#so it's probably best for all of us that this guy offers tours of chicago parks

[notbecauseofvictories]

In the Chicagoland area, there's a guy whose entire thing is foraging---actually finding plants in the wild, and then turning around and selling them to chefs and other interested parties. I know this guy exists, because his local tour popped up in my weekly "are you bored in Chicago? here are all the things to do so as not to be bored!" search, and I fell down a rabbit hole of this dude and how he found his way to this incredibly weird job.

Anyway, I took the guy's tour today and although I remember not a single name of a single plant (I am bad with names) I had an amazingly good time wandering around Chicago's lakefront and listening to him talk.

[scuttling]

Newbie

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 3,786 Tags: SFW, Pre-relationship, Self-confidence issues, Canon-typical violence Summary: On Sophie’s first day at the BAU, she gets nervous. On Sophie’s second day at the BAU, they get a case. Collection: Sophie Cortes timeline, 0-6 Months at the BAU (See Masterlist for reading order) Link to A03 or read below! On Sophie’s first day at the BAU, she’s a little bit nervous—change your outfit three times, run your Keurig with no cup underneath, hair up? hair down? hair up? nervous—so she takes a deep, steadying breath before pushing open the glass double doors that lead to the bullpen.

She took cues about attire from other people she saw the day of her interview, so today she is wearing a simple black and white dress with pumps and gold jewelry, and she feels she fits in, but she gets more than a few curious looks when she enters.

Her instructions are to report to Agent Hotchner’s office first thing, but she is stopped on her way there by a tall, handsome, impeccably dressed man with a frankly gorgeous smile. He’s Black, with a shaved head and a great voice, and suddenly she doesn’t mind the interference.

“Hi, I’m Derek Morgan. You’re Sophia Cortes, right? Hotch mentioned you were starting today.” She smiles warmly.

“Yes, pleasure to meet you. You can call me Sophie,” she says, reaching out a hand for a shake. “Agent Hotchner told me you’re from Chicago, and so am I. Please say you aren’t a White Sox fan.” His smile becomes even brighter, if possible. She might be halfway in love with him already.

“God, no. If you want to watch good baseball, it’s the Cubs all the way.” She laughs lightly, happy to have a little rapport with a new colleague so soon.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I’m glad there’s a little more color in the office now,” he jokes, and she understands where he’s coming from completely. It’s bad enough to be the only woman in the room, sometimes, but when she’s also the only person of color, she feels… inadequate, somehow. Like she has to work twice as hard to be seen, even though she literally stands out among her peers.

A blonde woman with a fair complexion and pretty, almost doll-like facial features steps up behind him, and he looks over, introduces her.

“Sophie Cortes, this is Jennifer Jareau, our Communications Director.”

“Everyone calls me JJ,” she says with a smile and a handshake.

“Nice to meet you. If you’re the Communications Director, you’ve got the toughest job in the unit, then.” JJ looks surprised, then nods her head.

“Absolutely, but don’t tell them that. They’d never believe you,” she says with a playful shove of Derek’s shoulder. “Don’t let being a profiler go to your head like this guy.”

“Who, me? I’m as down to earth as the next devastatingly handsome guy.”

“Yeah, right,” a voice says from her right, and Sophie turns to see a woman approaching them with pale skin and dark hair, bangs, a kind smile. “We love you and all, but you’re a little cocky.”

“Is it being cocky when I’m that good, though?” he asks with a wink, and Sophie already feels more at ease just hearing them talk with each other. She can get acclimated to anything when the environment is right. “This is my partner, Emily Prentiss. Prentiss, this is Sophie Cortes. The new newbie.” She sets down her bag, heads over to shake hands.

“Nice to meet you, Sophie. Love the dress.” Sophie thanks her for the compliment. “I appreciate you taking the newbie title from me; fair warning, you’ll probably be here for five years before they stop calling you that.”

“Ah, I’ve been called worse, I’ll take it.” She glances around their workspace, looks up to Derek. “Is my partner here? Dr. Reid, right?”

“Oh, he texted, said his train is running late,” JJ explains. “He’s really excited to meet you, though, so don’t mind if he’s a little… overwhelming, when he does get here.”

“You’ll fall in love with the kid, everyone does,” Derek explains, and it makes her heart feel warm. This is definitely a team she wants to be a part of. “But he can be intense.”

“I appreciate the heads up.” Before she can say any more, Agent Hotchner descends the stairs, heads toward them.

“Good morning. I can see the team has taken the liberty of introducing themselves.”

“Hello again, Agent Hotchner.” Sophie shakes his hand, and he smiles softly.

“Hotch, please. You can put your things in that desk and I’ll give you a tour, if you’d like.”

“Sure, sounds great.” The team shares a brief look, but she doesn’t know them well enough to comment, just stows her belongings and follows the unit chief. “The team was very welcoming. They seem really tight knit,” she comments as they leave the bullpen, and he looks at her, nods.

“When you spend as much time together as we do, traveling as we do, it’s inevitable. Was it not that way in Intelligence?”

“You couldn’t get those people to sit down to dinner together, let alone tease one another. They’d probably bite each other’s heads off.” They worked well together, but in private the environment could be pretty toxic. She knows Unit Chief Roberts wouldn’t have put up with it if the team didn’t get such good results.

“I can see how this environment might seem a little strange, then,” he says, opening the door for her. They take the elevator.

“Strange, but good. It reminds me of when I was a cop, and I’ve missed that kind of camaraderie.”

“Well I’m glad you felt welcomed. We really are happy to have you.” They approach a closed door which he raps on lightly; the woman who answers has a bright smile and an even brighter outfit, lime green and navy blue, with matching accessories, including green glasses. She makes Sophie feel very… plain.

“Oh, hi!” the woman says, and her grin gets bigger. “Wow, you’re beautiful.” Sophie laughs, a little taken aback, and Hotch sighs lightly like he’s used to the odd behavior. It’s all very endearing.

“This is Penelope Garcia, our technical analyst. Garcia, this is Sophia Cortes, our new profiler.” She reaches out a hand.

