd birthday and she brought me merch and the dvd of the movie -

my mum who hated the beatles because they were too mainstream but loved what i loved because i loved it and was passionate about it. god she would have been crushed for me today. she would have been heart broken.

and i think this has hit me like a train not only because everyone who knows me knows how much i loved liam as if he was my own friend, but also because this past year has been so full of grief i dont always know how to get out of bed. my dads mum passed a few months ago. my family are wrecked with it. this past year has been a nightmare we can't get out of.

i always related to liam as someone who was bullied at school and as someone who suffers from mental illness and has suffered from alcoholism, thankfully, for me, something ive managed to come back from and im sober and i always hoped for that for him. its such a hard fucking mountain to climb and i didn't have to deal with the fame side of it and this whole other thing he had to carry. i always wanted him to get better but in the back of my head i had this feeling, i had this fear that i would one day log into tumblr and see the worst.

i still cant, and im sure for a long time won't, believe this real. thats one of my boys. we were very much meant to get old together. i wanted to see him get better. i cant begin to comprehend the fact he wont have that chance. this still doesnt feel real to me man. thats my boy.

just a few days ago I was in a convenience store and they were playing heart meets break and i was jamming and excited to hear my boy in a store. i keep remembering its happened, and i look at the photo on my bedside of me and my mum at the robbie williams concert and i could really do with her right now. a link to a facebook article and her over use of emojis - a shocked and crying face and a broken heart. because what else can express this?

i know i didnt know him but i always had the comfort of knowing of him, of listening to his music and watching his videos and feeling less alone in a cruel and lonely world.

its okay to be a fucking mess, if you can take time out please do. i wish this world allowed more of that. after my mum everyone had to go back to jobs and life and it still blows my mind that i was walking down the street then and today and everything was the same. the world should pause but it doesn't.

at the end of all of this, one day this might settle and make sense but right now it doesnt at all and thats how these things work. i love you all, this is not something i thought we would have to face until we had all grown old and spent all of our money on reunion tickets and seen our boys grow old and live their lives.

give people you love a hug, tell people you love that you care about them, work out problems and differences if you can and make the most of it. you never know how much time you have.

[hangmanbradshaw]

Rare personal post, under the cut (trigger warning re: death and grief and complicated family dynamics and a lot of sentimentality haha)

Today would’ve been my dad’s 60th bday. It’s only two years fresh so I never know what feelings to expect, but I was looking through old pics because of my cousin and smiling, and that’s good? He struggled with addition, and caused more scars than I’ll ever be able to talk about no matter how much therapy and EMDR I do, but as complicated as our family was, I love and miss him. There were so many good rays of moments in it, especially when I was younger. My teenage years were hell. The end wasn’t good. It’s all true. I never thought I’d be in my 20s being next of kin- making decisions about life support and planning funerals and burials and giving eulogies and writing obituaries and taking care of my grandparents, but I think I’ve found my peace with it. It hurts, but it’s bearable.

I keep thinking about the eulogy I wrote and gave, what I believe in my heart about loss after losing my best friend, my dad, other friends. They really stick with us? In so many ways we don’t always see. It’s not about moving on, truly it’s about just finding space for the rest of life too. Widening your heart to it. I watch Star Wars and I think of Andrew. I talk to his mom and we laugh. I get excited for football or hiking or going on an adventure and that’s my dad. All these pictures of him younger, healthier, playing football and bringing us to games, teaching my brother and me how to play, taking us white water rafting and horseback riding and hiking and camping over and over. Pictures of him doing it himself when he was younger. And it’s just like. I’m his daughter. He lives on in my life because I see those things in my life, and for that, I’m so grateful. I look at my life and that lyric is so true- There wouldn’t be this if there hadn’t been you.

My writing journey started about a year after he passed as art therapy. I realized I loved it. I met all of you, wrote IWTBY, wrote my novel now. I took myself to the Super Bowl and watched the team he taught me to love win. I took myself to a movie premiere, to Europe, to all these things he never got to do. To national parks he did visit. To parks he took us to. My brother and I are going to Austin this fall and staying out on a ranch like we did as kids. I live in a peaceful little apartment with a job that helps people and wonderful friends and all that pain and hurt led to it. Anyways, just a long, ridiculously sentimental rant to say I’m grateful for this little community. For my little life. It’s simple, and it’s mine, and I am forever thankful for it. For all of you and the love you show me, whether it be for my stories which truly have changed my life, or in general. I wrote that one shot last night, and immediately was blown away by the love y’all give it and me. If my little stories have made you smile, or feel something, it’s all I can hope for. I hope everyone who sees this finds their own peace, no matter how impossible it seems, truly. Keep your head up, keep finding the beauty and joy in the little things. In the sun shining and laughter with a friend and movies that make you inspired. With love, Steph 💙

[tunaababee]

we will be everything we say - Chapter 6

masterlist // fic playlist // read on AO3 // overall rating: e // wc this chapter: 3.5k // updates Mondays (aest)

Feyre Archeron has been best friends with Rhysand Sterling ever since she moved onto the same street when they were kids - the two became absolutely joined at the hip, with nothing able to come between them.

As they get older, life gets more complicated and things get harder. Not everything comes as naturally as it once did. People change, things happen, friends... drift.

But after drifting apart, maybe life can push them back together again, in time.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

a/n: TW for mentions of parental death and abusive behaviours. if you're unable to handle that right now and would like a chapter summary, head to AO3 and look at the chapter's end notes! please look after yourself.

Chapter 6: twenty-three and twenty-four

Tension lingered in the air like a heavy fog, accompanying the grey clouds overhead that helped set the incredibly morose atmosphere. It was fitting, considering what was happening today.

Feyre sat with her sisters, side by side, in the front row of the funeral home. It was a small, simple service - their father had never been a very outgoing man, and it had only gotten worse after their mother had died. Elain had been the one to handle all of the correspondence with the florist, a blend of tulips, carnations, and baby’s breath all stark white in large bunches over the casket. Elain barely looked like herself, with the long-sleeved black dress seeming to drain her of life so much so that she seemed to rival the lifeless body of their father in the coffin at the front of the room. It didn’t help that Elain probably took his passing the hardest. Nesta, on the other hand, looked like she was in her element. Cold, sharp, all angles and precision. Her outfit looked like she was ready to go to a board meeting or an interview, all practicality and projecting that strong visage she held so deeply on to. Both sisters knew there were a lot of complicated feelings towards their father that were simmering just barely underneath the surface of that tailored coat and her a-line skirt, but nobody dared speak it. They just wanted to get through today and put it behind them. The three of them could unpack their own baggage at a later date.

Today Feyre was nervous for a couple of reasons - she’d never been very good at public speaking, and yet she was the one who was giving the eulogy. She heard the funeral officiant say her name, rising from her seat and moving to the front of the room like a ghost of herself, hands shaking slightly. Her hands smoothed out her dress anxiously, fingers moving to fiddle with the oversized sleeves of her long cardigan before she gripped the cistern. Her eulogy was true, but simple - he was a caring husband, a father who loved his daughters, a man who never quite recovered from his demons. The details of what she wrote were merely a haze in her mind as she read it off of the paper she had prepared. But that wasn’t the main reason she was nervous.

What really made her nervous today was the pair of piercing violet eyes looking straight at her from the very back of the room, feeling as if they were piercing her right in the gut.

He had shown up. She had been the one to invite him, after all, but she’d be lying if she said a part of her hadn’t wanted him to come simply to avoid having to talk to him at all. How do you pick back up where you left off with your best friend when you hadn’t talked to them in two years?

She already had to pace the apartment for an hour or so as she tried to send the text to him in the first place to let him know, to get the wording and the tone right, to hope to every god known to man that he still had the same number. To hope that he would come at all. She kept it clinical, at the end of the day.

“Hi there, Rhysand. I know it’s been a while, but I wanted to let you know that my dad passed away a few days ago.

The funeral is next week to the day at 11:00am if you’d like to attend and pay your respects. Prythian Funeral Home.

I hope you’re well.”

It was anxiety-inducing enough to have sent the text in the first place that she hadn’t even bothered to see if Rhys had replied. Instead, Feyre threw herself into funeral preparations - inviting all of her and her sisters’ close friends who had known him and any of his previous business associates he had left. It didn’t fill the room, but it made it feel less pathetic than just the three of them, and that’s all that mattered to them.

The whole time Feyre was up there, it was a pointed effort not to meet Rhys’ eyes. If she did, she felt like she was going to break. So her eyes kept flickering around the room. From Cassian to Amren, from Vassa to Lucien, to anyone but him. Him in his immaculate dress shirt and perfectly tailored trousers, his artfully arranged raven-black hair and his hands adorned in a smattering of silver bands he fiddled with out of the corner of her eye.

The rest of the service after that was a blur. Most people had cleared out of the funeral home to head to Elain’s for the wake - she had tried to offer to cook for everyone, but Feyre and Nesta insisted on catering as Elain had already done so much, was always doing so much. She was already letting Feyre live with her for the time being and it made her feel awful asking for much else. Feyre opted to linger behind, talking to almost each and every person who had come. She gathered up the flowers, made sure that they knew exactly which plot to bury him in - right with their mother - and that there was nothing else to be tended to. Really, she was using it as an escape and a moment to breathe. A moment to delay the inevitable.

And yet, Rhys had always had impeccable timing for better or worse. Today was no different.

He caught her sitting outside on the concrete steps of the funeral home, gazing listlessly into the near-empty parking lot. She didn’t turn to meet his eyes, couldn’t bear it, but was so acutely aware as he sat down on the steps with her. Rhys pressed his side into the wall, Feyre pressing into the railing, a gap that lingered heavily between them. Two years of self-imposed exile that she couldn’t help but feel ashamed about, and this is what it amounted to - two people who knew each other so deeply pretending like they barely knew anything anymore on the steps in a town they’d both called home. She could hear Rhys inhale, ready to break the silence, but she raced to go first. She was the one who had pushed him out in the first place, it was only fair that she had to be the one to try and let him back in.

“Thanks for coming today. You didn’t have to.” Feyre’s eyes were trained firmly on her hands folded into her lap. She could hear his breath hitch slightly, whether it was in relief or confusion or something else, she couldn’t tell.

“Of course I had to. Even if he wasn’t always the most… present person. He was still like a father to me. Still let me in his home, eat his food, stay over. It wouldn’t be right to miss it.” Rhys’ eyes flicked up to Feyre’s face and she could feel them practically burning a hole in her temple, her cheek, her eyes, everywhere she knew he was observing. Trying to get a read on her, trying to ask without being demanding.

“That… means a lot, Rhys. I know it’s been a while.”

A dry laugh escaped him. “Yeah, that’s, uh, that’s an understatement. But I can’t blame you for it.”

Feyre’s heart twisted in guilt and hurt at that. She deserved it - while he had been the one to kiss her, she had been the one to force that distance no matter how much she just wanted her best friend back. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine that Rhys would have probably been in a similar way. A heavy sigh passed her lips, turning her head to finally face him properly after two long years apart. He was very much the same, yet different. The same slant of his jaw, the same expressions she had known since she was young. But he was slightly taller, hints of tattoos peeking out beneath the collar of his shirt, a mild weariness about him that wasn’t there before. Maybe it had been hidden by his confidence the last time she saw him. It didn’t matter now - all that mattered was that he had shown up.

“Yeah, well… You weren’t the only one that fucked up that day. Don’t shoulder all of that on your own. God knows we’ve all made enough mistakes over the course of our lives, can’t keep beating yourself up for every slight you’ve made.” Not that it was going to stop her from beating herself up about it, but Rhys didn’t need to hear that part.

“I don’t know, I feel like I fucked up pretty bad. Lost my best friend a couple of years ago because I wanted to make things easier for her. Read the room wrong and ended up hurting her instead, it’s probably one of the biggest regrets I’ve ever had.” He turned his head to meet her gaze, eyes full of hurt and regret, yet an ever-present hope lingered behind them regardless. Feyre struggled to keep looking at him without faltering from nerves.

“What a coincidence, I lost my best friend a couple of years ago, too,” Feyre said, a dry chuckle escaping her. “I thought I knew exactly how my life should go and that he was a little bit insane. Pressure from my fiance didn’t help, so I iced him out and now I’m basically at rock bottom. I miss him a lot, but I don’t know if I can get him back. I hurt him pretty badly.”

“Feyre, I-”

“Rhys, if you’re about to apologise, I don’t want you to because you shouldn’t have to. I wouldn’t blame you if you don’t want to be friends or didn’t ever want to see me again after this-”

Before she could continue, Rhys’ hand darted out to grab a hold of both of her own, folded in her lap anxiously until he had bridged the gap between them.

“Feyre, I can’t imagine a world where we’re not in each other’s lives. Living through it was hell, and I’d rather die than experience that again.”

She could feel the dam of emotions she’d been holding inside of her heart begin to crack, tears welling up until they spilled over her cheeks and Rhysand was pulling her into his side, legs pressed together as they gave each other the first hug they’d shared in two whole years. Feyre’s arms squeezed around his waist like her life depended on it, his arms wrapped around hers like a comforting blanket. Like home.

