#not sit in a room with a therapist and be a little jackass for an hour

[metaforth]

Can we just fucking cut it with the anti-therapy shit here? Its not only deeply ignorant, but it's dangerous. Discouraging people from trying things to improve their mental health is a great way to prevent their mental health from improving. If you've been considering trying therapy I would greatly encourage you to give it a chance. Whether it's online, in person, or even over text which I've heard is an option now which is great for people who struggle with face to face communication of any kind.

The response to people claiming everybody needs therapy and therapy will cure all of your problems isn't a hard pivot in the other direction. Therapy works for certain people, because everyone is different. Truth is problems like depression are a vague set of commonly associated behaviors, what's actually going on in different people's brains isn't nearly as easy to map. I personally know people who consider their therapist to have saved their life, and I myself tried therapy multiple times and it's had no effect. I don't blame my therapist, I didn't work for me because it just wasn't for me and that isn't anyone's fault.

And fucking especially don't be actively antagonistic toward your therapist. I hate stories like "my therapist told me to draw what I feel and I decided to just start eating the notebook to see how he'd react and he didn't know what to do lol." If you aren't cooperating then therapy won't fucking work. They aren't wizards who cast magical mental health engoodening spells, they're specialists who's job is to help you figure out what's going on in your head and figure out ways to improve your mental state. They aren't psychics. They can't read your mind. You need to be transparent.

If you can't figure out what to draw, or how to put your feelings into words, or whatever they're asking, just fucking tell them that. The entire point of therapy is having someone to communicate with, many people become licensed therapists because they themselves went through these problems and want to help others find a way through them. I'm sick and tired of Tumblr insisting all therapists are bad because they had a bad experience with therapy 10 years ago and think all therapists act like the paid actors in better help commercials.

Also, just to end, did you go to a mental health professional who specializes in the conditions you're suffering from, or did you type therapy into Google and call the first number you saw? I promise you finding the right therapist may actually make a difference. It might not. As I said, therapy just didn't work for me after I went to multiple different therapists, but I didn't write off the practice. Just like I don't write off anti-depressants, or mediation, or aroma therapy, ECT, the human brain is a complicated puzzle and we all must find a solution that works for us.

The last thing we need to be doing is telling someone not to look where they may find a missing piece.

[medicinemane]

Just reminded of the time I was like 8, and my grandpa was doing what he always did and having a frustrating conversation with people while they were trapped in the car with him, and as a little kid I said to him something like "we need to stop talking about this because you're making me angry"

And he goes "No one can /make/ you angry"... and then was shocked when I got mad at him when he wouldn't drop it

Two things here I see as an adult:

One is that if I had a little kid I was dealing with who voiced their emotions so clearly I'd want to encourage that cause plenty of adults have trouble asking for space to cool down. I'd say "Well we need to talk about this at some point, but we can leave it for now. Thank you for letting me know you need a break from this"

(It's amazing the number of people, especially in that generation, who just HATE the idea of someone stepping out of the room for like 20 minutes to go cool off rather than blow their top, despite that being the right call)

(Also I still find it a real jackass move to have these kinda of conversations in a car where everyone's stuck, but that was intentional on his end. It's not like he was trying to be shitty, but he was obsessive and by god people needed to do things his way and he'd trap you so he could tell you what needed to happen... despite often being a fool. Not stupid, but a fool)

Two... honest to god there's so little you should be needing to discuss with a tiny kid in a way where you need to harass and brow beat them into listening to you

As an adult his behavior was just stupid, why are you making your grandkid be the one to take care of your daughter? You are kinda crazy and have definitely fucked up if you're making little kids shoulder massive responsibility... we're not talking asking them to help vacuum or something, we're talking "hey fix your mom in a way that even a therapist couldn't" and "help pay the bills" and "why aren't you fixing all the problems this family has despite all of them being of other people's making?"

Like no dude, there's no reason for you to be sitting there saying this stuff to a kid you have locked in the car with you going 50 miles an hour

Not only did this stuff not need to be said then and there... it didn't need to be said at all, and you guys were weird for how much you put on a literal child. You literally, explicitly would state how someone that wasn't even 10 should be fixing their mom... nah, like if I ever god forbid had a kid, they have exactly zero responsibility to fix me

What? They're gonna cure my depression? Some little 5 year old is supposed to undo all the systemic issues and internalized shit that makes me want to die pretty much everyday?

You're insane... but... yeah, that's more or less what my grandpa wanted me to do. That and somehow fix the finances despite me being a child and him being a college professor... great fucking plan my dude

Anyway, forget what in redstone made me think about him saying "no one can make you angry" (basically meaning "well it's your fault if you're getting mad just because I'm push push pushing you"), and I felt like mentioning this stuff

He wasn't a bad man, he wasn't stupid, and he did mean well... and yet few bigger fools have ever lived and he went about things in the stupidest ways and literally got the opposite of the results he wanted despite how obvious it was that's how shit would turn out

(Ah yes, simply harass a love of reading into someone, and then get mad at them when they're not reading the book you think they should... well why isn't this child reading? Doesn't add up)

As an adult... I don't hate him, I think we could get along now, but I don't respect him and I think he was a fool

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 4

Will

Cult girl attends her grandmother's funeral and is approached with a highly unorthodox last will and testament.

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warnings: emotional manipulation and abuse, verbal abuse, death, slight emetophobia, body-shaming, ED mention, pregnancy and family planning

There was no use recounting anything from the leading up to the funeral. You spent that first night wine-drunk, munching on foie gras, watching Arrested Development and diagnosing each character to the best of your psychological abilities. You remembered cry-laughing at the same jokes you had memorized, and reminiscing on all the insane shit your own personal Lucille Bluth pulled on you. That was the highlight of the week. It was all downhill from there. 

Firstly, you were sick. That Sunday, you wrote it off as a hangover. Then, the hangover returned with a vengeance, just to add salt to the already open wound of having to pretend to mourn your abusive grandmother. At least the physical pain would give your acting an air of sincerity, you thought. 

Hannibal dressed in a solid black tux: it was almost uncanny to see him outside of any of his normal checkered suits. You selected a plain black dress and a strand of pearls.

The funeral was to be held at the same country club Anna’s wedding was held. Your grandmother was like a pharaoh, insisting that the empire she built know that even in death, she reigned supreme. The country club was her pyramid. 

Anna asked if you wanted to say a few words. As much as you wanted to get up and tell all her country club friends about the time she reported you as an abducted child at age twenty-two when you refused to leave your boyfriend and move back in with her, you knew that it wasn’t in good taste. You racked your brain for any story that could be considered remotely funeral-appropriate, but none came to mind. 

You spent the entire funeral trying not to roll your eyes too obviously at the stories of abuse her country club friends somehow remembered fondly. Your soul just left your body throughout the entire process and you were unsure if it would ever return. 

All things considered, it could have gone much worse. Then, it did. 

The beginning of the end was when your grandmother’s estate lawyer pulled you and Anna aside to conduct the reading of the will. He showed you to a side room, then excused himself before closing the door behind him. 

“Hello, [F/N].” Liam greeted, trying to cut through the awkward silence that came with first seeing each other after four straight years. “I’m very sorry about your gran. She was a great woman.” 

You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, Lee. I appreciate it.” 

“No she doesn’t.” Anna muttered. “And it’s Liam.” 

“I don’t mind ‘Lee’.” Liam contested. “My mum called me Lee. I actually quite like it.” 

Anna was in one of her ‘I’m so upset, please ask me why’ moods. She sat on one of the heavy armchairs with her legs crossed and eyes to the wall. You weren’t going to bite. 

Liam wasn’t so cautious. “Princess, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” She pouted, not even dignifying her husband with a look. “I just think it’s interesting that I put the funeral together all by myself and someone couldn’t even be bothered to speak.” 

You shot Liam a look that said ‘way to go, jackass’. 

“Yeah,” You said, sitting down in an adjacent armchair. “That must suck.” 

Anna glared at you. “You really have nothing to say? Really?” 

You tensed up. “Let’s see, which charming anecdote would you have me tell? How about that time when she made you wear a fat suit for an hour after you complained about how the low-carb ice cream tasted like chemicals?” 

Liam looked in shock at his wife. “Did she really?” 

“Once.” Anna confessed, holding up one finger. 

You turned to Liam, as if you were sharing some hot gossip. “That was all it took to give her an eating disorder when she was thirteen.” 

Hannibal was just a fly on the wall. Anna noticed his lack of reaction. 

“And I bet Hannibal knows all about this, huh?” Anna said, throwing her hand in his direction. “Because he just needs to hear all of our private family business, right?” 

You stood up from your seat. “First of all, I take offense at the implication that my fiancée isn’t family.” 

An evil smile spread on Anna’s face. “But he wasn’t always your fiancé, was he, [F/N]?” 

“Holy shit, you cracked the code.” You said, flatly. “There was a point in time when Hannibal and I weren’t an item. Real shocker, that one.” 

“You know what I mean.” She sneered, then approached Hannibal. “Dr. Lecter, is it true that before you and [F/N] became romantically involved, you were her therapist?” 

Liam looked scandalized. Hannibal was just as put-together as always. 

“That is true.” He said, feeling no shame whatsoever. 

Anna turned back to you. “Now don’t you think that’s just a smidge unethical? For a therapist to date their much younger patient?” 

You narrowed your eyes. You carried yourself with the lightness of a woman who finally had the moral high ground. “So you want to talk about what’s ethical, huh? I suppose that means you’ve told Liam about pineapple.”

All the blood drained from her face. You crossed your arms and held your head up a little higher. 

“That’s what I thought.” You grinned. 

“Look, could we just pretend to be a normal, functioning family for ten minutes?” Anna pleaded, as if there were anyone other than herself to blame for provoking an argument.

“That’s on you two.” Liam, rightfully, pointed out. He gestured to himself and then to Hannibal. “Neither of us have said anything.” 

The estate lawyer must have gotten his juris doctorate alongside a master's in impeccable fucking timing, because that was when he decided to make his entrance.

"I'm sorry for the wait, everyone." He announced. "And I'm sorry for having to pull you aside in your hour of mourning. Usually the last will and testament is handled through email to the beneficiaries, but your grandmother was quite adamant it be approached this way."

"That definitely sounds like her." You said, exchanging glances with Hannibal. You'd talked about this for what felt like hours the week prior. She was going to pull some last-minute bullshit to humiliate you from beyond the grave. Give all the inheritance to Anna and leave a snide comment about you in a legal document. You knew it was coming. All you could hope was for it to be quick.

The lawyer pulled an envelope from his briefcase. "She specifically asked for her two living grandchildren and their significant others to be present."

"Did she say it like that?" Anna raised an eyebrow. "Or was it more like, 'Anna and her husband, and [F/N] and her therapist'?"

"Mrs. Young," Hannibal said, taking your hand. "Until you tell your husband about pineapple, you aren't allowed to judge us."

Anna glared at you. "What the hell? He knows, too?!"

"Yeah." You answered. "I tell him everything."

"Okay, who or what is pineapple?" Liam interjected. "And why do I get the feeling I'm the only one not in the know, here?"

"That's cause you are." You confirmed. "And you have your lovely wife to thank for that."

"Everyone!" The lawyer called out. Clearly, he'd seen his share of dysfunctional families. "Please, let me just read the will and you can continue arguing afterwards."

"Y'know what? Fair enough." You said, crossing your legs. "Let's rip off this band-aid, shall we?"

The lawyer opened the envelope and produced a single page. He cleared his throat.

"I, Beatrice [L/N], being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath all my worldly possessions-" He began reading the long first sentence. "Including but not limited to, a collective sum of $45 million, the family home and my shares of the country club, to the first of my granddaughters to give birth."

You expected nothing. You expected something. But you never could have expected this.

"Can you please read that last part again?" You asked, unsure if what you heard was the result of a stroke.

"The entire inheritance goes to the first one of you to have a baby." The lawyer clarified, trying to make it sound like a reasonable arrangement.

"That makes sense." Anna said, nodding.

You looked at her, dumbfounded. "How in the fuck on fire does that make sense to you?"

"Well, the money would be going to a good cause." She rationalized. "To raise the baby, right?"

You shook your head. "No, this is insane. Grandma has always had this weird obsession with bloodlines, and now she's trying to incentivize us to carry it out."

"What happens if neither of us can, y'know?" Anna asked.

The lawyer pushed his glasses up his nose. "If neither granddaughter is willing to produce a child, the entire inheritance will go to the Eagle Forum, so my ungrateful grandchildren can learn about family values."

"She hated the Eagle Forum!" Anna objected. "She wouldn't dare."

"She absolutely would." You pressed your fingers into your forehead. "That's upper-class white moderates for you. And she doesn't have to be around to see when they name a fucking wing after her."

"The Beatrice [L/N] center for denying women bodily autonomy." Hannibal said. "It's quite fitting."

"[F/N], we can't let that happen." Anna pleaded. "We can't let Eagle Forum get a penny of that money."

"Why the hell not?" You said. Though on principle, you agreed, you knew this was just another one of your grandmother's power grabs. At the end of the day, she chose to leave her money to the Eagle Forum. And it would be her name on that check, not yours.

"Oh my god, you actually hate babies more than you hate conservatives." Anna stood with her mouth agape.

"Don't put words in my mouth." You snapped. "I don't hate babies. I hate grandma for trying to threaten me into having one. I hate grandma for pinning us against each other and making sure it stays that way."

"What do you have against giving me a little niece or nephew, huh?" Anna folded her arms.

"I'm fucking done." You said, throwing up your hands. "This will be the last you ever see of me."

Of course, that's what you said the last time.

[snelbz]

Light Up the Ice - Chapter 10

Summary: Aelin Galathynius has never really been into sports. Yes, she likes to keep in shape, and she works out, but watching people run up and down a field, trying to keep a leather ball away from each other? It’s always seemed a bit childish to her, and decidedly NOT a way for a grown adult to make a living.

Rowan Whitethorn has recently been drafted by the Terresen Staghorns, one of best teams in the EHL (Erilean Hockey League). And since he moved to Terresen from Wendlyn, it’s been hard for him to get more than 30 seconds alone from someone demanding a picture with him. Getting drafted straight out of college wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but he’s not complaining. Until he accidentally meets a girl. More specifically, until he accidentally meets his neighbor. She seems to have no idea who he is and for some reason, that’s refreshing. But will she still want to be with him once he shows her the truth?

Light Up the Ice Masterlist

My Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Co-written with @tacmc​.

Warnings: language, smut - this chapter is 18+.

Rowan’s phone rang for the third time since he’d made it home from practice less than an hour ago. He had two papers due in the morning and his professors didn’t give a shit if the Warriors were heading to the finals in less than a week. They cared about the history of Wendlyn and its allies.

His girlfriend, however, clearly didn’t give a shit about either.

He answered, his tone clipped. “Hello?”

“You never called me when you finished up.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear and sighed, before returning it and saying, “I’ve only been home for about fifteen minutes. Coach made me spend some extra time in the weight room.”

“You’re going to put on too much bulk if you keep going to the gym,” she said, pointedly. “You won’t get drafted into the EHL if you don’t have the speed, babe.”

Another heavy sigh. “I’m just doing what my coaches say, Maeve. They’ve gotten me this far-.”

“No, Rowan, you’ve gotten yourself this far, with your ability, not your coaches,” she said, and he could hear her getting into the car. “You need to quit going to the gym and focus on your puck-handling.”

When Rowan had met Maeve his freshman year, after Lyria’s accident, he thought dating someone in the sports medicine program would make his life easier. A good distraction from life and his feelings, but the longer they stayed together, the more Rowan regretted ever asking the dark-haired beauty out to dinner.

She’d been great at first. She was as interested in hockey as he was, so he didn’t feel like he was bothering her by asking her to come to his games. But as she inserted herself into his life in more and more ways, Rowan knew that they weren’t going to last.

“I’m leaving my apartment now, I’ll be there in just a bit,” she said, completely ignoring his lack of reply to her suggestions.

He sighed. “I’ve got a lot of homework, Maeve, I really think I should-.”

“You’re in college to play, baby,” she replied with a scoff. “You need to focus on your future, your studies are just a stepping stone.”

This was becoming a frequent conversation between the two of them. Maeve was adamant that Rowan should drop out and see if he could get drafted as soon as he could. Rowan knew that even if he was to get drafted early, one game, one bad hit, one concussion, one injury could end his career. He didn’t just study to ensure he could play for the University of Wendlyn.

He studied because he wanted a backup plan.

Maeve, as single-minded as she was, didn’t understand that. She didn’t understand a thing, not about Rowan, anyway. All she saw was a man that made her look good, a guy that was well-liked around campus and in his hockey community and their group of friends.

“I need to-.”

Maeve was already interrupting him. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

She hung up.

With one last heavy sigh, Rowan closed his laptop and prepared for her arrival.

Rowan pulled out his phone the moment she left. It was on his ear, ringing, as he checked the stovetop clock to see if it was too early to be drinking.

Brello answered on the third ring. “Whitethorn.”

“Hey,” Rowan began, hesitantly. “I-.”

“Did you see the new therapist?” Brello interrupted. “Havilliard mentioned you were planning on getting started today.”

“Aye, coach, I did, but there’s a minor problem-.”

He was cut off again. “You can’t get back on the ice for at least two games, Rowan, I’m sorry. Those are the rules. Just follow the at home therapy routine Dorian left you and you can come back to practice on Sunday.”

“The problem isn’t me not getting to play.” He rushed the words out, not meaning to sound disrespectful, but wanting to speak before Brello hung up the phone. “It’s with the new sports therapist.”

Silence met him on the other side of the phone. “Give her a couple weeks, Whitethorn. I know you were used to Sorscha, but even she says Maeve is highly qualified, and highly recommended.”

“I’m sure she is, but it’s more of a, ah, personal conflict,” Rowan said, pacing around Aelin’s apartment. He’d come back after Maeve was done. Dorian had left a note on top of the stack of paperwork he assumed was his therapy, letting him know he’d headed back to the arena and to call him with any questions.

Another pause. “A personal conflict?”

“Maeve is my…” Rowan cleared his throat. “Maeve is my ex, sir.” Brello was once, again, quiet on the other line. “Sir?”

Brello sighed, long and heavy. “Look, Whitethorn. I respect you, and you and I have never had any real issues. You’re a great player, and a great asset to the team. Because of that, you need to get the hell over your personal issues and keep your eye on the end goal here.”

Rowan closed his eyes. “But-.”

“You need to take the treatment being given to you or you won’t be playing any time soon and that’s final,” Brello said, his voice conveying one thing: that his words were very much final.

When Rowan didn’t answer, Brello’s voice filled the silence, yet again. “Is that clear?”

Rowan’s voice was strong but quiet when he replied, “Yes, sir.”

Brello hung up without another word, which left Rowan standing there, his phone still held up to his ear. After a moment, he pulled it away and looked down at it, at the ridiculously adorable selfie Aelin had set as his lock screen . He wasn’t sure when she’d done it, but he couldn’t help but smile as he looked into her gorgeous eyes.

He froze.

Shit. How was he going to tell her?

Good news, babe, I called the team therapist. Bad news, she’s my ex.

His phone lit up in his hand, taking Rowan by surprise. “Hey, man,” he answered, falling back on the couch. Which was a mistake. He immediately groaned.

Lorcan snorted. “I take it you saw Maeve. I have the same reaction when she puts her hands on me.”

Regardless of the fact that he loved Aelin, regardless of the fact that he could hear the joking tone in his teammate’s voice, Maeve was still his ex. And Rowan hated the feeling that rose in him at the thought of her hands on someone else’s body.

When Rowan said nothing, Lorcan followed, “That was a joke, asshole.”

Rowan cleared his throat. “I know, I was just thinking of how I’m going to tell Aelin.”

Lorcan snorted. “Tell Aelin? Tell her what?”

Rowan blinked, even though Lorcan couldn’t see him. “About Maeve.”

“Why the hell would you do that?” Lorcan asked, without missing a beat.

“Because I’ve learned my lesson about keeping things from her,” Rowan snapped. “Last time it didn’t work out so well for me.”

“Didn’t it?” Lorcan chuckled. “You got the girl, I think it worked out alright.”

Rowan was about to reply, about to tell him that Aelin wasn’t a prize to be won and that he was lucky as hell she decided to forgive him. But Lorcan cut him off. “On top of that, all it’s going to do is make the princess pissy and jealous, which is only going to make her hate hockey more. And I don’t see that working out well for you in the long run.”

Lorcan had begun to call Aelin the princess and Rowan sighed as he used the nickname. “Shit. I didn’t think about that.”

“Exactly. You gotta think long term. You tell Aelin that your ex is your massage therapist and she’s going to be so jealous, she can’t see straight,” Lorcan said, and Rowan could hear the beeps of the treadmill as he picked up the pace.

“Are you at the arena?” Rowan asked, praying that they weren’t having this conversation while Lorcan was around the rest of the team.

He sounded offended when he replied. “Hell no, I’m at home. You know I don’t run at the rink. But speaking of being at the arena, we need you there. Not in the box, not suspended on the bench, and sure as shit not on the injured list. You need to quit this dumb shit with the fighting.”

They’d had this conversation once before but rather than over the phone, they had been in person.

It ended in a fist fight.

Rowan sucked on his teeth. “I promise, it’s done with. Now that I have Aelin back, I just-.”

“Stop, stop with the mushy shit, I don’t want to hear about it.”

Rowan frowned. “You’re a jackass, you know that?”

“I do,” Lorcan said, between heavy breaths. “A fact that I’m proud of.”

Rowan just shook his head. “Of course, you are.”

“Be at the game tonight?” Lorcan asked.

“Yeah,” Rowan replied. “With Aelin.”

“Good,” Lorcan huffed. “Bond, keep her happy up in that box of yours. Keep Maeve to yourself. Trust me.”

Trust me. Those words from Lorcan Salvaterre typically didn’t sit well in the pit of Rowan’s stomach, but Rowan had to admit that this time, Lorcan had a point.

He just got Aelin. He didn’t want to ruin it with petty jealousy coming between them.

Besides, it was just a little, white lie.

Right?

When Aelin got home, she found Rowan on her couch, wearing a very nice suit, that was tailored to immaculately accent his muscular form, watching highlights from the games the night before. Her eyebrows rose as she took him in. “I already feel underdressed and I haven’t even changed yet.”

Rowan chuckled as she set her purse down on the kitchen counter. “If I didn’t have to wear this to games, I wouldn’t. Unfortunately, I don’t get much of a choice.” He stood and met Aelin in the middle of the room. “How was your day?”

“Insanely busy,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist and smiling up at him. “But that meant it flew by. So it was good.”

Leaning down to kiss her, he replied, “Good.”

She raised up on her tiptoes and met his lips with hers before pulling away and heading for her bedroom. “I need to get ready, come tell me about your therapy appointment today. You look like you aren’t hurting as bad.”

Rowan rubbed at the back of his neck, but waited until she had rounded the corner to answer. “Nothing of consequence happened. Got the massage, my trainer gave me some physical therapy exercises to do at night, and relaxed the rest of the day. Just like I said I would.”

Rowan walked into her room and found her in the bathroom, piling her hair into a messy bun on top of her head. She looked at him in the mirror and raised an eyebrow. “Nothing of consequence? You sure about that?” She asked, before reaching for her makeup bag underneath the vanity.

Rowan swallowed hard, the abrupt change in her tone having immediately put him on edge.

How had she found out? Lorcan was the only person he’d told about Maeve. Rowan was fairly sure that he hadn’t said anything, since Lorcan didn’t even want him telling her himself.

“No, nothing,” he replied. “A pretty boring day, honestly.”

Aelin ran a spoolie brush through her brows, but smirked and said, “Liar.”

Rowan’s blood went cold.

The smile on her face surprised him until she said, “You didn’t tell me Dorian was your trainer!”

He released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He chuckled and scratched at the stubble on his jaw.

“We’ve known each other for years,” Aelin went on, checking herself out in the mirror. “He’s such a good guy. I didn’t even know you knew him, which is ridiculous, considering how often I talk to Dorian.”

“Yeah, he’s great,” Rowan said, nodding along. No more questions, please, no more questions.

“Maybe we’ll see him at the game tonight.” Aelin reached up on her toes and gave Rowan a kiss on the cheek. “Let me change and touch up my makeup, then we’ll go?”

Rowan cleared his throat. “Sounds good.”

Rowan had hung his jersey on the door so Aelin could wear it, but after holding it up to her frame, it was agreed that it was far, far too big.

“We’ll get you another one from the Pro Shop when we get to the arena, get one in your size, yeah?” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead as she pouted about being unable to wear his.

She tossed on a light jacket and they were out the door. True to his word, as soon as they emerged from the stairwell leading from the staff and player’s garage, Rowan took her into the Pro Shop, much to the amazement of the crowd inside. They were hardly stopped though and a handful of minutes and one Jersey purchase later, they were all alone. The privacy of the box was a nice reprieve for Aelin. She was not used to being stared at for such long periods of time and she found she didn’t much care for it.

“Is this always how it is?” Aelin asked, as she sat her purse in one of the chairs. “Everyone being starstruck?”

Rowan shrugged. “Only when I’m here. I’m rarely recognized elsewhere. You know, unless they’re diehard hockey fans.”

“Which explains why I didn’t know who the hell you were,” Aelin chuckled.

Rowan grinned. “I liked that about you.”

Aelin smiled and walked toward the open end of the small room, facing out over the ice. The plush chairs were set far enough back that unless you were standing right on the railing, you couldn’t be seen. But the railing is where Aelin ended up and she whispered, “It’s so much to take in.”

The arena opened up before them. He knew exactly what she meant, but on a completely different scale. He’d ruined two hockey games for her though, and he wanted her to enjoy this one.

“Do you want a drink?” He asked, brushing a long, loose strand of hair behind her ear

“Yes, please,” she smiled. “A Jack and Coke.”

He nodded and pressed a kiss to her forehead, before placing their order on the small iPad on the counter. A beer for himself and her drink, plus miscellaneous things they could snack on.

“So what do you want to know about hockey? He asked, after they’d sat down on one of the many plush loveseats. The box could seat as many as twelve, but Aelin and Rowan weren’t complaining about their privacy. He wrapped his arm around her and drew small shapes on her shoulder as he watched his teammates warm up.

She shrugged, snuggling into his embrace. “I’m more of an ‘ask as you go’ type of person. I’m sure I’ll think of something though.”

Rowan snorted. “Fair enough.”

It wasn’t five minutes later that someone showed up with their drink order and appetizers, then politely left them alone.

Aelin took a sip from her drink as she watched the players skate gracefully around the ice. Aelin could faintly remember the last time she had been on ice skates, she couldn’t have been older than ten.

And she hated every second of it.

She had constantly fallen down and her ankles were sore as hell afterwards. After that, she had never wanted to go ice skating again. Even if she found the sport beautiful.

Hockey players skated in an entirely different way, though. They were brutal, ruthless, but still so graceful with every glide of their skate.

“You look mesmerized,” Rowan muttered, cup of beer tipped against his bottom lip.

“It’s…intense,” she admitted, trying to follow just one of the little black pucks sliding across the ice as the players warmed up.

“It is,” he said, focusing on the activity below. He watched as his line followed through the warm ups he did with them every night. It felt so foreign to be up here, so far from the ice, instead of with them.

Aelin’s hand rested on his arm. He tore his eyes from the ice and the figures gliding around.

“You really do love this game, don’t you?” Aelin asked, smiling at him.

He paused and gazed back out over the ice. “More than I can explain, Aelin. Hockey… It may just be a game to some people, but it’s my entire life. Everything I am, everything I have, I owe to this sport.” His pine green eyes caught hers when he turned back to look at her and he cupped her face with one hand. “You have no clue how much it means that you’re here with me, darlin’. Thank you.”

Aelin melted. “Thank you for asking me to come with.” He took her hand in his and she chuckled as she ran her thumbs over his knuckles. “I can honestly say that I wouldn’t have come to a hockey game with anyone else.”

Rowan snorted. “Fair enough.”

The game began and Aelin wasn’t ashamed to say that Rowan had to explain every little thing that happened.

When the crowd would cheer, she’d try to decipher what had happened. When they’d yell and boo, she’d try to observe the game. It didn’t help that she couldn’t see the puck, sliding across the ice at ridiculous speeds. More often than not, she’d have to ask what caused the reaction from the crowd. And the goal horn nearly made her spill her drink the first time it rang out, after Gavriel scored a goal on the power play.

He never acted like her questions were a bother, though he may hold up a finger to indicate he needed to watch for a second longer to process what had just gone down. But then he’d grin and explain what happened, or if it wasn’t in the Staghorns’ favor, his brow would crinkle and he’d tell her what went wrong.

Then he’d tell her what he would have done that would have kept it from happening and wink at her, and she’d shake her head, laughing quietly.

She understood the basics of the game, but after her third stiff drink in the first period, Aelin wasn’t really worried about learning the in’s and out’s. There was time for that at a later game and the way Rowan’s warm hand was resting on the inside of her thigh had her focused on something else entirely. His calloused thumb rubbed small circles into the denim of her jeans, but even that touch was enough to ignite something within her.

All the while, her own hand was resting on his leg. Through those expensive suit pants, she could feel his muscular thighs and every time something major happened, he’d scoot forward. The first couple of times, Aelin would write it off as something from the game, but she knew what lie beneath those silk-spun slacks, beneath the boxer-briefs.

Right before the end of the second period, Aelin turned towards Rowan right as he turned to ask her a question, and she felt it.

Rowan’s cheeks were heated. He stammered an excuse out. “There’s a lot of adrenaline running through me, Ace,” he breathed.

He was rock hard inside of slacks.

It may have been because of the game, he may have not been lying, but Aelin couldn’t resist.

“How private is this box,” she whispered, brushing her fingers along the definite bulge in his pants.

Rowan hissed quietly, his pine-green eyes went wide, but his tongue darted out to wet his lips. “No one can get in unless we open the door. No cameras either.”

“Hmm.” The response was quiet and Aelin went back to watching the game, sipping on her drink.

For another few seconds, Rowan watched her, all too aware of the ridiculous hard-on straining against his slacks. The regulation clock ticked down to 0:00 and as the players skated towards the benches for the intermission, Rowan was about to suggest ordering one more round of drinks, when Aelin slid off the couch, settled on her knees, and started undoing his belt buckle.

He didn’t dare move, didn’t breathe. He was perfectly aware of every one of her movements, perfectly aware of where her eyes remained as she unbuttoned his slacks, and moved down the zipper.

Rowan’s jaw hardened as those slacks slid down, just to the tops of his thighs. His cock stood proud.

Her hands were like ice, frigid, thanks to the arena being, well, literal ice, but he didn’t care. Not when her touch made him feel like he was on fire. She stroked him, slowly, carefully, but not like the other night, when she’d surprised him after the shower.

Her grip was more firm, and Rowan could see the lust in her own eyes.

“Does this happen every game?” She crooned, spreading his legs wider and scooting in closer.

His eyes fell closed of their own accord and he nodded. “Mostly all of them, aye.”

“Hmm.” Once again, a short, quiet answer. He didn’t have to press her through. She continued, “And you usually take care of it yourself?”

His eyes opened and he looked at her. He nodded once.

“Maybe I should come to more games then,” she said, smirking. He groaned softly, and she leaned and pressed a soft kiss to the tip, before looking up at him again. She was almost sure he wasn’t breathing, but his eyes… His eyes burned for her.

He cleared his throat, and his voice was husky when he said, “I can get pretty…rough after games, baby. What we do out there, it’s a pretty aggressive sport.”