“It’s nice to meet you. You can call me Sophie, or Cortes, whichever you prefer. And you’re beautiful, too. I love your style.”

“Thank you; I can tell we’re going to be fast friends. You’ll have me on speed dial,” she says, walking to her desk and jotting something down on a pink Post-It. “If you need something researched, narrowed down, blown up, compared, etc, I’m your girl.” She hands her the note—her direct line—and smiles. “I’m sure you have much more to see, but don’t be a stranger!”

Something tells Sophie she won’t be.

He shows her all around the office—copiers, the breakroom, supply closets, restrooms—and they end up in the briefing room, the last two to walk in.

“You remember Gideon,” Hotch says, and the man nods a greeting. Still as personable as ever, she thinks. “And this is your partner, Dr. Spencer Reid.” She’s not surprised by his age—she read some articles about him once she had his name, knows they call him ‘boy genius’ quite literally—but she is a little thrown by his nervous smile, his dark eyes, his untidy flop of brown hair. Derek wasn’t kidding when he called him kid; he looks like he belongs at an after school chess club meeting, or something.

He’s adorable. Like a puppy. She immediately wants to keep him. She smiles wide.

“Sophia Cortes, but you can call me Sophie, if you like.” He stands, and they shake hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’ve heard all about you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too. I hear you’re from Chicago. Did you know Chicago is home to 2,716,450 residents living in over 100 neighborhoods?” She smiles wider.

“Yeah, with 600 parks, 500 playgrounds, 29 beaches, and 26 miles of open lakefront. It’s beautiful. Have you been?”

“We worked a case there, once. I didn’t get to see any parks or beaches.” He makes a frowning kind of face and she laughs softly, takes the seat Hotch offers her.

“Well you’re young, there’s time.”

“Now that we’re all caught up on introductions, we can get started,” Hotch states, and Sophie’s first morning meeting begins.

It’s a little boring, as far as first days go, but she doesn’t mind. She has access to her computer, gets it set up the way she wants, finds out from the team where all the best places are nearby for coffee or drinks or lunch. She meets with the section chief for introductions, goes over some policies with Hotch—who, she was right, is definitely funnier and more thoughtful than he must let on. He probably feels like he has to act a certain way, because he’s the boss, but she likes pulling the human out of him, makes it a personal mission going forward to make him smile.

He’s too handsome not to smile. On Sophie’s second day at the BAU, they get a case.

“I usually like to let new profilers get acclimated to the team before going into the field,” Hotch tells her as they board the plane, “but it didn’t make sense to keep you in Quantico. Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“Of course. That’s why I’m here, I want to help.” She stows her bag overhead. “I’ll observe, give my input when I have it, follow everyone’s lead.”

“Sounds good. You know you can come to any of us if you have questions.”

“I know. Thank you.”

They do a deeper debrief on the plane—three women have been murdered, all in their mid 30’s, athletic and blonde, last seen dropping their children off at school—and Sophie is tasked with going to the most recent crime scene with Hotch and Prentiss.

“What can you tell about him so far?” Hotch asks her while the detective on the case speaks with Prentiss about some details of the scene. She glances around the room, takes it all in.

“Well, there’s blood everywhere. Serious overkill each time. He either knew the victims, or has a deep-seated hatred for a woman they remind him of; my money is on is the latter.” She looks through the kitchen, at the bloody footprints that lead to the back door. “Tracked blood all through the house, left the back door open. He’s disorganized. He may have seen them at the school and planned to follow them home, but he didn’t do any pre-surveillance on them. Something about these women triggers him and he acts within the hour.”

“Would you call it a crime of passion, then?” She looks over, curious, then realizes he’s testing her.

“No. A crime of passion indicates some level of culpability by the victim. Provocation. These women are just in the wrong place at the wrong time with the wrong face.” He nods, satisfied with her answer.

“So how do we think he’s finding the victims?”

“He could have a child under his care who goes to that school, or he could live near the school, work there. He could work the night shift somewhere else and pass the school on his way home. I think it’s too early to narrow that down.”

“Any idea what weapon he used?”

“We would have to really examine the cast off to be certain, but my guess would be… a hammer, or some other small, blunt tool. This wasn’t done by a baseball bat or a shovel or something larger. We can also get an estimated height and weight of the unsub if we chart the area void of blood here,” she adds, pointing to a bare spot on the wall with blood droplets above and around it. “I’m guessing we’ll send the photos to Garcia for analysis.”

“That’s right. I agree with your assessment,” he begins, but she senses hesitation.

“But?” He looks over at her, thoughtful.

“We’re missing something.”

“We are, or I am?” she asks for clarification, and he smiles just slightly.

“We are.” She takes that as a good sign, walks another loop around the room for something they would have overlooked, and she brightens when she thinks she’s discovered it.

“Her purse is still here, cash, credit cards. Her jewelry was still on her body when she was found. But does it look to you like something’s missing from the entryway table?” She points to it, and it’s very ordinary: a calendar, a bowl for change, hooks for keys, a couple of photographs—with a notable blank space in the middle. “Maybe a photo?”

“We should ask the husband if he knows what was there. Good work,” he tells her, and he heads off in the direction of the husband; she follows close behind.

Back at the precinct, the team fills each other in on what they’ve learned.

“So our unsub killed each of these women with a ball-peen hammer, striking 8-10 times. Blood spatter analysis puts him at about 5’11”, 6’0” tall, around 275 pounds. The photo taken from the third victim’s house was of the victim and her 7-year-old son Josh; similar photos were taken from the other two homes—photos of mother and son.” Prentiss tacks copies of the three missing photos to the board.

“Sounds like maybe the woman they remind him of is his mother,” Reid states.

“That’s what we’re going with. We’re still not sure how he finds his victims, though,” Prentiss mentions, and Sophie takes a breath, hesitates.

“Do you have something?” Morgan asks and she shrugs, unsure.

“Maybe? One of the theories we threw out there was that he works overnight and drives past the school on his way home from work, when the kids are being dropped off. If he killed them with a ball-peen hammer, maybe we should look for machine shops in the area with overnight shifts? Those are typically used in metalworking, not construction.” She feels like all eyes are on her, and it makes her nervous. “That could be completely irrelevant, it’s just a thought.”