“I missed you so fucking much, Rhys. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, if I’m not allowed to apologise right now, neither are you.” Amusement had snuck into Rhys’ voice, and despite her tears and sniffles she couldn’t help but laugh a little. As her head moved to his shoulder, he moved his own head to rest on hers. Relief and catharsis thrummed through her veins all the way through to her toes.

“God, we’re fucking idiots. I can’t believe we let this go on for so long.”

“Tell me about it. I have no fucking clue what you’ve even been up to for the past two years.”

Feyre broke from the hug, wiping at her eyes with a small frown on her face as she sat up. “Wait, not even from Mor or anybody else..?”

“Not a peep. You said you wanted space, so I tried to respect your privacy.”

She couldn’t help but wheeze dryly a little at that. “So you don’t know? NIce of you to be so chivalrous, but even I’m surprised this didn’t get back to you. Fucking hell, okay.”

Confusion contorted Rhys’s features. “Feyre, I can’t emphasise enough how much I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A tense moment of silence passed between them, Feyre taking a breath as she let the pause hang in the air for just a moment.

“...Tamlin and I split up. Probably about six months ago, now. Wasn’t exactly amicable to say the least.”

His hand came to rest on her shoulder softly. “Oh Feyre, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to pretend to be sad about it. I know how much everyone else couldn’t stand him.”

“I mean… Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to be happy. Run me through the past two years, tell me how this happened. We have a lot to catch up on anyway, right?”

“That's true. Were you after the full spiel or the summarised version?” She laughed slightly as she turned to him with a small smile. It was nice to be able to sit with him again, feeling at ease for the first time in a long while.

“Whatever you're willing to give me.”

“Well,” Feyre started dramatically, placing her hand over his on his knee. “About six months after we saw each other last, Tamlin and I ended up moving to Seattle so he could do… Business bullshit, I don't know. He very deliberately never involved me in the brewery stuff more than I needed to be, which was usually just as a pretty little toy. I mean, at the time I felt so special, y'know? All these trips, the move, the dresses. Really, it was the smaller things that got me - the food, the comfort. Things that I had to work for before. He told me so many wonderful things and that I was soooo perfect, so it was easy enough to fall into.

“It was kind of a whole ‘boiling a frog’ situation. He would make me feel so safe and loved before slowly coaxing me to do different stuff. Tamlin certainly didn't like me talking to you before all of this.”

“Of course, it's hard not to be intimidated by all this latent natural charm.” Rhys postured, fussing with his collar in a flair of dramatics that made the both of them giggle like they were back to being kids again.

“Of course! But, haha, he definitely wasn't enthused. So he let up for a bit after that. But soon it was getting me to dress up a little more each and every day, even when I was ducking out to get groceries or something. Phasing out things that we had in the pantry or the fridge - snacks would go missing, judging looks, shit like that. Then about a year ago we moved. It got worse after that.

“Literally the only people I knew after we moved were Tamlin and Lucien. Even Lucien didn't wanna be around him more than he had to by the end of things because it was getting unbearable. He could dress how he wanted, eat how he wanted, act how he wanted. He'd be perfectly content. But the minute I questioned things, it was like a fucking heel turn. Sometimes asking who he was on the phone with prompted him to start blaming all his problems on me. Telling me I was nothing but a piece of shit who made him feel depressed and awful. Every time I stepped out of line in his eyes he just got… angrier. Never hit me or anything, but fuck, I think he got close some days.”

She felt his hand on her shoulder tug her in close once more - the warm tears spilled reluctantly down her cheeks, though she'd be lying if she said she was surprised she was crying about it. The only other person who had heard about it until now was the therapist Lucien and her sisters had all pitched in to get her a few sessions with - she didn’t end up sticking with them, though. Not that Feyre hadn’t appreciated the gesture, but she didn’t feel quite ready. But with Rhys? She couldn’t help but spill her guts bare. She gently wiped at her eyes, taking a heavy breath before resuming.

“Anyways, uh… Finally got sick of it a little while after trying to cover up some of the mirrors in the house. I wasn’t painting or drawing anymore, he said that it was a dumb hobby and that it was beneath me. Didn’t have any hobbies anymore, really. No job, either. My entire wardrobe was full of these designer labels and uncomfortable dresses - piles of heels and bags and accessories. Gaudy, flashy jewelry as far as the eye could see. I was so gaunt, I didn’t have any life left in me. I dressed how he wanted, looked how he wanted, talked how he wanted, ate how he wanted. Thought how he wanted me to as well, that I wasn’t worth anything unless I was by his side,” She scoffed slightly, looking up at the sky a little as her head came to rest on Rhysand’s shoulder.

“But I had a kind of lucid moment where I was covering up those mirrors, not wanting to even be here anymore where I was just like, what am I even doing here? I was in such a gilded fucking cage and so sick of it. Tamlin was on one of his rare solo trips at the time so I just… left. Texted Lucien - he’d seen me deteriorating for a while and tried to get me to see things differently before, but it was hard when I was so isolated, y’know? He helped me get all my shit out. Left Tamlin with nothing but a note and that ugly fucking ring. Blocked him on everything. Let Nesta and Elain know, and the rest is history. Been living with Elain back in Prythian since, teaching nighttime painting classes and working as a cashier to try and save up enough money to move out.” Feyre sniffled a little before putting a big smile on her face and turning to Rhys, bringing her hands under her chin to frame it in an effort to lighten the heavy atmosphere. If she didn’t try to take it at least a little less seriously, then she was just going to get in her head about the whole situation all over again, and that’s the last thing she wanted. Not when she had come so far already.

“Shit, Feyre… Can’t say I can beat that in terms of a one-eighty.” Rhys smiled at her slightly, a smidge of sadness mixed with a dose of pride in his stare. She let out a little laugh in turn.

“Hey, go big or go home, right?”

“You never did anything half-assed, that’s for sure.” Rhys took her hand resting upon his knee into both of his, squeezing gently. “I’m just glad you’re happier. That you’re safe. We have plenty of time for all of that ‘I told you so’ type of shit later.”

Feyre simply rolled her eyes, nudging his side with her own. “Thanks, Rhys. But what about you? I can’t just dump all of the ways my life temporarily turned into a tire fire only to not hear about you in return.”

Rhys shuffled a little uncomfortably beside her - he always had trouble when the focus shifted to him in anything more than a surface level, necessary capacity. It was his turn to sigh heavily, looking down at the ground. His head tilted to rest on top of hers, like not a second had passed between when they had been thick as thieves up to now.

“Well, it’s kind of weird. I mean, I’ve done a lot but at the same time not a lot has changed. I’m still close with everybody, especially Cass and Az, but I know that wouldn’t surprise anybody.”

Feyre chuckled slightly. “Well duh, you guys are brothers at this point. It’d be weirder if you weren’t still close.” 

As soon as the words left her mouth, the two paused for a moment. There was a sentence unspoken between them that they both knew deep in their bones, hanging in the air like a sword of Damocles - it wouldn’t have been as weird as when the two of them stopped talking. But neither of them needed to tell the other that. That fact was as true as the sky being blue or the grass being green. Rhys broke the tension first, not wanting to linger on it any longer than the two of them had to.

“I ended up leaving Prythian about a year ago, though. Dad had died - he hadn’t been in good health for a while, so nobody was surprised. I finally fully inherited the business instead of just being a figurehead beneath him, but I never really had any interest in it. I did well in my business degree but it just… never quite clicked with me the way I think he hoped it would. It wasn’t exactly a huge emotional loss to me when he went. Ended up selling the whole thing and moving to New York, actually.”

“Makes sense - you always struck me as a city guy.”

“What can I say? I have very particular taste.” The two chuckled in tandem, the warmth of it rumbling through Feyre’s throat and chest.

“But anyway, I actually ended up putting my degree to use and started my own business. I picked up tailoring and design from Mom way back when and I always enjoyed it, so why not, right? It felt good - feels good - to still have that connection to her. Started out just selling stuff online before I moved into some actual brick and mortar stores. There’s not a lot, but they’re going well at least.”

Feyre sat up, surprise and delight written all over her face at the news. “Holy shit, that’s amazing Rhys! I’m so proud of you - ‘not much has changed’ my ass! You’re like a big business mogul now.”

Rhys raised his eyebrows at her. “Feyre, I’m literally just a small business owner.” “Yeah, now, but you’ve always been ambitious. You’re gonna be some thriving CEO type in no time.”

“Sure, whatever you say, Archeron.” Rhys smirked, mussing up Feyre’s hair a little while taking care to make sure the silver rings he wore didn’t catch in the strands. She didn’t hesitate to mess his own hair up in return, mock offense spreading over his features before melting into a laugh.

“But seriously, I meant it when I said not much has changed, in a way. I live in a new place now and I’ve got a business going, but I still talk to the same people. I don’t go out much, I’m a pretty big homebody unless it’s for any of our inner circle. It all feels so… the same. But not, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get that.” With that, Feyre pushed up and off of the stairs, brushing down the back of her dress and cardigan to neaten them up as she stood. She turned to Rhys, reaching a hand out to help him up. It was a handy excuse to touch him again anyway, to feel some of the closeness she had been missing for so long.

Sitting and talking with Rhys so casually felt like a puzzle piece she didn’t entirely realise had gone missing clicked back into place. Everything felt so right and comfortable - like her world had been spinning on a slightly wrong angle, only to be righted with a gentle touch again. He took the hand she offered as he stood up - not that he needed the help. Rhys looked down at her with something that Feyre couldn’t quite pick, something between reverence and relief. She would take either. It didn’t matter so long as they could be in each other’s lives again.

“C’mon, we should head to the wake. If we’re overly late, I think Nesta might lose it a little.” Feyre cocked her head in the direction of her car, a small black thing in the back corner of the parking lot.

“...As in, we go to the wake together?” He almost looked like a lost puppy as he posed the question. Feyre rolled her eyes with a little smile and dragged him by the arm towards her car.

“No shit. You’re my best friend, and I’ve missed you. I’m not gonna have you wasting money on an Uber when we could spend more time catching up on the way there. If I can’t spend my days beating myself up for shutting you out, then I can at least make the most of letting you back in.”

Rhys nodded almost dumbly as he climbed into the passenger seat, looking over at Feyre as the two buckled themselves into the car.

“...I’d really love that, Feyre. I’ve missed you too.”

The feeling that washed over Feyre’s bones was something that she didn’t think could ever be beat - that things would work out and be okay after all, in the end.

[freshbakedbreadstick]

No. 1 Party Anthem - Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader - Chapter Five

Past!Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader

Carmy Berzatto x F!Platonic!Reader

Richie Jerimovich x F!Platonic!Reader

Summary: The past seems to repeat itself and this awful memory seems to provide some much needed context to your actions.

Warnings:  All my fics are 18+ regardless of the content. Heavy spoilers. Mentions of death, funerals, toxic relationships, grief, angst, strained relationships, minor injuries, arguments/yelling matches, details of anxiety/panic attacks, bad coping mechanisms, mental health issues, running away, addiction, interventions. This is literally just pure angst again im so sorry (not really (: ).

Word Count: 5k (sorry, she is a long one!)

A/N: I wrote this while procrastinating packing to move into my dorm LOLLL i move in a few days but im too anxious to even start packing <3 anyways this one is another heavy one and a long one too, so fun ! I hope you all enjoy because she was surprisngly difficult to write and edit bc my imposter syndrome and chronic perfectionism is out to get me ! ! Have a slay n gay day ily all ! 

Taglist: @marysucks-blog @shinebright2000 @jadeittic

MASTERLIST

It was a cold and cloudy day in March, fitting for a funeral. There was snow on each corner of the sidewalk, partially melted, but the cold air that made your lips burn when you stepped outside threatened more snowfall to come.

Today marked two weeks since you got the phone call that changed your entire life.

It was only two weeks after Mikey was found dead on the State Street Bridge and they already got him ready to be put into the ground. 

You stared out the window, silent, and watched the life that occurred outside. A man helped his son get out of their car, both in matching hats and scarves, a teen with a backpack passed by with their friends, laughing and jumping, a tree swayed, leaves still gone. 

“Hey, sweetheart, are you ready?”

You didn’t respond.

Your father placed his hand onto your shoulder, “Are you ready?”  

You sighed, letting your breath fog up the cold window pane in front of you. 

Most days, you sat on the only wooden dining chair that was saved from your and Mikey's apartment and looked outside the window. You noticed things you normally took for granted, like the view of snowfall during sunset and the way the trees swayed when a gust of wind blew. 

Finally, you stood up, feeling your dad's hand slip off your shoulder. You didn't bother to smooth out your black dress, letting the wrinkles set in the fabric. Meanwhile, the stockings you wore under pinched you as you moved, but you didn’t care enough to adjust them either. 

"Yea…” you responded at last, voice thick and scratchy.

Your parents mumbled quietly to each other as they locked the door, stealing not so subtle glances over to you as you stood in the middle of the path down the front door, looking at the now empty street. 

Everyone around you just seemed to keep on asking you the same question: "Are you ready to…" but you didn't know. You didn't know if you were ready to face death. But you did know that you felt no panic, sadness, guilt, fear, anger, happiness, or… anything really. 