Aelin ran her tongue along the underside of his cock, from the base to the crown at the top, which glistened with Rowan’s precum. It was practically begging for her lips around it. “What if I told you I like it pretty rough?”

Rowan had to fight the urge to take her then and there.

“Nothing to say to that?” Aelin crooned, her grin wild and mischievous.

“Wouldn't be the first time you’ve left me speechless,” Rowan answered, attempting a joke, but his voice was far too rough for humor.

“I call that a success,” Aelin breathed, her breath warm against the tip of his cock.

Rowan fell back in his chair as her lips wrapped around him, and he couldn’t stop his hand from slowly reaching out and gripping the back of her head, her fingers tangling themselves into her golden locks.

Twice now, he’d had Aelin’s mouth on him, and twice now, he felt as if the blood in his veins had turned to fire. He tugged on the strands and Aelin’s turquoise-and-gold eyes opened, finding him gazing down at her. As she bobbed her head, taking him deeper and deeper with each pass, a quiet whimper left Aelin and Rowan’s grip tightened on her hair, groaning as Aelin began to work him with her hand as well.

Rowan had the vague recognition of the teams retaking the ice and roar of the crowd, but his sole focus was the woman on his knees before him, worshipping his cock.

He began to hope that his words before had been true. Hopefully no one would walk in. Hopefully, no cameras would find a way to catch them. Then again, did he truly care?

No.

The feeling that swept through his body made him not care a single bit.

“Aelin,” he breathed.

He could feel her lips curve upward as she worked him.

He growled, “Fuck the rest of the game,” and pulled himself from Aelin’s mouth.

He quickly resituated himself and Aelin, bless her, had the foresight to sit back in her seat before standing up. She adjusted her hair and grabbed her purse, asking, “You don’t have to stay the whole time?”

“Didn’t have to come at all,” Rowan said, coming up behind her. He turned her around and tilted her chin up so that she was looking up into his handsome face. “But you do, so we need to go, and we need to get home as quickly as possible.”

Aelin blinked, staring up at him for a moment, shocked by how upfront his words were. The grin that graced her lips though, was one of wicked delight.

“Who says we need to go all the way back home for that to happen?” Aelin whispered, caressing his cheek with the palm of her hand.

Rowan looked around the box, even though they were alone. “Are you saying what I think you are, Galathynius?”

Her grin only grew more feline.

Licking his lips, watching Aelin, Rowan warred with himself inside his head. But he wouldn’t fuck her in a private box at a game.

Not the first time, at least.

He leaned down, his lips at her ear, and breathed, “I want to take my time with you - to learn…every inch of you. And this box doesn’t have the thickest walls. I don’t want to have an audience,” he added as he pulled back and let his lips just barely brush against hers, “when I make you moan, Aelin.”

[batarella]

I Don’t Hate You - Part 20 FINALE (Jason Todd x Reader)

*sobs

I can’t believe I finished this fucking thing. And I couldn’t be happier of the outcome. I already sent out my thanks in my last post. So without further delay, here’s the finale of I Don’t Hate You <3

also, I’d like to thank @idkmanicantenglish for the song “Half a Man” which really is all about Jason.

WORDS: 13,753 (the most I’ve written in a single day) WARNINGS: EVERYTHING. FLUFF. SMUT. ANGST. VIOLENCE. A WHOLE LOT OF EVERYTHING. 

Masterlist

I DON’T HATE YOU - MASTERLIST

------

This was your story.

Your heart-wrenching, exhausting, shitty, beautiful little story.

A story you’ve told only so much, but when told, it lets you relive the most memorable moments as the words flow right out of you. A story about the last few years that have been more eventful than any other year there was. A story, when given the chance, changed you so much, changed everyone involved.

And it all began and ended in a damned library.

Maybe you’d tell it again someday. Not to some therapist you barely know or a few friends who’d already heard about it from other people. But maybe you can tell it to the person you’ll eventually spend the rest of your life with. To the kids you’ll ultimately have and love. It’s a story about you and a boy named Jason Todd, and how you both changed so much for each other over the course of a few years. Telling it in a way that makes it a happy memory you were glad to live through might change how you thought about it, or how you’ll deal with it after it all ends.

But Jason, your Jason.

You were always going to love him. You were always going to miss him. He will always be the love of your life.

And even with the end so near, you set that aside. Because an end can be the most beautiful when you don’t treat it like one. It can be the best when you treat it like any other day, think about it as if it were to happen again tomorrow. Only then can you fully live through it as a memory you’ll want to relive over and over. When the emotions are genuine and all other thoughts are put aside.

That night, your last night with Jason, it was like the last three years never happened.

It had been so long since you lived through an instant of gaiety and your highest spirits without a single thought of how reality had been so hard on you, so long since you could live without despondency waiting for you outside your door to take you back to where you were supposed to be. It was that night.

The sun had long gone, and not wanting any attention from the outside or the night guards, the library had its lights shut off, door locked from the inside. And once you did, you and Jason, you were transported back to your junior year, your first few weeks at work when it was all bickering fun and laugher.

You sat cross-legged inside the cart, piles of books littered around you in a mess. “This goes to the sciences section.”

“I know. It’s here.”

“No, we moved it all the way to the front. In the new shelves.”

You leaned to the back of the cart, and your neck rested right against Jason’s arm, his nose meeting your hair. “I hate this new arrangement.”

Holding your phone’s flashlight with your one hand and the textbook with the other, you lit up the way as Jason pushed the cart through the long, narrow aisle.

The metal nets under your jeans were starting to imprint on your skin. You’ve been at this for so long, arranging and re-arranging the whole place even when you didn’t need to. And you let it settle. You kept looking up, where you could see his eyes staring at you like you were as beautiful as the moon. When you reached the shelf, you gave it to Jason, who put it right into its place between two old books.

He kept pushing you around, and you loved it especially when your squeals and light screams coming from your churning stomach filled the whole room, when Jason pushed you fast into a long aisle and you’ll feel the rumbling of the cart and the wheel almost falling off. His new strength pushed you farther and faster with so much more ease.

Standing at the far-off end at the main aisle, which faced the longest clear distance all the way to the other side of the room, Jason placed a light kiss on the tip of your forehead. “Hold on.”

“Go!”

You grabbed onto the bars with your sweaty fists, looked straight forward, then you felt the cool, magnificent rush of cold air blowing into your face, your hair, the clothes on your back. Jason laughed along with you as you howled, then you held your arms up, eyes closed. “WOOOOO!”

He stopped just before you hit the wall. Then he walked over to you. “You could have fallen over!”

“That was amazing!” Your outstretched arms started reaching for his neck, standing on your knees in the cart. You were closer to his height now, which made it easier to kiss him. He held your waist and practically stuck his tongue down your throat. “Mmm!” you giggled, and he bit your lip before pulling away.

He walked to the back of the cart then turned it around, without warning, then started pushing you back into that direction. “Again!”

Jason screamed into your ear to match your voice, then pushed you all the way back. “I’ll fucking run.”

“Do it,” you growled.

Jason bent his knees, and with you closing your eyes, he pushed the cart faster than a car would run. You screamed until your lungs gave out, your head in a flying daze. And you looked out. You could see the wind, the books going past you.

Nothing but laughter. Nothing but bliss.

BAM!

“FUCK!”

The front left wheel of the cart, that one wheel that had been all squeaky and insufferable for the last four years of your life, finally gave out on its tiny life on a string and popped out of its socket. The cart started to drift off, then tumbled down to the floor on its side. You were thrown to the ground with it. “SHIT!”

Jason would have helped you up if he wasn’t already on the floor, clutching his own stomach in uncontrollable laugher. You rubbed the side of your shoulder. “NOT FUCKING FUNNY!”

You were on your knees, growling, and Jason still kept laughing already lying on his back, crouched over to hold onto his aching stomach. You crawled over to him and started grabbing his arms. “Jackass!”

He laughed at your face, and no matter how much strength you had you couldn’t pull his arms away, so you threw yourself on top of him, crossed over so your back hit his stomach. “FUCK, your heavy.”

“Stop laughing.”

He snickered, then he started reaching for your shoulders, turning you over to face him. You laid on your stomach, splayed out on his side, and you kept laughing even when he’d pulled you into his lips again. Your arms went under his head and he pulled your body so you were laying on top of him. Wrestling, licking, feeling his lips. His course, yet soft lips. You could feel him smile and groan against you.

“Come on. We have to fix this thing.”

“What?”

Jason pecked your lips and stood up, pulling you to stand. You started dusting off your ass from the lint on the ground and he could help but slap it hard. “FUCKing hell, Jay.”

He chuckled. “Come on. You have any tools here?”

“I think Ms. P has something stashed in her desk.”

Jason started pulling the cart back up, balancing it against the table to stand upright. He went around to look for the wheel, and you fiddled around Ms. Peterson’s desk. At the bottommost shelf, you found the tools you needed. “Well, would you look at that?”

“Nice. Come on.”

You settled on the ground. And he held out the wheel to give it to you. “This little fucker’s been biting me in the ass.”

“I know. I remember.”

He took out the screws and a screwdriver. “I think we just have to screw it back in.”

“Go ahead.”

Jay started to work, placing the wheel where it was supposed to be and held out the screw into the hole, turning over the screwdriver. You laid your head on his shoulder.

“It’s the wrong size.”

“She doesn’t have anything else?”

“This is the smallest one,” Jason threw it to the ground. “What do we do?”

“Well,” you nuzzled into his neck. “We can go out to the supply closet and get more tools.”

“And the guards?”

You smiled. “We’ll have to be really, really quiet.”

Jason pulled your chin and kissed you. “You mean you have to be quiet. I do this for a living.”

You pinched his cheek, then stood up and walked over to unlock the library doors. You peered outside.

“No one’s out.”

“Just be quiet.”

You got out, closed the door behind you, then Jason held your hand as you led the way. “Man, I miss this place.”

You swore you saw the him from three years ago when you looked back, in the school halls holding your hand. “Y/N!”

“What?”

He suddenly pulled you into a corner, and when you looked out, you saw the security guard sitting right by the backdoor to the field. “Shit.”

“It’s over this way. Come on. Just be careful.”

You tiptoed out until you found the place. The supply closet. The same one you hid from Ms. Peterson from that one time. When you went inside, Jason grabbed your face and started kissing you. You held onto his arms, squeezed, then giggled when he pulled away. “We should have made out here more often.”

“I know,” he winked. “Looks cozy.”

Then he pushed you against the wall, you grabbing his hair. And you stayed there kissing probably for half an hour, completely ignoring the fact that someone could have possibly walked in. “Jay,” you smiled. “The screws.”

“Oh yeah.”

He got the tools he needed, then with him leading the way, you made sure to walk past the snoring guard with you walking on your toes. You almost slipped, but Jason kept you up, putting his finger on his mouth.

Then you rushed back inside the library, fixed the wheel on the cart. When he finished, he basically pushed you on the ground and started attacking your face with his lips.

Oh god, you’ve never been so happy.

“Let’s put these all back.”

You placed the books back in the cart, one by one. “What time is it?”

11 pm. You shrugged. “We have the whole night.”

Jason finished placing the books back into the cart, then you held onto the front of the bars as he maneuvered around, placing them onto the shelves.

“Look. Braille books. A lot of them.”

“Yeah, it goes all the way up there, remember?”

You followed him walking over to the place bringing the cart, looking up. He could have reached it by himself now, especially since he was practically as tall as the fucking shelves.

“Get on my back.”

“The fuck you wanna do now, Todd?”

“Just put your legs on my shoulders.”

He crouched over, and while you laughed it off, struggling to swing your legs over when he was so big, you held onto his head as he stood up with ease. “Can you reach it now?”

“Unnecessarily so.”

He gave you the books one by one, and you could reach the top most shelf that was almost to the ceiling. You could touch it with your finger. His grip on your legs was so strong that you couldn’t have fallen over even if you weren’t careful. You placed the books, laughing the whole time, then Jason leaned back down you could get off of him.

“Why didn’t we do that before?”

“You wouldn’t have let me.”

“I would have.”

“You remember almost biting my arms off just by carrying you up?”

He pulled you by the waist, and you turned him around so you could push him against the shelf. “I remember what this aisle was for…”

“Oh,” he winked. “Why don’t we serve its purpose?”

You tangled your fingers into his hair, and his on your waist, then you kissed him so breathlessly hard that you would’ve fallen over just by his strength pushing you back.

Yes. You had him back. Even for just a moment. There wasn’t a trace of cold blood in him. All you felt was the warmth of the soft-hearted, selfless boy you loved. You were grinning the whole time you kissed, then Jason flipped you over so you were against the books.

His lips, even when slow, pressed against you with so much desire, his breaths, his teeth biting into your mouth, you held onto the shelf to keep yourself up.

This was your story. This was the ending you never thought you’d have. Kissing, having him for yourself, never will anything be so perfect as the way he held you, grabbing your legs so they’d wrap around his hips.

You’re always going to love him, for as long as you were sane and capable of love. Nothing, no one can replace Jason Todd in your heart.

He placed you on the table, and with your giggles not so easily concealed, you rocked about on the surface, kissing you so sweet and soft. Jason held your face and started kissing every inch of your face. You smiled.

“Not here, you idiot.”

He scoffed. “I know.”

But he kept going anyway.

You will never, ever, going to forget how strong he was when he holds you, how gentle his lips could be when he holds back from practically devouring your face. How his hunger mixed with his selfless sweetness, how he was so beautiful, the most human person you’ve ever come to know.

He pulled your waist up and ran his hands all over you. You did the same. And it was all without a thought of how things were going to be when you wake up the next morning. You lived in it, pretended it was going to go on forever. And you wanted it to. So desperately.

“I love you,” he said into your ear.

Then you pulled him into your arms, felt his chest squeezed against yours, then you inhaled into his neck. “I love you.”

He kissed you again, a lot slower this time, and his hands started trailing up your body.

Something was out the door.

Voices. More than one.

“Fuck.” Jason got off you and you stood up from the table. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Hide!”

Two night guards unlocked the library door.

“No one breaks into a library, Jeff.”

“Well, I fucking heard something just now.”

“Check the shelves.”

You held tightly onto Jason’s hand. You weren’t nervous. But you definitely didn’t want to get reprimanded by these two and lose your job. You and Jason hid beneath Ms. Peterson’s desk, and you swore you heard one of them peer in from the other side.

“You think this place haunted?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Well, I don’t see nothin’”

You looked over at Jason, then bit your lips back from laughing. He was barely able to fit under the desk, and you took note of just how adorable he looked making himself as compact as you could. He squinted at you and you silently snickered.

The voices got lower. They must have been all the way over the farthest shelves. You slowly crawled out, peeked over the table.

“Nothin’,” you heard one of the voices say. He was out of sight.

You motioned for Jason to get out. He crawled into the floor, held your hand, then surveyed the room for the quickest way out the door.

“Ey look, Jeff. Old magazines.”

“You think they got porn in there?”

On your toes, you and Jason walked out of there without a single sound.

You bit back your smile, and even with the moment so quick, you took one last look at the library, smiling. “Come on.”

You started racing out the door, out into the warm, summer night. It wasn’t so late, and you barely felt tired at all. Jason walked you out into the driveway.

When you got to your car, opening the door for you, you pulled Jason back into your arms, hands on his waist, then kissed him.

Even when he got into the car, you continued to kiss him. Even when he drove. Even when you felt your lips numb. You kept kissing his cheek and neck and basically everywhere you could, never mind how it could’ve possible ended badly. Jason drove around the city, taking a lot longer than he should. And you loved it.

It couldn’t end. Not yet. You still didn’t want it to.

But even after hours and hours on end, driving around without a destination and singing in the car, windows open for the world to hear, it ultimately had to. You went around the empty Gotham streets, basked in the silence like it was made specially for you. You sang all the songs in your playlist and Jason never hesitated to sing along with you, no matter how much his voice was drowned out by yours.

But in the end, when you saw the time on the car’s dashboard, when you felt the world tapping onto your shoulder, telling you that time was up, you couldn’t believe it.

And when you did,

The whole world sank with your heart.

Jason felt the same. He looked out the windshield, eyes drooped down and his breaths long and uneasy.

You felt it. The end. This was how it ends.

Your story with Jason.

He got out of the car, then you waited so he could open your door for you. He moved so slow, and so did you. Time had to stop. For you.

When he closed it behind you, taking your hand as he took you to your apartment, you felt his hold tighten, fingers rubbing into your skin.

You leaned close to him and placed your head on his shoulder.

Too soon. It was all moving too fast.

He turned to face you, holding your face.

Without even your knowing, a tear had fallen down your cheek.

And he wiped it away with his thumb, forcing himself to smile despite the inevitable staring at him in the face. Your chest was being hallowed out, by a shovel ruthlessly going at it with every bit of your raging thoughts, though silent, it was tearing you part by part.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t want to say goodbye. For good this time. And you didn’t want all this to stay behind as a memory. Jason placed his forehead tight against yours.

And you breathed him in. You took him in. You felt his eyelashes tickle your lids, felt his hands hold yours and step so close to you, you could feel his heartbeat.

And it finally came. The end.

He kissed you on the lips, so soft, softer than he ever kissed you before. You took note of how his lips felt, how his body was leaning towards you like it wanted you even more.

You heard soft, singing melodies somewhere in the air. And the whole world did stop for you this time. You couldn’t hear a sound. No one was around. And if there were you could have sworn they had frozen in place. You pulled him closer. You never loved him so much as you did at that moment.

And you wanted him. So bad.

No. This wasn’t the end. Not yet.

If this was goodbye, you were going to do it right.

You felt his lips get rougher, hungrier, and yours were, too. His hands held your face so tightly that you swore you’d break in his hold.

You wanted this.

You pulled away, and Jason knew what for.

You held his hand, never leaving his eyes.

And he followed you up the steps.

You unlocked the door with your free hand, taking him to your home. He shut the door behind him, trailing behind you down the hall, to the living room, and eventually up to your room.

You turned on one, dim light, and even then you could barely see much around you. Jason held your hand as you closed the door.

Silence. Deep, comfortable silence.

Jason held your face and pushed you against the wall.

Just once. Just one time. You wanted this so bad. Even if it wouldn’t last, you wanted it just once. And you’ll be able to tell yourself that you can move on without any more regrets. You had him for just one more night. And he’ll be gone in the morning. You wanted the most out of it. You wanted to feel every part of him, know that this was how it was going to end. And there was nothing else holding you back. Not even if you’d let it.

It didn’t take long for it to feel hot, heavier, and when you felt his weight against you, pushing you so tightly against the wall, that you were barely able to move. Your arms on his neck, he pulled you up, let your legs wrap around him, then he left his love all over your skin, marks and bruises by his teeth, all over your neck, jaw, and the top of your chest. He was so strong, so effortlessly pulling you up, you squeezed his bicep.

Then he moved you over to your desk, his arm swiftly swiping all your stuff from the surface so he could place you on top.

Yes.

He took his sweet time. You weren’t going to rush this. No. You wanted him all the way until morning. You weren’t going to let a single second pass where you weren’t conscious enough to feel him, see him. You started pulling at his shirt, but he got so distracted by your neck, sucking into your flesh so painfully good that you gasped. You were leaning back, since he was pushing you with his weight, back almost hitting the surface, but you kept yourself sitting up.

More. Harder.

You pulled on his hair, pulling so tightly to ease yourself from the pain of his teeth, then he winced away, going back to kiss your lips. you sat straight up, pulling up the hem of his shirt.

And when he pulled on the back, practically ripping it off his body, you moaned as if he were already fucking you.

“Fuck…”

He held your hands, let your palms feel every inch of his gorgeous chest.

Fuck.

He was so much bigger, as if it wasn’t already obvious with his clothes on. But without them, he looked like he was fucking photoshopped.

Rock-hard muscle, on his pecs, his stomach… God, his stomach. You wanted your tongue all over his eight-pack. Not even porn had this kind of beauty. And he kept watching you, how your face reacted at the sight of him. And if he could see it, he’d say your jaw was definitely flat on the floor. His abdomen, his sides, his abs… everything was as hard as a fucking wall. You started placing your lips on them.

Scars. Beautiful, sexy scars, all over his skin. The largest one was a deep, Y shaped one in the middle of his chest.

From his autopsy.

And when he saw you kiss over them, he started to pull away.

And you held his hand, placed kisses on his lips, silently reassuring him that he was undeniably beautiful, just as he would in anyone’s eyes. When he softened up, you went back to kissing his pecs, his abs, every surface of his skin.

Then he groaned when your tongue lapped up the middle of his chest, all the way down his abdomen.

He looked like he was going to pounce at you like a panther now.

Jason grabbed your face, held you up so he could bite into your lips, causing you with so much pleasurable pain until you could feel your lips start to bleed.

He pulled your shirt up, his hands not wasting another minute without squeezing every part of your skin. He kneaded your breasts, kissed over your chest and setting your bra down so he could taste your nipples. You leaned back, weight on your hands, then moaned when he started kissing down your stomach.

Jason undid your jeans and ripped them off your legs, taking off your panties along with them. You gasped at the exposure. You hadn’t had sex in… well, you didn’t like to think about it. So you were horribly wet, drenching your table even when he hadn’t even touched you there yet. “Fuck…”

“Shh,” he whispered.

You started gripping on his hair, tugging, an outlet for when he started biting into the thin skin on your inner thighs. And he blew into your soaked pussy, warm air grazing your clit. “Oh!”

He kept at it, leaving marks all over where he could touch except your cunt. And you wanted him there so bad. You wanted his tongue all over your inside, feel him wander around so intimately and hit that spot only he could touch. You pulled on him again and didn’t stop until he was kissing your pussy.

“Fuck, look how wet you are…”

And before he did that, he suddenly grabbed your hips and flipped you around.

Your feet now on the ground, you bent over, your wetness now dripping down your legs. You felt his hand on your back, lightly pushing you down, then you placed your weight on your elbows, forehead touching the table’s surface. Jason got on his knees, then without a warning, lapped over your throbbing cunt with his long tongue. You moaned.

He started spreading your legs. You wanted him to use his fingers, too, but that was to say his tongue wasn’t already enough to send you quaking. You held onto the sides of the table, ass pushed out and his hands grabbing onto your hips. His grip was tight, and the way his fingers were sinking into your flesh, how it went so well with how his tongue inserted itself into your hole, you gasped out his name along with other, wordless cries. He went down your clit, slowly ran his wet tongue all over it in circles and different directions. You were shaking, and the wonderfully delicious buzzing down your legs was almost too much. You pushed yourself further back.

Jason held your stomach, and you threw your head back, breathing so heavy and broken. His tongue kept at it with your clit, then back into your hole, then you squealed when he momentarily went over your asshole before licking your folds again. Fuck.

“Jay…” you cried, then a sharp slap on your ass jolted up your spine. His tongue quickened all over you. and you felt it creep up to you like an animalistic predator. The tensing of your muscles, your arms starting to give out along with your legs. Your mouth formed an ‘O’ and you screamed his name as your first, powerful orgasm washed over you. It was crushing, your every limb trembling at the slightest touch. You felt your skin burn through your cries and your head in a wonderful spiral.

Jason led you through it, made sure he was holding you tight before you’ll fall to the floor, and your cries, you let it bounce through the walls, his name so wonderfully screamed out, it was beautiful.

He let his hand reach down your pussy, massaging the outside to calm you. And before your high had subsided, you turned around, pulled him close in your arms.

You led him to your bed, pushed him down, with your one hand. Then you took your bra off, throwing it across the room. Jason leaned in towards you drooling at the sight of your tits. And you let him have what he wanted before pulling him away.

Your hands on his crotch, you felt his bulge.

Fuck.

He couldn’t possibly…

You felt more of him, rubbing over his length that seemed to go on and on…

Yes…

You pulled away from him so you could take his pants off, along with his boxers, he groaned when his dick shot up and hit his stomach.

Fuck, your pussy already started to hurt just at the sight of that-

“Jay, how-“

“The pit,” he winked at you. “Made a lot of things bigger.”

You kneeled down in front of him, taking him in your hand and drooling over the sight of him. He was so fucking huge now. It could barely fit in your hand.

And for the love of god, his fucking thighs.

“Y/N…”

“I want you in my mouth,” you demanded.

You pushed him to lay on his back, then he inched himself further up so you could kneel on the bed, crouch over so you could lick all way up from his balls to the tip of his cock.

Jason threw his head against the mattress, gripping his own hair and his hand trailing up his chest.

You took his tip in, swirling your tongue all over him. You felt him twitch and that’s when you held the bottom half with your hand. You went back and forth, mouth hallowed out as he hit the back of your throat while you pumped the rest of him with your wet palms. Your other hand kept holding onto his thigh, nail sinking in to his flesh.

“Fuck,” he groaned. Then you released his cock with a pop in your mouth, before going at it again. Your tongue went crazy over his hard, sensitive tip, licking the underside the way he liked it. After all those years you still memorized his body, no matter how much it changed. You kept going, pulling out to spit at him, then tried with all your might to sink him down all the way past your throat, blocking your airways and letting you gag repeatedly. He held your head down, then when you pulled away, mouth drenched in your drool mixed with pre-cum, you gasped for air and swallowed.

“Y/N,” he pulled on your hair, then you sucked on his tip again, opening your mouth wide until your jaw started to hurt, then you pulled your head back and forth, over and over until he started to tense, twitch. Not long after, Jason came inside your mouth.

Your hand kept pumping, and your tongue was held out to catch his seed. He kept going, moaning and squirming on the bed. You swallowed everything you could and kissed the tip.

“Come here,” he growled, just when you thought he might have passed out. He aggressively held your body up so your chest was pressing flat against him. You held his face, kissed him and letting your juices and his cum mix in your mouths, you both moaned.

You started leaning back, and just when you thought you’d grind on his cock,

You grinded on his thigh.

And fucking hell, the muscles, the ripples, how it tore through you in a sensation you never felt before. Your already quaking pussy was sensitive to touch, but now it was a wonder, mind-blowingly pleasurable experience that just couldn’t get you to stop. His tongue slightly seeping out his lips, he took in the sight of you.

“Fuck, you're hot.”

You ignored him and threw your head back. You gripped on your own tits, focused on the friction. His thighs were so large you still had to spread your legs wide. You kept going, going and going.

Then, without you even expecting it, another powerful orgasm ripped through you. You held onto Jason’s chest, and him growing hard again just watching you use his thighs to pleasure yourself. You were shaking, screaming into the air, then Jason didn’t waste a minute before grabbed you by the waist, suddenly flipping you over so your back was against his chest. You were lying on top of him, and on your ass, you felt his hardening cock.

You threw your head back onto his shoulder. Your bodies felt one again. Just like it used to. And with his breath against your ear, you cried at the stings on your skin when his warm fingers traced all over your body. he touched you, all of you. And all you could do was lie on your back, feel his lips on your cheek, feel his chest on your ass while he squeezed your tits so hard you screamed.

Then his other hand went down, to your over-stimulated pussy. He whispered into your ear. Your name. his thoughts. Everything he wanted to do to you. and your eyes went over the back of your head when his fingers inserted inside you, moving around your walls. He squeezed your other breast tighter to go along with it, and when it was so hard, you started to cum again, you held it back.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” you screamed, and he bit onto your ear. You spread your legs wide in the air and let his middle and ring finger pound into you so hard and fast. You heard wet, slapping noises, and the way his long fingers went inside you, ticking your clit with his palm, Jason kept massaging your upper body so gently, immensely contrasting his roughness on your cunt.

“Fuuuuck!!!” you screamed, and your legs were shaking when you came for the third time that night. Each one a different sensation than the other. This one came fast, one strong, powerful surge that went with the pain of his hand so ruthlessly bruising you up. You had to reach down, hold his wrist from going any further just because you couldn’t take it anymore. “Jay -“

“Shh.”

Fuck. The way he shushed you, sent all the nerves in a spiral all over again.

You turned around, and he flipped you over on your back, hovering on top of you. “What do you want me to do?”

You gasped when his cock went over your folds. “Fuck me…”

“Mmm,” he hummed into your ear, kissing your cheek, your neck, then he was back on your lips. He took the time to do that, making sure you were ready for him.

“Please… oh!”

His cock, so large, tore through you so slowly, making sure you felt every bit of him stretch you out to your full capacity. And even when he wasn’t fully inside, he stopped. You were so tight around him you could feel it. You couldn’t even clench. But even with the pain so immense, you pushed on his back to make him go forward.

He sat back so he could look at all of you. nipples hard in the air, back arched so much that it went with the curve of his cock. Your skin was red and flushed, and every touch on you seemed to make your spine jolt. You held yourself up with your elbows, looking at him with that hooded glare that sent his lustful demons rising.

He held your waist, watching his dick go further and further inside you. You screamed so loud at the pain, even when he was so careful with it. But you loved it. Every part of it. Jason dicked you down balls deep, and stayed there while watching your body thrash about.

“Jason, fuck me, please…”

He held your waist, pull you up so the top of your head was the only thing touching the mattress, then started pulling your body back and forth.

Fuck. Your walls, how you adjusted so roughly around him it made you hiss, yet after so many of his long, hard strokes, it built up that wonderful, rhythmic, deep electricity sparked back that one spot he was so expertly thrusting into.

It was slow at first, but when you started gripping onto his arm, he took it as a pass to suddenly snap his hips up to you and bruise your ass. “FUCK!”

Jason kept at it, then you held his neck, squeezing it to ease the over-whelming shocks, and he rocked your body back and forth, letting you back arch so much. Over and over. He wouldn’t stop. And you saw different colored lights flash before your eyes, shutting them close to stop yourself from passing out. The feel of his cock, and the buzz it went with…

It wasn’t even about the orgasm. You were one with him. You always had been.

You didn’t care if you came. For how many times that night. You focused on him. On his love. His touch. His beautiful, lustful love that was as endless as it seemed.

He was yours. Not just for that night.

Jason will always be yours.

Always.

And that was how you wanted your story with him to end.

----

Soft.

Sultry.

It was an otherwise beautiful morning.

Every minute, you could feel it pass.

So slowly, like silent, steady drum beating.

You didn’t let yourself fall asleep. All night, you were in his arms. You let the night pass without your conscious mind missing a second of it. He didn’t sleep either.

And when the sun had come, telling you both that it was time,

That was when he let it dawn over him.

This was goodbye.

Time was ticking. Staying longer would only make things so much more difficult.

He kissed your shoulder, and even when his arms wouldn’t have let you, you pulled back. The way you looked at him, the hurt he could just see, he wanted to beat himself up over it. He wished this wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

But the longer he looked into you, he made sure to memorize each and every detail of your face.

You closed your eyes, and he wiped the tear that seeped through them.

Jason, with all his strength that was already so immense, struggled, but forced himself to let you go.

And you stayed on the bed, eyes on the sheets. He didn’t want you to watch him leave. You turned over your back.

And it made it easier for him to put his clothes back on. As slowly as he could. Fuck, every movement hurt.

When he pulled his shirt over his head, he sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the wall.

You had put on your shirt and panties as well, also sitting at the other side of the bed.

He couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Not anything that was only going to hurt more.

But by god, he was thankful he came back. At least now, for you and him both, you said your goodbyes the best way he could. He’ll no longer have any regrets. He’ll no longer wish he did things differently when obviously he should’ve from the start.

Jason stood from the bed, slowly walked over to the door.

You probably didn’t want to voice out your goodbyes. You were still on the bed, clutching on the sheets. And when you caught his eye, you looked away.

Jason could have run back to your arms, tell you he was wrong, that he wasn’t going away, then you’ll go back to make love all day just as you would for the rest of your days.

That was always going to be the fantasy of what he could have done. Maybe even what he should have done.

But he didn’t.

He opened the door, slowly walked out of it and closed it behind him.