“It’s a good thought; I’ll have Garcia pull us a list, we can split up and pass around the description, see if our guy is a metal worker. Good call, newbie.” Morgan leaves to take the call, and JJ leans over with a smile.

“Don’t second guess yourself. You’re doing great so far. Theories are important, even if they’re wrong.” Sophie returns the expression, nods.

“Thanks. I’ve just gotta get used to the collaborative environment; haven’t been in one of those in a while.”

“You’d never know it. You’re fitting right in.” She takes it as a compliment, is happy to be of some use to the investigation and not just getting in the way.

The rest of the day is pretty quiet; they test out a few other possible theories, deliver the profile to the late shift, plan to hit the school early in the morning to look for potential suspects and to pass around the description to see if anyone meets it who works there, or lives nearby.

She goes to the school with Reid and JJ, speaks to teachers, janitorial staff, but none of them know a man like the one they’re looking for. She meets up with the others, who were speaking to parents, after about an hour of questioning, but they also come up blank.

“We’ve still got your machine shop theory,” Reid says as they drive back to the precinct. “The others should be done with those soon, so there’s still a chance we can find this guy today.” JJ’s phone rings, and she answers on the car bluetooth.

“JJ, there’s been another attack,” Prentiss says. “1419 5th Street—you guys are closer. Can you head over?”

“We’re on the way,” JJ answers, turning right, and Reid looks thoughtful.

“An attack? She’s not dead?”

“No. Not yet, at least. She’s being rushed to the hospital; her husband was home, caught the attacker in the middle of it all.”

“Did he get a good look at the unsub?” JJ asks.

“He’s with a sketch artist now. Hotch wants you to circulate the sketch ASAP; we think we may have a hit at one of the metal shops, if you can send it to me, too.”

“You got it.” She ends the call, looks at Sophie through the rearview mirror. “Drinks are on you tonight, newbie,” she says playfully, and Sophie can’t help but laugh. She had been so intimidated by the thought of joining the BAU, and she’s glad to see she’s useful, can actually help make a difference. It’s a feeling she won’t forget for a while.

Later that night, when they plan to try to catch the unsub before he leaves for work, she deflates, a little.

Hotch, Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid are going to breach the unsub’s house while JJ covers the front door and Sophie covers the back. She had assumed she would get to be part of the team going in, with her tactical background, and immediately thinks the worst, that they’re happy to have her brain, but that her body is a hindrance. Too short, too weak… it’s how she’s been treated her whole life, and she hates to think that she’s being dismissed here so soon for the same reasons. She tries not to let it show, but she dwells on it, a little, lets it get her down even though she knows she shouldn’t.

She snaps out of it when there’s movement on the back porch, a hulking, shadowy figure in the darkness.

“I’ve got him coming out of the back,” she whispers into her comms, and she draws her gun and points it at the unsub. “Stop, FBI!” The guy turns to face her—he fits the sketch to a tee, a real mountain of a man as the blood spatter analysis suggested—takes one good look, and goes running in the other direction.

Alright, so, he’s clearly not impressed. She can work with that.

“He’s running, I’m in pursuit.” She holsters her weapon and her boots pound the grass as she books it his way. The good thing about being so much smaller than him is that she’s much faster, catches up to him fairly easily, and again, she shouts for him to stop, which, of course, he doesn’t.

Her first thought is that she’s got to get this guy on the ground no matter what—this isn’t a shoplifter or something, he’s wanted for murdering three women and attempting to murder a fourth, so a little force is okay if necessary, and judging by his build, it’s going to be necessary.

Her second thought is, if I can’t catch him, I don’t deserve to be here. And that’s the one that makes the decision for her.

She leaps onto his back, grabs fistfuls of his shirt, and shakes him forward, backward, forward again, trying to throw off his balance. When he starts to wobble, she slides down his back, hooking a leg around one of his and driving her knee into the bend of his; he goes down, face first, and she reaches behind her for her cuffs, slaps them on his wrists before he has a chance to turn or stand. “Jason Farber, you’re under arrest for three counts of murder and one count of attempted murder.”

“Attempted murder?” he asks, turning his face so he can speak more easily. He seems pretty calm for a runner, maybe just resigned to his fate, and she leans over so she can see him better. He’s breathing fine, uninjured, and just looks pissed. “You mean that overbearing bitch isn’t dead?”

“Yep, sorry to be the one to tell you, Jason, but she’s alive and kicking.” She continues to read him his rights, and is just pulling him to his feet when Morgan and Hotch skid to a stop behind her; if they look surprised… who is she kidding? They look surprised as fuck.

“Damn, Cortes. This guy’s like three of you,” Morgan marvels as she walks him back toward the cars so he can be tossed into the back of a black and white. “Did you make him an offer he couldn’t refuse?” She scoffs at that, and even the unsub snorts in amusement.

“She tackled me. Wasn’t counting on that.”

“I don’t think anybody was,” she admits, getting him into a cop car and shutting the door. She joins the rest of the team, gets a high-five from JJ.

“Hey, score one for the ladies. We never get to do any tackling.”

“She did better than I would have,” Reid admits without shame, and she laughs.

“It’s all in the legs. I lift chains at the gym.” He gives her a look like he’s got no idea what she’s talking about, which almost makes her laugh again. “You do pull-ups, but with chains around your legs.” She demonstrates, squatting and gesturing to her legs like she’s wrapping something around them.

“Okay, you’re the real deal, newbie,” Morgan says when she stands up fully. “Remind me not to run from you unless I want a face full of dirt.” The group breaks apart after that, but Hotch lingers, gives her a meaningful look when she makes eye contact.

“I bet that felt good.” She leans against the side of the SUV, feels a deep conversation coming on.

“It did. I’m stronger than I look, and sometimes it’s fun to be underestimated, but other times it gets really annoying.”

“I can imagine,” he says, nodding, and he mimics her posture. “I just want to make sure you know you don’t have anything to prove. I hired you for a reason.”