‘I guess it’s better to feel nothing than something,’ you thought to yourself.

“Let’s get in the car now, okay?” 

You looked over to your mom, who approached you and gently grabbed your forearm, starting to lead you to your parents’ car. But you dug your heels into the ground making your mom jump as she suddenly jerked back. 

“I want… I want to drive myself.”

Your mother looked at you, eyes pleading. She then glanced at your dad, who softened and sighed. 

“Sweetie, i don’t think that is a good idea-”

“Please… i just… I need some time alone before I go in…”

Your parents shared a glance before your mom slowly loosened her grip on your arm. You slowly began to walk away from her, pulling your arm out of her grip. 

“We’ll follow you,” your dad said, voice steady but still anxious. 

You nodded and headed towards your car. The thought of being alone terrified you in general since the news of Mikey broke, but having a small moment alone in the car sounded heavenly after not being left physically alone, at all, for the past two weeks. You didn’t sleep alone, eat alone, or even shower alone; someone was always there either right next to you or right outside the door. While it was nice to have people around you during this time, you started feeling suffocated and pitied rather than supported. 

The drive was silent. You didn’t bother to turn on the radio or take off your thick coat or even play any of the cds Mikey had burned for you as teenagers like you normally did. Nothing was normal anymore anyways, so why bother?

But regardless, the silence was, in some way, comforting. It granted you the smallest bit of breathing space you knew you needed before you would face death itself.

After parking outside the funeral home, you sat in your seat. The car was off and it was silent as you sat there, not feeling particularly anything, just sort of numb. And for the first time in a while, you felt like you would be okay. It didn’t hurt anymore, just felt numb, and that seemed like progress to you. 

A knock outside your window made you jump and turn around. You expected to see your mom or your dad waiting for you, but was surprised to see Richie instead.

You cleared your throat and rolled your shoulder back, holding your head up high like you normally did, before you got out.

As you started to step out, you smiled at him, “Well don’t you look fine as a peach.”

Richie smiled softly for a brief second before it fell back down into a frown that made the wrinkles around his mouth deepen. He looked unwell, with heavy bags and a gaunt face, making him appear sick. 

While you analyzed him, he did the same for you. He scanned your face and body, seeing the way you continued to be the person he knew you as, even during a time in which nothing made sense anymore for anyone. Your shoulders were square and your head was high, making you look less like a grieving girlfriend and more like a CEO. This made him shiver. 

But regardless, he held his hand out for you to take, helping you up and out of your car. As you locked your car, he began to talk.

“Drove here alone?” he said, voice gravelly. 

“Yea… I needed to be alone.”

He nodded silently. He then took your hand, still in his own, and wrapped it around his arm. He led you to the sidewalk, toward the funeral home, steps slow and purposeful. 

“Everyone is here but you… you don’t have to talk to anyone, okay? If anyone bothers you, come to me.”

You chuckled dryly, “Thanks, but don't worry about me. I know this is hard for you too.”

Before he could retaliate to your words, you cleared your throat and walked a little faster. 

You watched as your parents, who were up ahead of you, greeted Natalie and Pete. You saw the way they moved inside after speaking to her, as if stuck in mud, around the sister of the man you loved. 

They both briefly turned back to look at you, eyes watering and drooping, before anxiously disappearing into the awaiting crowd of family members.

You paused, making Richie also pause beside you, turning to look at you. He saw the way your eyes scanned up the bricks of the building and then back down to the wilted ferns in pots next to the front doors. Your eyes, for a brief second, filled with tears, making him open his mouth before shutting it upon seeing you blink them away. 

You cleared your throat and began to move again, seemingly fine, until your heels began dragging on the pavement. So Richie silently moved his arm up to support you and looked away, staring off to the side. He didn't want you to see the way his eyes had started to tear up as he saw through your facade.

Natalie had focused her gaze on you just after your parents left, face in a permanent concerned frown that made her look more like a mother than anything else, before nodding softly to you, “Hi sweetie… are you ready?”

Were you ready?

“I just…” you began, mouth drying up the second you began to talk.

Natalie nodded at you anxiously, reaching over to take your hand in her own. The calluses she had from years of cleaning up after everyone rubbed soothingly into your own hand.

You shrugged, “...I just feel numb.”

Beside her, Pete winced. Natalie shot him a small glare before softening up as she turned back to you, “It’s okay, you're free to stay out here if you need some space, okay? Whatever it is that you need, let us know and we can help…”

Wordlessly, you rubbed your thumb into her hand and turned to look inside the hallway. A couple family members had already spotted you, their once staring gazes averting themselves from your frame as they noticed you caught them watching. Hushed voices that whispered to one another died down to either silence or near silent whispers as they stole glances at you and Richie walking inside.

You turned and gave Natalie a small smile, "Don't worry about me, are you doing ok-"

"Oh, there you are!!!!" A voice interrupted you, exclaiming loudly. 

You reeled around to the noise and made eye contact with Donna, who was pushing through the crowd and rushing forward to you. Fast.

Your eyes widened. 

Too fast. 

Her body was a blur as she approached you. 

Like a bullet.

In an instant, that moment of breathing space you had in the car disappeared and all that numbness flew out the window, being replaced by intense panic. 

The room started to spin, making your eyes widen as she stood in front of you, speaking what seemed to be gibberish. 

"Shit," Richie mumbled, but his voice was invisible to you. 

All you saw was Donna, hair wild and clothes wrinkled. Her hands moved wildly as she talked, voice so loud in your ears that it felt like your eardrums would pop.

"Mom!" Natalie yelped beside you, finally taking you out of the trance you were in by pushing her body in between you and Donna. 

Donna gasped, speaking hushed but angrily at Natalie, "Natalie, what are you doing? Don't you see I'm trying to talk to her- What do you mean I'm overwhelming her?! She's fine, if she had a problem, she would tell me, isn't that right?"

You saw her peek over Natalie's shoulder, eyes searing a hole into your face, "Right?" 

Your throat tightened. 

"Donna, how about we go ahead and sit so the services can start, okay?" Your mother had rushed over and behind Donna, putting her hands on the erratic woman’s shoulders before steering her away from you. 

Your mom cast you a concerned glance as she redirected Donna away from you, letting her blabber on and on to her about the decor being different and the beautiful flowers they got set up for the service. 

But all you did was stare back, breaths staggered and eyes focusing back only to see all eyes on you. 

Natalie let out a shuddered wheeze, taking the initiative to redirect everyone watching into the room where the services would be taking place. Slowly, their eyes turned away. 

"You ok?" Richie's voice seemed to finally register in your brain. 

You whipped your head to him, "Uhm yea… are you?"

In front of him, he saw the way you rearranged your body language back to its "normal state". Your shoulders rolled back again and your head was held high. But this time, your face was blank and did nothing to show emotion. 

Richie nods, "Let’s just, uh, wait until everyone goes in, ok?"  

You took a shallow breath and blinked your eyes, adjusting to the dim, warm lighting of the building. The entire place felt warm from the artificial fireplace on the left wall, facade made of rich brown oak. The furniture matched in wood, feeling dated but comforting, like a grandmother's house. It made the panic in your body slowly melt away, being replaced by the numb feeling again.

You looked at the yellowish-orange patterned wallpaper and brown wood trimming on the walls and snickered to yourself, catching Richie's attention.

"This place looks like a small, hole in the wall restaurant that's maintained by a family. Mikey loves this kind of family style decor…" 

Richie squeezed his eyes shut, "Yea… he does." 

You watched as everyone filed into the next room, recognizing familiar faces like Fak, cousin Michelle, and Uncle Jimmy. You continued to scan the crowd, not seeing the way Natalie nodded towards Richie, signaling him to take you inside with everyone. 

You let yourself be guided behind the crowd, watching everyone who knew Mikey sit down in the chairs that were set up. Donna was sitting in the front next to your parents, still talking. Beside her were empty seats. There was one, two, three, four, and five; one for you, Richie, Natalie, Pete, and Carmy.

Carmy.

You paused.

"Where's Carmy?" 

Richie stopped moving and grimaced. 

Next to you, Natalie linked your free arm into her own, "He uh… he might come by later." 

"Did he ever respond to any of you? I sent him a photo of the service paper but he never responded to me." 

"Uh…" Richie was seemingly at a loss for words. 

Natalie sighed and looked at Richie before responding, "He didn't to me either. Didn't pick up any of my calls."

The panic started up again, slowly swirling deep in your belly, making you suddenly start to speak at the speed of light, "What? Why? Who wouldn't come to their brother's funeral?"

Natalie gulped, voice shaking as she tried redirecting you, "Hey sweetie, how about we go inside and then wait and see if he comes-" 

"I mean, everyone tried to get in contact with him so it's not like none of us didn't try." 

"Yea, your right, but maybe he is running late and was busy-" 

"If he was running late he would've let us know, i know he would." 

The panic made your breathing pick up, making you lightheaded as you took in gulps of stuffy, warm air. It was perfumed like flowers and mothballs, making you cough lightly. 

Michelle, who was seated towards the entrance of the room, turned to you, as did a couple others, as your voice started to increase in volume. It was unbeknownst to you that you began to speak louder and louder, loud enough that people around you could overhear. 

Richie said your name, stern but still worried, "Hey, take a breath and lower your volume."

"What do you mean? I'm fine?" 

Natalie just shook her head, "This was a mistake, we shouldn't have forced her to come."

You jerked your head to her, "Natalie, it’s fine. Besides, I wanted to come." 

Her shoulders sagged, "If this is too much for you, you are free to go-" 

"Please, I'm fine!" You responded, speech getting faster and faster, "You don't have to worry about me like you're my mom." 

"I know I know, but I worry about you regardless, you're my best friend!" 

"Natalie, I'm okay I swear-" 

Richie whisper-yelled at you two, "Let's take this back out, neither of you are okay right now."

"Richie I swear I'm fine, I just want to see my dead boyfriend in his casket!" You whisper-yelled back as you stomped a foot down.

At this point, others had begun turning to look at you. Natalie flushed, noticing the stares while Richie groaned softly, taking your arm and dragging you away from the entrance and to the front door. 

"Your obviously not okay, just stand here and take some fucking breaths." Richie whispered, voice stern. 

You blinked, letting yourself get pulled like a ragdoll. You stumbled as you leaned into the doorway, feeling shame set in your body. 

That was a new feeling. 

"I'm… i'm…" you began, blinking wildly as your face flushed and your chest tightened. 

"Listen, I know this is hard but don't force yourself to do this for any one of us, okay? You can sit out here and none of us will blame you or be upset. We all have our own ways of grieving and if staying away is yours, then do it. You don't need our acceptance in order to grieve in your own way." 

The tangent Richie went on felt so out of character for him that it made you go silent as you watched him enunciate every word. Natalie trailed behind him, holding onto her body with wide eyes as she too listened to his speech, both moved and confused.

With a choked breath, you responded, "Okay, I'm sorry."

Richie's tensed shoulders and furrowed brows softened. He saw the way you looked down and away from him, body drooping. For a split second, he saw through the demeanor you had been putting on since you got out of the car and saw who you really were: the grieving love of Mikey's life, terrified of what life was going to be like moving forward without him. 

Natalie reached over and rubbed your arm, before turning to Richie, "It's starting, you can go in if you would like…" 

Richie nodded grimly, looking at the floor for a brief second before reaching forward, taking your cheeks into his hand and giving your hairline a small peck. 

"You're not alone with this… we are here." 

You looked at him, a cross of confusion and relief written all over your face, making him hold back a laugh when he noticed it. Upon hearing his laugh mixed with a cough, you chuckled softly to yourself. Natalie was the only one not laughing, but still had a small smile on her face as she watched you two. 

“God this is so weird, are you a wise old man now or something?” You joked, gently pushing Richie’s shoulder.

Richie snorted and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, “Ah it’s nothing, just something i learned… don’t think it’s gonna be this way all the time!”

The three of you smiled at one another, right up until Fak interrupted the sweet moment. 

“Hey guys… uh, the service is starting…”

Richie rocked his jaw, the smile he had disappearing from his face. He turned to Fak, annoyed already by him interrupting, “Listen man-”

Natalie loudly cleared her throat, narrowing her eyes at Richie for a second as a warning, making him trip up on his words. 

Richie coughed again and looked away, mumbling to himself about how annoying Fak was. Natalie just rolled her eyes and turned to Fak, smiling sweetly at him.

“Thank you, we’ll join you in a sec.” 

You watched them all interact with one another, some of the closest people in Mikey’s life that ended up becoming some of the closest people in your own life, but in this moment they felt so far away, emotionally and physically. The random moment of peace between you, Natalie, and Richie was fleeting and reality brought you back down to the present moment, reminding you where you were and why you were here. 

Just seconds ago it felt like a regular everyday moment where the three of you talked, waiting for Mikey to turn around the corner or come in from another room and join you, smirking like he always did. He would wrap his muscular arm around you, pulling you into his side and start to joke around with Richie. He would tap Natalie on her shoulder, acknowledging her, and bring Fak over with a laugh, joining all of you together with ease. Any annoyance and discomfort would just disappear around Mikey; he just knew what to say and what to do to bring everyone, even those with differences, together. 