Jason was just about to walk out of your front door when he heard your voice. “Wait!”

He looked back.

You raced to him, and you were holding something in your hand. A book.

Edgar Allan Poe’s Complete Collection of Stories

“You have it back,” you sniffed. “Please.”

Jason looked at your hands, mouth open, then he felt a tear on his eyes blur out his image of you, looking at him like he was just the whole world. He shook his head.

“Keep it.”

You bit your lips, then looked down at your feet. You set it on the table aside and wiped a tear from your face.

“Goodby-“

He pulled you to his chest, so tightly and suddenly, you gasped when your mouth met his shoulder. Then he felt your tear wet his shirt. He pulled you even closer, face into your hair. His own tear had fallen, and he let the feel of you loosen the tightening in his chest.

You pulled him just as tight. Just as close.

He didn’t know for how long, but you were in his arms for so long. It might have been just a minute. Or even an hour.

But he knew, the moment he walked out the door, that he made the greatest mistake of his life.

.

The sobs fell when Jason walked out. Your heart on the floor. Your whole body on the floor. Your back hit the door and you sobbed into your knees.

.

How many times has he left you? How many times does he have to screw you over for him to know you didn’t deserve any of this? Jason tried walking down the steps, but his legs felt weak. He sat on the steps and didn’t care if people around him saw him cry.

.

You tugged at your chest. Even though it hurt. Even when it was inevitable, you thanked the world. For giving you just a few more days with him. You thanked the cosmos from bringing him back. Even when it wasn’t meant to last.

.

As much as he wanted to hate everything, lash out on anything he could get his hands on, he didn’t. In fact, he knew those last days with you, those beautiful last days, will go on until the end of his life.

.

You once heard. If someone was really meant for you, you will end up together. If that someone was Jason, you’ll have to embrace that new side of you that let the world take control. You sat back, hoping it would eventually change. Even when it seems impossible.

.

Jason walked home.

.

You went back to your room.

.

He fell to his bed.

.

You tried to go to sleep.

.

But he couldn’t. Not for the next days.

.

You loved him even more than you ever had.

.

This couldn’t possibly be the end.

.

Why didn’t it feel like an end?

.

He wished you’ll be okay.

.

You hoped for the best.

.

‘Goodbye, Y/N.’

.

‘Goodbye, Jason.’

-----

-----

1 MONTH

He had the money. He could manage this.

But not working for this long was eventually going to take a toll on him.

Okay. He shouldn’t call it work. Even when it technically was. He was earning money through all those drug rings he’d held hostage and now that he’d been stuck in his home for the last month, he didn’t even know what his goons were up to. 

Jason woke up two hours past noon that day, just like he always had. Slowly, he swung his legs over the bed and blinked away the crust in his eyes. He stretched, feeling the warm morning sun in his skin. Then he walked over to the kitchen to make himself some toast.

It had been a month.

And still, he barely wanted to do anything.

No, it wasn’t like the first time you broke up. When his ass starved himself in bed, tore everything around in his room and let his anger take over all his sanity to the point where he left his room destroyed, his bed constantly soaked in his tears, his cries of anger, his eventual plunge into darkness. No, it wasn’t that anymore.

Because he wasn’t angry anymore.

Not at you. not at himself. How could he? He was the one who wanted this. He beat himself up over that so much that at this point he’d grown tired. Now, he was tired. So tired.

His toast popped up the toaster and he grabbed it, took a large bite out of it without anything else.

He got home, calm and silent. And every day that had passed, he never threw anything against the wall, he never starved himself, punished himself by constantly staring at your photos and remembering all your moments he was never going to relive.

He didn’t do anything to hurt himself anymore.

But it didn’t mean he wasn’t just as hurt.

He cries at night. Often all the time. Until eventually his eyes grow tired and he was left asleep in his own tears. Jason let himself remember you, but no longer with any other feeling than greatness, appreciation, sweet, serene thoughts when he looked back.

Of course, it wasn’t without tears. All the time. There were tears.

He sat on his couch, leaned back, and let himself delve into the loneliness that was reality.

He really fucking missed you.

He still, with all his heart, loved you.

You never once called, and he never once reached out. He stayed true to his promise. He felt the pain he’d already expected. Jason wasn’t angry because all this was his choice, for your own good. He stayed on that couch for the rest of the day.

He didn’t fight off his thoughts anymore. Every image of you, he let it play in his head. He didn’t let the emptiness take over like last time. He didn’t pretend he wasn’t hurt. He didn’t pretend that each day went on and he had no control over it. He let each day pass, welcomed it with open arms. He felt every inch of that pain pass through every inch of him. All this, it was happening.

You. He had no idea what you were doing. He could only hope you were doing okay. Not like him.

That night, he went out, hoodie over his head.

And he went over to a bar. Alone. He ordered a drink. He went through the glass before anyone could bat an eye. He ordered another.

A girl took a seat next to him, and he let himself take his attention to her. She smiled at him, then she started talking. He didn’t exactly listen to what she said. He just kept nodding and smiling when he could.

He let her take him to her apartment, and he pushed her against the wall. What was her name again?

He grabbed her thigh, let her bite his neck. He fucked her in her bed, her screaming his name and kissing him all night. He just let everything happen. He pushed all thoughts aside. Or at least, this was what he did to try. He came and stopped right after.

Jason waited for her to fall asleep. And when she did, he grabbed his clothes and walked out of her apartment without so much as a text.

When he got back to his place, taking another drink from his stash and taking it to bed with him, he laid his head against the wall.

Nothing. Nothing changed.

He could have thrown that bottle across the room, let it break and not clean it up until the next few days. But instead, he just let a tear down his cheek.

You were still there. In his head.

Jason looked at the duffel bag in the corner, where his helmet and jacket had been sitting lifelessly for the past month.

That night, Red Hood stopped five muggers and two rapists from all over crime alley.

-----

2 MONTHS

‘I call out into the open,

Hoping for some reason,

That whatever there is, and always will be,

Was for the better

 That all this sacrifice.

Wasn’t for no reason.

That you were right, in fact,

And eventually…

I’ll see why you no longer wanted me…’

.

You scratched out those last two words. It didn’t feel right. He still wanted you. You don’t know how he was feeling right now, but you were sure he still loved you at the end.

You hated how writing songs just felt so much easier when you were depressed. Maybe because you needed to feel strong emotions that had to take over you and drive you into that creative spiral. It was messed up, but you let it happen.

The empty music room helped, but you wore your earphones with your piano chords on repeat just to drown out the noises of students outside the door.

.

‘I’ll see why you let go of me…’

.

That’s better.

.

‘I promised you I’m fine.

That all of this was for you.

You are everything I wish to be and

The light that shines through

All the darkness…

No matter how much they try

To get their hands on me…

Even though you’re not here,

I’m always going to be yours…’

.

You took out your earphones, then started playing a tune, breaking the chords apart in that certain melody you had going on in your head. When you got it, you started singing the lyrics you just wrote.

You kept singing, pretending he was standing by the door, watching you play and sing with his heart in his hand, clutched tightly and his face all goofy and red. You stopped for a moment, going back to the last line, then you went on.

Okay. Good. That was good.

.

‘Your dreams of me

I hope they are good to you,

No longer feeding you the pain

That I can feel every time

I think of us. Of what could have been.

 I dream of you,

Every night, I do and I let them happen

Even when reality surges

Like a hit to the head

And it hurts so much…

Oh…

But I’ll go through that,

As long as I see you

At night.’

.

You placed your pen down and went to the piano, playing them out. After a while, revising the way the chords played out, you hit record and started from the beginning.

He was there. Smiling. And you closed your eyes pretending that he actually was.

You never realized all the songs you wrote were all about him, especially the ones that got the highest marks.

You even once wrote a song about sex. With him, obviously. And the thought of it made you blush. You were never going to pass that.

When you looked back, at the park, at the carnival, at the library, the ideas just wouldn’t stop flowing through you. It was sadness, but it had that little painful jab of acceptance lodged in your chest. You were no longer in mourning. But you were still hurt, and not a day goes by when you hadn’t thought of reaching out to the other side of your bed, hoping he was there, or even step into the shower and feel his arms around you. Maybe, eventually, you’ll actually move on.

Now just didn’t feel like it.

So, with your everlasting love for a man you couldn’t have, you continued to sing.

When you were done, you placed the headphones on and listened.

And when you listened to your voice, soothing to hear but had that subtle breakage at the ends when the words hit home the most, you felt the lyrics go through you, felt how it was still there, all over your heart. And it just didn’t feel like something you could easily erase.

“I let you go…

I’m letting you go…

I’m letting you go…

But it doesn’t mean

That the sun comes up to greet me,

And not question how

My smiles are no longer real…”

You closed your eyes, and felt little droplets seep out of your eyes, down to your cheek and chin. You sniffed, wiping them off with your sleeve, then you hit stop.

----

4 MONTHS

Red Hood broke into a window of an abandoned apartment building. There were five men around, all with guns in their hands.

“Am I late for the party?”

They started shooting, and he dodged them by a mere inch rolling on the ground. He pulled out his own guns, but he couldn’t have a good enough aim. Red Hood took to hiding behind the crates before he took one, with his bare hands, then threw it at their direction.

That’s when he started shooting. At their shoulders specially to stop them from picking their guns back up with ease. Red Hood took another crate, threw it at a thug’s body, and when he was on the ground, he leapt up into the air.

One of them grabbed him just before he got to the floor, and he was swung to the wall, hitting his back against the hard concrete. “Fuck,” he said.

He opened fire, aiming at their legs before they could run and tackle him to the ground. Red Hood grabbed a man’s head, hit the back of his neck with his elbow, then slammed him against his knee. He hissed for him. “That gotta hurt.”

“Quit talking, Hood.”

He shot that guy’s shoulder before he could say anything more. “But I love talking to you guys!”

Four guys down. He grabbed one of them by the neck, and held him against the wall. “Tell me where the good stuff is, or I blow your brains out.”

“In there! There!” he pointed to a room. “Don’t fuckin’ hurt me!”

He headbutted him and he was instantly knocked out cold on the ground. He followed it with a shot in the head.

Red Hood ran into the same room, where three men, no longer armed, held their hands up to surrender. Their meth lab looked large enough to house children, all right.

“I’m gonna ask nicely-“

“They’re in there!”

He stood back. That was easy.

He went to the closet they pointed at and true enough, three kids held down with ropes around their legs and arms stared back at him in fear. They started to scream, but Red Hood placed his finger up to where his lips were supposed to be and cut their ropes. “Get out of here.”

They all ran out, and Red Hood cracked his neck, holding out his gun at the three masterminds behind the lab. “Alright. Who do I kill first?”

They were on their knees, hands behind their heads as they cried out for their lives.

“Him!”

Red Hood shot the man who spoke up. Right in the head. He fell to the floor and his blood spread out all over the floor. “Next!”

“Please!!”

“Not me! Please!”

“Wrong answer!” Red Hood exclaimed, then he hit the man’s head with the butt of his gun, before shooting him once in the chest.

“Should have thought of that before you kidnapped from the playgrounds, motherfucker.”

The last one, who’d pissed his pants, was looking up at him visibly trembling on his knees. He whispered all the pleas and prayers he knew, and Red Hood, who never submitted to any of that, placed the muzzle to his head.

He looked like a young man. The youngest out of the other two.

And he didn’t look too much like a bad guy.

Still, he could have orchestrated the kidnappings himself. Maybe even done more to those kids than he thought.

Jason clicked his gun.

“Please! I’m begging you.”

This happened often.

When he took too much time thinking about whether to kill or not,

He saw you.

You’d hate to see him this way. And he could hear your voice, telling him to stop. That he didn’t need to do this. He didn’t have to kill him. Not even the other two he just shot right then.

He fucking hated it when this happened.

Batman fucking spoke to him in his sleep and never once did he falter. He never once submitted to Batman’s demands.

But the moment he hears you,

He stopped.

He killed too many today.

Not just today even.

“Consider yourself lucky.”

“Wha-“

He punched him square on the face. And he fell to the ground in a loud, clean thud.

-----

5 MONTHS

“All the times that I cried, keeping all the things I knew inside

It's hard, but it's harder to ignore it

If they were right, I'd agree, but it's them they know not me

Now there's a way and I know that I have to go away

I know I have to go…”

Father and Son by Cat Stevens. You loved that song. The guitarist, a blonde guy named Dustin, looked at you and smiled just as you finished the song. The guy with the beat box, someone you didn’t really know, placed it back into the supply shelves.

You hopped off your stool and started to put the microphone stand away.

“Hey,” Dustin said. “Y/N.”

You turned your head to him.

“You have an amazing voice.”

You recall only talking to him once when you met a few days ago. When you were first assigned together for a live performance in school. “Thanks.”

“You play any instruments?”

You started wrapping the mic around with the wires. “Piano mostly. A bit of guitar.”

“I can teach you if you want.”

He was smiling too much at you, and you cleared your throat. If you were in high school you would have already left the room. But you didn’t. You let yourself stay in that room.

He started plucking on the guitar strings.

“You're really good,” you said to him.

“Thanks.”

You smiled, then when you finished cleaning up after yourself, you started for the door.

“Hey!”

You turned to him. Dustin went over to you with a pen in hand, then held out his hand for you to give him your palm.

“What?”

“My number.”

“Oh,” you gulped.

If you were in high school, you would have screamed at him to get out.

But, you didn’t.

You gave your palm to him, then he started writing down his number. “Call me,” he said.

Then he left the room. You didn’t, on the other hand. You were left standing there, wondering what the hell you just did.

You haven’t moved on. Not even the slightest. Jason had your heart for the last three years, even when he wasn’t here. Why would another 5 months be any different? Sure, you weren’t grieving over his death anymore, and the acceptance had sunk in eventually. But go out with another? Open your heart up to new people?

You weren’t sure you were ready. You didn’t exactly enjoy the idea of it.

But it didn’t matter if you were ready. One of these days, you’re going to have to let everything slide, call that cute guitarist and finally give yourself the life Jason always had in mind for you. What he always wanted for you.

You looked at your palm and swallowed.

-----

7 MONTHS

 THE GOTHAM TIMES

The Red Hood: Change of Heart?

‘Gotham’s most feared vigilante, the Red Hood, had always been attached to cases of cold-blooded murders, violent massacres, and heartless debacles in almost every crime ring imaginable. Hood, as he is most often referred to, has been more feared than Batman himself, due to his willingness to take lives, which Batman does not do.

However, in the recent months, cases of murders in crime settings the Red Hood was involved in have dramatically dropped. In good days, which have been occurring more often as time goes by, his kill count has been an astonishing ZERO and will only leave bodies unconscious before calling the police. First thought to be the work of Batman, it has been recently confirmed that the last sighting of the Red Hood, no dead bodies were found.’

.

Jason skipped over that article before it went on and on. He hated reading about himself. And the pictures they had of him, he snorted. Even the Gotham Times had amateurs for photographers.

Yeah. Okay. He hadn’t been killing for a while. Mostly because he didn’t exactly feel the need to anymore. Not when it wasn’t absolutely needed. Henchmen could still live. Their bosses, not so much. He’d still take lives if they absolutely deserved it.

He didn’t exactly think that much about it. He wasn’t proud of himself, exactly. Even when he probably should be. But he knew there were more things to worry about than give himself any kind of appraisal.

He kept scrolling down his feed.

He almost choked on his booze when he suddenly came across a picture of you, along with five other people in what looked like a singing gig, in a magazine article from Gotham Today.

He never clicked so fast onto the article.

GOTHAM TODAY

Gotham College of the Arts for Christmas Market

‘The musically gifted students from the graduating class of Gotham College of the Arts will be hosting this year’s Christmas Market live performance. It is also expected that they are booked for the Summer festival as well. The Lineup of these talented seniors include…’

Scroll. Scroll. Scroll.

There. Your name.

‘Y/FN. Singer. Songwriter.’

Beside it was a picture of you.

Jason smiled.

You looked so beautiful, with your teeth showing in your grin, your hair up in a ponytail and your makeup looking absolutely perfect. You were on stage, and you were holding a microphone. You looked straight into the camera. Straight at him.

He clutched at his shirt, right above where his heart was.

He shouldn’t do this.

Fuck it.

He went over to your profile.

You weren’t dating anybody, as far as he knew.

But he saw you posted three covers of different Lana Del Ray songs. He ended up watching all of them three times that night.

Fuck.

Fuck.

It didn’t even hurt him anymore. It had been for months. But now he was just laughing at himself just how much you still got to him.

He stared at your picture.

How are you looking at him now? With all the news reports about how he’d changed? Are you smiling? Were you proud of him? Was he a lot better in your eyes?

The whole point of him maintaining his distance between you was because of what he did. Because you didn’t deserve having a murderer as a boyfriend or a husband. Because of all the enemies he’s made.

Well,

What happens now? Now that that’s changed?

-----

9 MONTHS

You felt really bad for not calling Dustin.

And it already had been four months. You kept seeing him often in rehearsals. And basically every week in jamming sessions.

And, well, you decided, ultimately, that you really, really had to at least put some kind of effort to let Jason go. Nine months had passed and still you hadn’t dated anybody.

So last night, you finally called him.

Dustin picked you up from your apartment, and for that night, you went out to a nice little restaurant that served kebabs.

He was really cute. Not cute as Jason, though. And definitely not as-

Okay. You can't be doing that.

“So I was thinking, for the summer fair in three months, I thought we could do Shallow by Lady Gaga? I think it would fit your voice really well.”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

“And, well, for me, I’ll have to be Bradley Cooper. That’s actually funny ‘cuz just last month I…”

You were staring at your food, picking them off with your fork. You just listened to him talk. On and on. You weren’t exactly sure what to say if he asked you to say anything or open a topic. Maybe you should have went to see a movie. You were bad at this. The only other first date you went to was in the Christmas Market with-

Fucking stop.

“Anyway, I feel bad now. You haven’t exactly said anything in a while. Tell me about you!”

You just blurted out whatever shit came up to mind. And when you grew too uncomfortable to talk, you started picking at your food. It wasn’t that he was difficult to talk to. It was just…

Well, for starters, something had been in his teeth for a while and you were too embarrassed to point anything out.

And when you left the restaurant, he dropped you off to your apartment.

“Uhm,” he cleared his throat. “That was fun.”

“I had fun,” you bit your lips.

“I’ll, uh, call you!”

“Sure.”

Dustin went out the car and opened the door for you. He then walked you to your door, scratching the back of his neck. “I think you look really pretty today.”

You nodded, smiling. “Thank you.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Woa. Okay.

You gulped.

You had to do this.

So, even when you weren’t so sure yourself, you said yes.

And when he leaned in, you closed your eyes.

Nothing.

It wasn’t him. It wasn’t Jason.

You immediately pulled away.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You backed off, and Dustin never looked so uncomfortable. You wanted to bury yourself deep in the ground and never come back. “I’m sorry.”

“No!” you exclaimed. “Don’t be! I swear.”

“I’ll go now.” He pointed to his car with his thumb. “Have a good night.”

“Good night.”

He left, and you stormed out into your room, stuffing your head into your pillow.

WHY.

WHY.

WHY.

You sobbed all night, thinking about him. Thinking about how it all felt so wrong. It wasn’t Dustin at all. It was you. You couldn’t bring yourself to see any other guy in that light. Not even if you tried. And you really fucking tried.

You never called Dustin back.

-----

11 MONTHS

He’d changed so much.

And it was all because of you.

Almost a year since he saw you. and still, your voice spoke to him when he needed the guidance. Your face stared back when he had to imagine a face that would lead him into the right path. He hadn’t killed in months. He hadn’t done anything he’d otherwise regret.

Batman was no longer on his tail. He was no longer on Batman’s tail.

Now, he actually was proud of himself.

Because after that first time he came across you again after so many months. The same thought crossed his mind everyday since it began.

Is it possible that he deserved happiness now?

Could he finally be good enough to have someone he truly, genuinely loved?

Could he see himself be with his loved once? Surround himself with the wishes of life he never thought he’d have?

Did he change enough for you to actually be enough to have you for his own?

Will you take him back?

Because after eleven months, he was still in love with you. He broke his promises a few months back and started following you again in school, at work, practically everywhere he could catch you. You were still, without a doubt, so beautiful. And he himself was the one who plunged back into that hole. The abyss that was you. The only abyss he wanted to get lost in.

He loved you.

He still does.

He never actually stopped.

And he wanted you back. So much. He realized that the first time he saw you again about two months ago. As selfish as he was, he couldn’t help but think maybe you’d take him back as well.

He’d worked so hard to prove to himself, to the people of Gotham, and most specially, prove to you, that he wanted to be better. Good enough to actually deserve you.

Because he couldn’t take it anymore. He tried. Lots of women. None of them compared to you. Not in the slightest. And he stopped taking advantage of women just to make himself forget you after a while. It wasn’t right. And besides, he was an idiot to think he’d actually even forget you.

Will you take him back?

Will you take him back?

Will you?

Standing outside your apartment, hands stuffed to his hoodie, Jason stared at the door.

Just one push of the doorbell, and he’ll see you, face to face, after so long.

He really fucking wanted you. So bad.

Is he ready? Is he enough?

Hours. He stood there for hours, and still, he didn’t.

No.

He had one last thing to take care of.

One last thing, that if done, would change practically everything. Even if he wasn’t so sure, when he’ll probably have to force himself to do it with all his might,

It would change everything. And no longer will he have to be afraid of the monster that he is. What he was. What he could be if he didn’t try.

Jason pulled out his phone.

He placed it to his ear, walking out of your sidewalk.

“Hello?”

Jason swallowed, hearing that familiar, deep voice.

“Dick. It’s Jason.”

Silence. Bitter silence. Or sweet silence. Whatever it was called.

 “Jason?”

“Yeah.”

Mend the past. Forget about what had happened. Move on. That’s what he made you promise. He’ll have do his part as well.

“Hi, Jason.”

“Hi,” he gulped.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah.”

Dick was eerily silent in between his occasional mumbles. “I read the reports.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Sorry.”

He was gonna do it.

‘Do it’, he heard you tell him.

“Can we meet? Just talk things through?”

“Oh,” Dick said. “O-of course, Jason. I’d really like that.”

“Don’t tell Bruce yet. I’ll call him, too. In time.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

Jason looked back out into your apartment building, at the window with the fire escape.

-----

12 MONTHS

Gotham Summer Music Festival.

You were all dressed up, made up, and ready to go on stage. Your cue was up next, and you had one song to go through before they’ll let you go home. Your culminating activity before graduation, they said. You had to do this right. You weren’t so nervous, but the fact that your grades were on the line, it terrified you that you might actually have to go through a semester again if you don’t do well.

Nothing to worry about, though. If people were completely honest. You’ll do great. You did great in rehearsals. You’ll do great now. It shouldn’t be any different from all the other performances.

You pulled out your phone and opened an article you had saved in your screenshots.

RED HOOD: GOTHAM’S MOST BELOVED HERO

You smiled. Your heart warmed. Jason would have loved this. Seeing you here.

And you would have loved to see him. You were so proud of him, it was crazy.

You should’ve invited him. Maybe he would have said yes. It was because of him why you were here at all. Even after a year, seeing you onstage wouldn’t be so bad.

But you didn’t. You didn’t want to be rejected again. As much as you still fucking loved him, all the way down in the deepest pits in your heart you learned to tuck away when it wasn’t called for, you knew he probably wouldn’t say yes.

But you closed your eyes, imagined what he would have said to you right now, how his words would have sent you all the way up to the sky, and you’ll be able to tell him how proud you were of him, too. In your most perfect world, he’d be yours. Now that you’ve soared. Now that he was the best version of himself.

“Y/N! You're up!”

You stood up and shook yourself off from that trance.

A good crowd. They cheered at you, and you waved your arm up at them. You were singing solo. And with the school wanting a song that went best with your voice, they let you choose.

The guitar started playing. And you were closing your eyes, letting the music play right through you and got yourself into the void.

.

“I was wrong to say I loved her

I was wrong to think I'm right

But when I told her it was over

My darling I had lied

I've been running from my demons

Afraid to look behind

I've been running from myself

Afraid of what I'd find…”

.

You chose this song. You chose it because of him. Everything. The words. The emotion. It hit every nerve there was. You kept your eyes closed, really felt the words flow through you. The crowd was silent.

.

“But how am I supposed to love you

When I don't love who I am?

And how can I give you all of me

When I'm only half a man?

'Cause I'm a sinking ship that's burning

So let go of my hand

Oh, how can I give you all of me

When I'm only half a man?”

.

You breathed in, taking a second, a tear went down your cheek, then you opened your eyes.

And the world, the once cruel, vile little world that never was so kind to you, finally gave you that smidge of kindness, a pardon of all the years of you beating yourself up, of you going through an inferno of a life, barely being held together with the strings of happiness you desperately hold onto.

Jason.

In the deepest parts of the crowd, so blended in that only you, you could have possibly picked him out of it.

He smiled up at you.

The tears continued to flow.

-----

“And now I'm stuck in this hotel room

By cold neon light

I've been waiting for an answer

But it don't come tonight

And every bottle I had stolen

Lay shattered on the floor

What's broken can't be whole, anymore

.

That song would have spoken to him a year ago. When he did think he was half a man.

He would’ve beaten himself over it like all those years, then he’d have left the crowd and be on his way. But when you caught his eye, tears down your face, he knew this was the right choice. He knew it was right to come back.

God, he was so proud of you.

He could watch you all day. You improved so much, and you sounded nothing less of an angel by now. You were going to ace this grade and you were going to graduate with your head held high, being one of the most talked about students in the school. He was so, so fucking proud of you.

And if you weren’t looking at him like this, he would have thought you didn’t need him anymore.

But he’ll take that chance. He’ll let you make that decision. For once. You’ll be the one to decide if you still wanted him back. He did everything he could to give you that freedom of a choice. Just a few days ago, he talked to Bruce. He’d been talking to Dick and even Tim every so often.

Even if you’ll say no, even if you wouldn’t have him, he came to thank you. If it weren’t for you he wouldn’t be here at all.

It was as if that year without you didn’t even pass. He was still as in love with you as the first time.

He realized you were the only one he’ll ever be in love with since… well, since he first kissed you.

He walked closer to the stage, his eyes never leaving you. You looked at him, with your tears. ‘I’m here,’ he mouthed at you.

And you understood. You closed your eyes, finishing the song with the whole crowd in wild screams and claps. He clapped for you, then he started walking to edge of the crowd. To the left. He saw you going in there.

.

Fuck.

Your heart was beating so fast.

And it wasn’t because you basically finished college or that you performed in front of the biggest crowd in your life.

You went through the mounds of people coming to congratulate you. You hurriedly shook every hand you could, then you excused yourself to go out into the crowd.

.

You weren’t here. Where did you go? He could have sworn you went this way just a moment ago. Jason went back into the audience, walking over to the other side, the one going into the backstage.

.

You couldn’t see him. He wasn’t where you last saw him. Jason couldn’t have left, right? He told you he was here. He’d be a jackass if he left again. You went into the crowd and got yourself lost.

.

“Sorry,” he said to a guy he accidently hit with his shoulder. You weren’t backstage. The sun was starting to come down. It’ll be a lot harder to find you in the dark. People were sweaty and smelly and he desperately wanted to get out of here.

.

You bumped through every person you could. “Excuse me.”  You stood in your tip toes, looking for a guy so tall he’d be seen from a mile away. Nothing. You couldn’t see him. You started to feel your heart sink.

.

He had to see you now. Now. Now. Now. Where the fuck were you-

There. Standing in the middle of the audience on your toes, trying to look for him in the other direction. And he froze. He didn’t know if he should come up to you so suddenly. What was he going to say to you?

.

You started to lose so much hope, so quickly you wanted to cry.

But as the world continued to remind you that good things eventually do happen, you turned around.

He was almost being hidden by the people passing through, but the moment you caught his eye, everything else was a blur.

.

You saw him now, with your beautiful eyes shaking as it caught his own. Jason gulped, hands in his pockets trying to conceal his quaking. He took the first step.

The crowd’s screams. The voices. The people around you. They didn’t exist.

.

You started walking towards him, slowly. You took your time. You were too nervous to just suddenly go up to him. But he looked so handsome and bright and radiant. No one would blame you. You heard soft bells in the distance, or perhaps a soft key in the piano, repeatedly playing the more steps you took.

.

Jason smiled at you.

.

You smiled back.

.

And finally, finally…

You were standing in front of him.

He wasn’t exactly sure what to say.

.

You didn’t know what to tell him. You took even more steps to close your distance. And when you got close enough, despite the crowd and the noise, you heard him. “Hi…”

You chuckled. “Hi…”

.

He looked down, at his feet. He was probably blushing at the sight of you. You just looked so beautiful.

.

Everything. After all that, you’ve both changed for the better.

.

And even when it took so long, now, you were ready for each other.

.

Logically. Truthfully. The only thing that one year taught him was how much he dreaded having to go on each day without you. 

.

It just couldn't be. Both of you forcing yourselves to believe you were better off apart. It just wasn't true. In the simplest way, you had to have each other.

.

It wouldn't be living without you. 

.

No other time felt so right.

.

Jason took another step closer to you. “You were amazing out there…”

“Thank you,” you said. You took the next step. You were standing so close to his chest, you looked right up to his eyes.

.

You didn’t want to waste any more time.

“I heard... about the things you've done,” you told him. “I‘m proud of you.”

Jason smiled.

"I'm proud of you, too."

.

Jason wanted you in his arms already. Not a minute more to pass without you in them.

He took your hand. And you looked at it, before turning up to look so mesmerizingly into his eyes. He had so much to say to you.

Here you were, standing right in front of him.

Yeah. This was the right choice.

He didn't even have to say all that he thought, how you two just couldn't live being apart and how, especially now, you didn't have to. You could have him. He could have you. 

You held his face, so gently with your lingering eyes, then you kissed him.

-----

The whole world could have disappeared.

But nothing, nothing could have stopped either of you from a kiss that had been years too late. A kiss that a beginning to another story. One where no longer did you have more secrets, more demons to hide. When you’ve both changed so much for the other that the timing couldn’t possibly be more perfect. You were here. He was here.

Everything was spinning. Everything was light. And with that kiss, flashes of a future you desperately wanted washed over you, and after all those years of hardships and punishments, if this was what it ultimately led to, then it was all worth it.

“Y/N...” he whispered.

Jason held you by the face and kissed you so hard, the whole crowd erupting in applause for another performer he didn’t care about. You held onto him so tightly, letting the sun go down as time went by. You didn’t count the minutes. Not any longer. You both knew, somehow, you just knew. This time, it was going to last.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. You smiled so brightly against his lips. “Where?”

He looked around. “I have a place in mind. But it’s three hours away.”

-----

Just as it had been chaotic, wild, and overwhelming a while ago, it was the complete opposite now.

The place was closed, as expected, but you and Jason managed to go to the house’s door step. He took you to a place that he owed your story to. You’ve never been here before, but even then, he saw how much your smile lit up the empty Philadelphia street the moment you walked out of the car.

And with you, sitting on the steps of the historical building with him on your side, you both looked up at the sky, at the stars that littered about that weren’t there back at home.

Jason thanked the stars as well. He thanked everything. You leaned on his shoulder, and you spent the night away on that porch, watching how love made the whole world come to a slow, steady pause. He was never going to let you go. Not anymore. You were his. Actually his. Forever.

Just like he used to, Jason reached over to take your chin, and with his lips so soft, he kissed you.

You were sitting outside the house of a man who brought two lost souls together, who often wrote about sadness and depth and ended up bringing two kids to fall in love. The man he never thought he’d thank, but he did.