“I know. But I don’t like being a one-trick pony, and I’m definitely not waiting around for one of you guys when an unsub is on the move.”

“And I wouldn't expect you to. As for the ‘one-trick pony’ thing, that’s not how I see you at all. You’re extremely well-rounded, and that’s why I wanted you.” His eyes are kind, but penetrating, and she dips her head, nods.

“And that’s why I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“After what you’ve shown me the last two days, I don’t think that’s possible, but I want you to know you can come to me when something’s bothering you. That’s why I’m here.”

“I know. I won’t forget it,” she assures, and he stands fully, cocks an eyebrow in her direction.

“I heard drinks are on you tonight,” he says with a straight face, and she laughs lightly.

“I guess we better get going before they run up the tab, then.”

They walk in companionable silence back to the SUV.

[lilikags]

Shinsetsu | Yaku Morisuke

✧:･ﾟ About this post  ✧:･ﾟ ┊Fandom: Haikyuu ┊Pairings: Yaku Morisuke x reader ┊Post type: oneshot ┊Tags: fluff ┊ Word count: 1747 ┊Note: “shinsetsu” means kindness in Japanese

It wasn't a surprise, but you were surprised anyways. You’d known about it, yet you were surprised when it actually happened. Maybe it was because you hoped it wouldn’t happen. It wasn’t an uncommon thing either; it happened to lots of your friends. Maybe you just thought it wouldn’t happen to you, even though the possibility was very real. 

When you heard you were moving to Japan, it wasn't a new subject for your family. The company your dad worked at had people move to work in one place for a while, then another for a few years. It wasn’t uncommon for a job like his, and you’d even moved before. Apparently, you were born in another state. You didn’t have many memories there. You then moved to Chicago after that, and then to New York City. Moving wasn’t a new experience for you, but it wasn’t really that easy every time, despite having moved so many times. 

What makes a place special isn’t the place itself; it’s the people there- the people you meet and the people you greet. It’s the people experience that mattered really, when you go somewhere. It’s not just your family that is important to you- your neighbors, your friends, the old couple who you waved to on the way to school. It was the little things that really mattered, the things you’d miss when you couldn't do them anymore. 

It was almost the end of the school year when they told you about this, and your dad got them to allow you to move during what would’ve been your summer break. He probably just wanted you to finish 11th grade, and it would be a waste if you had to repeat it due to not finishing back in the states. Sometimes it happened, though. 

The school year in Japan was pretty different from the US. When it was the end of the year in America, Japan had started their’s a few months earlier. So, you weren’t that far behind in the school year. The only thing that set you back, really, was the language. You spoke English and some Japanese and a little Korean, which you learned from your friends who moved as much as you did. Some were from Korea, some from Japan, and they ended up going to a school you did at the same time, and they taught you some. Additionally, your parents had you study a little Japanese, as this was expected. You were no expert and could probably get some ideas across, but you were nowhere near fluent. Maybe you’d learn quicker once you actually moved there and were forced to talk to people. You heard they didn’t judge foreigners there too much as a society, so you expected the people to be nice there- at least somewhat.

When you first arrived, you had a bazillion questions. You knew your parents were busy too, with all the legal stuff, financial things, and other matters they had to take care of. So, Google became your new best friend. For the things Google couldn’t answer, like what the name of the school you were going to was, you saved them for lunch and dinner, when your family would eat together, except for your dad, since he still had his job, as it was the reason why he moved in the first place. 

You were allowed to take a few days to get yourself situated; your parents knew that it was a lot different than the last few times you’d moved. It was a new country and a new language, and obviously, there wasn’t much your parents could do to help. Your dad could speak Japanese well enough, however he was busy due to work, and your mom wasn’t any better at the language than you, so you’d have to learn on your own. 

A couple of days after you’d arrived, you took a look around town. It was a pretty nice place; there was a mall and the neighborhood was pretty clean. Google maps and Google translate were your new best friends. Reading was difficult; the written language was entirely different than English. 

You wanted to buy something sweet to eat, however you weren’t confident in your Japanese at all. What if the clerk couldn’t understand you? You knew there were tourists who could communicate and buy things- and this was the Tokyo area- and they probably learned a bit of English. You could point too, that would work. You knew that, but it would just be a red flag, calling out, “I’m a foreigner. You’re probably going to struggle to communicate with me.” 

You went to order it anyways. After all, doing was the best way to learn. You joined the line and waited for your turn. No one paid much special attention to you, and that was kind of reassuring. At least you didn’t stick out like a sore thumb. You expected that it wouldn’t go as smooth as everyone else. After all, they were fluent in the language, and you knew you weren’t. However, it did make people look up from their phones. You struggled to read something, though you had practiced saying it in your head a little while on line. You were unsure of what it said. 

“This one, right?” you heard the guy behind you say. He said it slowly enough for you to understand, and it took a few moments for you to process. 

“Ah, yes,” you replied. The cashier took note of it, and they got on with your order. It tasted better than you expected. 

It was a Monday when you started school. You were going to Nekoma High, and you were going to be a third year. You knew everyone had their own friend groups, and you figured you were going to have to find one to join till graduation. Well, the first step was getting into the school. As you walked in, you took note of your surroundings; they were quite different from your school in America. They actually looked kind of like a school from anime, which you sometimes watched in your free time. 

You figured you were going to get through the day by setting small goals. First goal was to get to your shoe locker and change your shoes from outside shoes to inside shoes. You’d set up your shoe locker when you toured the school.

“3147, 3147…” you said to yourself, looking through the numbers to find your locker. You opened it and changed your shoes. First goal, accomplished. 

You then made your way to your classroom, which took a bit of walking, but you were able to arrive before the bell rang. You had English first period, which was reassuring, since you’d be able to talk to your teacher in English. It was just much easier to speak English. 

When you looked around the classroom, you saw the guy who helped you out at the store with your order. It was kind of odd that you were in the same class. 

“Okay, quiet down. We have a new student here today, (L/N) (F/N). Be nice, she’s from America, so she isn’t used to speaking Japanese all the time.” the teacher introduced you to the class, and you got up from your seat to introduce yourself.