But that would never happen again. 

Mikey was dead and that would never happen again. 

He would never hold you, pressing his body warmth against you, he would never kiss you, gently guiding your face with his large hand, and he would never love you, ever again. 

Your body seemed to finally catch up with the cocktail of emotions you have been feeling for the past weeks and settled on one to focus on: panic. 

It crawled up your throat, squeezing it in a way that made you feel as if any second now, you would be on the floor, clawing at the rug as you struggled to breathe. But you knew that as long as you didn’t let it overwhelm you, convince it that everything was ok, you would be fine. 

So you were going to do anything you needed to do to not let it overwhelm you again.

“Uh, you two head in, okay? I need a second alone.” you said, making them turn to you. 

With a clearing of your throat, you perked up, smiling, as if nothing that had just occurred even happened. Natalie looked at you, taken somewhat aback and concerned, but didn’t push further. Richie was the same, confused but didn’t want to say or do anything that would make you break down. 

“You sure you don’t want any of us here, we are more than happy to-” Natalie began, but you interrupted her by gently moving a strand of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear.

“I’m okay, I'll join you in a second. Thank you both for being here with me.” you then brought them both into a gentle embrace, speaking clearly. 

Natalie and Richie exchanged a worried glance behind your back, both struggling to put on a smile to face you when they pulled back. 

Richie began to move to the room where the service had started, “Let us know if you need anything. Text us or call us or just say our name and we will be there.” 

You nodded and shooed them playfully off, leaving yourself standing against the doorway. The doors of the room where service had started closed behind them with a dull thud, leaving you truly alone in the entryway of the funeral home.

Your shoulders and smile dropped, eyes glazing over as you did so. With your heart continuing to race in your chest, you had no choice but to start pacing back and forth. The panic was starting to become too much to control so you tried your hardest to count your breathing, desperate to get it back into control. 

“Fuck…” you whimpered to yourself, feeling tears start to well in your eyes. 

You furrowed your brows and bit your lip, hard. You didn’t want anyone to see you cry, you didn’t want to be pitied. 

Suddenly, the doors opened wide, making you gasp and jump back, cold hands reaching to wipe any tears before you turned to see who was exiting. 

Donna came stumbling out, shushing someone inside, before closing the doors behind her. She sniffed loudly, pushing away her hair from her face right as she locked eyes with you. 

She frowned, continuing to stare at you as she walked forward to where you stood with red rimmed eyes and untouched makeup. She then moved to rifle through her purse, digging for something. 

You watched her silently, feeling your bottom lip quiver as she swayed back and forth.

You continued to watch as she pulled out a cigarette and a lighter, placing the cigarette between her red painted lips and lighting it aflame. With a deep drag and smoke sigh, she finally turned away from you.

She looked outside, staring at the gray clouds and half melted snow. It was getting colder and colder as the evening progressed, making her breaths of smoke even smokier as she breathed out. 

You turned, deciding that it was better to go inside than stand awkwardly around the mother of your boyfriend, whom you didn’t have the greatest relationship with. But right as you took a step, Donna called your name.

You glanced back at her, seeing her stumbling away from you but holding an unlit cigarette out. You were frozen to the spot, unsure whether or not to grab it and join her or go inside. But she seemed to answer that for you when she spoke up.

“Come on, I know you smoke. I’ve seen you and Carmy sneak out to smoke together sometimes during family dinners.”

You winced, feeling your cheeks heat up at having your behavior noticed by the one person you didn’t want to know, but moved forward to accept it regardless. 

As you placed the cigarette on your lips, she reached forward and lit it for you. The deep drag you took filled your lungs, making the chilly air from outside feel much more bearable. 

The two of you just stood there, side by side and silent, together, smoking. 

You burned about halfway through your cigarette before Donna spoke up, making your heart stop at her words. 

“You know… my son died, so I don't know why you are acting like you're the only one who is hurting.”

She threw the stub of her cigarette on the ground and stomped it with her shiny patent leather heel. With arms crossed, she looked at you and, with a low voice, she continued, “Everyone is just flocking to you and when no one gives you attention, you just make a scene and get them all back to you.”

Your entire body went cold.

“My poor Natalie is dealing with the death of her brother and all you do is make her wait hand and foot for you.”

Upon hearing this, all the fear in your body melted away and was replaced with burning hot anger. You knew her words were bullshit, but hearing her talk about Natalie like that, knowing how she treats her, made you clench your jaw.

In a surge of bravery, you retaliated, “Donna, how can you say that?”

She scoffed, “Please, stop acting like you are an angel who has done nothing wrong. You don’t have Mikey or anyone else here to protect you.”

Your mouth drops silently open letting the cig fall from your lips and to the ground, snuffing itself. You scanned her face with your fists balling against your side, seeing nothing but a smug look on her face as she ridiculed you.

With a sharp breath, you began, “You have never treated Natalie like a daughter. You're the one who made her the maid of your family. She practically raised Carmy and does everything for everyone. You made her act like an adult ever since she was a kid and, like everyone else, I had kept quiet about it for so many years just so we wouldn’t upset you. But I'm tired of it, this is the last straw.”

Donna rolled her eyes, “Oh puh-lease-”

But you interrupted her and continued, “So don’t act like you are suddenly concerned with how she is being treated, you never cared when you yelled at her over every little thing, so don’t start now.”

Donna looked at you, dropping her arms and glaring, “I bust my ass constantly for my children, I don't need someone like YOU pretending like you know everything-.”

“Donna, I've been around you since I was in elementary school. I grew up with your kids and around you. I know EXACTLY how you are.”

She clenched her jaw, eyes narrowing. 

But you didn’t stand down, not anymore, “None of your children are saints, but they try so fucking hard to be the best they can be given they had you as a mother. But it’s not like you would ever see that, huh?”

“All Mikey ever did was stress out, because of you! He tried to self medicate with pills and drugs and got addicted, because of you!” Donna suddenly screeched, quickly trying to divert the blame onto you.

You laughed out loud, “I’ve seen him do a couple things once or twice but Mikey was not an addict!”

Donna cackled, shaking her head furiously, “He was!! Ask Richie! Ask anyone! He was an addict, all because of you!!!”

You stepped back, eyebrows furrowing, taken aback at her words. Sure, Mikey was a bit erratic and loud, but that was his personality. He was just that type of person. And yes, he had tried a couple things before and even told you about his experience with them, but he never once did them around you or even mentioned doing them multiple times. He had vices, like smoking and having some drinks, but he wasn’t an addict.

Before you can further question, the doors were pushed open and Richie came rushing out, “What is going on?!”

You opened your mouth to respond but stopped when you heard Donna sob.

You flipped your head around to look at her but were greeted by a sight that made all that panic come barreling toward you again, replacing the anger. Donna was curled into herself, clutching onto her arms, with fat tears rolling down her face. Her sobs shook her body so violently that Richie rushed over and wrapped his arms around her to steady her. 

"What happened!?" Richie repeated, voice softer this time but just as worried as before. 

He looked at you with wide eyes as Donna sobbed, barely speaking through her gasps, "I tried to be the best mother for my children. I don't need you blaming me for my mistakes on the day of my son's funeral." 

As you watched her speak, your veins filled with ice. Only one phrase repeated in your head over and over as Richie looked between the two of you with wide eyes, ‘You fucked up, you need to leave. You fucked up, you need to leave. You fucked up, you need to leave. You fucked up, you need to leave.You fucked up, you need to leave…’

Richie called your name, making you look at him, "What happened?" 

Nothing came from your mouth but a strangled wheeze. You were frozen to the spot, pinned there by Donna's crying and Richie's stare. 

You fucked up, you needed to leave. 

Behind you, the door swung open again and your parents came rushing out with Natalie in tow. A couple peering eyes tried to look out from their seats inside, but the door closed on them before they could put together what was happening. 

"Mom!?" Natalie gasped out, rushing forward to Donna. 

Richie repeated what he said before, but you didn't hear his words. The only thing you could focus on was the way his eyes looked while staring at you, like you were a stranger. 

Donna continued to speak, saying something that was drowned out from your ears, replaced by silence and the deep throb of your heart beat. 

Right before your Mom could reach out to grab your arm, you spoke, "I need to leave, I need some time." 

You pulled the car keys from your jacket pocket and ran. 

[sarahsmi13s]

Don't Leave Your Wingman

whumptober day 13: grief

pairing: pete 'maverick' mitchell x kazansky!reader (father figure relationship)

characters: pete mitchell, kazansky!reader, sarah kazansky

warnings: 18+ MDNI, language, mentions of cancer, canon death, death, fear of being alone, death of a parent, grief, 5 stages of grief, fear of losing family, loss of appetite, anger, mood swings, broken glass, throwing things, please let me know if I missed any

word count: ~1.8k

a/n: this is for whumptober! please please please proceed with caution and use discretion, protect your peace

also if you are on the whump taglist but are not familiar with a character, you can skip it will not hurt my feelings!

i am so so sorry i got this up late, please forgive me

whumptober 2023 masterlist

summary: you wouldn't leave your wingman in the sky... why should you on the ground?

“It’s come back.”

One sentence. Three words.

That’s all it took for the world to crash down around you.

Your father, your best friend, your wingman, was already dying. 

But with three words he was dead and in the ground.

You started the grieving process the moment your mother told you about the results of your father’s tests. His cancer was back and this time he wasn’t fighting it. So, start grieving now so it doesn’t hurt when he passes.

It should cushion the pain right?

No.

It doesn’t.

Because when you watched Pete Mitchell slam his wings into your father’s coffin, it’s like he’s punching them right through your heart.

You thought you prepared yourself better. Thinking ahead to how everything would be different. Going through the motions of him missing so much of your life, everything he wouldn’t be a part of. You were only 21, you had so much left to accomplish and celebrate with him.

He would never walk you down the aisle at your wedding. He would never meet your kids and tell them cool stories about the famous Iceman and show them his collection of medals and patches. He would never tell them the story of how he met his best friend and wingman, the friendship’s birth captured in a photo on his desk.

He would never tell you he loved you again.

You wanted to hear it one last time… even if it was in that broken, raspy tone.

“How is she?” 

You could hear your uncle talking to your mom outside in the living room. 

It had been a few days since the funeral and you had barely left your father’s office in the living room. You barely ate, your appetite coming in and out as you went through the motions. You just sat in the office, wrapped up in his blanket with his dog tags around your neck or clenched in your hand. You were nearly numb at this point, sitting and staring at the photo of you and him at your graduation.

You had hit the “depression” part of your grieving process. Denial, anger, and bargaining had passed when you learned about the return of your father’s cancer. But you were sure they’d resurface at some point, grieving is never linear and it’s not a short lived thing. 

But when it was something that you prepared for, something that you could see coming from miles and miles away? It should be easier right?

“She doesn’t leave that chair often… I don’t blame her. But I’m worried. You and Ron have been a big help with brightening her days,” you mom said, a gentle smile on her face at Mav. 

It was true, they both had been a huge help. Just sitting with you so you weren’t alone, that you had someone in the room with you also grieving – even if it was different. Both had lost a best friend, your mom had lost a husband. She sat with you too, holding your hand and making sure you weren’t completely alone. She made sure that even though you were both grieving, that you could talk to her. 

Mav looked into the room, seeing you in that position – curled up with your dad’s dog tags in your hand, lips pressed against them as you stared out the window. 

He gave Sarah a hug before walking towards the office doors and knocking before opening it. 

“Hey kid, how can I help today?” 

You shrugged a little bit, not having the energy to do much else. You sniffled and dropped your hand to the desk, pointing to a book that was resting there, “I um… I found that while going through some of his things…”

Sniffling again, you adjusted your blanket, “I can’t bring myself to read it… it’s all in his hand writing…” Mav nodded and came over, “I can read it to you, if you want.” “Please…”

“Would you want to go out on the porch swing? Get some sun, fresh air?” You looked up at him and he could see just how tired you were. You probably got a lot more sleep than you should have, or very little sleep that wasn’t good.

You looked at the photo on your dad’s desk, seeing him smiling down at your 18 year old self in your cap and gown, diploma in your hand.

“Yeah… yeah, that sounds nice,” you said, your voice a little lighter and the ghost of a smile threatened your lips.

Mav smiled and helped you up, grabbing the book and leading you to the swing on the front porch. 

You sat down with him, resting your head on his shoulder as he put the book in his lap.

As he began to read, you both began to notice that these were your dad’s stories. Stories you had heard from him, stories you begged him to tell you no matter how many times you had heard them… All there in a book.

You cried at first, so did Mav. But as he continued, reading your dad’s words and the side commentary he never failed to add, you both started to laugh. 

It was nice to laugh, it helped you begin to feel like everything was going to be okay.

“Today will be better.” 

That’s what you told yourself when you woke up the past few days. 

You could never tell yourself that it would be great or amazing. Because you knew you couldn’t make that promise to yourself. But you could always try better, your best would always vary from day to day.

And you were doing okay. You were making it.

Until Maverick showed up in his whites.

Your heart had sunk like a brick in your stomach.

You knew what those meant.

He was going out with them on the carrier.

That’s not so bad right? He would be safe right? 