On the plaque standing next to the house’s door, it read:

Edgar Allan Pоe National Historic Site

--------

I DON’T HATE YOU - MASTERLIST

-------

FUUUUUUUUCK IT’S OVER I CAN’T BELIEVE IT

TAGLIST

@everyartistwas-firstanamateur

@sarcasmismyfirstlove

@damned-queen-of-gotham

@idkmanicantenglish

@wunderstell

@birdy-bat-writes

@get-loki

@everyday-imfangirling

@comic-nerd-dc

@multifandoms916

@icequeen208

@offendedfishnoises

@egdolan

@xemiefx

@arkhamtoddler

@elsenthal

@mythicbitchx

@supremehaunter

@lucy-roo

@roseangel013bf

@loxbbg

@reclusive-chicken-nugget

@l-inkage

@http-cherries

@shadowsndaisies

@river9noble

@zphilophobiaz

@annoylinglyaries

@knightfall05x

@flowersgirl02

@hyp-oh-critical

@satan-s-ass

[atlafan]

Take it Slow - Part Two

a/n: okay this is my first shot at a harry:y/n fic, and it will be multiple parts. y/n had a bad experience with an ex over a year ago, and finally accepts her coworker and good friend Niall’s invitation to go on a blind date with his friend Harry. (No smut yet, getting closer though.)

Part One

Harry drove straight to Niall’s apartment, and banged on the door as soon as he got there.

“Good thing I didn’t have a woman over!” Niall says to him, letting Harry walk in. “So, how was the date?”

“It was great, actually.”

“Don’t sound so surprised, I wouldn’t set you up with some idiot.”

“Well, you have before.”

“And yet you still trusted me.” Niall’s phone buzzes, he check it and smiles.

“Is that her?”

“Oh no, I’m not stayin’ in the middle of this. Did you give her your number?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, so text her.”

“It’s too soon. Maybe in a little while I certainly won’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Did anything happen between you two?”

“She kissed me on the cheek before she got into her car. I would have liked to do more, but I didn’t want to push it.”

“Good idea. I won’t fill you in on too much because it’s not my story to tell, but she’s been burned in the past, so taking it slow with her is smart.” Harry plops down on the couch.

“She’s so smart, and funny. There was never a lull in conversation. And she complimented my nails. Like, she genuinely liked them.”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“I don’t know, you know how some people can be.”

“When do you think you’ll see her again?”

“No idea. I don’t want to seem too eager.” Niall’s phone buzzes again. “It is her! What is she saying?”

“Nothing, she just thanked me for setting her up with such a nice guy, and that she had a really nice time.” Harry smiles a toothy smile.

“We really did have a nice time. Ugh, the dress she wore, it was breathtaking.” He slaps his forehead with his palm.

“What?”

“I’m such an idiot, I never even complimented her appearance.”

“That could be a good way to start a conversation over text later.”

“Brilliant! I’ll give it an hour or so.”

Harry left Niall’s after an hour. When he got home, he settled into a pair of sweatpants, and got cozy on his couch, flipping the TV on. He grabbed his phone and texted you.

“I had a great time tonight. I forgot to tell you how beautiful you looked.” He awaited your reply nervously. Within five minutes, you responded.

“I had a great time too, and thank you!” You had sent along the smiling emoji with the blushing cheeks.

You two texted back and forth for about an hour, until you passed out. He figured as much when you stopped responding, and put himself to bed. The next morning you frantically texted him.

“So sorry, I fell asleep!”

“G’morning beautiful.” He promptly responded. This sent butterflies through your stomach and made you squeal. Suddenly you were in high school again, getting excited over as something as simple as a good morning text. “What are you up to today?”

“Just the usual Sunday routine, cleaning, grocery shopping, meal prepping. All that fun stuff ;)”

“Sounds about the same as my routine, lol”

The texting dwindled by midday. You both got busy with other things. Sunday evening you decided to do a little self-care, and put a clay mask on while watching TV. Just as you were settling in, you heard the buzzer for your apartment, and saw a missed call from Niall.

“Is it just you down there?”

“Of course, who else would be with me?”

“You know who!”

“Would ya just let me up?!” You rolled your eyes and buzzed him in.

He immediately burst into laughter when he saw your face. You swatted at him to stop. You went into the bathroom to wash everything off.

“What are you even doing here?” You asked, coming back into the living room. He was now seated on your couch.

“I wanted to hear about your date.”

“It couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” You asked, sitting down next to him.

“No because we would just get interrupted with work. He came over last night right after.”

“Really?” You perked up.

“Mhm, he had a great time. Did he end up texting ya?”

“Yeah we talked all night, and he said good morning to me today. It was so sweet.”

“Oh good, he was nervous it would be too soon to contact you.”

“You don’t have to do this y’know.”

“Do what?”

“Become this middle man.”

“S’not what I’m doin’. I just wanted to see how you were. I’m your friend, and I never want to see you how were like that last time.” A flash back to your horrible appearance from your depressive episode plays in your head.

“That was over a year ago. I’m much better now. I saw a therapist remember? I wasn’t treated right, and I blamed myself, but I don’t anymore. That guy was just a jackass. Harry seems really sweet.”

“He is, he’s one of the nicest guys I know.”

“He told me you became really good friends because you both don’t like wearing clothes.” You can’t hide your laughter.

“That asshole.” He laughed along with you.

The next day at work, you brought Niall a coffee. You couldn’t stop thinking about Harry. You hadn’t texted anymore, but you didn’t think much of it. Around noon, just before you went to meet Niall for lunch, you got a call. You saw Harry’s name, and closed your office door.

“Hello?”

“Afternoon beautiful.” You blush and silently squeal to yourself.

“Afternoon, handsome.” You hear a small chuckle. “What’s up?”

“Nothin’, I was just wonderin’ when I could see ya next.”

“Oh, well, how about Friday after work?”

“Too long from now. Do you not go out on school nights?” He teased. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Something like that. I like to go to the gym after work, and by the time I get home I eat dinner, shower up, have a little time for TV, and then go to bed.”

“I suppose Friday could work. Honestly, if I met you for lunch or something I don’t think I’d be able to let you go back to work.” He said in a playful tone, trying not to sound controlling.

“Did you have anything in mind? Dinner again?” You didn’t mind going out to eat again.

“Sure, we could do that. Something less formal though.”

“That sounds good to me.” There’s a knock on your door. “I gotta go, but I’ll text you later to flesh out the details.”

“Alright, talk you soon.”

You hang up and open your door to find Niall, he sighs with relief.

“Christ, I thought you left and I was going to be forced to eat with those old biddies.”

“I would never do that to you.” You grab your lunch box and head with him to the break room. “Harry just called, we’re going out Friday after work.” You say, both sitting down at a small table.

“That’s great! Where are ya gonna go this time?”

“Don’t know yet.” You shovel some food into your mouth. “Somewhere more casual. I’d love to go like one of those adult arcades or something, maybe I’ll suggest that.”

“Oh he’d love that. But be careful, he tends to get competitive.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.” You smile at your friend. You know he means well, and you appreciate him looking out for you.

That night after work, you decide to be bold and give Harry a call after getting home from the gym.

“Good evening.” He says.

“Hey, sorry for not getting back to you earlier, I had meetings all afternoon, I barely got anything done.”

“S’no problem, love.” Must be a British thing that he keeps calling you love.

“I thought of something fun we could do Friday.”

“Oh really? Lemme hear it.”

“How about going to one of those adult arcades? Like Dave and Busters?”

“Oh, that sounds like great fun. They have dinner and stuff there too. I don’t think there’s one around here though.”

“There’s a place like it, sort of an off brand version. I’ve been a couple times with my girlfriends, it’s a lot of fun.”

“Sounds good to me. Good way to blow off steam at the end of the work week.”

“For sure.”

The place you suggested was called Pinz. It was this massive adult arcade that also had bowling. There were two giant bars, and plenty of places to sit and have a meal. You had been for a bachelorette party and it was so much fun. There’s something for everyone to do.

You and Harry text and call each other throughout the week. By the time Friday rolls around you’re extremely excited to see him face to face again. You pack everything you’re going to wear that night in your work bag as you agreed to meet around six. The day went by surprisingly quick. You locked your office door so you could get changed. You put on a dark pair of skinny jeans, and a pair of black booties. Next you put on a red short sleeve top. You changed necklaces, and freshened your perfume. Your hair was in a high, wavy pony, and you liked the way your hair cascaded over your shoulders, so you kept it like that. As you walked out, you bumped into Niall.

“Well don’t you look lovely?” He said.

“Aw, thank you. I’m so excited to see him.”

“He’s excited too.”

You exchanged goodbyes as you made your way to your cars. You fell a little nervous driving up to the bar. You had second date jitters for sure. You got there a little before six. You wanted to have a drink before he got there, or at least start one. Around six fifteen, half way through your drink, you get a text from him saying he just parked. You smiled and told him you were inside already. Moments later you see him walk in. He was wearing black jeans, which were slightly ripped at the knees. He also had on a pair of boots. He had a green t-shirt on, and smiled the minute he saw you.

When he got over to you, this time instead of a handshake, he took you in for a gentle hug. He noticed the drink in your hand.

“Starting without me I see?” You look down and your face goes red. “Teasing.” He orders himself a drink. “Cool place, it’s massive.”

“Yeah, there’s definitely plenty to do.”

“Would you mind if we ate first? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t starved. I had to skip my lunch today.”

“Of course!”

You two are seated in just a few minutes. Harry frowns when he looks at the menu.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’, just a lot of like chicken wings and ribs and stuff. Not sure what I can eat is all.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I figured we’d get some apps like mozzarella sticks or spinach dip, I completely forgot you don’t eat cheese. If you want we can leave and come back.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I’ll get a salad or something. Look here, chips and guac. Do you like guacamole?”

“Love it!”

“Then we can split that if you like.” He gives you a smile, and you feel at ease.

You both get a garden salad, and the chips and guac. Once you’re both properly fed, you get two more drinks, and head over to the arcade section. You start off the with basketball game. Usually Harry would be competitive, but he gets distracted by the way your shirt subtly lifts up when you shoot, just barely seeing your midriff. He notices your belly piercing and smirks. He makes up his baskets, and ends up beating you at the game.

Next you go to ski ball, which you end up beating him at, not that either of you were keeping score. You both shied away from the games that were literally just for winning tickets. You share many laughs, and before you know it, you’re drunk. How did you manage to get drunk at the arcade? Salad. You literally ate the lightest thing on the menu. He seemed to be a bit buzzed, but doing better than you.

“Mind if we sit for a bit?” You ask him. Music was starting to play. The DJ must have just gotten there. Oh yeah, there’s a dance floor here too, you remember.

“Sure thing.”

You find a high top to sit at, and Harry gets you both some water.

“Thank you, I’m parched.” The cold water slaps the back of your throat, careful not to drink too much in fear of throwing up.

“This place is great.” He smiles at you.

“I’m glad you’re having a good time. I never asked you earlier, why did you skip lunch?” A little hiccup comes out, and you cover your mouth.

“Just a busy day shootin’ pictures. We had a tough time getting the lighting just right. I’m too picky for my own good sometimes.”

“Do you ever travel for work?”

“Sometimes, not as often as I used to. I don’t quite like traveling anymore.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well for work at least. I mean, I’m about to turn twenty-six, it was getting old barely spending time at my apartment that I pay way too much rent for to not actually live in it. I’d rather travel on my own time, and take pictures that I want to take. Not just follow a shot list.”

“That makes a lot of sense.” You say nodding along to his story. He looks at his watch. It’s already nine.

“Not to sound too forward or anything, but would you care to get outta here? I’m not much one for dancing, and it’s getting louder in here by the second.”

“Sure!”

You stand up, and he puts his hand on the small of our back to help guide you through the people. As you walk outside the fresh air hits you, and it feels amazing. You look up at him concerned.

“Harry.”

“Yes?”

“I think I’m too drunk to drive.” He laughs.

“Don’t worry, love, I can drive us.”

“You’re okay to?”

“Yeah, I didn’t have that much, remember you were a whole drink ahead of me.” He winks at you. “I can always pick you up tomorrow to get your car.” You appreciate that he’s clear about not spending the night together.

“That would be great. We can go hang out at my place if ya want?” You slur. “Might be easier if you already know where I live.”

“That works.”

He walks you to his car, and opens the door for you. You give him your address and he puts it in the GPS. You sober up a bit on the drive, but definitely still feel a buzz. You walk up the steps of your apartment, and open the door for him. You key in, and thank god you had thought to clean up.

Your apartment was cute and simple. It was a one bedroom, and you had an en suite bath. There was a half bath next to the coat closet as you first walked in. That was partially why you rented this specific place. You loved having a bathroom right there in case you really needed to pee. As you walk in to the main area there was an open concept kitchen and living room. You used a futon on as your couch so guests had a place to sleep if need be.

“This is a nice place you have.” He says looking around.

“Thanks, it’s definitely a big girl apartment. It’s nice to finally make enough money where I don’t need a roommate.”

“I know the feeling. It was nice living with Niall for so long, but after a certain point you just want your own space.”

“Can I get you anything?” You ask walking over to the kitchen, he follows and sits down on one of the stools at your island.

“Just some water would be great, love.”

You fill up two glasses of water, and hand him one. You guzzle yours down, and fill up another immediately. You realize how much you need to pee.

“Pardon me, I’ll be right back.”

You go use your bathroom, and freshen up your makeup. When you walk back out Harry has made himself comfortable on your couch. You see him scrolling through his phone. He smiles up at you when he notices you. He pats the spot next to him, and you sit down, tucking one leg under yourself.

“What’s your apartment like?” You ask, trying to think of something to say.

“Sorta like this actually. Only mine’s a studio.”

“Oh, you don’t mind just having your bed out?”

“I don’t have guests over often. I work a lot on the weekends sometimes. It’s enough space for me.” He gives you a half smile. “I’m sure eventually I’ll get something bigger, but for now it works. Less to clean too.”

“Good point. I started out in a studio when I first moved out of my roommate’s place, but I felt like I was in an oversized dorm. Once I saved up some money I got this place. Been here a little over a year now.”

“It’s a nice neighborhood too.”

“Yeah! No creeps in this building either. I feel really safe. Plus Niall doesn’t live too far away either.”

“Definitely nice to have a friend close by. Where do your girlfriends live?”

“A couple of them live together on the other side of town. My best girlfriend just got married about six months ago. Her and her boyfr-husband live in the suburbs in their house.”

“Wow, a house.”

“I know right? He’s an oral surgeon so he makes a ton of money. I think he covered their entire down payment.”

“Did she marry him for that fact?”

“No, they were friends for a long time actually. One day they both went out, got drunk, and hooked up. Next thing we all knew they were a couple.” You look down for a second then back up. “It really changed the group dynamic if I’m being honest. We all stopped hanging out as much, it was hard. But I’m happy for them. Then I met Niall at work and things got better too.”

“Can I ask, did you and Niall ever go out?”

“Oh, god no. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the accent had me swooning when we first met, but he’s more like a brother to me than anything. I wouldn’t survive that job without him. I’m not sure why he and I became such fast friends, but I’m glad we did.”

“He raved about you for a long time, and I always told him to just ask you out, but I’m glad he didn’t.” He lets out a nervous laugh.

“He’s just sweet like that.”

“He mentioned one time that you had really been through it, and he knew you were better off having a friend.”

“Yeah, um, a little over a year ago something happened, but…”

“Jesus, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have even brought anything up.”

“No, it’s okay. Maybe I’ll tell you some other time, but not tonight.”

“Fair enough, sorry.” He gives your bent knee a little squeeze, and takes it away. You miss his touch immediately.

“It’s okay, really.” You smile. “Sometimes I just don’t have a great judge of character I guess.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What made you agree to a blind date?”

“I don’t know exactly. I was sort of getting sick of the online dating thing. Most of those things were just for hook ups anyway. I know twenty-four isn’t old, but I just felt like I was getting too old for it. I have to say, I wanted to cancel with you.”

“Why’s that?” He says, fake offended.

“Because I couldn’t find you online anywhere! I found your Instagram, but there was no picture of you. I practically stalked Niall’s Facebook, but I couldn’t tell which one you were in any group photo. And he wouldn’t show me a picture of you.” Harry laughs at your sloothyness.

“When I finished grad school I got rid of my Facebook, and turned my Instagram into my brand for my freelance work. I do have a private Instagram though, but it’s under a completely different username.”

“Hm, maybe you’ll show it to me?”

“Perhaps another time.” He winks at you. “I found you online, although I couldn’t see much.”

“My privacy settings are tight.”

“I noticed.”

“So, you saw my face then?”

“I did, and I still wanted to meet you.” You scoff and nudge his shoulder as he laughs at his bad joke. “Teasing.” He puts his hands up. “I saw your picture and couldn’t believe such a beautiful woman was single.” You roll your eyes with a smile.

“You know exactly what to say don’t you?” He shakes his head no. “What made you agree to a blind date?”

“Same reason as you, I guess. Although, I almost didn’t agree because that bastard has set me up with some real stinkers before.”

“Well I’m glad I wasn’t a stinker.” You laugh.

“Me too.” He puts his hand over yours and gives it a squeeze. You slump further into the couch, feeling relaxed by his touch. He furrows his eyebrows for a moment while he looks at you. He reaches his hand up, and swipes his thumb across your cheek bone. You nearly flinch. “Sorry, eyelash.” He holds it up so you can see. “Make a wish.” He smiles. You nearly melt. You close your eyes and blow softly on his thumb.

When you open your eyes back up to look at him, you notice his pupils have gotten larger. He leans in close, cupping your cheek with his hand.

“Is this alright?” He says in almost a whisper. You nod your head yes.

You close your eyes, and feel his lips brush against yours. He kisses you lightly, almost tender. You kiss him back, and lean into him. He puts his hands on your back to pull you a little closer. Your hands press flatly onto his chest. You both sink into the kiss. His lips tasted like mint from the gum he had chewed in his car. You want to part your lips for him to let him in and explore, but you’re also afraid to move too fast. You break the kiss and look at him. His eyes pop open and gives you a concerned look.

“Something wrong, love?”

“No, it’s just, I don’t want this to move too fast.” You try to keep a soft expression to assure him it’s more of a you thing than it is him.

“Alright.” He smiles at you. “Should I be going then?”

“That might be for the best.” He gets up, and you follow him out the hallway. “It was a really nice kiss though.” You say, surely blushing.

“I’d very much like to do it again sometime.”

“Me too.”

“What time should I grab you to pick up your car?”

“Fuck, I almost forgot about that. What time works for you, I’m on your schedule.”

“How about around ten? We could go for brunch if you like?”

“Oh I would love that Harry.” You beam at him. “Thank you for being so understanding tonight.”

“Don’t thank me, (y/n). You told me to stop so I did.” He smiled and shrugged. “I’ll see you tomorrow, goodnight.”

You pull him in for a hug, and quick kiss on the lips, which surprises him. He sighs happily when you finish your hug. He leaves and you sigh as well. You could kick yourself. You wanted more of him, you wanted to see how he actually tasted. But you were so scarred from the last time you started seeing someone that you just couldn’t do that to yourself again.

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

25. Not Fine, But Better

Previous

Word Count: 6239

Simon went to his father’s to recover. He was on an official break from school (hopefully, no longer than a year), and because of the nature of his injuries, was forced to move back home temporarily. His former employer was reluctant about giving him another position, though they worked out a few things for him to be involved in a freelance capacity, that way they were hiring him for certain projects, but not keeping him on their regular payroll. He planned to enroll in some online studies in the fall, and in the meantime, focused mainly on his ongoing project - the virtual reality social media.

A few things happened. Aside from regular visits to the doctor, because he was doing too much and reopened stitches, or for the extensive treatment that some of his more severe wounds were going to take, not to mention the healing of his spleen, which he was supposed to be taking extra care not to upset, but he was just so restless in bed and so anxious at the house, he kept getting up. The first night, he was content to lay down, primarily due to physical pain and exhaustion. 

The trauma doctor had suggested not getting on a plane, which meant that Mr. Laurent would have to stay at Simon’s and take care of him… which meant to Simon that his father would be in his personal space, contaminating it and his thoughts of it AND, he would know where he lived. He absolutely rejected that notion and said that he would hire someone for in-home health… Then he thought about the upcoming legal fees of his fights, potential jail time, even, the way that he abandoned his job, and he decided that maybe he would just go back to the Bay with his dad, against the doctor’s suggestion, because that seemed to be the least agonizing solution for him.

Of course, he re-injured himself, and spent all day in an ER, to receive word that his treatment would take longer and was ordered to bed rest for the spleen healing. He laid down in his old bed, as uncomfortable as it was and fell to sleep almost immediately. Outside of the hospital, where the medication and immediate professional help were, his nightmares became blatantly strong. He kept dreaming of laying in a pool of his own blood, on the cold ground, looking at a manhole, ready to die… and then the Void came out of it, about to swallow him whole and everything went black. He jumped up and immediately held himself. Maybe he needed to be strapped to the bed, as to not hurt more. He took a deep breath and reached for the cane that he would need to walk for a bit… and there was a white cat, resting on his old desk.

“Samantha?” He looked around the room, wondering if this was another dream, about his teenage years or something. But, he came closer and touched the cat and she pleasantly allowed it. It abandoned the cane to pick up the animal and nuzzled her. “Is it really you or did that jackass go find another white cat?” He snuggled her and limped out of the room to go get some water. He froze whenever he got into the kitchen and both of his parents were sitting at the little table. 

“Simon!” His mother said. She looked… different than he remembered. She looked younger, somehow, but extremely tired. She came over and tried to take Samantha from him, “Sorry. She must’ve snuck…” He jerked away and almost lost his footing. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Your dad said that you were here, so I stopped by and brought Samantha.”

He glared at her, “You’ve had Samantha this entire time?”

She chuckled and shrugged, “She’s MY cat, Simon. Whenever I was a little better, I stopped by and picked her up one day.”

“And you didn’t think to let me know? Leave a note? Nothing?? I thought she was dead!”

“You seem to be more upset about losing a cat than you’ve ever been about losing one of your family members,” she said. There she was. He knew that tone. He knew those eyes. She hadn’t changed. She was just better at seeming normal. 

“Don’t,” his father warned her.

Simon kept Samantha in his clutches as he went to pour himself some water. “When are you leaving?” 

The woman sat back down and looked at Mr. Laurent. “Your father thinks that you need us here. That us not being there for you is how you got to be this way.”

“What way is that, Faith?” he asked.

“Don’t,” his father warned the woman whose anger appeared to be rising, again.

“A little shit,” she hissed, despite the warning.

“Goddammit, Faith!” his father said. Simon snickered, wickedly. “Can’t you see that he’s just a hurt kid, acting out?” Now, Simon frowned. 

He wanted to storm over and punch his father in the face. He’d done so before, whenever he was a teenager and his father was drunk and complaining about his stupid memorial or whatever. But, Simon was in too much pain to even walk straight, much less, fight. He started angry crying and muttered, “Fuck both of you,” before taking Samantha back into his room, shutting the door (which hurt his side to do) and climbing back into bed with her nestled against himself. “I can’t believe that bitch took you away from me.” 

His mother was gone back to her mom’s by the time he got up again. He panicked whenever Samantha wasn’t there and rushed out of his room, clutching himself and neglecting the cane again to question his father about her whereabouts. Then, he heard her meow, excitedly, like she had something to tell him. Many things to tell him! He collected her and brought her back to his room. He kept her in there with him, scared that if she went outside, his mother might steal her again, even though his father assured him that it wouldn’t happen. “I won’t let her,” he had said. When the hell had he ever stopped her from doing anything?

He called “Dick for Brains” and asked if it was possible for him to use video conferencing to schedule an appointment. Dr. Richard was more than willing to accommodate this and seemed genuinely pleased that Simon had decided to try to resume therapy. 

However, in their first session back, Simon babbled on about this idea that he had for work. Of course, the therapist was going to let him speak about what he wanted to. It was a huge thing for Simon to even seek out help without being forced, and he was uncharacteristically excited about something. “A VR that serves as experimental experience based therapy. The premise is that you would be able to take these pick your adventure journeys, but each of the decisions would have either rewards or consequences and every choice that you make would take you down certain paths, giving you certain training to deal with your problems and conditioning your decision making, even one day could grant you diagnosis based upon your choices and solutions to said diagnosis…”

“So… you want to replace actual therapy with a virtual reality video game?”

“NO! You do the therapy to help you get better at the game. It’s like… it goes with it… unless you’re not so bad off that you NEED therapy, and then it’s just a tool in character education…”

“Okay. That sounds interesting. How is that coming along for you?”

“Ugh. It’s shit. You know… I don’t have the best gauge for reasonable decisions. So, I’m trying to program a lot of things, but I’m depending on various algorithms, and the things that I need to be more specific about, well - I’ve been reading a lot of psychology stuff to sort of help me out. Also, Grace had SO MANY resources available in her featured links on her website…” Simon’s eyes glossed over whenever he started talking about Grace.

“How is your relationship with Grace, Simon?”

He gave a sad smile and shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t have a relationship with Grace. She gave me another chance at life and I told everyone about all the messed up stuff I did to her. We haven’t spoken or seen each other in the weeks that I’ve been out of the hospital.”

“I read about that. It was really big of both of you to make the decisions that you made…”

“This isn’t about Grace,” Simon said. He began typing on one of his other laptops. “I’m not going to do that this time, Dr. Richard. I’m trying to think about treatment, but in a way that appeals to people more like me. I’m not one to sit in a room and talk about my feelings. You know how much I hate that. I AM one to sit in MY room, for hours, playing the same computer video game for weeks. As a kid, I used to create these figures. I have a ton of them at home. More recently, I’ve done robots…” Simon sounded all over the place, but Dr. Richard didn’t interrupt him. “In most games, there is a specific goal, and people tend to think… This isn’t anything that I’m used to, but the principle is fine. I want people to be able to feel like they are walking into their own worlds, and that their adventures are things that they can navigate to practice existing in the world. To get things out of their system that they should never do here, or to give them options that their minds might not automatically compose! You’re a therapist… do you think this sounds stupid or crazy or… just impossible?”

“It sounds like you’re enjoying your work and exploring more empathetic aspects of your talents. This project could be extremely good for you.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. But… do you think it would work? Do you think it would help somebody?”

“Are you making this to help other people or to get better at helping yourself?”

“DO YOU THINK IT WOULD DO EITHER?”

“There’s not enough information for me to know if it will help other people, but I think it’s already helping you and that’s the most important thing that you need to focus on. Getting better, yourself.” That was all that Simon needed to become completely obsessed with his project.

So, what happened was that he began to work on it a lot and neglect certain things he needed to do during his recovery. His father had to remind him and sometimes try to physically force him to let him check his healing, cleaning wounds, and getting ready to go have bloodwork done, etc. He was extremely irritable whenever Mr. Laurent would interrupt his work. Whenever it was more pressing medical concerns, Simon got a call from Grace.

“Hey,” she’d say casually. He’d smile immediately when he heard her voice, then frown, because he knew it meant that his dad had bothered her.

“Grace… I don’t know WHAT he’s said this time, but you need to stop doing this. How does he manage to even get to call you anyway?”

“Hazel gave him her phone number for emergencies. That is now the backup phone. Had to get her another. She’s too damn friendly, but I’ll never discourage her. She’s gotta be herself, you know. Listen. So… I’m told that you need to have an angiography. I looked it up and sounds like you gotta do this thing, and yet… Your dad can’t get you to stop playing video games?”

“No! That’s not what’s happening at all! I’m working and he just barges in! Doesn’t even knock. He’s obnoxious.”

“Orrr… you’re tired of being on somebody else’s timetable, and that’s understandable, but whenever I was in the institution, I was constantly on a formatted schedule that I had no control over. It was one of the downsides of getting myself in there. One of your downsides of starting fights that get you stabbed is doing whatever you’ve gotta do when you’ve gotta do it to get better. I’m gonna be pissed if your dad calls Hazel again because you’re acting like a child.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“Thank you. Have a good day.”

That was the last time he was cantankerous with his dad about appointments. He just had to suck it up and go when it was time. He had to listen, because he knew Mr. Laurent wouldn’t hesitate to bother Grace, as unfair as that was. Simon was furious that his dad did this. He called it harassment. Mr. Laurent didn’t seem to mind, even when Simon yelled aggressively about how Grace was always the person picking up his pieces when they were kids and he’s coming to a better understanding of how unfair that was to both of them, plus he has Samantha back and he is guilty about imposing on Grace. He sent her a message asking her to promise not to come running again for his father calling but agrees for her sake that if a real emergency comes up that she’s welcome to check in on him. She never replied, so he didn’t know if it was sent and he didn’t want to keep bothering her in her inbox. So, the months passed and he did what his father needed him to do to get better. Whenever he was able, he travelled back home, taking Samantha with him.

He was working full time and enrolled back in school part time, at a less prestigious college, but one that was comfortable for him, at this point. He still got up to MIT to see Professor Hughes and talk engineering with her. She was impressed by how well he seemed to be doing, but she would never tell him that. And he never missed an appointment with his therapist, or his physician. For the most part, he recovered. There was a little lasting damage that he would have to deal with, such as multiple surgeries to correct various problems connected to disrupting the body’s normal with multiple stab wounds, but it was manageable and he was… feeling okay. Whenever he wasn’t, he had better ways of coping than before, most of the time. Every now and then, he’d definitely lose it and break things and rage… but… it wasn’t as frequent as it used to be, so he at least felt good about that much.

Plus, he got to see Grace be SO happy with Hazel online and he wasn’t blocked from everything, so anytime anyone tried to give her trouble about him, he was able to step in and take whatever blows that they tried to throw her way. That was another thing… He had been diligently sticking to the truth about her, no matter what people asked or how guilty, ashamed, weak, cowardly, or whatever else these things made him feel. He went onto shows and conducted interviews and made videos to counter any negative feedback that Grace had ever done anything wrong. “Besides being a neglected kid with some issues related to that, Grace was a really good friend and I was a bad friend to her. Turned out my neglect issues were much deeper and I made her suffer for that, but she shouldn’t have to anymore.” 

.

Grace woke up with the sun most mornings. After she and Hazel returned to New York, it occurred to her that they had barely started living there before their little adventure in Mass. SO, they immediately made certain to try to start setting their routines and building their home style. Hazel’s room was the fanciest room she had ever had, excluding the chambers at the Monroe Estate. Grace let her have her own TV in her room, with a system that she had access to most of the apps, several games, and her favorite movies and shows. There was a housewarming plant that Grace’s friend had bought for Hazel whenever she moved in (and had to come over to look after whenever they were out), and that was in Hazel’s room, right by the window, for its sunshine. 

Hazel had gotten to the point where she was no longer sure if she wanted to hold on to having a leaf in her hair, so Grace bought her some cute hair accessories that looked like leaves - hair clips, headbands and stuff… and if Hazel ever wanted to stop, she had options, to sort of keep with her tradition that was sort of a large part of the identity she had carved out for herself. Now, though, she had a changing identity. 

She was Grace’s daughter and she didn’t know if keeping a leaf meant that she was holding on to a parent or parents that abandoned her when she had one who had fought to call her her own right in front of her. The last thing she wanted to do was possibly hurt Grace’s feelings, and she knew that Grace probably wouldn’t tell her if she did. She would just smile and make her feel good and meditate later or something. Hazel kept the hair leaf, for now. 

The room had bookshelves with Hazel’s favorite books, toys, and keepsakes, her jewelry rack and a very large quartz crystal sphere that Grace bought her “for good energy” whenever she was at her last home. It sat on a little sphere holder and Hazel generally set her singing Tuba right near it, whenever she wasn’t carrying it with her or sleeping with it. There was a framed photo of the Monroe trio - her, Grace and GlamMother, on her wall, as well as a mirror with her name on a plaque against its expensive wood. All of the furniture was well made and personalized in some way. 