“Uh, hi, I’m (L/N) (F/N), nice to meet you,” you bowed and sat back down in your seat. You heard that was what people did there, and no one looked like they judged you, so you figured you did fine. 

The teacher then went to teach her lesson. It was grammar, and it wasn’t hard for you. Some of the things came naturally, and you were glad you got at least one class that wouldn’t be much of a problem for you this year. Maybe the teachers would give you some slack, knowing that you didn’t really speak Japanese- they better. 

When class ended, you were the center of attention. Well, you couldn’t really blame them; it probably wasn't every day that they got a new student from abroad. Though they could really tone it down- like really. They spoke so fast you couldn’t understand what they were saying and definitely didn’t have any time to process anything.

“(F/N)!” the same guy you’d met before called out to you. “I’m Yaku, Yaku Morisuke! Want me to take you to your next class?”

It took you a moment to process that, and you agreed to it. 

“Hey, (Y/N), wanna visit my club?” Yaku asked, with a smile on his face. You’d been at the school for a little big now, and you were surviving- well, barely, but you were surviving.

“Mhm, sure,” you replied. After all, there couldn’t be much to lose right? If they expected you to know how to speak Japanese fluently by this time, then they were jerks and didn’t know your attention. Though, with the way Yaku talked about them, you were pretty sure that wouldn’t happen.

“Uh, hi-” you said as you walked in.

“Hey, guys, I brought (Y/N) here with me today. Be nice,” Yaku introduced you. It seemed your name was known around the school. You figured so, since you were new. 

“Oooh, hey, how are you liking it here? I’m Kuroo Tetsurou,” the one with the messy hair greeted you. 

“Oh yeah, it’s nice here. The people here are really nice,” you responded, without catching yourself looking in Yaku’s direction for some kind of validation. He sent you a small smile in return. He then went to introduce everyone which you responded with small “hi”s and “hello”s. They were a pretty chill team, and that was really cool. You had to use Google translate a couple of times, but that was okay.

You watched them practice, and it was definitely something new to see. You hadn’t been on a sports team back in America, and it was interesting to see. After practice, Yaku offered to walk you home, and you accepted. Yaku was really easy to talk to, and it was really nice how his home was close to yours. 

When you arrived home, you were about to wave him goodbye and thanks, when you were embraced with a warm hug. You hugged back, not knowing what else to do. 

You didn’t notice it, but there was just a little bit of a blush on his face- perhaps that meant something...

Note: This oneshot is part of my Promise series! Find the masterlist here. 

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Reblogs are greatly appreciated as well! <3

[thecheesiestcheese]

Hey everyone! I know I haven’t posted on here in forever, but I was going through some old notes of mine on my phone and came across this old piece of work that never found the light of day. Figured I’d let you all give it a read. I tried to fix any grammar mistakes, but there’s probably still a few. I also have a second chapter that’s pretty much done as well, just sitting there collecting dust. Hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you all think!

Bella Bonding Survival 101

This was not going to end well.

Beca just knew it.

Every time the Bellas do team bonding, something always goes wrong. For example, during their first year together, the girls decided to have their first official bonding session at the city park close to Barden.

Chloe and Aubrey were setting up everything they brought for a picnic later on, while Jessica and Ashley found a place beside a tree, cuddling with a book in each of their hands. Beca could be found sitting down with her back against a tree, headphones on and eyes closed, not having anything to do, since she wasn’t allowed to bring her laptop along, due to a certain redhead’s insistence of needing to enjoy nature and maybe Aubrey’s threat of ‘pitch’ing the laptop far, far away. Amy, Stacie, and Cynthia Rose were down a little ways walking along the side of the city pond, Amy seeming to take an interest in mocking the geese nearby. Lilly was nowhere to be seen, although Beca swore she saw her in a tree earlier shooting acorns at squirrels.

A few minutes go by when Beca feels a presence beside her. After quickly debating whether or not to acknowledge who was there, the brunette decides to open her eyes just in case its the she-demon herself there to take away her music as well. Luckily enough, she is greeted by a smiling Chloe looking down at her. Not even needing to know what the redhead was wanting, Beca pats the ground beside her offering an invitation. Chloe’s smile grows even wider, making her nose crinkle and plops down beside the small brunette immediately grabbing one of Beca’s earphones for herself. Being use to Chloe and her rule for no boundaries, Beca let’s her. As they sit there, the small brunette starts to zone out only to practically jump into the air due to a loud scream, followed by shouting.

Gathering her bearings, Beca looks down to the pond to see something out of a circus and couldn’t help but to laugh. It seemed that the geese that Amy was mocking had finally had enough and was chasing the trio around the pond.

Stacie could be seen throwing one of her shoes, completely missing the target while Cynthia Rose and Amy made their way around the pond, all the while Amy could be heard shouting, “Vertical running! I’m vertical running!”

The rest of the girls laughed as they watched the chaos happen in front of them. They all stopped though, when they noticed the three Bellas heading their way with the geese right behind them.

Eyes widening, Beca scrambles to her feet, helping Chloe up, joining the rest of the Bellas and making a run for it.

That day ended with them soaking wet and smelling like wet dog.

Another time for team bonding was when the Bellas were preparing for the World Championships.

Granted, it was technically Beca’s own fault for not paying attention to where she was going. In her defense, she was too heated to take in her surroundings.

That day ended with Beca in a bear trap.

Don’t get her wrong, team bonding is fun and she loves the Bellas, but Beca is starting to see a pattern and she’s growing weary of it.

That’s why when the idea of skydiving as a team bonding exercise was introduced by none other than Aubrey, Beca immediately shot it down.

“No. Absolutely not,” the small brunette shakes her head, not wanting to hear another word.

“Aww, but Beca, imagine the bonding time we could have,” Chloe pouts throwing her best puppy-dog eyes at the brunette. “Most of us haven’t seen each other in months and I think this would be a perfect way to catch up, especially while on tour!” The redhead exclaims while also taking Beca’s hand in her own, squeezing it.