But the look on his face as he stood in front of the office's french doors told you something else.

“I was picked as team leader to fly the mission.” 

The brick in your stomach started dissolving, making your stomach acid fizz and bubble up your throat. 

You shook your head, the dusting rag and photo clenched in your fist. “No, no you’re not.. You’re not flying this mission, Uncle Mav… You-you were just supposed to teach it.. You’re a teacher!”

He mirrored your movements, “Admiral Simpson-”

“No!” 

Your shout had startled him, you hadn’t raised your voice in any capacity for a while so your outburst startled him.

“I’m sorry, kid… There’s a chance someone doesn’t make it back and I would rather it be me–”

“So you have a death wish? Is that it? Can’t go one damn day without risking your life like no one is gonna miss you if you burn in, can you?” 

Maverick was unsure how to respond to that, standing there awkwardly as you yelled at him.

“You’re selfish, you know that? The both of you, fucking selfish,” you said, your voice cracking at the end as you poked his chest with the picture frame. 

“B-both… Y/N what-”

“You’re never supposed to leave your wingman… ever. So tell me why I’ve been left behind! Why everyone is fucking leaving me?!” 

In your anger you threw the photo on the floor, glass shattering and the frame breaking apart.

“He left me and now you’re leaving me too!” 

Mav watched the tears streaming down your face as you shoved past him and ran out of the office and out of the house.

Sighing, he looked down and noticed the photo under the shards of glass was the photo of him and Ice shaking hands after saving one another on that mission after graduation. 

“You can be my wingman anytime…”

After your blow up at Maverick, you ran straight to the beach.

The second your feet hit the damp sand on the shoreline you were collapsing to your knees. 

Clutching your chest, you sobbed.

“Why?! Why couldn’t you have just fought? One more time… for me! I need you Dad! And you’re gone! You left me here! And-and now you want to take Mav with you? It’s not fair!”

You fell forward, clutching at the sand, “It’s not fair!” You sobbed, not caring if anyone around you could hear you. You were in pain, you were now not only grieving your father, but you were now going to be grieving his best friend, your friend.

A pair of gentle hands pulled you back up into a seated position on your knees.

“Sweetheart…”

“It’s not fair, Mom!” You shouted, your voice raw with tears as you looked out on the horizon before looking down at the frothing tide, “It’s not fair…” 

Sarah felt tears sting her own eyes at the utter brokenness of your voice, the rawness in it.

She pulled you into her lap, shushing you gently as you sobbed into her neck. She looked up at the sky, “You better bring him home Tommy. Don’t you leave her without a wingman.”

The next week and a half was filled with dread and worry. 

Worry that Maverick would make good on that promise of being the one to die on this mission. Worry that it would be Rooster, someone you weren’t as close to but you knew he meant a lot to Mav. Worry that you would be alone, grieving another father figure.

You barely left the office, sat there in that damn chair looking at that damn computer screen. The last words he typed on it were still displayed.

“It’s time to let go.”

The five words felt like mockery as you read them over and over and over.

How could you just “let go”? Did he really think you hadn’t tried that? Or that it was that simple?

Because it wasn’t. 

You wish you could have just accepted it, that grieving someone as they sat in front of you breathing would have made it easier. But it didn’t. 

You felt like you were on the monkey bars again, the ground miles away from you and you were scared to fall.

“How can I let go when I have no one to catch me?”

As you waited in the silence, for a response that you knew wouldn’t come, a knock sounded through the quiet house. 

Your mom had stepped out to go get stuff for dinner. So you were the only one at home.

Sniffling and turning the monitor off, you got up and went to the front door.

When you opened it, you nearly collapsed.

There on your front porch was Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell. He was scraped up a little, but he was alive.

“Mav… Mav!”

He smiled as he caught you, keeping you from falling onto the ground and holding you close as you clung onto his bomber jacket, tears staining the vinyl. 

“You’re here… you came home.”

He kissed your temple, rubbing your back and cradling the back of your head.

“Of course I did, I couldn’t leave my wingman.”

taglist: @bradleybeachbabe @mayhemmanaged @kmc1989 @lovinglyeternal @horseshoegirl @cassiemitchell @fanboyswhore9 @nightowlalltheway @86laura11 @els-marvelvsp @valmare @startrekfangirl2233

hi, if you're seeing this and are currently not on the taglist and would like to be please fill out the taglist form -> whumptober taglist

i can not stress this enough, but whumptober can have some very serious and heavy topics and i want to make sure i am doing my part as an author to prepare my readers for what they are about to experience and that includes not only warnings above but my taglists as well

so if you want to be added check out the masterlist and read that carefully and fill out the form -> whumptober 2023

[stranger-fanfiction-n-things]

CHAPTER 5: THE FLEA AND THE ACROBAT

This is an Original Character fanfiction. All Stranger Things characters and content are owned by Netflix and The Duffer Brothers.

a/n: I try to include Erica as much as I can.

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 2053

Masterlist

PART I || PART II || PART III

ROANE CEMETERY

Dad didn’t say anything to me when I came downstairs wearing lipstick, but I didn’t miss the look he gave Mom or the warning look Mom gave him back. Me wearing lipstick was the least of our troubles when we have a funeral to attend. The drive to the cemetery was quiet once again. Lucas hadn’t uttered much of a word since we left the house and Erica was unusually quiet as well. It must be difficult to navigate how to move when your two older siblings both lost their best friends at the same time. I reach for Erica’s hand kissing her knuckles before entwining our fingers to show that I’m here, even when my world is crumbling beneath my feet. I’m here. Erica leans on me in acceptance and I sigh contently knowing she doesn’t feel like I’ve neglected her. Erica, Lucas and I are all hyperaware of each other’s feelings without having to ask. Call it sibling telepathy or what not, but our relationship though sometimes rough around the edges, especially between Lucas and Erica, but when it comes down to it, we are always there for each other, no matter what. 

When we get to the cemetery, I am surprised at how many people are already there in support of the Byers. There had to be 40 people here at maximum. Most of them I assume are fellow classmates showing their regards to the loss. I’m warmed by the outpour of support from everyone who showed up today to pay their respects. Over the past few days, the town has come together to find Will, even though the search came to a tragic end, the love still showed. I follow closely behind Lucas who still hasn’t spoken much of a word. All of us are still following Dad’s rule of leaving Lucas alone to grieve and process. He’ll come to us when he wants to. 

The air is brisk yet refreshing and the sun shines weakly in the sky. Brown leaves rustle in the wind, swirling around us in haste. I brush my hair away from my face and look down at the uneven ground under my black sunglasses in effort not to trip and fall in the damp grass. We approach the group, sending small smiles. I immediately notice Nancy standing beside Mrs. Wheeler. She is dressed similar to me in a black dress, nylons and kitten heels. Her black trench coat is open despite the mild winter chill. I wave at her before I am handed a white rose and walk down the row towards her and the Wheeler and Henderson Family. Mike and Dustin look at me; Mike sending a small wave in my direction. Dustin smiles a toothless grin at me but it quickly fades to a scowl when Lucas elbows him in the side. I scrunch my nose to hide my smile, happy to know my brother isn’t completely gone.

Only a few minutes pass before the Byers approach the cemetery. Jonathan guides Ms. Byers to her seat and is followed by a man I haven’t seen in a while and who I can only assume is Jonathan’s dad. He looks done up in what looks to be an expensive suit meanwhile, Jonathan and Ms. Byers look plain. I notice Jonathan’s dad has a tie on but Jonathan doesn’t and I think about Dad teaching Lucas how to tie a tie in the mirror. I am aware of Jonathan and Will’s home life. Living with a single mom proved itself to be difficult especially in a religious town like Hawkins. I purse my lips thinking about everything and it occurs to me that Jonathan has not once mentioned his dad in any of this which makes me wonder if his dad cared at all about Will and if so, why did it take so long for him to care about his own child. 

I stare at Ms. Byers. When I briefly saw her yesterday at her home when Nancy and I were looking for Jonathan, she looked how I expect any parent who has a child missing; worse for wear. I didn’t pry or stare at all the Christmas lights strung up on the ceilings and walls or even the alphabet written across the far end of the wall. If I learned anything at all this week is that people grieve in their own way. She looks more presentable today, though she moved slowly, barely aware of her own movements. Ms. Byers didn’t look at anyone or even smiled. Just sat down on the chair in front of the casket. Jonathan told us yesterday that she didn’t believe Will’s body was real and now she has to sit through a funeral she deems unnecessary. 

Pastor Charles approaches the front of the casket and begins his sermon. Not too long after the ceremony is filled with silent tears, muffled nose blowing and soft sniffles. My hand is on Lucas’s shoulder for the entire time. He doesn’t cry which surprises me a little bit because he was bawling his eyes out when news about Will’s body being found in the Quarry broke out. Maybe he was numb to everything now. 

“Fear not, for I am with you. Be not dismayed, for I am your God.” Pastor Charles says. “I will strengthen you. Yes, I will help you. I will uphold you with my righteous hand. It’s times like these that our faith is challenged. How, if he is truly benevolent could God take from us someone so young, so innocent? It would be easy to turn away from God but we must remember than nothing, not even tragedy, can separate us from His love.” 

The sermon ends and it’s time for everyone to throw their flowers onto the grave site. One by one we all let go of our flowers. Mom and Dad approach Jonathan’s dad who is nothing but smiles and charm thanking us for coming. I send him a tight-lipped smile, feeling slightly put off by him and his mannerisms. I look over her shoulder and see Ms. Byers frowning and shaking her head. I want to pay my respects to her, but she doesn’t look like she’s in the mood for any interaction. Her eyes were empty, lacking any hint of emotion, though with just enough focus to know she was still there. 

Nancy is waiting for me outside the crowd. I excuse myself and I hug her tight hooking my arm with hers. 

“You look like a movie star with your sunglasses,” she teases. I lay my head on her shoulder as we walk to a more secluded area. “Also, I can’t believe you’re wearing lipstick right now.” 

“I know I can’t believe it either. My mom gave me one of hers to wear today.” 

“Have you told her anything? Y’know about…” 

I lift my head, shaking it. “No, I haven’t. Have you told your mom?” 

“Definitely not. Things have been…” she exhales. “Tense between us since the whole Steve thing. She still brings him up. Even after our talk with the cops, she never once asked about Barb.” Nancy scoffs rolling her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” I say. “If it makes you feel any better, things between my mom and I were…different to say the least yesterday too.” Nancy’s eyebrows raise to her forehead. I nod my head rubbing my lips together. “Yeah, the lies caught up with me, I guess. From going to Steve’s to getting a ride home—” 

“You got a ride home?” Nancy interrupts. “By whom?” 

I wince forgetting I haven’t told Nancy about Eddie yet. I open my mouth to speak but thankfully, I am distracted by Jonathan standing on the far end of the cemetery. He raises his hand to let me know he wants to talk to us about something. I wave back and glance at Nancy who looks at me pupils twinkling under the bleak sun and pat her hand. “I’ll tell you about it later.” 

The three of us sit on the ground behind a wrought iron fence in the cemetery. Jonathan holds out a makeshift map with red x’s making a triangle. I lean in close pushing my sunglasses over my bangs to see clearly. Jonathan points to the map. “This is where we know for sure it’s been.” 

Nancy furrows her brows, pointing an x the farthest to the left. “So, that’s…” 

“Steve’s house.” Jonathan confirms. He moves his finger to an open space on the paper. “And that’s the woods where they found Will’s bike and…that’s my house.” 

“It’s all so close.” I say, hugging my jacket closer to my body. 

“Exactly. I mean, it’s all within a mile or something. Whatever this thing is, it’s not traveling far.” 

I study Jonathan, squinting against the sun. His newfound eagerness was suspicious especially because of what was happening right now. He buried his little brother today and his family dynamic seemed way more intense than usual. I sit up straighter twisting my body. “You want to go out there.”

Jonathan perks up as if he’s been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to be doing. “We may not find anything.” 

“We found something.” Nancy chimes in. “And if we do see it…then what?” 

“We kill it.” 

My eyes pop out of my head. “Kill it? How are we going to do that?” 

Jonathan stands up dusting dead grass off his pants. He looks determined and a little crazed. I blinked with incredulity. “Follow me.” He says marching to the parking lot. I look at Nancy wondering what’s going on. He leads us to an expensive looking sports car. He opens the door not before telling us to keep look out. I cross my arms above my chest shifting from side to side on my feet. My eyes dart back and forth around the cemetery. Everyone was walking back to the church for the reception. Mine and Nancy’s parents are talking to each other while Mike, Dustin and Lucas huddled in a circle. I tilt my head to the side wondering what they were talking about. 

“Just give me a second.” Jonathan says, pulling out a pocket knife from his jacket pocket. My eyes again pop out of my head. 

“Are you serious?” Nancy exclaims. 

“No, absolutely not!” I shout, watching him wiggle the end of his knife into the lock of the glove compartment. I can only hope and assume this car is his dad’s and even though his dad gave me bad vibes, I still do not approve of stealing. I am already on the police’s radar for Barb, I don’t need to add theft to my list. 