For instance, her dresser had a cartoon stylized version of her smiling face on the sides and her name in lights across the top of the vanity. The colors of the room were hazel, ivory and green, and her headboard had a turtle magnificently carved into it. Grace got her the same type of products that she purchased herself. She still used the same natural beauty brands that she swore by as an influencer (and recently was reconnected with many of them) including a rebirth campaign for her own line of products. It really was like rebirth, but this time, she was living on her own conditions. She also was building for her daughter, as well, but in a different way than what her mother did. She would always ask Hazel her opinion of things, what she wanted to do, if she liked or approved of certain things that she wanted to do for her. The emblem on Grace’s products would be from a drawing that Hazel did of Grace as a tree, sitting in a lotus position, her hair as the leaves and Hazel falling from the tree into her outstretched arms. It was a pretty good drawing for a 10 year old, and Grace wanted it to stay just as it was for their emblem. 

Grace made meal prep for if Hazel had turtle days. Half the time, Grace wound up throwing the greens into a smoothie, because Hazel was fine for the most part. But, she would keep up this practice of being prepared for a long time. 

She generally saw Hazel off to school herself, instead of putting her into a car with a driver or getting her to learn public transportation like she often saw kids doing while she was out and about in the city for her first few years. She wanted Hazel to be as protected and seen as she could without being that over sheltering type of mom that she sometimes felt like she was probably being. But, Hazel liked the attention. It was nice to have somebody always having her back and ensuring her safety. It was nice always having someone waiting for you when you step out into the world, to guide you back home. 

They’d had most of the summer to settle in and the new school year was Hazel’s favorite EVER. She was finally going to be somewhere that she was getting herself to believe wouldn’t be temporary… she might actually make friends! She met a couple of people that were really cool the first week - Lucy and Lindsay. They knew each other from before, but Lindsay had recognized her from the internet and invited her to sit with them at lunch. Lucy wasn’t allowed to get onto the internet, but Hazel noticed that she had a Tuba watch and they admitted that they both still watched/loved The Mighty Tuba and Her Musical Friends. Lindsay made fun of both of them, but it was in that way where Hazel could tell that she still liked them and was gonna be their friend. Hazel LOVED it and asked if she could invite them over soon for a tea party.

Of course she could. Grace rarely told Hazel no. If it was doable, safe, and harmed nobody, she didn’t see any reason to refuse her things that she was interested in. Plus, Mrs. Monroe had bought a very expensive tea party set for the girl that Grace had to get assembled on the balcony, because she had no idea where to put it in her place… which meant that the balcony basically belonged to Hazel’s tea set. Getting that woman to understand that her space in New York is nothing like the space that they had in California was almost impossible. Her mother couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t just seek out a bigger place. Like… just because I have my own money, I have to like… spend it like that?

But, Hazel began having her tea parties the second week of school. Mrs. Monroe wanted them to come to visit the weekend of the 23rd of August. “Mom. We’ve only been gone a couple of months. I told you that Hazel and I aren’t going to be coming back and forth like this.”

“I’m thinking if you catch a flight in the evening on Wednesday, Hazel won’t have to miss school that day. But, you definitely need to be here by Thursday evening’s dinner.” 

“Ugh. Mom.”

“Grace, this is important.”

She sighed. “Fine. But you aren’t seeing us again before Christmas break. Hazel has limited days off and I have things planned for my 23rd.”

“Yes, well… Julia or Gabriel, or whatever the hell this assistant’s name is will send you the list of things you need to pack.”

“Why would I need to pack things?”

“We’re going to take you to Belize, since you won’t be here for your birthday.”

“Ugh… I wish I could argue with a free trip to Belize… okay, fine. Tell ADRIENNE to send me the information.”

“Adrienne? That doesn’t sound right… oh, really? Huh. She says that is indeed her name. Well, she’s sending it. We’ll see you soon.”

Grace hung up and stretched, sputtered air through her lips and peeked out at the girls at their tea parties, with their hats and some of Grace’s good tea. “Hey, Haze… GlamMother wants to see us next week, so I’ll be packing our stuff and I’ll email the school to get your work for Thursday and Friday in advance so we can turn it in on Wednesday.”

“Yes, Mother,” Hazel said in her tea party voice. “Will we be seeing Mr. Laurent and his Sad Sorry Son Simon when we go to California?”

“I’m not planning on it. Just giving you a heads up.” The three girls raised their teacups to Grace and she smiled and went back inside to pack. Simon was back in Cambridge, as far as she knew. She had seen him around online, but never hovered, so she couldn’t be sure. But… that week was the week of his birthday. She wondered if her mother had remembered that information, or if her body was simply falling back on old habits of the season by wanting to do something around this time of year. It was a very random time to Grace for them to just want to go to Belize… though, usually Simon’s birthday was paired up with hers. The significance of his actual birth date would only matter to Grace, not her parents, as the things that they did typically occurred AFTER August 22nd. Grace shook her head and opened the email of things to pack, so that she could prepare early.

.

The Monroes had some guests, Grace could tell. Not a lot, so she wondered if this was like some politician’s immediate family or what, and she resigned herself to the thought that if for one little second her mom even tried to give her hell about taking a flight today, instead of last night (to come in all late in the night and throw off hers AND Hazel’s sleep schedule), she would take her ass right on to her old bedroom and wait for the call to go to Belize. She didn’t play that mess with her mom anymore. Hazel ran to the door and tiptoed a little to use the knocker. There was a doorbell, but something about that fancy old knocker always intrigued her.

A butler opened the door and tried to take Grace’s bags, but she struggled with him, knowing that she could do it herself. “If you won’t let him, let me,” she heard a familiar voice say. Simon. She froze. He was standing. Obviously in good enough health. He was smiling, but it became worried when she stared at him. He put his hands up and she noted that he was in some type of… weird coat draped over his arms, instead of wearing it, that she could see the top of his apology tattoos, and that his parents were at the table with hers.

Her mother got up and rushed over, “Don’t be silly! It’s his job.” She collected Hazel into a tight hug and Grace still stood there, in the open door as Hazel rushed to the table, hand in hand with her grandmother, to pass hugs around. “Surprise!” Mrs. Monroe cheered. “It’s Simon’s birthday dinner… and a therapy idea thing…”

“Therapy told you to surprise me by bringing me here, with these people, under the guise of a free trip to Belize?” Grace asked, very much not okay with this.

“No. We’re having a sit down, between all of us, as adults, to settle everything once and for all. There’s cake!” 

Hazel cheered, “Yayyy! Cake!”

Mrs. Monroe sighed and folded her arms, “My God, Grace, we really ARE going to Belize. Just sit down and enjoy dinner.” Grace pouted her way over to the seat next to Hazel. Simon returned to the one next to that one. His parents were across the table from them, and Mr. and Mrs. Monroe were on the opposite ends.

“This is messed up,” Grace muttered.

“All of us are messed up,” Mr. Monroe said. “It took a while for us to realize it. We spoke a few times when Simon was in the hospital, and we thought that eventually, both of you needed apologies from us and attempts for us to do better. Now, Grace… you had some things to say to Mr. Laurent the last time you were together…”

“I said it all. Nice to finally meet you, though,” she said to Mrs. Laurent, and her tone indicated that it wasn’t nice to meet her at all. Simon reached out and rubbed Grace on the back. She smiled a little at him, then looked confused and wondered why they were acting like nothing had ever happened. Then again, they had “gotten over” what did happen, and she guessed she was kinda touch starved, because it was nice to get physical comfort from somebody that wasn’t Hazel, for a change.

“Simon had many things to say to his parents before you arrived, too. Now that we’re all here, really… say whatever is on all of your minds. Simon… you’ve been sulking for two hours, but whenever Grace walked in, you immediately brightened up.” Simon blushed as Mr. Monroe made this extremely embarrassing announcement. Hazel cackled about it and ate a mouthful of potatoes. 

Simon shook his head, “I’m not sure what you mean by saying this, Mr. Monroe.”

“Just that we never really discussed the night that you came back into our lives, wanting to see Grace and apologize… You didn’t actually apologize until a while later and… we’re all curious about the journeys it took to get from where you were to…”

“No, Dad.” Grace shook her head. “No. Simon and I used to be best friends. I loved him. There was nobody in the world more important to me. When we broke, I broke. You don’t get to just have reflection on what led us all here, to possible health and contentment. Just… No. Where is the cake? I’m having some on the terrace. You want in, Si?” His eyes widened and he got up to follow her. The butler was bringing out the cake, and she took the whole tray. “Momma’s got you, Haze,” she said without breaking her stride. She went outside and Simon smiled as she set the cake down. “Cut my baby a piece of cake. I’ll get her dish.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Grace rolled her eyes at everybody in the room, grabbed Hazel’s desert plate and the bottle of wine from the table. She went back out and Simon was ready with Hazel’s slice. Whenever Grace gave it to her, she said, “I’ll be right out there if you need me.” Grace was… tired. She had been on a long flight, and to be faced with the Laurents AND her parents? And to have them acting like this was just okay to spring on someone? “They’re still messing up, but I guess at least they’re trying,” she glanced around. “I didn’t get glasses.” She frowned.

“S’ok. I don’t drink.” 

She smiled and said, “Neither do I, but remember whenever we were 14 and we said that we’d have our first drink together?”

“Yeah. We said on your 21st birthday.” He smiled and she felt warm in his gaze. She set the bottle down. “At any rate, they don’t need any wine. They’re being weird enough.”

“RIGHT?” Grace and Simon laughed awkwardly. “To be honest, I think that they realized that the only way to get me here was to hide their intentions from me. I wouldn’t have showed up if they had told me that they wanted to have dinner with your family.”

“Funny… I wouldn’t have come if they hadn’t told me, “Grace will be here for your birthday,” Simon admitted and leaned on the balcony rail. “All I wanted was to see you again. It’s all I could think about all month.”

“You’ve known about this all month? My mom called me last week!” She leaned next to him, her back against the rail, so that she could keep an eye on Hazel. For a moment, she had a flashback of the last time that they were out here together. The pain stung, but there was a numbness there… like that part of her that hurt was more like a limb that fell to sleep. “Hazel is the same age as we were when we met. I’ve been so paranoid about her running into trouble because I’m not present enough…”

“Is that what you think us meeting was? You running into trouble?” Simon asked. He didn’t seem offended, like he might have normally been. Just… curious.

“Don’t you think so? For both of us…”

He frowned and looked out at the Monroe yard. “I think that the people who messed up the most are all surrounding your kid right now.” 

“She loves them, though. I want her to have a good relationship with them. Not just because I didn’t, but because they’re the only grandparents she has.”

“Yeah, well… at the moment, MY parents are there too…” Grace stood up and folded her arms, looking at Hazel. Her parents had arranged for her and Simon to have their first joint birthday celebration since they were 16, and even arranged a sit down with the Laurents about everything that went wrong… Simon was also thinking about how messed up this was, because he added to her thoughts, “I feel weird about our parents finally talking, when we ourselves have finally gotten to good places in our lives and development.”

“I think it’s… A good thing, but just for them. For me… I think that the best thing has been that I survived. I thought that I was gonna die after everything. Nothing felt real. My whole life was just staring into nothingness and crying. I really did become the void…”

“No. You were NEVER that!” Simon said, putting his hand on her shoulder. “You always mattered. I was just too toxic to see that. The best thing for me has been that I realized how wrong I was…” Grace threw her arms around his neck and Simon relaxed in her arms and held her close. Every time was like the first time, but this was DIFFERENT different. This was the first hug that they had in some time and maybe even the first genuine one that they’ve had. Simon was caught up in his emotions, but quickly tried to keep them in check, “Wanna grab the kid and get outta here?” Simon asked, looking at her. They were still in the hug, but let some space in between their bodies.

Grace chuckled, “I mean… you know that my perfect birthday celebration is lowkey, with the closest people to me, some dogs and a walk around the creek. But, it’s not MY birthday.”

Simon turned and leaned back on the terrace this time, “If I had just done that with you for our 16th, things could have gone very differently.” 

“I think things would have eventually gone wrong anyway. We were both… beyond our own help. You seem fine now, though.”

“I’m not fine, but I’m better.” He shrugged his shoulders. 

“Grab the cake, I’ll grab the kid,” she said with a smile. Simon obeyed, as she went inside and he followed. “Haze, grab your bag. We’re headed out.

“Headed out?” Mrs. Monroe asked. “To where?”

“Simon and I are taking Hazel to our old stomping grounds.” Hazel jumped up excited. All four of the parents exchanged worried looks, which Grace ignored and put an arm around Hazel to guide her towards the door. “Hopefully… the rest of you will get whatever you need out of… this…”  They checked out early, giving their parents time to sort through their guilt.

The trio left the mansion, all three laughing and talking. Hazel about how she had heard so much about their adventures, though Simon was certain she only heard the sweet and not the… other stuff. He was just glad that Grace was willing to spend time with him again. It was the best birthday present he could’ve gotten. He didn’t deserve it, but he was going to be grateful.

Neither Simon or Grace had revisited much of their old places, so they wound up spending time well into the night taking Hazel to their childhood spots from when they were her age. Eventually she got so sleepy that she dozed off on the train and Simon had to carry her around. Grace told him that she could do it (she was pretty practiced in it and Hazel was a tall 10), with Simon still technically being in recovery for his injuries, but she guessed that his pride was still stubborn, because he insisted. 

They caught a cab back to the mansion, he put Hazel to bed, and Grace offered to walk him out. “Your parents have us in the guest house,” he said. 

“Excuse you?”

“We’re going to Belize… They didn’t tell you that EITHER?”

“What’re they trying to do? Get us back together??” She joked. 

He laughed, “Like you’d ever do that. You didn’t want me the first time.”

“That’s not true. I actually liked you way more than you liked me, because my feelings were selfless and pure.” He stared at his hands and nodded. She sat down in front of the front door and he sat next to her. “I wasn’t kidding whenever I’d say that I had the perfect relationship already, or whatever the hell I said that day. I can’t remember word for word, but I remember that all the words were true.”

“Yeah… If only I had been better.”

“Well… You said earlier that you’re better now.”

“Yeah…” He turned to look at her and she smiled and took his hand into hers. 

“We don’t have to talk about it. We can just live in it,” she said. That was always how she had been about them. No questions or comments about their feelings for each other, titles, etc. They were together and enjoying each other’s company again. The rest of the details were background noise. No things were not fine, and she didn’t know if things would ever be fine between them, considering the stuff that happened back then. But… things were better.

Next

[foxtophat]

(still trying to figure out how i link these but whatever)

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!!!! i decided to just sit down and hammer out the last edits for this lil one-shot so i could get it out today!

i’m gonna be real with you: the only reason i wrote this fic is because i couldn’t get the idea out of my head.  you weren’t supposed to see mercyverse for another month, honestly!!! but it’s been cold as fuck here and it’s made me fantasize about classic bed-sharing tropes, and so here we are!

this is a bit of a slice of life, to sort of give an idea of how day-to-day these guys all interact, especially now that carmina doesn’t have to pretend john doesn’t exist.  plus, i’m starting to see how the caches might be involved in the overarching plot???? awesome!!!

as usual, the full text is below the cut for my friends who don’t wanna leave tumblr.  i hope you enjoy -- feel free to leave a comment, i loooove hearing from readers. likes and reblogs are also great! kudos are fantastic! adding to the hit counter is just fine by me!!! anything you do to show support for fanfic is a good thing imo.  i hope y’all have a happy wintereenmas or whatever and i will see you guys in 2021 with more mercyverse :)

The best thing Nick can say about the blizzard currently sweeping the county is that he could see that it was coming. They'd gotten almost a foot of snow the night before, which gets him worried about getting snowed in, and as the day progresses, the sky grows an ominous gray that Nick recognizes from a lifetime of living in the area. He knows that they probably only have a few hours left before they're going to want to get inside and avoid the worst a winter storm has to offer.

Nick and John spend the entire morning hauling wood into the house, while Kim does her best to clean out the broken chimney and ensure they won't die of smoke inhalation. They also pull in some pre-made stock that Kim had left in the freezer after it had gotten cold enough to use, as well as a few smaller pieces for miscellaneous projects. But with the storm rolling in overhead, they don't have long; they end up leaving a lot of things for later as the wind whips up around them and turns the snow sideways.

By two in the afternoon, they've closed the doors to officially bunker down for the rest of the blizzard. They have enough wood to last them three days, plus their military rations and plenty of coffee, so Nick isn't particularly concerned about their safety. The only thing he's really got to contend with is boredom, which is easier to stave off in the first few hours of captivity than it is later in the evening.

For the most part, Nick passes the time by sharpening their knives, cleaning their guns, and checking the radio every hour for any emergencies. The blizzard ensures that not many people are on, but at least he gets to check in with Jerome and make sure that Grace is safely in her bunker. It's unlikely they'll get in contact with the trailer park until after the worst passes, but that just means Nick's gonna worry about those jackasses all night.

Kim is probably the only one comfortable with the downtime, making the most of things as she chews on the radio's instructions. When the technical jargon gets to be too much, she switches to entertaining Carmina, who gets bored quick when her only job is to keep the fire going. The easiest distraction comes from card games; the deck they'd had in the bunker had shrunk to only 32 cards, but now that they've got a full deck to work with, Carmina is eager to relearn and master games like Go Fish and Old Maid. Nick doubts Jacob planned to be entertaining kids with his survival gear, but it's not like the guy's gonna complain.

Carmina isn't the only one that Jacob is keeping busy beyond the grave. Ever since they found that cache of his, John has been borderline obsessed with figuring out what the point of it could be. He'll go all day without mentioning the puzzle plaguing him, but any available downtime has him staring at the map and its coordinates. Nick and Kim have both been keeping an eye on it, just in case it turns into something worse than his usual tunnel-vision, but so far it hasn't gotten out of hand. If anything, John seems more aware and alert now that he has something to focus on, and now Nick can even pretend he's a normal guy for conversations at a time before being reminded otherwise.

Of course, the blizzard's making it impossible to find alternate distractions. John does spend part of the afternoon in his room, but eventually, he can't help but come downstairs to mull over the map. There's only one problem with that — they've hung the map up in the radio room, so there's about ten minutes every hour where Nick has no choice but to sit in John's presence. It probably wouldn't bother him so much if there was somewhere else either of them could be, but they're stuck for the foreseeable future. John's looming is just going to be part of Nick's life until the storm passes.

In the interest of keeping the peace, Nick reluctantly tries to have the same level of interest in the random dots that John shows. His attention, however, is distracted by the penciled-in changes that he, Kim and John have all been making to the landscape. The river's wider in some places now, and there are doodles of trees in spaces that were once open fields. A few X's mark places where bridges have collapsed, and Kim's circled anywhere they've made radio contact with. Their notations have scattered across the valley, and have even spread over to the river region thanks to Hurk and his raider gang, but they still don't know anything about the mountains, or even the spaces that are supposedly occupied by bow-wielding religious nutjobs. It's going to be a while before any of them get the nerve to go poking that particular hornet's nest.

John has his little notebook open, but he's not writing anything down. Nick's not sure what he would even put down, since they haven't gotten any more leads since early autumn, but he's always got the thing tucked in a pocket nowadays. Maybe Nick should be mad he outright stole that resource from the rest of them, but — well, come on. He can't yell at the man for taking up journaling, not without flying in the face of every therapist Nick had pretended not to listen to. It's just... well, what the hell is there for him to write down?

"Are you staring for any particular reason?" John asks, because of course he does.

"That's rich, coming from the guy lurking over my shoulder all day." Nick flips off the static-ridden radio frequency, leaning back in his chair so that he can get a better look at the map push-pinned to the wall. "I hear if you look at it just right, you can see a sailboat."

John's clearly not much of a Kevin Smith fan, because he only sighs heavily at Nick's flat joke. "If you have something better for me to be doing, I'm all ears," he says, revealing to Nick at last just how bored he really is. Weirdly enough, being in the same boat as John is somehow reassuring.

"Okay, fine. At least tell me what you're staring at, so I know what to fake interest in."

Even though it's mostly a joke, it lands softly enough that John doesn't take offense. Stuffing the notebook in his back pocket, he shakes his head, gesturing at the map. Getting John to explain himself is usually like pulling teeth, but right now he seems relieved to have someone to bounce his thoughts off of. It's a long way away from the guy Nick remembers saving, enough so that it almost catches his full interest.

"It's nothing in particular, really. I've already spent hours staring at this thing, but I'm... still looking for a pattern, I guess. Jacob was paranoid and secretive, but if there's a hidden code buried in these coordinates, it's beyond me to see it. And the snow was already keeping us from traveling too far — now with this blizzard, we're likely stuck with no new information until spring ..."

John sighs, rubbing his forehead as the pretense finally abandons him. "I just don't know what I'm supposed to do until then."

That's certainly a feeling that Nick can relate to. Nick is less of a workaholic than John might be, but that doesn't mean he won't go stir-crazy without his own set of chores. Hell, that's why he's been hanging around the radio in between games of cards with the girls and cleaning whatever he can get his hands on. It must suck extra for John; the guy's been spinning his tires in the dirt for years, probably, and being this close to having a purpose beyond doing whatever chores Nick sets him to must be irritating.

Nick props one leg up against the wall, tapping his boot against the wood as he ponders the dots scattered around the map. There are a few still in the valley, but there's no driving until they thaw out. The points in the mountains are probably inaccessible to anybody, and who knows when they'll get to investigate the old vet center or find the Wolf's Den. There are a couple points nearer the trailer park, though, and not for the first time Nick tries to measure the distance from Hurk to the various red dots. There's one near the lumber mill, and one near where that godawful statue was, and of course one right smack dab in the middle of the original Peggy compound.

Nick can't imagine his truck making it all the way there and back, not without more information about the roads. Hurk might not have the same trouble. "I could send the trailer park a couple coordinates," he points out. "They might get to search before us, and it could cut the work in half."

Despite John's scowl, he only sounds tired as he replies, "I've considered it, but I don't trust them. Then again, I hardly trust myself, so who knows."

"I guess you're shit outta luck, then," Nick says. John takes obvious offense at Nick brushing him off, but hey, what else is Nick supposed to do? "God's giving you a freebie with this blizzard. Maybe you should try catching up on your sleep, or something."

"And ruin the precarious schedule I'm keeping?"

"Jesus, then go read a book! Just — you know, quit hovering over me all day. Don't you know how to entertain yourself?"

John seems unphased by Nick's half-hearted outburst. "This is how I entertain myself. Maps, resources, legal documents — that's probably the only decent outlet I've ever had." He stares at Nick's boot, unwilling to meet his eyes. "At least, it's the only one healthy enough to keep."

That is probably a safe bet, Nick realizes, quickly trying to backpedal away from the open scab that is John's history. "Uh, well, what about before the cult?"

John surprises them both with a brief laugh. "If I could source some coke, then yes, I would be entertained."

"Jesus, John."

"I'm not known for my healthy self-care habits," John points out, a little too smug to be truly self-deprecating. At least he seems to understand what Nick had been getting at originally, deferring with a vague hand-wave. "Is my loitering in the kitchen going to be too smothering for you, too, or is that okay?"

Nick rolls his eyes, flipping the radio back on to scan the channels once again. "It's fine, whatever. Just as long as you've got something better to entertain yourself than snaking the whiskey Jacob left."

"I'm more of a gin guy," John admits.

"Of course you are."

It's still a relief, though, knowing they aren't keeping an alcoholic too near his fix. On top of that, John's relaxed disregard for his past vices settles nerves Nick hadn't even realized were rattled. Sure, there's probably a whole other box of American Psycho- esque worms waiting to be opened up from John's time before Eden's Gate, but at least he seems to have comfortably packed that part of his life away for now. Unlike talking about the cult, John has no trouble dropping the conversation, just as casually as he'd brought it up. He retreats into the kitchen to mull over whatever he's written down already, leaving behind no traumatic story or sad-eyed stare — just the casual admission that he would really like to do some drugs.

Weirdly enough, that is probably the most respectable thing about John to date.

Nick spends another fifteen minutes checking the radio, scanning the channels he knows people use most. He winds up with nothing to show for it — either the storm is making radio communication impossible, or everybody else has given up on their radios. It's only after he's cleared the range twice that he flips the radio off and escapes back to Kim and Carmina, leaving John in the kitchen with a broad, somehow-sarcastic gesture towards the now unoccupied radio nook.

Carmina ropes Nick into a game of Go Fish, which Kim seems keen on losing. Nick isn't surprised — Carmina is a wily player, which is to say that she tries to bluff her way through hands with all the grace of a sledgehammer. Kim's not as willing to put up with cheating as Nick is, but neither of them are capable of even pretending to believe Carmina's poker face. It's going to be a problem one day, but Nick isn't exactly ready to teach his daughter how to lie to his face.

Well, that is until she and Nick are on their third round of Go Fish, and Nick has had to pretend not to see through all of Carmina's gambits.

He asks her if she has any threes, and she scrunches her nose up as she glances meaningfully at her cards. "Go fish," she says, making Nick regret not having Kim sit right behind their daughter as a referee.

"Fine," he grumbles, "If you say so."

Kim blinks skeptically at the pants she's fixing, but she doesn't offer Nick any out. If it weren't for his clumsy hands, maybe he could use darning socks and patching shirts as an excuse to quit playing, but as it stands, the only thing he has other than getting trounced is staring at the map with John. And since he already tried that and found it to be mildly aggravating at best...

"You know, this would be more fun with more people," Nick says, desperately glancing at Kim.

Kim, of course, gives him no quarter. "Why don't you ask John," she suggests rhetorically.

"John," Carmina calls out, "Do you wanna play Go Fish?"

Nick opens his mouth to chastise Carmina, but he realizes there's nothing to discipline her for. Especially not when John flippantly replies, "I think your father's looking to play with fewer cheaters, not more."

"I'm not cheating!" Carmina exclaims, not-so-surreptitiously pressing her cards into her lap to ensure nobody's looking at them. Between that and her guiltily furrowed brow, there's no hiding it. Her poker face needs a lot of work.

"Go Fish isn't even worth cheating at," Nick sighs, gesturing for her cards. "If that's the way you wanna play, at least do it the right way. Here, gimme your cards — John, come over here so I can teach my daughter how to lie to your face."

As if playing a game of cards with John wasn't enough to excite Carmina, she's doubly over the moon when he tells her the rules. After all, a ten-year-old girl is the prime demographic for the game Bullshit, especially when she's given carte blanche to shout cuss words at her dad. On top of that, it seems like bluffing really is half of the fun for his daughter — which is a little intimidating, sure, but at least he knows she's smart enough to understand the utility of lying.

John is... unenthusiastic, to say the least, but that only makes the prospect of humiliating him that much better. A few weeks ago, Nick would've thought John was too fragile to be messed with, but now there's a bounce in his step that will make taking him down easier. He's got to do something to remind himself that this nearly-tolerable man is usually a miserable sonofabitch.

Unfortunately, John has a fantastic poker face. Nick figured that from the get-go, but it's still daunting to play against a bored, uninterested party. That's probably why Carmina avoids John in favor of hounding Nick, calling out "bullshit!" with delightful glee whenever she thinks Nick has dropped the wrong face card or played a nine instead of a King. On the one hand, Nick appreciates that he can read her as well as she can, but on the other hand, he'd really like a chance to beat John. So far, he's the only one who's called John out, and all he has to show for it is the extra six cards in his hand.

Although Kim is on standby for this round, she keeps flashing Nick amused grins whenever Carmina calls bullshit. Nick almost hopes John can hold it together to be mundane for two entire rounds of cards because he wouldn't stand a chance against Kim.

Case in point, John lays down two cards that are meant to be threes, and Kim clicks her tongue disapprovingly. Carmina frowns up at her mom, who only shrugs and suggests, "I would call him out, if I were you."

John's neutral frown doesn't change. "Last I checked, you weren't playing," he says.

Kim only shrugs in response. Nick furrows his brow at Kim while Carmina squints suspiciously from the discard pile to John and then back again. Of course, encouraging a ten-year-old to swear is always going to win out, and so Carmina wrinkles her nose and calls John out with a slightly uncertain, "Okay, bullshit."

Without so much as a grimace of defeat, John lets Carmina flip his played cards — one three, and one dirty, rotten, lying, bullshit seven .

"That's what I thought," Kim says, flippantly triumphant. "Guess you're not as hard to read as you thought."

Nick sure can't tell what John's thinking as he lifts one shoulder noncommittally. "I stand corrected."

"Wait," Nick asks, "What gave it away?"

"I'm not helping you too , Nick," Kim laughs. "That wouldn't be fair."

"It's not exactly fair to help Carmina," John points out. Nick bets he's just as interested in what tell Kim noticed, although he manages to be less obvious about it. At least he can't crack Kim's smug smile any better than Nick, which is some small compensation.

Nick manages to win this hand, if only because his play strategy involves lying as little as possible. That seems to work against Carmina no problem, but Nick suspects John threw the game out of personal disinterest. If it weren't for the howling winds whistling through the roof and second story, John would probably excuse himself from another hand by retreating upstairs, but as it is he manages to sit through one more round of cards, this time with Kim joining in.

Carmina's poker-face doesn't improve by leaps and bounds, exactly, but she manages to fool Nick into picking up a fat stack of cards, so that's something. Too bad he'd been trying to teach her to lie to John , not her parents. Well — at least she's a nice enough kid to only do it for fun. He hopes, anyway.

Kim makes John's loss look more organic, at least, and she doesn't rub it in too badly when she wins. It's extra kind of her considering Nick is the one who called her last play bullshit, leaving him to rot in miserable third place after both his girls. Well, fine . At least Carmina seemed to have fun, even if Nick is now sitting with nearly half a deck in his hands. If the blizzard keeps up for too long, they might have to graduate to poker.

Before they can play any more card games, though, they take time out for dinner. It's almost normal, sitting around the fireplace with their military rations and some hot broth — if they were eating Marie Calendar pot-pies and watching Christmas movies, Nick would even be able to ignore John's presence sticking out like a sore thumb.

The next best thing to watching movies is talking about them, which has become something of a tradition between the Ryes. It all started in the bunker, where Kim and Nick ran out of normal Christmas stories and began taking turns narrating whatever holiday movies they could remember. They've run through all the memorable Rankin & Bass flicks, as well as a couple more contemporary ones, so they're starting to reach for their personal favorites or the very bottom of the barrel plots.

Nick intends to be paying Jingle All the Way a tribute tonight, but as soon as he mentions that the Arnold Schwarzenegger vehicle is one of his favorites, he's interrupted by John snorting derisively.

"Let me guess," Nick snaps, "You're one of those jackasses who pretends Die Hard is a legitimate Christmas movie just so he doesn't have to watch good, family-friendly content."

"It is a legitimate Christmas movie," John responds, just petulantly enough to tell Nick he hit the nail on the head.

"Look, Kim and I have already had this discussion — just because it takes place during Christmas doesn't make it a Christmas movie . Set dressing alone isn't enough!"

John raises his eyes towards the ceiling, which is as subtle as his eyerolls can get. "Whatever you say, Nick."

"What's Die Hard about?" Carmina asks, excitedly guessing, "Does Santa get to shoot people in it?"

"That would be a good Christmas movie," Nick replies. "No, it's just about some guy who has to fight bad guys in a building."

"During Christmas," Kim points out.

"Okay, fine during Christmas. But nobody's dressed up like Santa, nobody sings any carols, and there sure as hell isn't any Christmas magic that saves the day, so it doesn't count!"