Looking between Chloe and the rest of the girls, she’s met with pouts from all sides. “Fine.” She mutters. She’s quickly engulfed in a hug by Chloe making her blush then someone in the distance yells ‘Group hug!’ making all the Bellas rush in, crushing Beca further into her best friend.

Once the hugging fest was over, the girls decided to grab dinner at a small French Bistro they saw a few days ago while they were out shopping, getting a break from the USO tour. They all get back to their hotel in one piece, the girls splitting up.

Amy, Emily, and Flo head over to the bar, Amy already calling for shots all around. Jessica and Ashley head over to claim a table big enough for the gang. Lilly and Cynthia Rose started a game of pool, Lilly looking like she won the jackpot. And Chloe disappears once she sees Chicago, saying that he could get them free access to skydiving. Beca frowns slightly as she watches Chloe run into Chicago’s arms. An arm is draped around her shoulder pulling her focus away from the scene playing out in front of her.

“Keep frowning and your face will be stuck like that,” Stacie smirks.

Shrugging the taller brunette’s arm off her shoulder, Beca glares, crossing her arms. “Thanks,” she deadpans her face still impassive.

“I think it’s been permanent since freshman year,” Aubrey remarks making her way over and hands over a drink to each of the brunettes.

“Do I even want to know what’s in this?” the small brunette asks cringing catching a strong whiff of alcohol.

The tall blonde just smirks. “You looked like you needed it.”

Beca rolls her eyes. “Shouldn’t you guys be over at the bar or something?” motioning her hand towards the bar where Amy was giving Emily shot after shot of god knows what. She should probably stop them, but Stacie grabs her arm and starts pulling her over to Jessica and Ashley, Aubrey following closely behind.

“You need to relax. Let loose a little of that pent up frustration.” Stacie’s voice is muffled while drinking whatever concoction Aubrey gave her. Setting her glass down, a sly smile appears on the leggy brunette’s face, her eyes glinting with something Beca couldn’t quite figure out, but had a feeling it wasn’t going to be anything good. “Maybe we need to find you a tall blonde, I’m sure we could find someone here.”

“Dude! No!”

“I’m not sleeping with Beca!”

The loud commotion could be heard throughout the whole bar, catching the attention of many onlookers, including the girls at the bar. Emily could be seen spitting mid drink, eyes wide, Flo patting her back as she makes some comment related to Guatemala.

Amy quickly makes her way over. “Aww yeah, Shawshank! If I hear moaning of ‘auu-beca’ tonight,” pointedly looking at the tall blonde, “I’ll be taking twenty dollars to go out. I don’t know how you could pass up a good bloe though.” She comments while setting down a tray of shots that the girls were going to down, sooner rather than later.

Both of the girls groan, Beca’s face growing red, Aubrey’s showing disgust. “I would have to be completely inebriated before I even thought about sleeping with the hobbit.” Aubrey takes a long drink grimacing as the alcohol burned down her throat.

Beca raised her hand in the air, her head facedown on the table. “Likewise.”

Stacie rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t implying that you two should get together.” Groans could be heard. “But now that you mention it, I’m thinking I should have.” The tall brunette smirks. “Don’t worry Aubs, I know you’re more interested in taller brunettes.” She winks making Aubrey blush.

“Wait, what are y-?” Amy gets cut off.

“Nothing! She’s implying nothing.” The blonde stresses looking anywhere, but the Bellas.

Actually feeling bad for Aubrey, which never in a million years did she think she would ever feel anything other than anger towards the former Bellas captain until they spent time together outside of a cappella learning that they actually had more in common then they thought, Beca drags the focus back on her.

“So,” she clears her throat, “If not Aubrey, then who were you suggesting?” The shorter brunette shifts nervously in her seat averting her eyes every time she made contact with Stacie, having an inkling that she already knew who she was referring to. Stacie was grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

“I don’t know, why don’t you tell me...”she drags the wait out knowing she was making the brunette squirm, “..little maus.”

Beca covers her face with her hands too embarrassed to look at the girls. “Don’t remind me.” Knowing they most likely won’t believe her, Beca still tries to convince them. “She was just intimidating. She’s freakishly tall and we all know I’m small.” She shrugs looking indifferent when really inside she was anything but that.

“Alright shortie, you keep saying that, but we really know what you mean.” Amy winks. Beca just groans. She’s definitely not getting out of this one.

“Now wait you guys!” Emily blurts out. “I mean she was intimidating. Who wouldn’t be!” She exclaims loudly waving her hands around in the air. “I mean, she did call Beca a troll,” she drawls, “but tiny maus is a term of endearment soo...” Emily trails off. “Yeah, I’ve got nothing.” She slightly shrugs giving Beca a look of apology.

“Just face it Beca, you were interested in Kommissar, I’m pretty sure we all were.” Stacie claims, the other Bellas nodding along even Amy. “I don’t blame you. Besides, I think the German goddess was interested right back. In fact, I’m kind of surprised she didn’t try anything now that I think about it,” Stacie mentions, a curious look upon her face.

Someone coughs. “Oh, I know exactly why she didn’t.” The girls all face Cynthia Rose who looks like she knew one of the top secrets in the world.

Even Beca becomes curious as she gets closer to the edge of her seat. “Well?” Beca starts to grow impatient.

Cynthia Rose locks eyes with the tiny brunette. “Let’s just say a fiery fox seemed to have their claws in someone, not letting them out of their sight.” Smirking, she continues. “If that wasn’t the case, Kommissar would’ve ate you up...if you know what I mean.” C.R. winks.

At that moment Chloe seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Hey guys!” She beams. “So Chicago said we could do tomorrow afternoon if that worked for everybody.” Chloe is only met with silence. “What’s up?”

She looks around the group, eyes finally landing on Beca who seemed to be showing all signs of embarrassment. “Uh, what’s going on? What’d you guys do to our poor little DJ?” She coos taking the empty seat by Beca. The redhead wraps the brunette in her arms in a hug. “What’s got you all embarrassed?” She asks sneaking a quick sip of the brunette’s drink.

Beca remains silent.