“What?” Jonathan snaps, opening the glove compartment. He sifts through taking out a gun. My mouth falls open. “You want to find this thing and take another photo? Yell at it?” 

“No, but…” 

“This is a terrible idea.” Nancy intercepts. 

“Yeah, well, it’s the best we’ve got.” Jonathan tucks the gun in his back pocket before closing the car door. “What? You can tell someone but they’re not going to believe you. You know that.” 

That was true and I wasn’t going to tell my parents anything, but Ms. Byers believed something was happening before Nancy and I knew Barb was missing. Hell, she doesn’t think Will’s body is real. It made sense to tell her about what was happening. Maybe she can help us somehow. 

“Your mom would.” I point out.

Jonathan takes a deep breath. I see how tired he looks, the bags under his eyes deepening in colour. There’s a hint a sadness in his eyes that disappears as soon as I see it. “She’s been through enough.” 

“She deserves to know.” Nancy adds.

“Yeah, and I’ll tell her when this thing is dead.” He says with finality. It’s enough for me and Nancy not to push anymore. 

I think about Barb and the looks on Officer Callahan and Powell’s faces when I told them about what I saw in Steve’s backyard. I pull my sunglasses down tucking my hair behind my ear. Determination bubbles in my body. If Jonathan is certain about this, I’m in through and through. Like I said. My brother and I deserve to have our best friend’s back. 

“When do we start?” 

NEXT -> PART III

Taglist 🤍: @tinydramatist

[themultifandomgal]

From 2010- Funeral

2012

Part 24

Trigger warning- religious talk and talk about death.

“Hey” I see Liam and Harry walking into my bedroom wearing all black and a sad smile “the errm… the cars outside” Liam says as I look at myself in my black dress in the mirror

“I don’t think I can do this” I tell them looking down at my feet “I don’t want to do this”

“I know, but you’ll regret it if you don’t. We will all be by your side”

“How have I lost another person I love?” Tears start to spill from my eyes as I turn to face Harry and Liam

“ m’so sorry YN” Harry says opening his arms out and I run into them. Harry strokes my hair while holding me

“Guys we have to go” I hear Zayn say

“We’re coming. Come on” Liam takes my hand and leads me downstairs and out of the house where my dad is waiting with the other boys and Emma. Reluctantly I get into the car that’s following the hearse with Alex’s mum, dad and sister who are all crying. The boys, my dad and Emma will be following us in another car.

The drive to the church is quiet, expect for all of our sobs. I haven’t been able to take my eyes off the hearse in front where I can see his coffin. My hand never leaves his mothers. Yes I’ve lost my love, but she’s lost her son all because of a drunk driver who still hasn’t been caught.

Once the car has stopped we slowly get out. I immediately go to my dad, holding on to his arm. I notice many of our old school friends, even James is here with I’m guessing his boyfriend. Not wanting to interact with anyone I follow Alex’s parents into the church and we take our seats

“The grace and peace of God our Father, who raised Jesus from the dead, be always with you” the priest says sprinkling water on the casket

“And you” we all reply

“We gather here today to celebrate the life of Alexander Williams, who has now returned to his home with Our God, The Father. I’d like to read a passage from the Old Testament. Wisdom 3:1-9 The souls of the righteous are in the hand of God, and no torment shall touch them. They seemed, in the view of the foolish, to be dead; and their passing away was thought an affliction and their going forth from us, utter destruction.

But they are in peace. For if to others, indeed, they seem punished, yet is their hope full of immortality; chastised a little, they shall be greatly blessed, because God tried them and found them worthy of himself.

As gold in the furnace, he proved them, and as sacrificial offerings he took them to himself. In the time of their judgment they shall shine and dart about as sparks through stubble they shall judge nations and rule over peoples, and the LORD shall be their King forever.

Those who trust in him shall understand truth, and the faithful shall abide with him in love: because grace and mercy are with his holy ones, and his care is with the elect. The Word of the Lord” tears spill throughout the whole reading. I wipe the tears from my face with the back of my hand “I’d like to invite Alex’s partner YN up here to read his eulogy” shakingly I stand up and walk to the front of the church where the priest was

“I wrote and rewrote this so many times. I didn’t know where to start. So I decided to just start with saying that Alex was the kindest human I think I ever knew. I don’t think he ever had a bad bone in his body. We met at high school, I sat next to him in maths which we all know was not my strong suite. Alex helped me when I was struggling. He loved his family and….” I choke up a little while reading. I wipe my tears and take a deep breath “sorry. He loved his family and friends and would have done anything for them. He also cared about others, strangers that he saw on the streets. More often than not he would be giving money to some sort of charity. I will forever be grateful for the time we spent together and hope I could only be half the person he was” I now turn to the coffin “I will always love you Alex, I hope you rest in peace” I kiss my hand and place it on the coffin before going back to my seat.

The priest talks some more, we do a few prayers before finishing up the service with the Lords Prayer.

“Why don’t we go for lunch?”

“Not hungry” I reply to Emma wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa staring at the TV that’s not even on

“Then why don’t we take cookie for a walk?”

“Dad took her earlier” I reply

“Come on YN. It’s been a week since the funeral”

“My boyfriend died, was killed by a possible drunk driver who hasn’t been caught yet so I’m sorry that I’m sad and grieving” Emma sighs at my response

“I know your trying to push me away, your hurting, but I’m staying here. You can yell at me all you like but I’m not going anywhere” I turn away from Emma and stare at the TV again

“I’m sorry” I whisper hating that I shouted at Emma. She’s grieving as well “I just keep thinking that this is a dream, a nightmare that I’ll wake up from”

“I know, I’m so sorry your having to go through this again” Emma pulls me into her side letting my cry “Alex will always be here with you. Why don’t we do something to honour him”

“I’ve wanted to get a tattoo for my mum. Maybe I could get one in honour of Alex as well”

“Love that idea, but before you book a tattoo and get it done maybe we should have a shower and brush our teeth Hmm?” I give Emma a little nudge

“Thank you for being here and not leaving me to deal with this”

“Always”

[the-bug-carnival]

tw: mild ableism, rant

at a pre-funeral visitation day today. friend of my grandfather (one who passed away) came, brought his daughter. She seemed kind of awkward and came in first so I struck up conversation with her- as family, it was our responsibility to greet.

She had a fidget, I complimented her on it, we talked throughout the whole thing. School, sleepovers, etc etc. She was really nice! We stuck together a little bit bcs she was the only one my age and she didn’t really know anybody else (we weren’t related, her dad was a business partner). She briefly mentioned in conversation that social functions were awkward because she was autistic and had ADHD.

I’m just… pissed. I’m so mad.

Because after she left, and the entire rest of the evening, people kept thanking me for talking to her.

Like, oh my fucking god. You are grown adults. First of all, YOU could’ve talked to her. We are the SAME AGE.

SHE IS NOT A FUCKING KID. NEURODIVERGENT PEOPLE ARE NOT FUCKING BABIES. IF YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE GREETING AND TALKING TO EVERYBODY AND YOU AVOID THE NEURODIVERGENT PERSON, YOU ARE BEING FUCKING ABLEIST.

If you think that talking to neurodivergent or disabled people is a task or a burden, I do not want to talk to you at all.

[romanarose]

For the Longest Time: Chapter 5

William Miller x Fem!OC (Lorelei Giang)

Masterlist : Triple Frontier Masterlist :Playlist

Join my taglist!

Summary: At the funeral, Lorelei sees a face from her past and learned a little about Will. They start to find they have more in common than they thought.

Warnings and content: Death of an abusive parent although there isn't much on that right now. Will is compartmentalizing. Talk of past child abuse, divorce, dad leaving, colorism from a parent. Will is emotionally constipated.

****************

It was hot.

Lorelei was trying her best to be supportive but also mind her place. She wasn’t Will’s girlfriend. Mrs. Miller greeted her kindly and thanked her for coming, but se knew she was mostly a source for gossip. Alice, was Ben’s actually girlfriend and was allowed to mourn and be fawned over. Lorelei was there to be support. Will spent a few days largely away, and even headed out today, road separately. Jana asked if Lorelei would like to join her and Frankie to the services and memorial. This ended up being helpful.

Lorelei was about 4 months along and was showing, but certainly had gained weight and all her black dresses were too tight, not only for a funeral but for the muggy middle Florida weather in general. Jana was a size or so above Lorelei and brought over a few options for a more respectable and practical clothing for the weather.

The Millers lived on a farm just outside of the small town they lived in. Lorelei, Will and all the others all lived in a mid-sized town in the same county. The funeral was in the country, a gravesite a mile out from the baptist church and full of bugs that added to the uncomfortable air around them. Paul Miller was not well liked, but Jenna, Will and Benny were and the politics of a small town lead to a lot of obligations. It became clear this week that Jenna’s family was fairly prominent in the town, a “founding family” perse. Jenna and Paul’s marriage was a love match to be sure, many people wondering why a nic well-to-do girl was marrying into a poor farm boy, but Paul could turn on the charm. The marriage was a different story. Paul was an alcoholic and while Will was fairly tight lipped on exactly what happened, Lorelei knew there was abuse.

Will had urged her to sit in his seat during the funeral services, but afterwards Lorelei was attempting to get some fresh air from the crowds. It was clear the family was lage on both sides and very friendly, and Lorelei was growing tired of all the questions. Will had been protective, simply stating she was a friend and cutting anyone off who seemed to be prying. Lorelei was showing, but not obvious enough that it couldn’t just be passed off as a belly. Right now, Will was otherwise engaged in consoling his mother, so Lorelei was left to her own devices and took the chance to walk away. Lorelei wasn’t a big smoker, but she dabbled in stressful times and she was craving one bad. Or some red wine. God, that would be nice right now. 

She placed a hand on her belly. “You’re lucky I love you,Tũn.”

“And here I thought you just got fat.”

Tyler.

Lorelei turned around. “What the hell are you doing here?”

 Seeing Tyler for the first time in months was always a bit stark, but Tyler now stood in Will’s shadow, and the contrast was startling. Tyler was not that good look. Not unattractive, but he really is just some guy. This, compared to Will’s handsome face was almost embarrassing that Lorelei had settled for him, but the difference in treatment was the biggest black and white. Even before Tyler slapped her, which Lorelei let happen only once, Tyler was never good. He was a loser, frankly. Will had only ever treated her with respect, long before the pregnancy and even before their friendship. 

Will would have never suggested she was fat.

Tyler pointed to where her hand still rested on her stomach. “How long did it take you to fuck him, a week? I’d assume you did it that night, but Will’s knight in shining armour game wouldn’t allow for him to fuck you with a red mark on your face.”

“And just how was your face that night?” She snapped back. “Last I remember, you were in worse shape than me.”

“Everything okay here?” Santi’s voice drew her eyes to the side. He was walking towards her, arm around a flushed Laci who was holding a water bottle. She didn’t look well, and no doubt Santi was taking her to the car. The cars were parked in almost the opposite direction from her, however, so what was he doing here?

“Yeah.” She lied, turning to Tyler. “Tyler was just leaving.” 

Santi recognized the name, as did Laci by the way she turned to Santi. His arm drew her tighter to him, but he stayed put, his face settling darker. “I think that’s a good idea.”

“I’m not leaving.” Tyler objected. “I know the Millers better than Lora does.”

Lorelei scoffed. “You said yourself you didn’t like Will or Ben.”

“Paul Miller was my bus driver and Mrs. Miller was my sunday school teacher. Just because you spread your legs and got knocked up doesn’t make you part of their family.”

“Watch it” Santi warned.

Lorelei wanted to handle this on her own, but knew she couldn’t do what she had 4 months back. She wouldn’t get in a fight while pregnant.

Tyler turned to Santi. “And who the hell are you?” He looked at Laci. “Aren’t you Benny’s girlfriend?”

Laci didn’t even attempt to respond, her mouth sealed shut. No doubt the whole day had been overwhelming, sensory overload for the sensitive girl and likely put her non verbal.

Santi looked to Lorelei and shot his eyes to Laci, and Lorelei got the hint. She stepped over to them and placed an arm around the wobbly girl. He stepped up to Tyler. Santi was shorter than the rest of the guys, but was no less of a force to be reckoned with. She’d seen it in defense of Laci with the creep at the bar, and Lorelei had no doubt it would come out if Tyler said anything about Laci-

“You stay the fuck away from Lorelei, I don’t want to fucking see you at the Miller house, understood?”

Oh. He was defending her.

“I’ll ask you again. Who. The fuck. Are you?”

“I’m the person who's going to kick your ass if you don’t leave her alone.”

Tyler must have been in a fighting mood today. He drew back his hand and swung, but before Laci had time to do anything but gasp, Santiago had taken hold of his hand, turned around and flipped Tyler onto his back with a thud. Lorelei looked to the crowd, and it didn’t seem anyone had noticed. When she turned back to the scene before her, Santi had pulled Tyler up by his collar and shoved him away.

“Offer your condolences to Mrs. Miller, and then fucking leave. If I see you near Lorelei again, it won’t just be me you’re dealing with.”

Tyler scrambled away, and Santi quickly took Laci back in his arms. “Are you okay, baby?”

Laci’s eyes were heavily lidded, and didn’t respond.