"So what does happen?" Carmina asks.

Damn it — Nick should have known that talking about an action flick would immediately disinterest her towards any sloppy story about consumerism. She doesn't even know what a mall is — but she knows how to shoot a handgun, and now that Nick's thinking about it, she might need to use the duct-tape shoulder holster trick one day. It would be pretty bad-ass if she knew how, anyway.

"Okay, fine, I'll do it real quick. I don't remember all the parts, so Kim, you gotta help."

Real quick turns out to take almost as much time as the movie itself had. Kim interjects whenever Nick forgets a plot point, but at least he remembers the core conflict. Sort of, anyway — by the time he's done recounting John McClane's tale, John looks visibly dissatisfied, and Kim has a "well, sort of" expression on her face that implies he didn't quite nail the execution. Well, who cares what they think? All that matters is that Carmina is entertained, and of course she is. After all, narrated or not, it's still Die Hard . Just so long as she doesn't ask about the sequels, they should be okay.

The wind is still whipping overhead, and Nick can see nothing beyond the windows. There's no telling how late it's gotten. Although his internal clock insists it can't have been that long since sundown, Carmina has been yawning for a while now, and the fire's gone down again. It looks like sleeping through the storm is the only pastime left for Nick to try.

Carmina takes over stoking the fire for the final time before bed, while Kim makes her way upstairs to gather as much of their bedding as she can carry. John follows reluctantly behind, clearly unhappy with the prospect of facing his own cold room, but Nick figures he can deal for five damn minutes. For his part, Nick busies himself checking the radio one last time, just in case there's an emergency. He doesn't know what they'd be able to do if there was one, but that doesn't stop him from checking anyway.

With the radio situated just under the stairs, it's easy to listen in to Kim stomping around in the room above, desperate to keep her temperature up. Nick had put off too many attic repairs before this winter — he's going to have to make up for that in spring, when he and John can worm their way into the rafters and ensure that their next winter won't turn the bedrooms into a cold wasteland. Of course, even if they did patch up the gaps in the floorboards and do their best to insulate the attic, not much can beat a genuine fire in the middle of a snowstorm.

Nick isn't even paying attention to the radio, so he flips it off and trusts that everyone can keep themselves safe for another night. He hears the whump of fabric as Kim tosses their two biggest, least moldy blankets down for Carmina to start with, and the creak of footsteps on the landing overhead. Kim's voice isn't raised, but it carries down to Nick clear as a bell.

"John, you'll freeze if you stay up here," she says. "Get your stuff and come downstairs."

"It's not that cold," John says, attempting to deflect from one weak excuse with another. "I doubt Nick approved that suggestion."

Well, not technically, no, but Nick had sort of assumed they were already all on the same page. What does John think Nick's gonna do, force him to freeze upstairs so he can hog the fireplace all to himself?

Kim doesn't give the excuses a chance to breathe, replying with parental exasperation. "He and I both agree it's too cold to sleep upstairs." Nick can hear the teasing plain as day when she adds, "Just don't be weird about it."

Sure enough, suggesting John might be making things awkward is enough to get him to shut up and follow orders. Nick briefly longs for the days when John would mutely nod and do as told without any additional goading, but only for a second. Even that is long enough retrospection to remind Nick of how creepy and genuinely alarming it had been. Sure, John might get argumentative or exasperated now, but at least there's an actual person to communicate with. Nick might want to kick his ass more now than before, but he absolutely hated dealing with the hollow-eyed monster John had been.

Besides, it's way more satisfying being a dick to him now that he actually gets offended.

Despite John's furrowed-brow glares, Nick doesn't comment whatsoever on him trailing downstairs after Kim, clutching two actual blankets and a tarp that's weather-worn enough to pass muster. He stands and waits for someone to point him in the right direction as Kim and Carmina do their best to bundle together a soft place on the floor, but Nick studiously ignores him until he makes a decision himself. John takes a spot close to the fireplace, off to the right of where the girls are setting up. It's still plenty removed enough, so that nobody will get the wrong idea and think John is supposed to be welcome down here. Nick wonders who he's trying to convince, but there are so many damn demons in the man's head, it's anybody's guess.

With the fire roaring for the last time that night, all the blankets arranged and everybody looking exhausted despite not doing anything all day, Nick finally gets to crawl into bed and put this whole goddamn blizzard behind him. Hopefully, the weather has the common sense to clear up tomorrow — for now, it's time to shut out the cold entirely.

He must be tired. Nick barely stays conscious as Kim and Carmina climb under the blankets, the cool air rapidly warming as they begin to shift around and get comfortable. He rouses a few times at first as Carmina kicks his leg and Kim bumps into him, but eventually, he finds himself dozing in the silence of a quiet house. Far above them, the wind is whipping through the attic, but from down here, it sounds like a generic white-noise machine; coupled with the crackling fire, Nick is lulled to sleep by the sounds of peaceful normalcy.

Who knows how long it is before Nick finds himself conscious again. Even then, he only wakes enough to hear the dying fire popping by his feet. Maybe he should stoke it. But that would mean moving, and Nick is weighted down on either side beneath warm blankets, so that's a hard no. He tries first to roll towards Kim and Carmina, ready to curl into a ball and conserve even more heat, but his right arm is stuck. It takes a few bleary-eyed blinks to realize what's pinned him down, but he's barely coherent enough to make sense of it.

Sometime in the night, John must've migrated from the no-man's-land he'd made for himself towards the Rye's pile of blankets. Unsurprising, really — but more than a little awkward, given how he's pressed into Nick's side, pinning Nick's arm in place. Worse yet, half of his blankets have been absorbed into the mess that Nick's been using to keep warm, which is going to make extracting himself tricky if not impossible.

While he tries to figure out how to avoid making this mortifying situation worse, Nick watches John for any signs of consciousness. The guy usually sleeps light, but Nick watches his breathing for a solid minute and doesn't catch anything. Either his poker-face is just that good, or John is actually asleep. Deeply, peacefully asleep. Nick had assumed that was impossible.

If Nick were a better person, he'd probably be thankful to see it. Glad to know that John's insomnia might finally be coming to an end. But Nick is mostly just an exhausted, anxious mess, and now he's just wondering how to get out of the situation he's found himself in.

John shifts, and like a guilty ten-year-old, Nick immediately closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep. If he's lucky, John will roll away of his own volition, or at least move enough to let Nick roll over himself. If only he'd decided to sleep on Kim's side — she wouldn't have the same trouble Nick has. She'd just kick him away and be done with it.

Slowly, John moves away from Nick. The relief is short-lived as John pulls back the covers enough to send a cold chill down Nick's side; it's a split-second decision that John immediately regrets, hissing under his breath and letting the blankets fall back into place as he recoils from the freezing temperatures.

Nick can't help his quiet huff of amusement — which is enough to break the illusion that he'd been asleep in the first place. He could probably still fake it, but if he does, John will definitely try to move his blankets, and that is going to be a much bigger problem than tolerating John in his personal space.

"Quit squirming so much," Nick mutters. "Gonna let in the cold."

John is silent and tense beside him, but he does stop squirming. It's like lying near a tense bar of iron. After a brief struggle to figure out what to say, John's embarrassment catches in his voice as he apologizes. "I'm sorry," he rasps. "I — must have been tired."

Nick sighs. "Just don't crush my arm again."

Even though John moves as though Nick threatened him, he stops short of retreating from the blankets entirely. Nick can only imagine how cold it must be — every breath of his that makes it above the blanket-line comes with a faint puff of visible air. No matter how humiliating it might be to cuddle up to Nick, it doesn't seem like John had much of a choice in the matter.

Before John can decide to try escaping again, Nick repeats, "Whatever you do, don't let in the cold."

In for a penny, Nick decides, worming deeper into the makeshift bed so that John can have more room. Rolling over is the easiest way to avoid the mortifying process of finding a comfortable sleeping arrangement. Eventually, they wind up back-to-back; Nick normally wouldn't be able to stand John touching him, but the additional body-heat does a lot to soothe Nick's reservations. Who knew all he needed to tolerate John's physical presence would be cold weather and exhaustion?

The Deputy, probably, which only makes Nick grin in tired relief. At least they would be glad to know that Nick's grown as a person. They'd probably be glad to learn he's finally gotten on-board with not murdering the Seeds in cold blood — even if it took an apocalypse to get there. If they could see the shit he's gotten himself into now, they'd probably...

He sighs. It must be a heavier sound than he imagined, because John whispers, "What?"

"Nothing," Nick says immediately, as default an answer as John's yeses are. But that's not fair, he doesn't think, because they never let John get away with his obvious deflections. As late as it is, it's easy to blame his guilt on his exhaustion. "Just thinking about Rook," he admits.

"Oh."

John is clearly uncomfortable with the topic, but he doesn't react when Nick continues sleepily, "They'd get a kick outta this, is all."

John hums. It's a quiet noise, but Nick can feel it vibrate through John's shirt. If there are two people Nick hates bringing Rook up around, it's Sharky and John. Sure, Sharky's crush was the one that was reciprocated, but Dep had always treated John's flat-footed overtures like creepy compliments instead of outright threats. They'd probably figured John's crush was superficial, whereas Sharky's had been more real than probably anything else Nick had seen the poor sap go through. John's infatuation had been about power, control, and Joseph goddamn Seed. Still, Nick can't help but wonder just how much of it might've been real to John at the time.

"They had a bad sense of humor," John finally responds, quietly enough that Nick almost misses the hurt.

"Terrible," Nick agrees.

When John sighs, Nick recognizes it as a sign of defeat. Whatever he's debating with himself, he's clearly lost. Although he doesn't speak up again, Nick isn't sure he's gone back to sleep. He sure hopes he didn't just instill another restless night in the guy, but that's John's burden to bear. Maybe he can use it to finally find some common ground with Sharky.

Nick isn't even sure that he can fall back asleep, but that doesn't seem to matter. Before he knows it, he's being woken up once more — this time by a glance of sunlight coming in through the upper part of the windows. It's just enough light to wake him, but he spends an exhausted minute staring at the wall over Kim's shoulder as he debates whether or not he's really committing this time. He's going to need to use the bathroom sooner or later — and just thinking that is enough to tell Nick that he's not getting back to sleep again.

John's back is still facing Nick, and Kim rolls away as soon as Nick starts to squirm, which leaves his path to escape much more open than it was a few hours ago. He manages to pull himself free without waking anyone else, but as soon as he does, John worms into the warm spot left behind. Nick should probably be upset, but mostly he just needs to pee. He can kick John out of his spot after he takes care of himself.

Nick leaves the rest of them to sleep as he tiptoes across the living room to the front door. Unfortunately, the door only wedges open an inch before it hits a wall of snow. Unwilling to wake anyone else up with catastrophic noise, Nick heads upstairs, going for the broken window in John's room. It's freezing up here, cold enough to keep meat until spring, and Nick pulls his flannel closer as he crosses the room, trying not to take too much stock of his surroundings. He doesn't care about the tallies John used to carve in the wall by his bed, and he definitely doesn't care to snoop through the pile of clothes that John's been growing in the corner. What he does care about is how easy it is to crawl out onto the roof from the window — after all, this isn't the first time Nick's been snowed in, and he's made escaping his childhood home an art-form.

There's a good three and a half feet of snow on the ground below, blocking any exit from the first floor. At least the gray sky above is calm, and the weather seems to have calmed down some. They'll have to prepare for another couple of inches before the week's out, but Nick bets the worst of it is over. Now he can think about breakfast — more specifically, coffee — and debate the best way to clear the doorways. They need a path out to the hangar, although they can wait another day or two before they'll need to press the matter. Nick's still convinced there's a set of tire chains hiding away in there, but it's not like the roads will be in any condition to drive on for a while yet...

Nick spends so much time thinking about what he's got to do, he forgets to consider how willing the rest of the house will be to pitch in. The top-of-the-snow sunlight isn't enough heat to make up for the lack of a fire, and getting Kim out from under the blankets is gonna be like pulling teeth until he does something about it. Worse yet, John's rolled into the spot Nick had occupied — not exactly sprawled out, or anything, but the guy is irritatingly close to Kim's sleeping back. If he decided to roll one more time, he'd probably end up smacking his face into her shoulder.

Nick considers throwing a fit on principle, but honestly, that's too much work. It's much easier to sulk, glowering at the bed he's definitely not getting back into before getting some logs to stack in the fire. He drops them noisily by John's feet, although he makes every effort not to accidentally pull a Misery on the guy.

The sound of hollow wood clattering on the ground is enough to stir John, who wakes with a sharp inhale, and cause Carmina to groan and turn away from the noise. Kim has probably been awake for a while now, but it won't make a lick of difference until the fire's on.

He turns away to toss the logs semi-haphazardly into the fireplace, then remembers the kindling and turns to get it. John has propped himself on his elbows, but his half-waking confusion causes him to overlook Nick entirely as he stares around the room. Seeing Kim and Carmina asleep next to him is initially met with confusion. He barely seems to recognize the shapes bundled in the blankets, but when he does he recoils in shock. All the nasty comments Nick had thought up take an abrupt backseat as he stops to marvel at the physical repulsion John shows. He's not sure if he should be offended or not. Probably not, but this apocalypse has got Nick wired all wrong.

"She's not gonna bite," Nick says. John whips his attention back to Nick the moment he raises his voice, only for Nick to realize that looming over the guy with a thick block of wood in hand might send the wrong message.

Sure enough, John catches sight of him, jerking back with a startled hiss. " Jesus !"

"Shit, sorry." Nick turns and drops the log, wincing at the noise that he'd moments ago been deliberately making. "Well, judging from that reaction, looks like this isn't the first time a man's caught you in bed with his wife."

John's withering glare is enough to lift Nick's mood right up. He turns his attention back to starting the fire, listening as John slowly shifts his way free of the blankets. Part of him wants to make a few more jokes at John's expense, but that can wait until John's coherent enough to be snide in return.

Nick gets the fire going and turns to follow John, who's made his way into the kitchen to peer out the window. "Completely snowed in," Nick tells him as he gets the instant coffee and the beat-up kettle. "But it looks like the worst of it's over."

"Seems to be," John agrees, adding, "We forgot the shovels in the truck. It's going to be difficult digging them out now."

"Not a lot of other options, unless you wanna stay inside until the big thaw. Don't worry, I'm sure Carmina will be excited to help us dig."

John hums in assent, although his mind seems to be somewhere else. Nick can't help but notice that John's pensive states seem damned near reasonable nowadays. He has plenty to think about, and he seems to be keeping one foot in the here-and-now. He's aware enough of his surroundings that he stops Nick before he can leave John to it.

He tries to stare Nick down, but he can't quite manage it. "Thank you for not..."

John gestures vaguely as the rest of the sentence fails to generate. Nick could probably wait it out, but he's just as embarrassed as John apparently is, and he would rather move past the whole thing.

"Don't worry about it," Nick says. "Just don't get too comfortable cuddling up to me."

Rolling his eyes doesn't hide John's faint smile, but he turns away before Nick can see if it lasts. "That won't be a problem, trust me."

Nick is surprised that he does, even for something as small and inconsequential as a joke. "Grab the mugs when you're done looking for Santa," he says, turning back for the warmth of the fire. A few months ago, Nick might've resented how eroded the line has become between John and his own family, but it's honestly too much work to keep up. At a certain point, they're just going to have to include John in their daily routines — Nick just hadn't expected that point to be made by sharing blankets during a blizzard.

Well, there's one good thing about that, Nick supposes — it means that somewhere up there, the Deputy is watching over them. After all, there's no way in hell random chance has the same shitty sense of humor as Rook had.

[babybluebanshee]

More Ramsey and Molly fluff!

Cuz they cute. 

---

Ramsey has had anxiety ever since he was a teenager. Before he lost his eye, he hadn’t had a panic attack since he was twenty-five. In the months after he lost his eye, he had three, started seeing a therapist, and got on medication. He sometimes uses a grounding technique when he starts feeling overwhelmed where he transforms each finger into gold slowly as he inhales, then exhales when that finger is coated. He does the same thing for all ten fingers.

He’s dealing with things. 

It doesn’t take Ramsey long to realize Molly obviously has anxiety herself. This kid is a few “I am the manager”’s away from going absolutely apeshit or falling apart completely, and it kinda breaks formerly-exploited-child Ramsey’s heart. She’s just a little kid, it shouldn’t be her responsibility to carry her family on her back because the jackass who brought her into this world can’t face his own problems and be a goddamn parent for once. 

Projecting? No, he’s not projecting, whatever gave you that idea he’s not projecting you’re projecting!

One day Ramsey comes home and finds Giovanni in an absolute panic because Molly is having an anxiety attack big time and nothing he or any of the others do is working. She’s slowly been getting worse for ten minutes, and, worst of all, can’t seem to concentrate enough to activate her epithet, which is only making her more anxious. 

Ramsey sends Giovanni off to calm down, telling him he’ll handle it. He finds Molly sitting on her bed, shaking and breathing heavily. He fights back every urge to hug her (he knows that’ll only upset her more), and sits down on the edge of her bed. All he says is “Tell me what you see.”

Molly doesn’t understand. Ramsey just casually says, “Look around the room and describe what you see to me.”

Molly’s eyes flick around, settles over Ramsey’s shoulder. “M-my desk...”

“Good. What else?”

She keeps listing things - a lamp, her math book, a chair, a cup of pens and pencils, a ceramic bear clock.

With each item she lists, Molly’s panic drips away. She begins to feel grounded. Like she’s slowly being brought back to earth. 

Before she knows it, she feels better. And tired. Very tired. She leans against Ramsey, her muscles feeling very heavy. Quietly, she thanks him. He puts his arm around her, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

“I know how much those suck, kid. And if they, ya know, give you a problem in the future...just talk to me, okay?”

“Okay,” she replied sleepily, snuggling a little closer. 

Ramsey can’t help but smile.

Okay, maybe he’s projecting a little.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Retrograde (Pieces of the People We Love, Part 2.)

Description: Not many people had the chance to see a vault or to mean anything in the world of Pandora. Will a hardly built relationship in the loneliness of the desert have the potential to change anything in the world of anarchy and chaos - or will the friends try to murder each other?

A/N: One time, my friend asked me if I would like to drink Dr. Bob or classic Coke when she was making an analogy for a random movie. So Dr. Bob is sort of a long running jokw when comparing a bad movie.

Warnings: A lot of guns, violence, reader is a tough badass - not a vault hunter tho. They’re badass and don’t give a fuck. And Scooter is a dumb bitch, as always. All Psychos and Fanatics are various Vine references - oh, what luck that reader can understand them since she is friends with Bandits.

Word count: 3.6K

Tagging: @notaliteraltoad​, @nemodoren​

Series master list:  H E R E

You were looking straight into the man's face for what seemed to be infinity, it was almost half an hour, while your entwined fingers supported your resting chin. You sat there like that for the past hour while Scooterboy was eating like crazy. He was sure hungry like a wolf.

That was pretty acceptable and reasonable, as far as you could judge - he was pronounced DEAD several years ago. The worst part was that the whole Pandora probably mourned for the best-known, and basically only, mechanic in the business. And now, he was just looking at Pintley and ate almost everything from his plate, looking like a hamster. Scooter literally stuffed his faces with homemade fried Skag bacon and Pintley's bread - definitely one of the best combinations in the entirety of Pandora.

"Are you done with the food?" - A mumbled cold as ice filled the room when Scooter finally finished the fourth plate of food and his last can of the Dr. Bob cola. The drink was sure as hell not healthy and barely nutritious, but it was the only soda Pintley had in Hell's Cauldron's pub.

"Now, you're going to explain to me how the hell are you alive and why, for the fuck's sake, have you respawned here." - The rhythm of your words was slow, your tongue rolled every syllable on its top - as if Scooter had some brain damage. Each of you was staring at the mechanic with hidden curiosity; this was a miracle, to say the least. Was he inside the database the whole time? If he wasn't there, could it be that the systems had some hard time figuring where should it respawn him? It didn't matter how you approached the problem - any of the solutions was making sense to you.

"Ye man, I'm done for now. Thanks for payin' for me, anyway. I don't have any cash on me since..." - Scooter zoned out for a second, watching a small spot next to your head. He was doing that quite a lot throughout his eat-all-you-can episode. His eyes fixed on a precise point somewhere inside the room. It was unnerving.

Without wanting, your eyebrows had risen on their own after a minute of complete silence. You've counted every second of Scooter spacing out before deciding to drag him out of the trance. Slowly, you rose both your hands and clapped. The metallic one could clap pretty loud, so it made Scooterboy freak out, looking around with genuine fear on his face. You've given him another ten seconds to get it all together before you leaned a bit closer, still staring at him without any clear emotion on your face.

Scooter, at first, was staring back at you. Then, he chuckled and leaned his back into the chair. - "How can I know, man? I'm only Scooter, I do cars. Ye, I could repair you a network or stations when ya would like me to, but nobody except those Hyperion robots doesn't know how does New-U work. Can I have another Dr. Bob? I'm really thirsty." - Scooterboy asked you politely, raising the empty can to your eye-level. Oh, he was negotiating, that was what he was doing. He wasn't going to tell you anything without another can of the naughty mysterious cola, right? Well, if this was the case...

Slowly, you closed your eyelids so much that they became two small lines, thinking about murdering Scooterboy just for the fun of it; it wouldn't be that bad, since he would respawn at the station again. It would be maybe morally incorrect, but who were you to care about such bullshit? Being the responsible adult you pretended to be, you managed to overcome your sour feelings against Scooter and calmed down, leaning your back into the chair as well.

"Listen up, young man. You'll tell me everything you remember from the last time you were alive and I, as a little show-off of my gratitude, will buy you another cheap and disgusting cola. Are we on the same page?" - Another few seconds passed until Scooter nodded in agreement before you stretched your arm to Pintley; the old man basically tore the money out of your palm, making you shoot a furrow in his direction. With the speed of literal lighting, he fetched another red can of the soda; everyone was eager to hear Scooter's tale so they could piece the story together on their own.

That didn't mean you would completely wipe the thoughts regarding Scooterboy's sudden and unexpected death in your head. For a reason, when you managed to wrap yourself in some rather unpleasant bullshit, murder scenarios were your usual go-to tactic to calm down once more. Like most things on Pandora, this tendency couldn't be simply explained or treated by walking straight to a therapist's office. If you'd believe what Blindy told you here and there, another psycho named Jay had a small psychologist office on his own - but let's be serious, what good could a therapy by a psycho do? Your situation wasn't that bad for now; until you'd randomly go on a rampage, you weren't planning on booking an appointment.

The staring contest was going on for a few seconds, yet when neither of you cut the staring off, your normal arm slowly rose another two dollars, as you kept on watching Scooter intensely. Anticipation was in the air as the mechanic leaned closer to Pintley, catching the soda between his fingers. After that, he just gave you an innocent gaze. - "I blew up." - Scooter said simply, shrugging his shoulders. That made Billy, who was sitting two tables away from you, laugh out loud.

"BITCH DISGUSTING!" - Rayray yelled and every single one of you, including Scooter, looked at the bandit boy. Scooter was the only person in the room who certainly didn't know what Rayray just told him; given Blindy gasped for air, it couldn't be nice. "Dude, there's no need to be this harsh. Calm your tits and apologize!" - You yelled in Scooter's defense and so did Billy.

Not that you were a master psycho-to-normal translator, yet you could at least roughly understand what Rayray just said. Each of you had your mouth opened as you stared at the bandit boy. You could rarely hear him say something so outrageously accusing. What he said was so damn rude; he was accusing Scooter of lying just like that.

"There's no need to be so fuckin' aggressive, you deadbrain! You don't know if he's lying or not! Say that you're sorry. Do you even realize that enough people already think that we're nothin' but stupid idiots?!" - Billy said in a firm voice and stared Rayray down, almost smacking him like a bitch. Rayray and Billy had a father-son relationship which could simply be described as ridiculous. Yet, since they both lived in the same bandit colony, somebody had to lead Rayray to behave as well as he could.

“I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'VE DONE THIS.” - Rayray said in a low voice with his head hung low. Everyone shook their heads and looked at Rayray with disappointment just before shifting their looks back on Scooterboy. Each one of you was wondering about the story Scooter had to tell; as you looked over to him and observed the face his face was looking, he surely wasn't done with the story just yet.

“There was a group of weird people travelin' with my friends and one day they came to me and ask “Hey, Scoot, ya willin' to make us a rocket? Need to go to Helios ASAP.” and I was like “Yea”. So I and my pal Janey built them a rocket, but there was a small mechanical problem and my hand was stuck in the rocket... And it needed to blow up, so they could continue their journey to reach Helios, alrite? And it took me to hell and back, man, I tell ya.” - Scooter smiled a bit at that thought. - “I remember it blowin' up. Me bein' on it. And now I'm sitting here with new friends, sippin' some good old Dr. Bob. How is Helios hangin'?”

The silence that had suddenly surrounded you all was uncomfortable, to say the least. Quickly, you glanced over Pintley to look out of the window. Until that day, you could still pinpoint the exact location where Helios was hovering in the sky. Never in those long years since it had blown up, you'd look in the sky and think "Man, it's strange to not see an ugly-ass space station there". But, somehow, that was precisely what you've been thinking about at that moment. Obviously, if Scooter was dead for the past seven years, his first instinct wouldn't be to look up and search for the most hideous view you've ever had encountered. But not that you realized he wasn't fucking with any of you, it felt strange not to see the station there. As if it was your personal guilt that some jackasses had blown it up.

It was you, again, who decided to speak the first. With a gulp, you've leaned forward to lean your elbows to your thighs, trying to say it in the most natural way possible. - “Scooter... Helios was blown up by a group of pretty weird guys.” - It was nothing but a mere whisper. - “Five years or so ago.”

For a moment, Scooter didn't seem to be connecting the information. It didn't click until a few minutes later. - “Wait, what? And... Sanctuary?” - Scooter leaned even deeper into his chair with his gaze directed into the oblivion. Why did you have to be the one who had to tell the deadman all the news? Why wasn't anyone else speaking? But as you looked over to the men around, their gazes only answered "Well, you've started with it, don't be a pussy now and finish what you were saying". Did Scooter even know that Handsome Jack was dead now? That there were rumors about discovering about four or five new vaults on the sister planets of Pandora? Did he know that the Children of the Vault had risen all over Pandora? And if he didn't know... How much were you supposed to tell him if you didn't want him to have a hysterical seizure?

“Okay, we might have to trace what you know, get your timeline matching ours and we will have to tell you... So many new things that you may shit your pants.” - You mumbled and opened another Dr. Bob. It took quite some time before you managed to somehow connect your memories with his. It was almost ten p.m. when you ended. Occasionally, you managed to line-up his memories until the moment when the original Sanctuary was attacked by the flower-army or who (don't act so surprised - anything was pretty much possible on Pandora). As the tales said, the town was now blown up into millions of tiny rocks and the VHs had constructed a literal spaceship (which was Scooter's sister Ellie). Again, you couldn't tell how much of it was true. You couldn't be quite sure that anything on the planet Pandora you heard had actually happened.

But mostly, it all seemed to true - that Helios has fallen, that Sanctuary was teleported by the legendary siren Lilith, known as the Firehawk, or that Handsome Jack was posting a job wanted posts for Vault Hunters wanted just so he could easily kill them off. Carefully, you told Scooter about the chaos that started when Sanctuary was blown up and the vault key had been lost in the desert. Back then, it was hard to notice the entire Pandora changing since you've been living in a literal desert, but you could tell that something wasn't adding up. When you told him about the siren-powered Calypso twins, you couldn't leave out their cringy streaming career.

You told him all about how the COV had recruited most of the bandit and psycho clans all over Wastelands, starting their big suicidal cult somewhere in an old base, growing bigger with each month. They weren't a serious threat, serious pain in the pain at their best, but they could be quite something to deal with at times. Of course, were now including all the women that were insane enough to join them, which was among the first questions Scooter was wondering about. Now, there was a small amount of free-psycho-bandit-whatever clans remaining in the deserts and wastelands. Most of the bandits joined the COV; the places they've been living in before were now empty, lifeless and Pandora was a bit less fun without the random encounters.

“So, you aren't in contact with Lilith? Or Moxxi? Or Ellie? Or basically anyone?” - The man asked suddenly after being quiet for a moment. You weren't thinking of yourself as the most empathetic person in the whole of the desert; you've told Scooter all about the reality you've been living in for the past couple of years. For you, it was natural to take it all as the matter of fact - but you couldn't forget about Scooter being a man-out-of-time. It could take him some time to understand the rules of today's Pandora and you had to be patient with him for now. Until you'd get rid of him and get back to your old life.

The question about the VHs and Crimson raiders made you surprised. How could you be in contact with them when you never met them before? - “I don't even know them personally, dude. Hey... You okay, Scooterboy?” - The can with the nasty cola was laying on the table as if Scooter didn't even want it anymore. His face went two shades paler and the grin on his face had faded away. - “You look like you're about to puke.”

Now, he lowered his head and played with his fingers, fidgeting them around. Yeah. It was tough to get accustomed to. So many things had changed since his days on Pandora and even though, it all remained almost the same. It must've been feeling pretty surreal. - “Nah, man. I'm not about to puke, don't ya worry. It's just too much to take in. That's all. I'll be alrite.” - He answered. You could tell something's off. He was an exploding ball of energy and happiness just two hours ago; now, you managed to destroy his confidence, positivity, and to murder his good mood. Wow. Good job, you.

“I'm sorry if you think that your friends abandoned you here..." - At that point, Pintley looked on the back of your head. Was he dreaming or were you being... Nice to someone? What happened to you? Were you trying to calm Scooter down? Did you finally grow as a person? Oh, but then the rest came, destroying the nice-person aura you had for a bit. "But that's true, man. They left you here because they thought you were dead-dead... And that's kinda fair if you ask me. I both know it, you know it, Rayray knows it. We all do. Keep it together, yeah? You were fucking dead for the past couple of years. There are so many new things to get accustomed to. But if you'll chicken out of that, you're a pussy." - The tone of your voice was empty and emotionless.

Pintley, for a minute, saw some kind of humanity shining through the aura of I-don't-give-a-diddly-damn you've been keeping ever since he met you. The truth was - you simply didn't care enough to "do emotions", as you called it. You weren't good at it at all, so you didn't bother with trying. Maybe that's was why you were living on your own in the middle of a desert. That was a pretty plausible explanation.

There were some people you'd call friends, yeah. You even liked to joke around with them. You could do sarcasm, irony, and arse-biting jokes that were sometimes really offensive. But every other emotion was a literal mystery to you. You couldn't quite show them off even if your heart was warm and full of love. And it was even worse when somebody pissed you off. As soon as you turned on the killing-machine mode, as Pintley called it, you didn't care about being as subtle as possible. Nothing in this world couldn't stop you from shooting someone, killing them, or simply throwing them through the window? Oh, how many times did you have to pay Pintley a new window? He wouldn't be able to count it even if he'd like to.

Yet, even though your dead stare and emotionless expression, the man smiled and patted your shoulder. With a furrow, you watched Scooter slowly backing his hand back to his lap, since you seemed to be thinking about biting the said arm off. "At least I respawned here, where ya people are actually pretty friendly under playin' that "I'm a badass and cold" facade." - At that, Pintley grinned; since you didn't know what you should respond, you just nodded and made a weird sound. You didn't know what to answer - you never met anyone that would see you as a... Friendly person? Ugh. Sure, pretty friendly persons live in a cabin hidden far, far away from any signs of society and they have actually fun when they hunt Skags. Right... That was a description of your normal local weirdo, not a description of a damn nice person. As you finished your internal monologue, you snickered under your breath, shaking your head as you unconsciously sat in a defensive position; your knee was thrown over your knee, your arms were covering your torso.