“Oh, Shawshank has just realized that Kommissar was interested in her. She would’ve ate her up, if you know what I mean.” Amy says repeating the last part that C.R. said.

Beca could feel Chloe’s arms around her tighten.

“What?!What do you mean?” The redhead demands, eyes narrowed with a hint of agitation in her voice. “That dummkopf is the enemy! She just wanted to get into your head.” Chloe fumes.

Beca refuses to make eye contact. She could feel Chloe’s stare burning a hole in the side of her head.

“Well, it worked,” Beca mutters.

“You’ve got that right little shortie!” Amy and Stacie hi-five.

“She had you all kinds of flustered.” Stacie fans her face jokingly. “But who can blame you? It’s hard to resist tall intimidating blondes. Stacie comments winking at Aubrey.

Aubrey rolls her eyes. “Can we just move on from this conversation?”

Chloe immediately jumps in. “Yes! I think we need to forget about the past and talk about the present.” The redhead nods her head seeming to need to reassure herself. Beca finally looks up, making eye contact with Chloe beside her. Chloe sends her a smile, her face still holding a slight look of irritation. Beca sends a small smile back receiving a tiny squeeze from Chloe’s hand. They’re both interrupted from their staring contest by the girls laughing.

“Damn Em! I never thought I’d hear you say that!” Cynthia Rose laughs clapping the younger brunette’s back.

“Oh look, Bloe has decided to grace us with their presence again,” Amy announces. The rest of the Bellas were still laughing at whatever Emily said. “Hey, aca-child, wanna tell our two captains what you said?” Amy nudges Emily with her arm. Emily’s face turns bright red, but what she says next she can’t stop. Later, she’d tell them that it was because of the alcohol.

It’d already be too late.

“If we can’t find a tall blonde, other than Aubrey.” The blonde sends her a grateful look. “Then I think we could find a tall brunette who maybe or maybe not also has an interest in music and is here. As in the hotel....right now...Over at the bar.” Emily points her finger, the others follow with their eyes.

“O-M-ACA-G! Emily! She’s just as bad as that blonde giant!” Chloe shouts standing up and grabbing the attention of the Bellas and even the group of girls at the bar. Beca shrinks down into her chair, gulping down what was left of her drink.

“Hey Red!” Amy holds her hands up in slight fear, “Take it easy! We’re just stating the obvious.” The blonde looks over at Beca. “I mean, you did say that she smelt like vanilla and complimented her outfit, right?” The rest of the Bellas hold their breath, torn between what Beca’s reaction would be, but also fearing for her life or Amy’s.

“What the hell Beca?!” could be heard throughout the room.

Beca just groans.

She’s actually starting to wish that she was skydiving right now.

Instead she sinks further into her seat, face burning.

Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

[fossntwriter]

You’re Safe

Jay Halstead x Reader

(not my gif)

You thought it was going to be a fun night out on the town with your girls. You hadn’t seen them in what felt like years, but in reality, was only a couple of weeks. You had all been so caught up in your jobs and hectic schedules that you hadn’t had time to even have lunch together on a Saturday. Not even grab a cup of coffee in the mornings on your ways to work because you all worked in separate ends of the city.

You worked at Chicago MED. Of course your schedule was going to be hectic. You were 22 and new at the job- which means you don’t get your pick of shift, unfortunately leaving you with the third shift. You worked nights into the early hours of morning and slept during the days. Fortunately, you got 2 days off, which happened to match up with all of your friends days off- finally.

You and your 4 other friends, decided to meet up on the rare night that you all shared a day off on. You all caught up and talked about jobs, your bosses, cute co-workers and old memories. It was stress-relieving and the most fun you’ve had in a long while. Your job was great, but there was always a scare- especially when you worked in Chicago.

Many people came in that had been shot or abused or even harassed. You’ve seen your fare share of death and heartbreak already in your short time on the job. You’ve yet to witness a miracle, but have no doubt that someday, it will happen. You try your best to help those who need help, to save those who need saving and to care for those who need caring. You’re a nurse- it’s your job. That’s why you wanted to become a nurse. To take care of people who needed to be taken care of. You helped people- it’s like it was written in your DNA. You’ve always felt the overwhelming urge to put others before yourself. To even risk your safety at times. You just want to help others- and there’s nothing wrong with that.

You’ve met others like you. For instance, Jay Halstead. The cop from Chicago PD. The cute cop- at that. He’s also your coworkers brother. You liked Will from the start. He was nice and easy to talk to. It’s no wonder you liked his brother as well. Apparently, to all of your other coworkers- it was obvious you liked Jay. You brushed it off and told them things like “I do not” or “Definetly not.” They didn’t believe you, but they brought it up less. In reality though, you did like the cute brown haired man. Who wouldn’t? He was tall and handsome. He was in good shape and sported a cute smile whenever he was around. He was easy to talk to and cared about helping people just as much as you did. Of course you fell for him.

And he fell for you too.

It was something Will teases him about a lot. He made comments to Jay like, “You like the new girl, eh?”, “she’s a cutie, ain’t she?” and “stop staring at her.” In reality, Will liked the idea of you two together. You were genuinely kind and good at your job. You were funny and nice. Too nice for your own good. Which is why Will thought Jay was a good match for you. He would be able to protect you. You were a smart girl, but unbearably naïve and oblivious at times. There were times where he was worried about you- after all, you did happen to be one of his closest friends even if you just started your job at the local hospital. He was worried somebody would take advantage of how kind you were and use it against you- or even take you. You probably couldn’t defend yourself. You weren’t very strong if he was going to tell the truth. He was terrified of losing one of his friends. He knew your kindness would be used against you. And he was right.

It was supposed to be a fun and harmless night in the bar with your friends. You wanted to enjoy your night off. This was the way to do that. Or so you thought.

It started off simple. He just offered to buy you a drink but you politely turned him down remembering Jay’s advice to never accept a drink from a guy you didn’t know- no matter how nice he seemed.

Then, when you were dancing with your friends he got in the middle of your group and tried to dance with just you by blocking you from them. You slowly moved away to go back to your friends.