Lorelei clocked the heat exhaustion right away. “She needs to get in cool air, now.”

Santi nods. “We were on our way to ask if you wanted to join us,” He bent down slightly, scooping Laci up under her knees and carrying her. Laci weakly signed something that Lorelei couldn’t quite make out. She knew a little sign language but mostly conversational and in a hospital context. “Don’t worry about it.” Santi whispered, then turned to Lorelei as he started walking. “C’mon. The heat isn’t good for pregnant people.”

Lorelei followed them to the car where Lorelei instructed him to put Laci in the back so she could tend to her. As Santi drove to the farm, Lorelei coaxed her to drink water. The house was unlocked, church members setting up food for the memorial service and soon Lorelei was in full nurse mode. Santi buzzed with nerves, asking about a hospital but after checking her temp and her vitals, Lorelei said it was just heat exhaustion, not heat stroke. Santi then helped her walk to Benny’s childhood bedroom to rest as he cared for her and kept her awake.

When Will and Benny came in, it was clear they were fighting. “You’re such a fucking child, Benny!”

“You’re the one that tried to leave me on the goddamn road!” Benny was clearly drunk, slurring his words at 2 in the afternoon.

They went back and forth until Santi shouted down the stairs that Laci was resting.

Will yelled back to shut the hell up; Benny stopped yelling, knowing how badly Laci’s nerves affect her. Will stormed away, and Lorelei followed. When she found him, he was sitting on a twin bed in a room that clearly used to belong to a teenage boy.

“Was this your room?”

Will didn’t look away from the Attack of the Clones poster. “Yeah.”

“Can I sit?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

Lorelei waited a few moments before talking. Will clearly needed a breather. They sat in silence for a few minutes and Lorelei took in his room. It was a jock’s room, clearly, with Miami Heat memorabilia around, but also a little bit nerdy. There was a box set of the Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit and the Similarian, all looking well worn, and of course some Star Wars here and there. Will never showed that side of him. 

“I like the posters. Were you a little nerdy in high school?” She asked, breaking the ice.

Will huffed a short laugh. “Yeah, I guess. Nerdy enough anyway. That surprise you?”

“A little.”

“And why’s that?” It seemed a genuine question.

She hesitated an answer. “Well your… you.”

Finally, Will turned to her, brow furrowed in question. “What does that mean?”

“Well, you… you. You’re strong, you give off football player energy.” He had been in football, after all. She knew that from stalking him via Tyler’s year books.

He still looked ticked off, leftover energy from the fight with Benny. “You think I was a dumb jock?”

“A little.” She tried to defuse the tension with a joke. “I mean you did go into the military, so I’m assuming the athletic scholarship didn’t work out?” Immediately after saying it, Lorelei regretted it. She knew she had a tendency to be rude, to say the first thing that comes to mind, and most people deserved it.

Will didn’t, and he snapped. “You think the smartest person in the room at all times, don’t you?” When Lorelei didn’t respond, he continued. “You have that air about you, you know. Maybe that’s why you don’t make friends.”

That hurt, and now she was on the defense and stood up in preparation for a fight. “Maybe I’m not the smartest person in the room, but I don’t see a lot of competition.”

Will stood up, matching her energy. “You don’t even have the highest education out of us, you know that?”

She didn’t know that, actually.

Will continued. “Jana has a masters degree in social work. Could hav gotten her dctorate two but didn’t see a point. She chose to make shit pay to help people when she probably could have gotten some fancy well paying job. Laci has a bachelors in psych. I know every see’s her as helpless, and you and Alice think she’s a ditz”

“I don’t-”

“But she is plenty smart. And Frankie, Frankie doesn’t have a degree but he’s a fucking enginier, Lore. You know what kinda brains you gotta have to do that shit? He got a 98 on his ASVAP. And me? I got into med school. I could have been a doctor, Lorelei, so I’d appreciate it if you stopped talking down to me.” After a pause, Will averted his eyes and sat down on the bed, mumbling a sorry with his face in his hands.

Lorelei stood in front of him, taking in his words. He was right, she did have a stuck up attitude. Will didn’t deserve it. Neither did Benny, Frankie, Jana, Laci or even Santi. Santi had proven to her that he was a good man the last few days.

“You got into med school?”

Will nodded into his hands. “Yeah. Took online classes. I was a combat medic so was able to get a lot of credits counted that way, and took dual credit in high school. Was supposed to leave the army to go.”

She spoke softly. “What happened?” 

Removing his hands, Will flopped backwards on the bed as he spoke. “Same thing that always happens. Benny.”

Lorelei joined him, grunting a bit as she sat and laid back, black hair sprawling everywhere. “Go on.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Laci saw Will turn to her, staring before turning back to watch the ceiling fan. “Ben popped positive on a drug test. He was inlisted at the time, doing real well too…”

Oh shit. “What was he on?”

“Coke, just like every fucking person I’ve ever loved, it seems.” Will was shaking. 

Lorelei knew Frankie and to a lesser extent Jana had suffered from addiction to cocaine.

“So what happened?”

“Tom called me. He was a friend from when him, me, Jana, and Santi were stationed together… He had moved his way up a lot and was starting a special ops team.” Will took a deep breath. In through his nose, out his mouth. His shaking stilled. “He said he could make it go away if me and Ben agreed to join his team… so I did.”

Will’s love for his brother never failed to surprise her. “You’re a good man, Will.”

Will shrugged. “He’s my brother.”

“My siblings would never do that for me.”

Will turned to her, and she looked to him in turn. Their faces were close, as close as they had been the night they almost kissed before they fucked. “Would you do it for them?”

“In a heartbeat.” She whispered.

“That’s the sacrifice for older siblings to bear.” 

They turned back to the ceiling, laying there for a moment and feeling the cool air of the fan on their skin. “I was an accident.” This caused Will to turn to her briefly before turning back. “My parents were both second generation, living in Philly. They got married at 18 to avoid the scandal… in the 2000’s in a Vietnamese area, it would have been a hoopla. Well, didn’t do much to save face as they got divorced when I was 8, my dad walked out. I didn’t see him for ten years.”

“Jeez, Lore, I’m sorry.”

She continued. “Mom remarried, had a daughter, my sister Sophie. I was about 13 then, 15 when she had Colin. My mom and step dad treated me like I was an outsider. I was too interested in my family's culture back then… I was obsessed with old Hollywood. I was accused constantly of being too western. First time I wore red lipstick, my step dad called me a whore and rubbed it off with his palm… I went back upstairs and applied it again anyway.”

She could feel Will tense next to her. “I love being vietnamese. It’s just at the time… I wanted to be different, look different. I wanted to be an actress for a while, but my mom told me my skin was too dark” Lorelei chuckles sardonically. “I spent years of college trying to lighten my skin, make my eyes look less asian… My sister was the perfect Asian daughter. My step dad had much lighter skin, so she did too. She was docile, agreeable, quiet…  everything I wasn’t. There’s always a divide between us, even today… I think her and Collin think of me as the bad guy, the reason there were fights in our house… but I’d give my life for them in a heartbeat.” She laughed again. “It’s funny, I’d do almost anything for them except pick up the phone to talk.”

Will laughed along with her. He reached out his hand, thankful that she allowed him to hold it. “I’m sorry you were treated like that. You didn’t deserve it.”

“It’s nothing compared to what you went through.”

“How do you know what I went through?”

“You aren’t as hard to read as you think you are.” A pause. “Is that why you won’t take off your shirt?”

Another pause. “Is that why you don’t kiss?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

*

Eventually, they returned to the memorial, a crowd of people having joined. Lorelei rubbed Will's arm encouragingly, and Will put on his best host face.

Laci had returned from her rest, Santi still fussing over her and insisting she stay sitting and drinking water. Frankie sat down by Lorelei as Jana messed with Santi across the room to a giggling Laci. 

“How’s Will?” He asked sincerely. 

She sighed. “He’s struggling. More than he’s letting on. Him and Ben got in a fight.”

Frankie laughed. “Yeah, that’s not unusual. He tell you what it was?”

“No.”

“It was so stupid.” Frankie shook his head, smiling. “Benny was trying to get Mrs. Miller to admit Paul was an asshole and she wasn’t happy with him.” Will stopped the truck and pushed Ben out and told him to walk home. Benny caught up and jumped on the truck bed and was stuck there the whole ride back, pouting.

Lorelei could picture it. “Their dad, he was… pretty bad, wasn’t he?”

Frankie grew solom. “Really bad. Will took the brunt of it though, always deflecting what Ben was supposed to get onto him.

Tears began to form, prickling at her eyes at the thought. 

“Excuse me, sorry.” She needed to step away, she couldn’t show vunerability like this. Frankie asked if she was okay, but she said she needed to use the bathroom.

Lorelei tucked herself away in a hall, away from prying eyes. He was so kind, he was so good… it pained her to know he had been hurt like that. She just wanted to hold little blonde Will, she just wanted to tell him that everything would be okay… she wanted to protect him and keep him safe.

“You alright there, young lady?”

Lorelei looked to see an old man shuffle in, but keeping a respectful distance. He looked kind but concerned. 

She sniffled, wiping away a tear. “Yes, thank you. Just a hard day.”

The old man nodded. He glanced only ever so slightly at her stomach, but quickly back up. She couldn’t blame him, especially when he never mentioned it. “You’re a friend of Will’s, aren’t you.”

Friend. “Yes sir. Just hear for support.”

He smiled. “He sure seems to have a lot of support, I’m glad to see. I’m Gideon.” He extended a withered hand to her.

Will’s maternal grandfather, “Oh! I’m Lorelei. You must be mrs. Miller’s grandfather. Im so sorry for your-”

He held up a hand, twinkle in his eye. “Paul was an asshole, my dear, I’m sure you know.”

Lorelei couldn’t help but chuckle. “I know. I met him once, and he did not make a good impression.”

Gideon laughed along with her. “I’m sure. Miss, if I may be so bold…”

“Please” He seemed kind; his presence was calming. A strong strength that Will possesed as well.

“I know you two are having a baby… Jenna told me.”

Lorelei began to worry; what would this old man think? A baby outside of marriage? Would he have an issue she was vietnamese? Hell, had he fought in Vietnam-

“And I’d just like to welcome you to out family.”

Oh. “Well... Will and I, we aren’t dating…” She attempted to clarify, but Gideon waved her off. “That doesn’t matter. You know Laci?” He pointed to the kitchen where Benny and Frankie had joined her, Santi and Jana. Will walked up at well, greeting Jana and Benny both with arms around their shoulders. “Laci like a granddaughter I never had. Her and Benny come over often, she always cooks, sweet girl she is.”

“She’s lovely.” Lorelei agreed. 

“They come around less now that Benny is with that McCarthy girl, but se la vi” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Laci is family. Hell, they're all family.” Gideon looked back at Lorelei. “And so are you. You’re a part of this family. Now,” He gently nudged her toward the group. “Go enjoy before Alice finds you.”

Lorelei laughed, drying the last of her tears and thanking him. She walked up to Will, sliding between him and Benny. Will smiled down at her, pulling her a few steps aside. “Hey Lore, you okay?”

She nodded. “I met your grandpa. He’s really nice.”

Will smiled at that. “Pops is the best… We’ll talk to him more in a bit. I just… I wanted to ask you on Rosie’s birthday, but I forgot, and then this whole week…” Will shook his head. “Listen, the VA I volunteer at is having its annual charity fundraiser, and they let me choose the non-profit.” He smiled proudly. “I chose the women’s shelter Jana and Laci work for.”

Lorelei smiled up at him, heart swelling in the pride he obviously felt. Will did a lot for the VA, it makes sense they let him pick. “That’s great Will, congratulations.”

“Well, the thing is…” He rocked back on his heels a bit, a nervous energy in him that she wasn’t used to seeing. “It’s a ball. Fancy as shit and all that… Santi, Frankie and Ben are taking Laci, Jana and Alice… and I was hoping…” Deep breath in, deep breath out. “You’d like to go with me?”

She was a bit shocked to say the least. “When is it?”

“It’s two months from now.”

Her heart dropped a bit. “Oh… well… I’m going to be at almost 6 months by that point…”

His smile faltered, looking down at the floor. “Oh, yes, of course I bet you wouldn’t be very comfortable at that point-”

“No, I mean… I’ll be showing… more…”

He looked confused. “Yeah?”

“Well… do you really want a girl you knocked up? Don’t you have some pretty girl-”

Will’s eyes were wide with horror “I don’t want to bring anyone else, Lore. I want to bring you. You’re my best friend, you are a pretty girl. You’re pregnant, not knocked up. We are having a baby, and Lorelei…” Will sighed, a little wistfully, placing a careful hand on her stomach, his blue eyes connecting with hers. “I’m happy. I’m happy were having this baby and I love them, and you, more than I thought possible…” Will’s eyes shown with the emotion of his words. “You are both my family, and I love you.”

As Lorelei listened to him talk, she lost herself for a moment thinking he was professing something different, that the love in his words was romantic… then she remembered their position, she remembered that this was not a fairy tale. She had to be happy with what she had. A loving father of her child, and a so-far healthy baby on the way. It wasn’t a fairy tale, but everything was going to be okay. She was going to be a mom, they were going to break the cycle of hers and Will’s families, and unlike her and Will, this baby would have a father who loved them. 