"And where you're planning to sleep, Scooterboy?" - Pintley asked. Since he was done with all the cleaning, he lightened up a cigarette, leaning his shoulder into a near doorframe. - "You know. Just wondering."

Scooter seemed to realize it at the same time you did; where will the poor guy sleep? Pintley had a guest room, sure, but you could already tell something fishy was going on since Pintley himself was the one calling the shots. You knew a spot or two in the forest where Scooter could make a small campsite; you've been sleeping there when the hunt took too long. - "I hadn't thought of somethin' like that. Wow. I am a homeless person, isn't that quite funny?" - Scooter said, clearly being more saddened than before. Damn, were you and Pintley trying to outdo each other in bringing Scooter's mood lower than before? Clearly, you had more points for the entire Calypso mascarade, but this was an impressive move, to say the least.

Of all people inside the room, it was Blindy who answered. - "Y'all know we can't take him to Ham's Creek. Guys would eat Scooter alive, Cowboy." - Blindy shrugged his shoulders and you just nodded. It was clear Blindy wasn't joking around - every time you had to visit Ham's Creed, you had goosebumps all over your body. Even if you didn't think of yourself as an emphatic person, you surely thought you're courageous. Damn, your day-to-day job was to hunt Skags down. But Ham's Creek? That was a whole another universe of horror and things that were unseen until you stepped inside the psycho territory. They would grill him like a pig and you didn't second-guess that they would even manage to find an apple which would they stuff into Scooter's mouth. That wasn't a nice image.

Pintley, the traitor, sighed too. - "I would give him a room if Jocelyn wasn't over right now." - Pintley said in a low voice, which was merely indicating how deeply in love your friend was. That mothersucker. Oh, you knew her. You precisely knew who Jocelyn was. With a confused face, you've been the one to answer Pintley's confession. "Listen, man, love's nice and all... But... Just theoretically... If you have your girlfriend over, and you have sex with her... Why don't you guys sleep in one bed? As far as I know, it's kinda considered to be normal." - It was a frown on your face that made Pintley realize you didn't buy his bullshit at all.

The old man only reddened before mumbling an answer. - "Jocelyn and I aren't ready for such a commitment to sleep in one bed." - At that, you had enough. The next sentence kind of... Slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it. "Pintley, do you realize that Jocelyn is a figurine? You can literally put her anywhere else and let Scooter have a sleepover at your place before we figure out what to do with him." - The tone of your voice was so incredulous that your voice just slipped an octave higher. For a moment, you've been looking at each other; but it didn't make Pintley say "okay".

It was at that second when you realized what was going on. No, Pintley and Blindy didn't agree on this beforehand, yet both of them were sure it wasn't to be them who would have the boy in their home that night. The truth was that you had an ultra-old couch at your place that was just... There. - "Ah, you sons of a bitch." Right after that, you stood and expected Scooter to do the same; as he remained sitting there, you just snapped your fingers in front of his face, which freaked him out. As he was picking himself up from the ground, you walked through the pub while putting your significant hat back on.

"Looks like you'll be at my place, boy. Get up, Blindy will drive us home.” - And right before you left, you've shown Pintley your middle finger, making the man chuckle under his breath.

[justalittlelitnerd]

Crazy for Loving You by Pippa Grant

What would a woman with as big a personality as Daisy’s do if she believed in love?

I had a feeling I would love this book from the first time it popped up on my FB feed via amazon advertising and it did not disappoint. Basically, it’s the movie Life As We Know It (starring Katherine Heigl and Josh Duhamel, highly recommend), but with billionaires and an ex-marine as the love interest. 

Westley Jaeger has learned the hard way to not get involved with single mothers, especially ones out of his league. But when he gets the call that he’s been named co-guardian to Remy, the baby whose nursery he remodeled, he feels he has no choice. Billionaire, party girl Daisy Imogen Carter-Kincaid clearly doesn’t know how to take care of a baby and he trusts her family even less. So when she proposes he help teach her what to do and prove to any judge that she’s a better guardian than Remy’s grandparents, he reluctantly agrees. 

I’m writing this post after finishing all four Bluewater Billionaire books (stay tuned for their posts) so I can say that this is definitely my favorite. The fun, big heart of Daisy and the gruff, protective spirit of West make for a cute, but also serious (because the well-being of a baby is involved) romance complete with some wacky twists from Daisy’s family. I would say that this book is safely added to my will re-read when I need a bit of happiness list. 

Keep reading for a ton of my favorite quotes!

I have four sisters with zero filter when it comes to relationship advice. My parents taught me manners. The Marines taught me to be a man. And I suddenly feel like that awkward teenager on a string of bad dates again.

She tips her head back and laughs, and fuck me, that happy, rich laughter makes me want to get a hearing aid so I can soak in the sound fully in both ears. She’s curvy and bold and bright, and she’s rendered my balls mute.

Any woman who only wants a man after another woman shows interest in him isn’t a woman that deserves a guy like West.

“I’m not an adult,” I whine to Alessandro while he drives us across the final bridge to my humble abode. “I’m a twelve-year-old with the mental capacity to handle business and the physical capacity to handle alcohol and this desperate need to know that Julienne’s baby is okay. But I have at least seventy-three more years before I qualify as an adult. For the record.”

I’m going to kiss her until she never leaves me hanging and uncertain while she’s being rushed to an emergency room again.

He irons his jeans. I’m simultaneously turned on and appalled, and I’m highly uncomfortable with both reactions.

It’s not her fault I have a fucking hero complex.

She touches my neck again, and fuck. I’m going to kiss her. I’m going to kiss chaos. Disorder. Unpredictability. Because fuck it.

And my blood pressure is hitting the roof at the idea of any jackass coming near Daisy. And by jackass, I basically mean anyone who has any intentions of getting her into bed for any reason. Male. Female. Rich. Poor. Secretly a serial killer. Volunteers for Doctors Without Borders or the Peace Corps. All jackasses who better not lay a fucking finger on her.

We can’t get involved, because when it ends—and it will, because I’m rules and straight lines, and she’s chaos and heart-shaped bubbles floating in the sky—I’ll be facing the same path I’ve walked too painfully before. I can walk away from a woman. I can’t walk away from a kid. Not again. Kids don’t deserve to pay the price for adults not being able to work shit out.

She’s so full of shit. “If you’re not a big enough person to confess to having commitment issues, just say so.” Her cheeks go bright pink, and there’s that overwhelming urge to hug her again. But it’s accompanied by a need to google a therapist for her.

His magic eyes are the color of pissed-off headstrong alpha male with all protective instincts activated, and it’s making that omnipresent pull in my nether regions stronger this morning.

West is my new normal. He’s every moment. And this kiss—it’s different but perfect. It’s a hello, so that’s who you are. It’s a nice to meet you. It’s a yes, actually, I do like you and I could spend all morning kissing you from every angle to learn what you like and what you don’t.

Life isn’t simple. It’s complicated and messy. No matter how much I try to believe that it’s just a big party with a side of hard work to make the partying possible, there’s still heartbreak and tough times and loneliness.

And he doesn’t have anyone taking care of him. He does it himself, because he doesn’t think he needs anyone. His family must want to throttle him on a regular basis. But this is their lucky day. Because I, Daisy Imogen Carter-Kincaid, am going to take care of this man. “You’re going to take Remy from me one day, aren’t you?” he says quietly. A lump rolls up from the bottom of my neck to the top of my throat like it’s chasing Indiana Jones, and I have to swallow hard to get it back down. Westley Jaeger’s body and mind might be made of steel, but his heart is cotton candy. Cotton candy that he’s  freely given to a baby that, by all rights, never should’ve been his, but is now firmly settled in his heart. 

He needs me. Because I don’t need him. Not to be a second adult in the house. Not to take overnight duty. Not to fix a squeaky hinge or chase cats out of pools. I just want him. So bad I almost can’t breathe at the thought of him not being here. 

Because if I have to sleep, I want a pillow. A Daisy pillow. She wordlessly climbs onto the bed with me, one-handedly fluffs a pillow, and then lets me wrap my arms around her legs while she sits with Remy. And then Daisy—party heiress Daisy—sings me pop songs until I fall asleep..

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” His voice is hoarse, and I want to stop and fling myself at him and promise him promises that I can’t keep. Because any other man would ask why are you doing this to me? But not West. Even while I’m throwing daggers at him, he’s asking why I’m hurting myself.

I won’t let them be my easy family. The one that Julienne’s will gave me. They deserve more than me being there simply because they’re convenient, and they deserve better than me. The me I am today, anyway.

I don’t know if she needs me, but I believe she wants me, and there’s more power in want than in need. I’ve never been someone’s choice. I’ve been their convenience.

I want this strong, capable, dependable man who asks for so little for himself to know that there’s someone in this world who will put him first.

[hanalwayssolo]

What We Owe To Each Other: Ch 6 - Dawn (End)

Morning | Noon | Night | Midnight | Nightmare | Dawn

Link on AO3

It was only four a.m. when Nate woke up dazed and disoriented from a terrible dream. He did not remember it properly, but he vaguely remembered getting shot. He was unsure if the last thing he saw was a glimpse of Sam’s face, but as he sat on the edge of the bed, in the warm darkness that embraced the rest of his and Elena’s room, the fragments of that dream were slowly vanishing in a haze. The feeling of dread, however, lingered somewhere in the pit of his stomach.

This is nothing. It’s just one bad dream, that’s all.

Nate took a deep breath. Quietly, in an effort not to stir Elena awake, he grabbed his coat, slipped out of the room, headed downstairs to the hall that led to the porch.

Outside, it was still and quiet, the sky pitch black and powdered with stars, the lake a luminous mirror mimicking its glimmer. The soft hum of the cicadas sang. It was awfully chilly.

“Trouble sleeping?” a hoarse voice said behind him.

Startled, Nate turned and saw Sam on the other side of the porch, lounging on one of the wicker chairs. In the pale light of the stars and the trail of smoke that soared from the cigarette between his fingers, Sam seemed watchful and ghostly, as if a specter lurking in an old haunted house.

“I could ask you the same thing,” said Nate, walking over to Sam and taking the vacant seat across from him. An unopened bottle of whiskey and an empty glass sat on the table between them. Nate decided not to comment on it.

“Oh, well—“ Sam leaned back in his seat, blew out a ponderous cloud of smoke— “truth be told, I’ve never had a good night’s sleep in a really, really long time.”

They said nothing for a while. A cold, autumn breeze whistled. Nate shuddered.

Sam reached for the bottle of whiskey. “Care for a drink?” he offered.

“No, thanks,” Nate said blankly.

“If you say so.” Sam poured himself a drink, drained it in one gulp. He stared at his empty glass.

Another silence followed.

Sam exhaled a dry laugh. “You really ought to spit it out.”

“What?”

“I can tell you’re itching to say something. Might as well get over it.”

“I… well, it’s just…” Nate faltered. Hesitation turned his tongue into a stiff board. It was true; he really was itching to say something. In fact, there were a lot of things that he wanted to bring up, every single one of it running in his head all at once, and he could not decide on how to say it, or if he should say anything at all.

“Hey, don’t worry,” said Sam as he drew deeply again on the cigarette, exhaled, looking thoughtfully at the ribbon of smoke that curled from the burnt end. “We have all day—”

“I still don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?”

“Many things, actually. Like… what’s up with you during dinner? You were being weird—“

“Hey, I wasn’t… being weird,” Sam said defensively. He downed another glass of whiskey. “It’s just… I was having a weird night. That’s all.”

“Would you care to elaborate on that?”

“I…” Sam paused. He set the glass on the table. “Say, have you ever had a bad dream? Like a really vivid one?”

Nate somehow remembered the one he woke up from, the one where he got shot. “Yeah, of course." He narrowed his eyes at Sam. "What's this about?”

Sam nodded, let out a small laugh. “Nothing really,” he said, “it's just... imagine having those for two years every time you close your eyes to sleep.”

Nate stared at Sam blankly. Confusion creased his face, and then bloomed an unnerving realization. For the first time, everything started to make sense.

Nate had always wondered about Sam’s unusual restlessness in Italy and his fear of getting caught, his clipped responses whenever Sully asked him about Panama, his refusal to stay at Nate’s place whenever he was in town. It also made a lot of sense now how Sam had been sleepless back in Scotland. How many times did Nate catch Sam wide awake at ungodly hours back in their hotel in King’s Bay? Nate was not keeping count, but he easily dismissed those occasions as something so trivial that he did not even bother checking in on Sam.

And maybe he should have.

And maybe Nate really did not know any better.

Nate dragged a hand over his face. “Sam,” he began feebly, “You've been dealing with this and you haven't even—”

“I’m fine, Nathan—”

“Jesus, cut that crap!” Nate had a hard time keeping his voice down. He sounded annoyed, angry, guilty. Not at his brother but at himself. “Look, I know a therapist who could—“

Sam scoffed crossly. “Are you kidding me?” He snatched the ashtray sitting on his armrest and violently mashed his cigarette. Nate could tell he was pissed now. “Don’t even get started with that—“

“Why the hell not? Sam, there’s nothing wrong if you ask for help—“

“I know—“

“—and you know, you could’ve reached out to me two years ago when Rafe got you out—”

“I know that—“

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because on top of being a rotten asshole, Nathan, I’m a fucking coward!” Sam stood, seething. He looked at Nate with a pained expression that rarely ever crossed his face.

Nate got up. “Hey, look—“

“No, no, no—please,” interrupted Sam and held up a trembling hand, “now that we’ve started this conversation, might as well lay it all on the table.” There was a slight tremor in his voice that almost threatened to crack. “You wanna know why I didn’t reach out? Why I stayed and worked with Rafe these last two years? Because I’m a spiteful son of a bitch. Because I’ve heard stories about you, and I was so desperate to catch up. But who was I fooling? I couldn’t stand Rafe for another month and when I had everything I needed from him, I left. And if you must know, I came to New Orleans two years ago to find you. I needed to know that you’re alive. And boy was I glad to find out that you are alive.

“But then, when I saw the kind of life you built for yourself? I’d be lying if I said I didn’t chicken out. And that I was jealous. Madly. I mean, I had to ask myself: what could my little brother possibly want from me when he already has everything and I have absolutely nothing—”

“Oh c’mon Sam, that’s just—”

“No, just hear me out, okay? I just...” Sam heaved a heavy sigh. “I… I really did mean it when I said that I was buying my life back," he said evenly. "And the last thing I needed was for my life to be a burden to you. So when I saw how I almost ruined every good thing in your life when I dragged you in my mess? For fuck’s sake, I… you didn’t deserve any of that. And I’m really, truly sorry.”

Nate said nothing. For some reason, he could feel his heart limping in his chest, a revolting and pitiful muscle that ached with guilt. He was at a loss for words that they looked at each other for a long moment, falling into a leaden silence. Birds were chirping in the eaves. Elsewhere, the cicadas remained singing their soft hum.

It was ridiculous to think how years ago, Nate had grieved for Sam, how he had sailed through the tumultuous tides of his life carrying the gaping hole of his brother’s absence. Now here he was, listening to his not-quite-dead brother apologizing for… for what exactly? For asking him to embark on an expedition that made him tell a bunch of lies that almost ruined his marriage? For the conscious and deliberate choices he made that time when they pursued Avery’s treasure? Sure, it was a jackass move for Sam to craft a bullshit story to get Nate back to the wayward life he worked so hard to get out of. But for what it's worth, at least Nate had a good taste of what it's like to live that wayward life.

Sam sure as hell didn’t get to have any of that.

And how could Nate possibly live with himself knowing he had not been there for his brother when he needed him the most?

“You don’t need to apologize,” Nate told Sam after a long, brutal pause. “I feel like I should be the one saying sorry. I feel like somehow, I’m responsible for those thirteen years you—“

“Hey, don’t you even dare get started with that,” Sam said sternly, placed a firm and steady hand over his shoulder. “Nathan, whatever happened to me in Panama is not your fault, you hear me? It never was. I don’t blame you for that. Because that’s on me.”

Another silence. Sam stepped back. He leaned against the railing, fished his lighter from his back pocket and lit another cigarette.

“But you know,” Nate said, “you should have just told me the truth from the onset. You didn’t have to make that story up about Alcázar—“

“Oh, I doubt that you would have left your exciting desk job if I didn’t give you a good enough reason,” Sam said casually, “not when you’ve been busy turning down Jameson’s offers of going out of the country for a big haul.”

“Wait, you knew about that?”

“Like I said. My contacts are very well informed.”

Nate shook his head. “Right. I guess I can concur that part of you being a rotten asshole is true.”

“Then I’m glad we have come to an agreement.”

They both laughed. “But you’re no coward, Sam,” said Nate. “You’re many things but you’re not a coward.”

Neither one of them said anything for a moment. The sky was slowly unraveling into violent shades of pink and purple and red. When the sun came up, boasting the colours of autumn around them like a proud witness, the silence that settled between somehow became strangely comforting. There was no more need for words. It was as if they had been granted the light air of forgiveness, the weight of penance already lifted.

[wincestjel]

like the gun: chapter 1

fic master post

read it on archive!

words: 1955

next chapter -->

***

“Dean, have you ever considered a service dog?” The question hung in the air, and suddenly Dean’s cold, freezing. A service dog? He wasn’t blind, he wasn’t deaf, he wasn’t missing any limbs. What the hell would he need a dog for?

“It’s a possibility, you know, a service dog for psychiatric disabilities.” It’s as though she read his mind. Wait, did she? Could she?

Nice tits, Dean thought, and when the therapist didn’t react, he relaxed. Fine, okay. She couldn’t read his mind, his thoughts were just predictable. Dean loosened up a little, settled back into the old sofa. It didn’t last long, because soon enough he was shooting up again.

“Listen, lady. You’re, like, the fifth therapist I’ve seen this year. Nobody knows what to do with me. What makes you think you’re any different? What makes you think some-- some mutt will fix me?”

The woman, whose name Dean never bothered to remember because chances were he’d be seeing someone new in a week, smiled. Dean hated it. He wanted to get up and slap that goddamn smile right off her face. He shook his head. A dog? What the hell would a dog do to help? Again, as though reading his thoughts, the therapist spoke up. “I’ve seen it work quite a few times, Dean. There are several ways the dog can help; let you know when your heart rate rises, ground you during times of panic, lead you to a safe place when necessary… the list goes on. I really think you should consider it.” “Yeah, well, you know what? Consider this,” and in a swift movement, Dean was on his feet. He gave her the finger, turned on his heel and left. The door slammed in his wake, the sound breaking through the silence of the waiting room. The waiting room, where Bobby, family-friend-turned-guardian, sat with a magazine opened in his lap. With a sigh, his eyes found Dean and a frown tugged at his lips. “No good?” “No good. Let’s go.

                                                            The sun floods in from the window, blindingly bright, and Dean grumbles something to himself. Who the hell left the blinds open? There’s a puff of air blowing on his face every few seconds, and with a groan he turns, buries his face in the mass of fur beside him.

“Colt, wake up. We gotta get Sammy to school,” he says, though there’s no effort made to actually do so. Sam’ll yell when it’s time to go. If it weren’t for his little brother, Dean would likely just spend the morning in bed with his dog, only getting up for walks and games of fetch or tug. He doesn’t care about school; not anymore, not with everything else going on. But he has to care for his little brother who actually has plans, potential.

A few minutes go by and finally, Dean rolls out of bed with a groan. Half asleep, he wanders the room and grabs an outfit off his floor--a flannel, tee-shirt and jeans that are *probably dirty--then heads downstairs with his shepherd at his heels as per usual. Once downstairs he gets started on coffee and feeds his dog, then runs through a few brief training drills with Colt. “Good boy,” he praises, the words a yawn and goddammit, is the coffee seriously still brewing?

“Morning, Dean.” It’s Sam, somehow energetic even at this ungodly hour, somehow awake. Dean’s jealous, if he’s being honest, but he’s even more jealous of the people who don’t have to worry about being awake.

“Morning, Sammy. Sleep okay?”

“Sam. And yeah, just fine. You ready to go?”

“Not goin’ in today.”

“What? Dean, you can’t cut again.”

A sigh, and Dean shakes his head. He doesn’t want to argue, doesn’t want to fight with Sam about this like they had so often before. He looks down at his dog, who’s sitting at his side. “You’re with me, yeah, buddy?”

The dog’s response is a whine, and the look in his eyes… God, it’s almost like he’s begging Dean to go, to be functional. That’s his job anyway, isn’t it? To force Dean into functionality? 

“Fine,” a groan, spoken reluctantly. “Okay, okay. Only ‘cause you’re *both giving me those damn puppy-dog eyes, and I can’t say no to that.”

“Really?” A grin spreads across the kid’s face, and his arms are around his older brother in an instant. “I bet it was Colt. It was, wasn’t it? G’boy, Colt.” He ruffles the fur on the dog’s head.

Finally, the damn coffee’s finished and Dean stands, pours two cups and grabs a few cereal bars from the cabinet. “Here, eat.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Sam says with an eye roll, but pauses. Dean stiffens, and suddenly there’s a change in the air of the room. It’s tense, like Dean’s muscles and jaw. “De, I--”

“Don’t. Just-- don’t. Eat.”

The conversation is dropped there, after a little nod from Sam, who grabs the cereal bar and one of the cups like Dean had instructed. He brushes a hand through his hair and takes a small sip, eyes running over Dean’s outfit.

“Didn’t you wear that yesterday?” he asks.

“Probably,” a shrug from Dean. “C’mon, Colt.” And as he walks towards the door, coffee in hand, the dog follows right behind. Dean lets him outside, the dog running around the graveyard of old, busted up cars that is their uncle Bobby’s yard. They stay outside for a little while, until Sam’s at the door shouting for Dean to return. Goddammit, the kid always has to be on time for school, doesn’t he? A whistle, and Colt comes running back, practically skidding to a stop as he sits down in front of Dean. 

Dean grins, “atta boy. C’mon.” And together they walk back inside.

A few minutes later, the dog’s vested and both Sam and Dean are ready to go. Dean calls out to Bobby, letting him know they’re leaving, then nods towards the car. And as he slides in, he sighs, resting his hands on the steering wheel.

“Mornin’, baby,” he mumbles, thumb running back and forth, tracing the curves of the wheel.

Sam rolls his eyes and shoves his brother. “If you two want a room, De, I can go.”

“Shut up.”

The rest of the drive is easy, familiar banter between the two. It’s like this every morning, the boys teasing each other and talking. It’s nice, it’s something Dean needs in his life. He and his brother are damn close, and he’d pick watching a movie with Sam over watching one with a friend. But he’ll never tell anybody that, especially not Sam.

Pulling up in front of the school is, as always, absolutely dreadful. He doesn’t want to get out of the car, because as soon as he does he’s stuck. There’s no getting out once he’s in. Or at least, that’s how it feels sometimes.

“You can do it, Dean,” Sam says. His is voice soft, encouraging.

And that’s all Dean needs to get through the day; the encouragement from his baby brother, who looks up to him like nobody else.

“Hey, Winchester!” Dean looks up. It’s a friend, thank God, not some jackass trying to start a fight or piss him off. Benny claps him on the shoulder, and Dean gives him a little smile. He waves Sam off and takes a detour with his friend, meeting up with Charlie somewhere along the way. The three sit and talk and Dean’s happy, even in a good enough mood to let Charlie give Colt a few pats on the head.

Across the way he can see a group of girls staring, talking and it’s nothing Dean isn’t used to. It’s *welcome, in fact. He smiles, lifts a hand and wiggles his fingers in a wave. The girls giggle and blush and whisper amongst themselves, and with his friends’ blessings, Dean walks over.

His arm slides around Lisa Braeden, and he grins down at her. They’ve hooked up a few times, and yeah, maybe Dean has a thing for Lisa and Lisa a thing for Dean, but Dean doesn’t do relationships.

No, Dean does his best to keep people out. He doesn’t want a repeat of what happened when he was a kid.

There’s a point where the conversation lulls and then Dean leans in, and their lips press together, his hands finding her waist. He can’t help it, she’s damn irresistible. And then somehow, they end up in Dean’s car--him and Lisa in the back, Colt laying down in the front. School’s started so the yard is empty, as is the parking lot and-- God, there are lips on Dean’s neck and he can’t think about a damn thing other than that.

But then Colt interrupts. Dean’s heart is racing, and the damn dog can’t always tell the difference between adrenaline and anxiety. He can’t get to Dean because the seat’s in the way so he whines, chin resting on the back of the seat. Lisa pauses, Dean groans. 

“I’m okay, Colt,” he says, then combs a bit of hair back from Lisa’s eyes. “Why’d you stop?”

“I don’t like when the dog watches. It’s weird, Dean.”

“He ain’t watching.”

“Look at him! He’s staring right at us.”

Dean sighs, gently nudging Lisa off so he can deal with his dog. He leans over and runs his fingers along Colt’s head. “I’m fine, buddy. Lay down.” And Colt obeys. “Better?”

“I have to get to class, Dean,” Lisa says, leaning in for another kiss. “I’ll see you at that party this weekend though, right?”

“Always. You know me.”

“Good. I’ll see you there.” And she’s gone.

The rest of the day is uneventful; a blur of talking and writing and papers and of course there’s some goddamn freshman who just has to ask him what the dog’s for. But then the second-to-last period comes around, and just as he’s getting ready to leave, he’s stopped.

“Dean, I’d like to speak with you after the bell,” his teacher says, soft enough that Dean’s the only one who can hear. There’s a hand on his shoulder, one that Dean shrugs off.

“But I’m supposed to leave early. I can’t wait until the bell.”

“You can wait until after, I’ll write you a late pass.”

Dean sighs and takes his things back out. Five minutes shouldn’t be such a big deal, but when it comes to the end of the day it just is. He doesn’t go back to work, though. Hell, he never works in this class. He spends the time doodling in the margins of his notebook. It’s more a journal than anything, filled with brief passages about the night where everything went to absolute crap. But Dean won’t call it a journal, he refuses.

When finally the bell rings, the students in the room filter out. But Dean stays where he’s sitting, waits for the teacher to come to him. He’s nervous, and as much as he wants to hide it, a little bump from Colt’s nose tells otherwise.

“What’s up? Can we make this fast? I got places to be,” Dean says, arms crossing over his chest.

“Dean, you’re failing. Horribly.”

“Am I? Great. Can I go?”

“No, Dean. You need this class to graduate, and--” “I’m not graduating.”

“Dean.”

“Yes?”

The teacher sighs. “Dean, do you know Castiel Novak? I’ve spoken with him, and he agreed to tutor you. Here’s his phone number.”

Dean groans, but he takes the number from the teacher and plugs it into his phone. He doesn’t really plan on calling, not without being forced to. Whether that’s going to be by his teacher, or someone else, Dean isn’t sure.

[lyndsaybones]

To me you are the queen of S8 fic and there's that gifset of 3 Words floating so I have a prompt. I wish you would write...Mulder coming across evidence of Scully's suffering during his disappearance (maybe the tape of his room when she breaks down after seeing him in Deadalive/her medical files) after the 'I don't know where I fit in' conversation in his apartment in 3 Words. Thank you

Well, gosh, what a nice thing to say, and a great prompt to boot! Thanks! Here ya go!

Post 3 Words, tw: suicidal ideation

His muscles feel weak, shaky, like coming out of deep sleep. He cannot grip tightly enough, she keeps slipping away. Everything feels atrophied.

Time was he’d call her when he couldn’t sleep, but it doesn’t seem like the thing to do anymore. He goes for a run instead, heaving air in great gulps. His feet thwack against the pavement, his calves burn from disuse. It’s dark and save for the occasional passing car, he seems to be the only one out.

When he gets back to his building, there is a figure there to greet him. Skinner’s glasses catch the glint of the streetlight, his trench coat flaps a little in the breeze. He looks like he’s just come from the office, briefcase in hand.

“Here for my quarterly performance review?” Mulder says as he hikes up the stairs. “I know I’m a little behind.”

“I need you to see something,” Skinner says, jaw tight.

“I can explain what happened at the facility,” he begins.

“It’s not about work,” Skinner cuts him off. He tilts his head at the door, a subtle, let-me-in-jackass, in his eyes.

They ride up in silence, Skinner trailing behind him as they head down the fourth floor hallway.

“Not work…personal then?” Mulder asks, wheels turning.

Skinner nods. “It’s about her.”

His sweat soaked shirt clings to him and he feels a chill, so sudden and overwhelming that it sends a shudder chasing down his spine and out to his limbs like a bolt of lightning.

He is felled sideways into every worst case scenario: the baby is an alien or a cruel experiment, or Scully’s an unwilling test subject, or leveraged into compliance by the one thing she wanted so desperately, or by the chip that controls her health, or, or, or…

“The baby?” is all he can muster in reply.

“No, no. I don’t think so, not entirely anyway,” Skinner says, following him into his apartment.

“What is it?”

“I put her under surveillance,” he says, looking somewhat ashamed.

“You put Scully under surveillance? When? Why?” he says, disbelief evident.

“After…after we found you, she wasn’t well, Mulder. She hasn’t been well. I felt like I owed it to you to make sure that she was going to be alright. Keeping eyes on her was the only way I could do that.”

“I don’t understand,” he says sitting down on the couch. Skinner sets down his briefcase on the coffee table and sits beside him. He pulls off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“The day of the funeral, she gave everyone a different story. She told Doggett and I that she was going to go stay with her mother, told her mother that she was going to Martha’s Vineyard to settle your affairs, told the Gunmen that she was going home and to just let her be.”

“And? Where did she go?”

“Here. Right here. I got a call and found her curled up in your bathroom with an assortment of tranquilizers and pain killers spread out on the floor.”

It feels like a bucket of ice water. She would never, never.

“H-h-had she? I mean- she didn’t…”

“No, but she would have, I truly believe that.”

He opens his briefcase and produces a couple of casefiles, a pile of medical records and a stack of photos, all at long range, all of her.

“She’s been through hell, Mulder,” he says, flipping open the case files. Color photos of Scully beaten and bloody, cut and bruised. He points, the blunt tip of his index finger tapping against a photo of her wounded face as she lies in a hospital bed. “This whole time she’s been through hell.”

“How did this happen? Where was this partner of hers? Where were you?” he asks, indignant.

“We’ve been as close as she’ll let us get,” he says, jaw tight. “We’re not the ones she needs.”

He reaches out and tentatively begins sifting through everything in front of him. She’s on antidepressants, anti anxiety meds, weekly visits with her OB, twice-weekly with a therapist. Pictures of her and Mrs. Scully at the dinner table, walking around the block, crying alone at his grave.

“It took a lot, Mulder, to get her to this point. She took an extended leave of absence, stayed with her mom a while. Mrs. Scully informed me that she was losing weight, suffering almost daily anxiety attacks, she asked me not to let her come back to work at all. ”

He stares at the glossy photos, at her tear-streaked face, her hands over her swollen belly.

“I’m sure Scully was amenable to that proposal,” Mulder scoffed.

“She came back about six weeks ago and she seemed…better, more like herself.”

“And then I came waltzing back into the picture.”

Skinner is quiet a moment, looking as though he is choosing his words very carefully.

“She doesn’t tell us a lot, Doggett and me. But it doesn’t take much to see that she’s struggling,” he says, slowly, cautiously. “I don’t know what was said between you two in the last couple days, but I’m worried about her.”

He thinks about their exchange here, it feels like a long time ago, with everything that’s happened. She looked like she could crumble right in front of him. But she didn’t. She told him to get some rest and call if he needed anything, reassured him that she was there if he needed her and left her armor and composure fully intact. The surveillance picture in front of him clearly shows that she waited until she got in her car to fall apart. It makes his chest hurt and his eyes water.  

“What if my being around does more harm than good?” Mulder asks, looking again at the pictures.

“Then be around until it doesn’t,” he says, gathering everything back up, sliding the files and pictures back into his briefcase. “She needs you.” He stands and claps a palm over Mulder’s upper arm, “and you need her.”

Part 2

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

and the autumn is bright

So this is officially the longest Kiribaku fic I’ve written to date! For the sentence starter: “You’re a what?!” Also on ao3!

Bakugo was going to fucking murder Kirishima.

He was going to explode the fuck out of his stupid fucking shitty face until he was just a pile of fucking ash. And it was going to be fucking fantastic.

No more shitty red hair, no more annoying requests to hang out and play video games or watch movies, no more being stuck eating lunch with a bunch of talkative fucking idiots. And there would be no more ridiculous, borderline inappropriate hero costume; no more constant exclamations about what was or wasn't 'manly'.

No more late-night study sessions that always resulted in Bakugo wanting to pull his own fucking hair out because as eager as Kirishima was to learn, he couldn't wrap his head around the simplest fucking math problem. Bakugo was still trying to drill the fucking quadratic formula into Kirishima's thick skull.

And maybe, just maybe, if Bakugo blasted Kirishima into fucking space there would finally be no more stupid, confusing feelings to keep him up at night. No more distracting thoughts about kissing Kirishima's stupid face and holding his stupid hand.

But before that, he had to actually kill Kirishima. Because, first, the asshole had managed to convince Bakugo to go to some stupid ass Halloween party at Ponytail's fucking mansion even though he knew damn well that Bakugo hated any kind of party that involved him being around other people.

The party was all anyone from Class-A could talk about for weeks since Ponytail had announced it a week and a half prior. She had invited everyone, even the creepy little grape-headed perv, promising a wonderful night of fun.

Bakugo had immediately written the party off as stupid and not worth going to, planning to instead spend the night in his dorm room reading. But, of course, Kirishima had other plans.

For days, Kirishima had done everything he could to convince Bakugo to go to the fucking party. From begging and pleading to bribing and cajoling, Kirishima had tried everything.

Eventually, Bakugo had grown sick and tired of Kirishima's exaggerated pouting and fluttering lashes and finally relented. He had begrudgingly agreed to go to the party, just to get Kirishima off his case.

Not at all because he genuinely didn't like seeing Kirishima so disappointed when there was something he could do about it. And it certainly wasn't because of the way Kirishima had smiled at him like he was the best thing in the world when he had agreed to go.

But now, the fucking asshole decided to flake and text Bakugo that he wasn't going to the party. And Bakugo was so not going to put up with that shit.

Not after he dragged himself to some shitty Halloween store to get a stupid fucking costume just to appease Kirishima who had insisted that he couldn't show up to a Halloween without a costume. Nope.

So, after receiving Kirishima's half-assed text, a clearly rushed sentence of 'sick, not going 2 party, sry,' Bakugo had immediately stomped out of his room to stalk over to Kirishima's.

To his surprise, Kirishima's door was locked. Because Kirishima never locked his door.

Since moving into the dorms, he had been very vocal about his open door policy, inviting anyone and everyone to feel free to come to his room if they needed anything.

Most people took advantage of it to just pop in and talk to Kirishima about their problems like he was their fucking therapist. Dunce Face would drop by to play video games and sigh about his crush on Headphones or Four Eyes would visit to discuss ideas for teamwork exercises or some other bullshit, deferring to Kirishima and his uncanny ability to bring the entire class together.

Even that Icy Hot bastard had awkwardly knocked on Kirishima's door to talk about his fucking daddy issues or whatever.

Others in the class used it as an opportunity to get some training tips. Namely, Round Face who would drop by to get some extra help with her hand-to-hand combat skills or fucking Deku who would stop in to ask Kirishima for weight training tips.

Bakugo usually just used it to stride into Kirishima's room whenever he felt like it, usually to invite him to go spar with him. But rather than fixate on the fact that he couldn't just barge in like he was now accustomed to doing, Bakugo balled his hand up into a fist and pounded it against Kirishima's door.

He waited for a response. When there was none, not even an acknowledgment of the fact that he was knocking, Bakugo impatiently snapped, "I know you're in there, hair for brains! Fucking answer me!"

From the other side of the door, Bakugo could hear a deep sigh. Kirishima's voice was clearly hesitant even as he loudly called, "Go away, I'm sick!"

"I don't care if you're dying, you're not fucking bailing on me, asshole!" Bakugo yelled back, banging on the door again with one hand while setting off a series of small, frustrated explosions in the other. Pausing his insistent knocking, he pointed out, "You're the one who convinced me to go to this stupid thing!"

"Well, I'm not going!" Kirishima said, voice slightly muffled. Whether it was because of the distance and the thick wooden door between them or due to some mysterious illness he had magically contracted in the two hours since Bakugo had last seen him, he wasn't sure.

Bakugo resumed banging on the door, beyond infuriated and seriously contemplating just kicking the fucking door down. He only stopped when he heard Kirishima speak. "You should be happy! Now you don't have to go!"

Seriously? What the fuck was that about?

"Don't be a fucking coward, Kirishima!" Bakugo groaned, though he wasn't exactly sure why. It wasn't like he actually wanted to go to the fucking party and Kirishima had just given him the perfect out.

But he wasn't a fan of Kirishima flaking on him. And he definitely wasn't a fan of Kirishima being a little bitch about it. He was about to bang on the door again when Kirishima beat him to the punch.

"I said go away!" Kirishima yelled loudly, the severity of his tone immediately disorienting Bakugo. He had never heard Kirishima raise his voice in anger. Never.

Out of excitement? Sure. Frustration? Plenty of times. But anger? Not once.

Something was seriously wrong. And Bakugo was going to figure out what.

"Fine, you fucking jackass!" Bakugo screamed at the door, kicking it for good measure before turning around to stalk back into his room. He slammed his door behind him, counting on Kirishima hearing the loud bang that shook the walls.

Kicking off his shoes in the hopes that it would muffle his footsteps, Bakugo made his way to his rarely used balcony. He shoved his blackout curtains aside to wrench open the sliding glass door that was blessedly quiet.

He shivered at the cold air as he walked out onto the balcony, grumbling to himself under his breath. This far into October, it definitely felt like fall after the long, hot summer they had been forced to endure.

The ornamental trees that dotted the UA landscape were all bare, naked branches dancing in the frigid breeze. They certainly screamed Halloween.

Above the trees, hanging in the sky like nebulous curtains, skeins of gray clouds sluggishly drifted by. Behind them, illuminating the dark night sky, the moon was full and unimaginably bright, like something out of a movie.

It was a perfect night for a Halloween party. Even Bakugo could admit that.

Turning away from the sky, Bakugo peered over at Kirishima's balcony and mentally calculated the distance between it and his own. They were only about an arm's length apart, if not a little less.

All it took was a relatively small, rather quiet explosion and Bakugo was touching down on Kirishima's balcony. He waited a moment to see if Kirishima had heard him, waiting for him to peek out onto the balcony.

After a minute, Bakugo tiptoed over to the sliding glass door to see if it was locked. It wasn't.

Bakugo let himself in like he owned the place, moving Kirishima's ridiculous fiery red curtains out of his way. As he did, he heard Kirishima repeatedly curse under his breath as there was a loud ruckus, a series of heavy thuds followed by an odd scratching sound.

"Get out!" Kirishima yelled, sounding inexplicably panicked from wherever the hell he was. It was dark in Kirishima's room, all of the lights turned off, leaving him sitting in the dark like that weird bird-headed guy from class.

Bakugo squinted into the darkness, tugging the curtains open a bit more. Just enough to let some moonlight filter into the room, enough to cast shadows around the room so he didn't end up tripping over one of Kirishima's dumbbells that he never fucking put away after using.

It didn't help much, not bright enough to let him see much. Bakugo was about to set off a couple small-scale explosions just so he could see where the hell he was going when he saw a hunched over figure on the bed, clearly Kirishima, outlined in silver.

From the little bit that Bakugo could see, he could discern that Kirishima was sitting in the center of his bed. He was bent over in a position that looked vaguely uncomfortable, face buried in his hands as he continued muttering to himself, too quiet for Bakugo to hear what he was saying.

"The fuck is up with you?" Bakugo sneered, nudging the tip of his socked foot against the side of Kirishima's bare one. Kirishima yanked his leg back so fast it shook his whole bed when his heel hit the bed frame.

Bakugo frowned. "You actually sick or something?"

Kirishima nodded. At least, Bakugo thought he did. It was hard to tell in the low light.

"C'mon, don't be a fucking baby," Bakugo instructed, rolling his eyes. Leave it to Kirishima to play through the pain of broken bones to take down villains but act like a total overdramatic wuss when he was sick.

"Go away," Kirishima groaned, voice stifled by his hands. And people called Bakugo dramatic.

Bakugo knocked his foot against Kirishima's bed frame, shaking his head when Kirishima jolted a bit. Bakugo snorted, "Man the fuck up. It's not a big deal."

That seemed to set something off in Kirishima. He immediately snapped his head up, demanding, "Get out!"

But all Bakugo could do was stare at Kirishima's eyes. His eyes that were fucking glowing.

Bakugo had never seen them do that before.

"Your eyes..." Bakugo managed to say, taking an instinctive step backwards. He stared dumbstruck at the bright red eyes that were glowing like smoldering coals in the dark. He raised a shaky hand, pointing at Kirishima as he whispered, "What the fuck's wrong with your eyes?"

Kirishima stood, going from hunched over to his full height as he stalked over to stand in front of Bakugo. He seemed to tower over Bakugo despite the fact that they were the same height, more so than usual.

He took a small step closer to Bakugo, the blond taking another step back. Eyes glowing angrily, he repeated himself, growling, "I said get out!"

A bestial snarl accompanied his words, sounding like it had been wrenched from deep down inside him. It echoed in the small room, seeming to shake the walls themselves.

Out of reflex, Bakugo set off an explosion in his hand. The blast cast just enough light for him to see Kirishima's face.

What he saw shocked him more than he could have ever expected.

Kirishima's face, usually so open and warm and happy, was twisted up into a vicious snarl. His too-sharp, too-white teeth were bared, somehow looking larger than normal.

His eyes — his weirdly glowing eyes — were narrowed in an uncharacteristic glare, brows drawn down angrily. His hair was an even worse mess than usual.

There was something off about him besides the weirdly glowing eyes. Something that felt disconcertingly primal, almost animalistic.

"Get out, Bakugo!" Kirishima yelled again as Bakugo's explosion fizzled out before he could look closer. The scent of burnt sugar filled the room as Kirishima stalked closer.

Desperation bled into Kirishima's voice as he insisted, "It's not safe! Just leave! Please!"

"What the fuck is going on?!" Bakugo demanded, feeling like he was going fucking crazy. He had to be seeing things, right?

"I'll explain later!" Kirishima barked. "Just go!"

"No, you'll explain right the fuck now!" Bakugo argued, taking a step towards Kirishima who skittered backwards like a startled animal. He seemed to trip over his own feet, falling with a shocked yelp before clambering up onto his bed.

With his eyes gradually adjusting to the dark, Bakugo could just barely make out the outline of Kirishima curling up again, burying his hands in his hair as he whined. Whined. Like a fucking dog.

Determined to get to the bottom of this fucking clusterfuck, Bakugo followed Kirishima's lead. He walked further into the room, taking a seat at the foot of the bed.

Pointing a finger at Kirishima, who curled in on himself even more, he ordered, "Spit it out, shitty hair. Just tell me what the fuck is going on!"

"I can't!" Kirishima insisted, shaking his head, tightening his grip on his hair. Trembling so much it rattled the bed, he softly moaned, "It's not safe!"

"For fuck's sake, Kirishima!" Bakugo snapped, wanting to pull out his own fucking hair. Why the hell was he being so god damn fucking difficult about this?

"When the hell have I cared about what's safe?!" Bakugo pointed out, slamming his hand down on the bed, regretting it when Kirishima jumped. "I can take whatever you can dish out. You know that."

Kirishima kept whining, clearly stalling. Bakugo folded his arms over his chest, prepared to wait as long as it took.

Eventually, Kirishima dropped his hands with a deep sigh. He mumbled something that sounded like a reluctant 'fine' under his breath.

"Probably easier to just show you..." Kirishima relented, reaching behind himself to flick on the lamp on the shelf above his bed. Bakugo drew in a sharp breath as light filled the room.

Kirishima, though still immediately recognizable, looked vastly different. Aside from his eyes that were still fucking glowing, he had grown a plethora of other physical abnormalities.

He had apparently sprouted long, sharp claws on his hands. They were wickedly curved, looking capable of tearing a person limb from limb.

His teeth, already naturally sharp, seemed to have indeed grown even larger, giving him a rather noticeable overbite. The sharp tips of his canine teeth poked out from beneath his upper lip, clearly visible.

Sticking out from his wild shock of hair was a pair of furry red ears that Bakugo couldn't believe he had missed earlier. They were flattened against his skull, like Kirishima was doing everything he could to hide them from sight.

"What the actual fuck?" Bakugo asked no one in particular, staring dumbly at the patches of red hair extending down Kirishima's sideburns like a pair of ridiculous crimson mutton chops. He was about to comment on them when something else caught his eye.

Eyes wide, he peered around Kirishima's back to see that he had apparently also grown a fucking tail, too. The same bright shade of red as Kirishima's hair, it was tucked behind him, clearly in a futile attempt to keep it hidden.

Noticing that Bakugo was staring at his tail, Kirishima cleared his throat, moving his tail behind his back. Bakugo blinked a few times, stunned that Kirishima could move his tail.

"I'm a..." Kirishima started, trailing off as he muttered something unintelligible. He kept his head down as he rubbed at the back of his neck. His left ear twitched a bit as he spoke.

"You're a what?" Bakugo pressed, frowning deeply as he tried to decipher what the fuck Kirishima was saying.

"I'm a werewolf!" Kirishima yelled, throwing his hands up in exasperation. Like Bakugo was the one being thick-headed. "Y'know, with the full moon and the silver bullets and shit."

"What?!" Bakugo nearly screamed, drowning in skepticism. There was no way Kirishima was being serious.

Shoulders nearly up to his pointed ears as he curled in on himself again, Kirishima avoided looking anywhere near Bakugo, keeping his eyes down. With a sigh, he reluctantly explained, "It's a Quirk. Well, it's the effect of one."

He glanced over at Bakugo before looking back down at his lap, pulling his legs up to hug his knees to his chest. Resting his chin on his knee, he continued, "I was like five and I was playing with some kid at the park and he bit me."

"He bit you?" Bakugo blurted, inadvertently interrupting Kirishima's story. Kirishima just nodded with a small shrug like five year olds biting each other was a common thing.

Maybe it was. Bakugo didn't know. Even when he was five, he hadn't kept many friends. Fucking Deku didn't count.

"He bit me," Kirishima confirmed, resuming his story. "Turns out his Quirk is Werewolf. Pretty much exactly what it sounds like. Including the whole passing it on with a bite thing. So... He sorta passed it on to me."

"The fuck?" Bakugo snorted. Did this mean Kirishima was like that piece of shit Deku? Fuck, how many Quirks could be passed on to others at will? "You have two fucking Quirks? Why the hell don't you use it?"

Kirishima shook his head, ears flopping around comically. Bakugo was immediately reminded of a dog shaking itself dry. He wisely kept his mouth shut about it.

"I can't control it or anything," Kirishima said, meeting Bakugo's eyes for a moment before lowering them again. He turned his head to look out the sliding glass door, staring at the luminous sliver of moon visible through the clouds.

The way the moonlight hit Kirishima's eyes seemed to intensify their glow. Kirishima's eyes remained fixated on the moon as he spoke, like he was captivated by the sight.

"It just sorta happens every full moon," he explained, voice soft as he continued staring out the door. Bakugo hummed in acknowledgment.

The mask of Kirishima's hero made a lot of sense all of a sudden. It had always struck Bakugo as rather canine, like a dog muzzle or an oni mask.

"I'm really sorry," Kirishima murmured, tearing his eyes away from the moon. Looking at Bakugo, he clarified, "About the party. I didn't realize tonight was the full moon. I'm usually a lot better at planning."

"Does anyone else know?" Bakugo asked.

Kirishima nodded again. "Yeah. All the teachers know. Principal Nezu and Recovery Girl, too. Technically it's a medical condition."

Bakugo supposed that made sense. Sprouting ears and a tail every month definitely qualified as a chronic condition. But he still didn't get why Kirishima had never told him before. They were supposed to be friends, damn it.

"So that's the big fucking deal? Why don't you just tell everyone?" He asked, shrugging casually. Kirishima let out another low whine, an involuntary response judging from the look of pure embarrassment on his face.

"I can't!" Kirishima said, shoving his hands into his hair again as he hopped to his feet beside the bed. Pacing in the middle of the room, he insisted, "It's not safe!"

He waved one of his clawed hands around, gesturing around the room. It drew Bakugo's attention to the disheveled state of Kirishima's room.

There was trash scattered across the floor, mingling with Kirishima's dumbbells and broken bits of what appeared to be the remnants of Kirishima's desk chair. Food wrappers and empty sports drink bottles littered the ground, both full of claw marks like Kirishima had been too impatient to open them properly.

The mini fridge Kirishima kept tucked under his desk was open, the interior a mess. The shelves were off their hinges and void of all their contents save for a single protein bar that had apparently survived Kirishima's ravenous hunger.

One of the legs of the desk was covered in claw marks. There looked to be a smear of blood on it as well.

Kirishima continued to pace back and forth as Bakugo's eyes followed him to and fro. Biting his lip, he went on, "I'm so hungry. No matter how much I eat, I always want more."

That certainly explained the sorry state of the poor mini fridge, a victim of moonlight cravings. But why that would be considered dangerous escaped Bakugo. Until Kirishima spoke again.

"And when I'm like this I get all aggressive," he said, tightening his grip on his hair, looking about ready to tear out chunks. He bared his teeth as he growled, "I don't want to hurt anyone."

Of fucking course, Kirishima felt that way, the selfless idiot. Putting other's needs before his own, even when he was dealing with the weird side effects of some crazy fucking Quirk. The big damn hero.

"You should go," Kirishima said, pulling Bakugo out of his thoughts. He had stopped his pacing, standing in the middle of his room, looking down at his bare feet. They, too, were tipped with sharp claws.

Another whimper echoed through the room. "I don't wanna hurt you."

His words sent a bolt of warmth through Bakugo, settling in his belly as a swarm of butterflies took flight in his stomach. Bakugo could feel his cheeks fill with heat, clearing his throat as he willed his blush away.

"Fuck that," Bakugo scoffed, leaning back against the wall. He grabbed one of Kirishima's pillows and propped it behind his back, not trying to fuck up his spine.

"I'm not leaving you alone like this, dumbass," he announced. "You'll probably end up doing something stupid like go chasing cars or howl at the moon."

Kirishima raised his head sharply, pouting at Bakugo. He dropped his arms to cross them over his chest. "I would not! I've been dealing with this for years, dude! I can handle it, I'm not stupid. I'm just so... Ugh!"

Kirishima threw his hands up again, letting out a frustrated groan. Hanging his head, he pouted again, the expression even more comical with his too-long teeth.

"The fuck are you talking about?" Bakugo frowned, narrowing his eyes at Kirishima. What the fuck did that mean?

Bakugo knew he wasn't the most emotionally intelligent person ever but he was pretty sure 'ugh' wasn't an emotion.

"There's just so much going on," Kirishima whinged, gesturing at his head with sharp, jerky motions. He looked about ready to start pacing again as he complained, "Everything's so loud and I can smell everything and it's all just too much and my head's all weird. Like there's this constant...buzzing."

So the effects of the Quirk also affected Kirishima's senses, enhancing them to the point that Kirishima was susceptible to sensory overload. Well, that definitely explained a lot.

"C'mere," Bakugo sighed, patting a spot on the bed beside his hip. Kirishima frowned at him, tipping his head to the side in a purely canine manner.

Bakugo rolled his eyes. He patted the bed again. "Just do it."

Kirishima obediently followed his instruction, cautiously climbing onto the bed to sit beside him. His ears were back, tail practically tucked between his legs.

He kept his head down, tucked up into a ball as he tried to make himself as small as possible, like he was afraid of taking up too much space in his current state. Glancing at Bakugo out of the corner of his eye, he folded his legs up beneath himself, keeping some distance between them.

Slowly reaching around Kirishima, not wanting to startle him, Bakugo grabbed Kirishima's other pillow. Kirishima watched him closely, ears swiveling around to follow the sound.

He set the pillow in his lap, making a show of fluffing it and arranging it to be as comfortable as possible. Patting the center of the pillow, Bakugo nodded towards it, repeating, "C'mon."

Kirishima looked between Bakugo and the pillow, seemingly weighing his options. He bit his bottom lip, apparently retaining his bad habit despite his even sharper teeth.

"I ain't leaving," Bakugo stated, matter-of-factly, ready to be as stubborn as necessary. "You either let me fucking help you or not. And I've got nothing else to do tonight. You know I don't wanna go to that stupid fucking party, anyway."

"But, dude..." Kirishima started, peering up at Bakugo with his big, guileless, glowing eyes. "What—" he cut himself off to swallow heavily "—What if I hurt you?"

"Then I'll kick your fucking ass," Bakugo said simply, shrugging a shoulder. Kirishima looked baffled, like he had never thought about the possibility of someone holding their own if he got a little bitey or whatever.

After a moment of deliberation, Kirishima crawled over to Bakugo, lying down beside him and setting his head on the pillow in his lap. His ears perked up a bit, tail swishing behind like he was an overgrown puppy and not a werewolf.

He pulled his legs up to his chest, rolling over onto his side, facing Bakugo. He curled his tail over his hip, the tip twitching a tiny bit.

Scoffing at Kirishima's eagerness to please, unchanged by the moon's influence or perhaps even magnified, Bakugo reached down to tangle his fingers in Kirishima's hair. Kirishima let out a breathy sigh, leaning into the familiar touch.

They had done this before. Several times. When Kirishima was having a particularly bad day or feeling shitty about his Quirk again. When he was doubting himself.

Bakugo would just run his fingers through Kirishima's hair and let his friend talk about his problems and his insecurities and his fears about the future and what it might hold. And Kirishima would rest his head in Bakugo's lap and look up at him with a soft smile after getting everything off his chest, thanking him for everything.

And Bakugo would sneer and roll his eyes and say 'whatever' while fighting the urge to just lean down and kiss that stupidly cute smile.

Now, Bakugo absentmindedly played with Kirishima's hair, feeling the tension seep out of his body. Kirishima's tail was wagging steadily like a metronome, smacking against the mattress every so often with a muted thud.

"You're overstimulated," Bakugo explained, running his blunt fingernails over Kirishima's scalp before taking a detour to scratch behind one of his furry ears, purely out of curiosity. Kirishima let out a soft huff, almost a purr.

"Your senses are heightened, aren't they?" He wondered aloud, though he was fairly sure he already knew the answer. Kirishima nodded, letting out a quiet mumble that might have been a 'yeah'.

"It's called sensory overload," he went on, scratching behind Kirishima's ear with more purpose. Kirishima's leg jolted a bit, like he was two seconds away from shaking his leg like a common mutt. "Happens when your senses get all jammed up with too much stimulation. Like all the smells and sounds that come with living in dorms."

Kirishima hummed his agreement, eyes falling closed as he leaned heavier against the pillow under his head. Bakugo smiled to himself. Dangerous, his ass.

Kirishima was just a touch-starved puppy, overwhelmed by a monthly overabundance of heightened senses and in need of a good ear scratching, wagging his tail at the smallest touch. For a second, Bakugo thought about whether or not Kirishima had ever been touched while like this.

Had his parents been too worried about getting bitten or scratched to sit up with him at night and comfort him? Had Kirishima growled at them and begged them not to go near him, the same way he had with Bakugo?

There were so many questions swirling around in Bakugo's head, about the past and the future and the present. But he knew now wasn't the time.

"Just focus on me, okay?" He instructed instead of asking any of his multiple questions. Carding his fingers through Kirishima's surprisingly soft hair, he instructed, "Forget about everything else. Just relax and focus, yeah?"

Kirishima nodded, burying his face in Bakugo's t-shirt, nuzzling against his stomach. Bakugo hummed in encouragement, smiling softly down at Kirishima as the redhead nestled closer, tail still wagging as he started to drift often.

Through the sliding glass door, moonlight streamed into the room, turning Bakugo's hair silver and deepening the red of Kirishima's hair. There was a promise in the moonlight, of a bright tomorrow and peaceful night, of a curse that maybe wasn't much of a curse after all.

How could it be when it brought two people together? Two people who were destined to be together, illuminated by the moonlight.

[jarmes]

First Day

The job’s pretty easy. Wear the headset, answer the phone, follow the script.

My supervisor pulls out a cigarette and places it in her mouth. “Job’s pretty easy,” she says as she lights the cigarette. “Wear the headset, answer the phone, follow the script.”

She gestures to a large book sitting on my desk and exhales a large mouthful of smoke. I cough as it burns my lungs. “I’m going on my smoke break,” she mumbles.

With that, she exits the room, leaving me all alone. A moment later, the phone rings. I freeze and yell for my supervisor. She doesn’t respond. I gulp and answer the phone. “911, what is your emergency?” I say, sweat dripping down my brow.

A voice emerges from the other end of the phone line. A quiet, raspy voice, belonging to a young woman. “I need someone to talk to,” she mumbles into her end of the phone.

“I’m sorry, this line is reserved for emergencies,” I say. “If you don’t have an emergency-”

“I think I’m going to kill someone,” she says.

My blood turns cold. I frantically search through my manual, trying to find the protocol for this situation. “Could you repeat that?” I ask.

“I’m sorry, this was a mistake,” she says before hanging up.

The line goes dead. I sit there for a moment, trying to process what just happened. Then I spring into action, searching through my manual in a futile attempt to find out how to call the woman back. I shout for my supervisor. She doesn’t respond. Then I notice it: a phone number printed on my computer screen.

I rip my smart-phone from my pocket and open up the video call app, inputting the number on the screen. I hold my breath as the phone rings over and over again. The call goes to voicemail and I immediately call again. This time, she actually picks up. On the other end of my phone I see a girl with dark hair. Half of her face is covered by bandages and her right arm is held in a sling. Her eyes are glossy and the mascara beneath them has run down her face, disturbed by tears. “What do you want?” she asks.

“You said you were thinking about killing someone,” I say.

“That was just a joke,” she says, forcing herself to smile.

“A joke?” I say.

“I have a weird sense of humor,” she says, her voice free from any emotion.

I peer through the phone, trying to figure out more about this girl. She’s sitting on a rooftop, one high enough that I can’t identify any other buildings. The roof is shabby and covered with garbage. On the ledge of the roof, I spot a silver revolver.

“Look, I’m sorry to waste your time,” she says.

“You have a gun,” I say.

She reaches to hang up the phone and I panic. “Wait!” I shout. “You said you wanted to talk. Talk to me.”

She doesn’t hang up. “What’s your name?” I ask.

“Sabrina Bloom.”

“What happened to your arm, Sabrina?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got plenty of time to listen.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay. Who are you planning to kill?”

She doesn’t respond and starts biting her nails. “Sabrina, I think you called because you wanted someone to talk you out of doing this,” I say. “Am I right?”

“There’s this girl,” she says.

“Okay.”

“She goes to my school. I hate her.”

“I’m sure you do, but do you really want to kill her?”

“Yes.”

“Come on Sabrina, there has to be a better solution. No matter what this girl has done to you, she doesn’t deserve to die.”

“She broke my arm.”

“Okay, that’s horrible. Sure. But do you really want to kill someone? Once you do that, there’s no going back.”

Sabrina stares at the ground. “I’ve killed before,” she says.

I gulp. “You have?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says, a pang of sadness in her voice.

A tear drips down Sabrina’s face. “How did it feel, when you killed someone?” I ask.

“Like hell. The guilt was like water, filling my lungs. I felt like I was drowning every minute of every day.”

“Do you really want to feel that bad again?”

“Last time, I killed someone who was innocent. But, this girl, she deserves to die. I won’t feel bad if she dies.”

“How can you say that? No matter what she’s done, she’s a person, a person who deserves to live. Please, Sabrina, don’t do this.”

“I have to.”

With that, she hangs up the phone. I hit the call back button, hoping with every fiber of my being that she’ll pick up. As the phone rings, I turn to my computer and type in the name Sabrina Bloom, trying to find out any information on her I can. I discover a local newspaper article about Sabrina and quickly read it.

Sabrina picks up the phone for the final time. This time, the phone sits on the edge of the roof, with its camera pointed at the sky. In the bottom corner of the screen I see Sabrina. The revolver is in her hand. “What do you want?” she mutters.

“I found a newspaper article, Sabrina,” I say. “Would you mind if I read it to you?”

“I don’t care,” she says as she loads a bullet.

“Tragedy struck the yesterday at eleven PM when three students at the local college were killed in an automobile accident,” I read.

Sabrina stops loading the gun. A single tear rolls down her face. “Do you want me to stop reading?” I ask.

“It doesn’t matter. Everything’s going to be over soon anyway,” she says.

“The sheriff's department has determined that the crash was a result of brake failure that caused the car to drive off the road, crashing into a tree and killing three of its four passengers. The driver, Sabrina Bloom, is currently recovering at St. Raphael Hospital. Reports say that she should make a full recovery.”

“A full recovery. That’s hilarious,” Sabrina says, her words filled with bitter rage.

“Sabrina, the person you’re about to kill, it’s you, isn’t it?”

“Congratulations, you solved the mystery. Now, could you please let me die in peace?”

“You don’t want to do this.”

“I think I do.”

“Then why did you call me?”

“I told you, that was a mistake.”

“Then why did you pick up the phone when I called you back?”

Sabrina doesn’t answer that question. She places the gun on the ledge and starts crying. “I’m so scared,” she says. “I’m scared of dying, I’m scared of living, I don’t know what to do.”

“Sabrina, listen to me. This isn’t a solution. You aren’t getting rid of the pain, you’re just giving it to other people.”

“How selfish of me,” she snaps.

I wipe the sweat from my brow. “Look, I’m not a therapist, I wasn’t trained for this. Hell, this is the first call I’ve ever had to take,” I say.

“Lucky you, getting a basket case like me on your first day,”

I smirk at that and Sabrina laughs. Her eyes drift back to the gun and she frowns again. “Do you believe in God?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say.

“Me neither. I don’t know if the existence of God makes this whole shitshow better or worse. Either this is all happening because of some grand cosmic plan, or it isn’t. Either my friends were killed by an omnipotent jackass as part of a plan I can never understand, or life is just a meaningless charade twirling towards oblivion.”

“I don’t know if I believe in God, but I know life isn’t meaningless. Everything has to have a reason for happening.”

“What the hell was the reason behind my friends dying?”

“I don’t know, but-”

“Let’s put your little theory to the test,” Sabrina shouts.

Sabrina grabs the gun and spins the barrel. She points the gun at her head. “Sabrina, please, don’t do this!” I plead.

“Come on, if everything happens for a reason, then let’s see what that reason is,” she says. “There are three bullets in this gun right now. I don’t know where. If this is all happening as part of some grand cosmic plan, and that plan includes me surviving, then I’ll survive. If not, so be it.”

I shout Sabrina’s name as she pulls the trigger. My supervisor returns from her smoke break shortly after. I walk away from my desk and out the back door of the building. I’ve had a terrible first day.