“I’d love to go to the ball with you, Will.” She placed a hand on one cheek and kissed the other, making him blush. “But I might be wearing New Balance nursing shoes.”

********************

ngl Lorelei needed to get knocked down a peg.

But they are seeing a little more eye to eye at least now.

@pimosworld @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @whatthefishh @missdictatorme @milkymoon2483 @poeedameronn@itspdameronthings @miraclesabound @babymills16 @rayslittlekitten

[footnoteinhistory]

A family friend who was very much a grandfather figure to me passed away today. Once again it was not unexpected but after losing my biological grandpa just two weeks ago it’s a lot lol

His wife died last year and, knowing I’m the family videographer, he asked me to record her funeral service so he could watch it again. I made him a DVD and every time we saw each other since then he thanked me and tried to pay me lol, which I always refused. Finally, last fall, he mailed me a formal thank you note—with money in the envelope, so I couldn’t return it this time

Everyone called him Marv, even his toddler great-grandchildren. He always wore suspenders. If you met him, you might think he was a stereotypically foggy old man at first, friendly and old-fashioned and a bit nutty—but he was brilliant. A Nebraska farm boy who got a full scholarship to become a chemical engineer and never lost his edge. And the nicest man in the world, curious and kind and funny. He and his wife lost their infant son to cancer many decades ago, I hope the three of them are together again now

The physical absence part of death has been hitting hard lately. It’s just stupid intense

And I know it doesn’t always go this way and I’m honestly fortunate so far that it has, but in the back of my head I’ve always thought “ok, grandparents die first, you don’t have to worry about your parents until your grandparents die.” But now it’s all happening very suddenly and that imaginary boundary is almost gone. I notice the ways my parents are getting older and my dad is sick right now and I worry about them more and more this shit sucks

[kamryn1963]

Chicago PD Fanfic: Ten Minutes

A quick little thing for International Whump Day. Which is my new favorite day. I couldn't think of anything to write until my fucked up mind came up with this.

Summary: After tragedy strikes, Hank thinks about one of his biggest regrets and how he failed Alvin.

(TW: Descriptions of suicide. Read at your own risk.)

Hank had a lot of regrets in his life. He could spend hours naming them all. It was no surprise or secret that he’d fucked up a lot. 

This was no exception. He had been ten minutes late. 

Two weeks ago at around ten at night, Hank got a call from Al. Except Hank was in the shower at that time, his phone in his room so he didn’t even notice Al had called until after his shower. Hank called back right away but got no answer. 

He didn’t think much of it at the time, just thinking whatever problem Al had called about had passed and he didn’t need Hank anymore.

 Hank would forever regret that. 

The next morning Al didn’t show up for work which was really unusual for him. Especially since Lexi’s passing as he was always there concerningly early. Before anybody could head to his house, Hank got a call from a hysterical Meredith who had also noticed her husband’s car still in the driveway and went to the garage to check. 

Just to find Al dead from his own bullet. Suicide. There was no debate about it. No foul play, just Al on his couch a picture of his late daughter in his hand and notes addressed to Hank, Meredith, Trudy and the team on the table next to him. 

If Hank had just showered later or heard his phone rang he could’ve helped, could’ve talked Al down before he did this. Al had been reaching out for help and Hank had failed him. 

But he was too late. Now his best friend, his and Trudy’s little brother, was dead.

Hank finished tying his tie looking blankly at himself in the mirror. It was Al’s funeral today. Hank knew he had to be strong, for Meredith and for Michelle who lost a dad she just found. He couldn’t break down. Not yet. 

“I’m so sorry”. Hank whispered as his eyes fell on a picture of Trudy and Al he had taken only last year. 

“I should’ve answered. I should’ve seen the signs. You were trying to get help”. Hank said to an empty room like it’d make everything okay. It wouldn’t. Nothing would be. 

Hank took a deep breath, and left his house heading to the church for the funeral. He met Trudy on the way and they both stood there, just embracing each other. 

“He’s really gone”. Trudy said, her voice breaking and Hank just held her tighter. 

“Yeah. He is”. 

Alvin Olinsky was dead. And Hank had failed him in his final moments. when he had needed Hank the most, he had let him down. 

[mad0katsuki]

Tw vent and mention of the 💀

Today is November 2nd and is almost to end.

I think that almost no one is aware of my nationality as such (since I mostly write in English and even though I say that my native language is Spanish, there are too many countries that speak it lol), but mentioning the first thing, it shows that I am from Mexico, so Yes, this is a Day of the Dead post. In my family we don't celebrate it much as they usually show it, altars, going to the cemetery, spending it with the family, etc. But they tend to get very sentimental on this day. I say usually because it never happened to me like that, not until this year.

I had never lost someone so relevant in my life that I felt completely sad. I have too many dead relatives, but I never cared much, it only hurt me to see how close relatives of mine suffered, and that was what hurt me. Somehow I felt very empty and selfish.

I have only been to two funerals before last year, my paternal grandfather's and my great-grandmother's. I never met my great-grandmother until I saw her in a photo because she was cremated; On the other hand, I knew my grandfather when I was little but I didn't like him very much because of how he treated my father. But I still cried. I cried for my grandfather, my mother and my uncles who had lost the person who kept my maternal family closer. I cried for my father who, although he seemed cold, I know how much he suffered when he lost the man he once wanted to be on good terms with. I never cried for the dead ones.

My dad had a sister, which made her my aunt. I would say that she was the only one of her siblings that I really knew, I went to her house, ate what she prepared, played with me, talked to her and was the mother of the only cousins I talk to, but there was a problem, she had an illness that It only got worse (they never told me what it was). A year ago in March she passed away. It was the first time I felt like I lost part of my soul. It was very stressful, especially for my dad because she was the only one of his sisters he talked to and cared for, but she was no longer there. I remember that during the entire wake, mass and funeral I couldn’t attend, I spent it in my bed. I couldn't see anyone, least of all my dad. But that only lasted one weekend because no matter how sad I am, they don't let me stay like that for long (lol), I just stayed sad.

I couldn't talk to my cousins for a long time, the truth is I didn't talk to almost anyone about it, I think the only ones who knew were my countability teacher and an ex friend with whom I fought at that time, but that's another story. I think I lost a lot of people by being in that mood.

Then during that period I lost my first cat, Peluso. He was already old and only lasted several months with me, I think he was just looking for a safe place to leave, but he was the only living being that I felt for a long time understood me.

Last year I was still stuck with that thing about my aunt and my cat, but this year I realized that neither of them are there. It's the first time I don't feel angry that someone is leaving me, it's the first time I'm actually crying about how I feel, I feel sad, they don’t leave me because they wanted to, they just gone. I want to visit my aunt again. I want to hug my cat again. I miss them a lot.

If you read this thank you. I feel really weird talking about this subject and I tried to don’t look like an attention seeker or something, I just wanted to let out something that is on my mind frequently. Even more when my dad say that even if I look like my mother I have the freckles of that auntie heh

Have a great night/day/evening

Y para mi gente Latino feliz día de los muertos, si perdieron a un ser querido o a alguna mascotita espero que hayan podido pasar la noche con ustedes <3

[blue-moon-writes-crap]

Broken Fragments Gojo x OC

Chapter I: "no friends, no kindness"

⚠️TW⚠️: Swearing, Mention of character death and Mentions of cheating (I DO NOT support cheating)

I DO NOT own Jujutsu Kaisen or any of the characters (Except Mirae, Yoo-na and Mirae's father who are MY OCs).

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“What a whore. Guess she’s the same, as they say, “Like mother, like daughter”. I can’t believe that you liked her.” Mirae walked down the halls of her school, seeming emotionless to the hundreds of comments made of her and her mother, but under that mask, they were like salt on a painful stab wound.

It wasn’t always like this. She grew up with a loving father and mother, but everything became dystopian. Mirae’s dear father passed away and during the funeral service, an angry woman accused her mother of adultery, which was proven to be correct. The town that she’d lived her entire life in turned against Mirae and her mother. Rumors started reaching every nook and cranny of the town, and they were alone, no friends, no kindness. 

“Slam!” The front door closed. Mirae headed straight to her room and closed the door. Tears streamed down her face as she dropped to the floor. The service had only ended three weeks ago, but she was still crying each day about it. The loss of her father hadn’t fully sunk in yet. Mirae eventually fell asleep crying.

Yoo-na wasn’t having the greatest day either. She was a top lawyer at her previous firm , but due to the incident, she was fired today. The firm wanted to wait longer, so it did seem suspicious, but they did lose a few clients, so they fired her earlier. 

She walked into the door and let out a sigh, then headed upstairs to check on her daughter. Yoo-na opened the door and rolled her eyes. “Wake up Mirae.” She said in a dull and slightly annoyed voice. Mirae slowly lifted her head. “Are you crying again? Look, we can’t seem weak to the town-folk, they hate us and showing ourselves as vulnerable isn’t helping.” Mirae turned her head, upset and angry that her mother didn’t consider how hard it was. “Grandmother (father’s mother) said we’re supposed to mourn for a year and in the Joseon Era, families mourned for 3 years.” Her mother scoffed. “We aren’t living in the Joseon Era and that old hag can mourn her son’s death for as long as she wants. Besides, that isn’t my concern-” Yoo-na was cut-off. “I know, but right now it isn’t the time to worry about your reputation, it's your fault that it’s ruined and I don’t think you understand my point. My point was, that the only time you mourned was when family were around and the funeral. Dad doesn’t deserve that. No wonder Grandmother (dad’s mother) was so against your marriage to him.” Mirae mumbled the last sentence so quietly, that her mother couldn’t make out her words. Yoo-na left the room with no words.

Two weeks later, Mirae got back from school to see her mom bringing in folded, empty boxes. “What’s all this mom?” She asked. “I got a new job in Tokyo. We’ll be leaving in a week, so start packing your stuff Mirae. “She nodded knowing how things were now, it’s probably the best decision, but it still hurt. She lived her entire life in this town and she’d have to leave all of the memories made there in the past.

For the next few days, the two packed and around 6 days later, they finished. The next day, it was time to say “goodbye” to Mirae’s small town life. She and her mother headed into their car and started the long drive to Tokyo.

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Word Count: 579

Broken Fragments Masterlist

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter of my newest Gojo x OC fan fiction! This fan fiction was made since I decided to write the same concept but with different characters, but switched it last minute, since my first Gojo x OC series was trash (Not Zephyr). I will have the masterlist up later this week.

[amomentapart]

I think people make excuses for family/friends who treat them poorly because they want to believe that person is misunderstood or just having a hard time articulating their position. Like to me, after my dad passed away and I went on a road trip with one of my bff's and telling her how I feel really resentful that I'll never get resolution on a lot of issues I had with him, she said it seems like I'm making excuses for his behavior.

And of course I'm making excuses for him because if I don't the alternative is my dad and I were never going to get along, and even if I had 20 more years with him I'd definitely never get him to be genuinely proud of me or like me as a person or see me as someone who isn't just there to do his bidding, because that was the way he was. But knowing that and admitting that are two different things. And after his passing I've done my best to see him as more than someone who made me feel incredibly insecure, who wouldn't help me for any reason, who was basically the real life version of Ebenezer Scrooge before the whole lessons learned plot, because he was more than that to other people. I didn't get the version of him that people talked up at his funeral or still come up to me today.

And I have to remember everyone sees people differently. Your enemy is someone's wife. The kid you made fun of in school is someone's uncle that they love because he's sweet and goofy. When I die, most people are probably going to remember me as extremely quiet and stubborn and they're going to laugh to themselves about how I couldn't see obvious things in front of me, if they remember me at all because I don't think I spoke more than 10 sentences to anyone in high school outside of my friend group. But there are going to also be people who thought I was funny, who thought I was artistic and smart (and really loved her X-terra lol), and who liked going on vacations with me because I'm an excellent travel partner.

So to me, I think it's important to keep an open mind. Lots of people do suck. They fail to love people they're supposed to, they fail to do things they need to do. But just because they're flawed and have hurt someone, doesn't mean they've hurt everyone. And it does hurt being on the receiving end of that flaw, but in just the same way I hope people can remember me for being a nice sweet person instead of a flaky friend who sometimes won't respond or talk to someone for months because on my end I feel like friendship can't be taken away once you've bonded but that's definitely not how other people feel about it. I hope they make excuses for me because they saw me for more than my flaws

And I'm not saying excusing abusive behavior is okay, but I do think it's used as a coping mechanism for a lot of people. Because if I didn't I'd be spiraling a lot more than I already do about "am I not good enough? do they really not like me? am I really that bad at saying words in the right order? do they just think I'm ugly? am I not deserving of love?" and I don't appreciate spending a lot of my free time worrying about why other people are being weird. Yes, you're not supposed to care about what other's think but that's a lot easier to do when you don't know them and have to be around them all the time. Anyway, my point is, what Maya Angelou said is mostly correct: people only remember how you made them feel, but everyone's experience is going to be different and ultimately me experience is only mine. I can't force that on other people's perspectives.