From them on, you were cautious. Constantly steeling glances around the room to see if he was near you. Often times, he was just on the other side of the bar- watching you. It scared you. Typically when a guy stares at you, it should make you feel flattered. But this was different. His look made you feel dirty. You felt gross.

He tried to offer you drinks several more times that night. You kindly declined each time, and then shyly went back to your conversation with your friends at the table you all occupied.

He interrupted your friends and yours conversations multiple times and tried to just strike up one with you, but you quietly and shyly turned away. You wanted to tell him to back off and leave you alone, but you didn’t want to come across as rude or full of yourself- so you didn’t. Maybe you should have?

Your friends gave you worried looks all night about the mysterious- and seemingly obsessive- guy all night. You knew you should leave or call for help but you didn’t want to ruin the one time in ages that you got to spend time with your beloved friends again.

So you stayed.

It was when your friends were starting to leave and the bar was starting to clear out that you thought you would finally head home too. You put your jacket on and said your good-byes to your longtime BFF’s. As soon as they left, you glanced around the room one more time and you saw his eyes on you. Again.

You were scared and panicked. You didn’t want to walk home to your apartment by yourself at this time of night when there was a creepy guy hitting on you all night and still staring at you.

So you called Jay.

The only guy you trusted to get you home safe. You felt protected when he was around and it made you feel good. Maybe it was his muscular figure or the gun he carried at all times- maybe both, but you knew he would help you. Because that’s what he does. He helps people in need. He protects people who need protecting. Like you.

So you pulled out your phone and called him even though it was past 1 o’clock in the morning. You felt bad as soon as you heard his groggy voice.

“(Y/n)?” He asked in a tired but still concerned tone. “What’s wrong?”

You could hear shuffling on the other end of the line, and you assumed it was from him sitting up in bed after you called him at an ungodly hour.

“I need help.” You barely whispered into the phone. Jay heard your voice whisper in a panicky way and he was immediately jolted away by the unexpected sound of urgency in your voice.

“Where are you? What’s happening?” He asked rapidly, and you could hear him walking around his room and you assumed he was getting ready to come to your aid.

“I’m at a bar a couple blocks away from my apartment. I walked here and now I have to walk home but there’s this guy here who has been watching me all night and trying to buy me drinks or take me away from my friends and it’s creepy. He won’t take no for an answer. He’s still here and I’m alone. I’m afraid to walk home by myself.”

“I’m on my way. Stay where people can see you and don’t get off the phone with me. I’ll be there in no time. I’m leaving now.”

“Okay.” You whimpered into the phone. “I’m scared, Jay.”

“I know. I know, it’s going to be okay. Just take a couple of deep breaths for me, okay?” He said, his voice breaking with a dying need to get to you in case the guy was planning on doing anything to you.

You listened to him and took a deep breath in. You counted to four and let it out, before taking in another one.

You kept taking deep breaths. It was like your lifeline. It was your way of keeping calm in a situation that was scarier than one you’ve ever been in so far in your life. You were thankful for Jay. You knew what happened in Chicago. You weren’t stupid. You worked in the medical field. People get kidnapped. People get raped. Especially at night or early in the morning.

You feel weak and helpless. Like you can’t protect yourself. You’re defenseless. You don’t like it. But for now, it was okay. You had Jay. Maybe he would even teach you some self-defense.

“You there?” Jay asked.

“Yeah.” You breathes out.

“I’m right here.” He said. You didn’t know how he knew your exact location, but you didn’t question it since he was a cop and also coming to your rescue at the moment. “I’m coming in and I’ll make sure you get out safely.”

“Thank you.” You whispered, feeling a wave of relief wash over you at the fact that Jay was here and would protect you.

The phone call ended and you saw Jay practically run in the door and looked around the practically empty bar before his eyes landed on you, sitting at a stool by one of many empty tables. By the time you stood up, he was already where you were- engulfing you in a giant hug. You never felt more safe- considering the situation you had just been in.

The feeling of Jay’s arms around you make you feel warm and happy. You felt at ease and protected. You hugged him back tightly.

After a couple of seconds he pulled away and looked you over for signs of injury or anything that could make him want to strangle the creepy guy more than he already wanted to.

After he scanned you over and concluded that you were physically alright, he swiftly pulled you into another tight hug. You face pressed against his chest as his chin rested atop your head.

He held you to him by pressing one of his hands to the small of your back while the other soothingly ran over the back of your head and tour hair.

“It’s okay.” He said. “You’re safe now. You’re safe with me. I’ll always protect you.”

“Thank you.”

[samwrights]

Elixir - Punk!AU mini-series

Hi guys! So I wanted to write something a little different. Not necessarily a “choose your own adventure” but something along those lines. This mini series will be a Punk!AU where the reader is in a band where your story depends on the person you choose! While no place is actually mentioned, I’m thinking Chicago (home sweet home) for setting. I’ve been working on this between requests and, while the requests keep coming, I’m trying to get the routes going. For now, I present to you the prologue.

Thank you quarantine, necessary drives to my Starbucks, Halestorm, Neck Deep, Pierce the Veil, and Paramore for inspiring these babies. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: there will be swearing, smoking of cigarettes and weed, consumption of edibles and alcohol, cheating and possibly be NSFW. I haven’t decided on the last one yet. Everyone will be of legal US age for consumption of nicotine, marijuana, and alcohol in the present day (18+ in some states for tobacco, 21+ in for everything else). However, there are mentions of underage consumption/distribution of alcohol. These are genuinely mature themes! If you are unable to understand that these themes are not encouraged to be re-enacted, specifically cheating and underage consumption/distribution of nicotine, alcohol, or marijuana, please do not read for your own safety.

A complementary playlist can be found  »  here

Photocredit by @scandeniall​

Word Count: 3504

Prologue is below the cut!

You had been trying to ignore the gnawing thrum of discomfort that had worked its way into your intuition the last few weeks, but today the dull throb had transcended into an alarm blaring at the back of your consciousness. Like your body was trying to tell you something that should have been painstakingly obvious, yet when you attempted to pinpoint the cause, you fell short with an answer.

Period? Nah, too early for that.

Food poisoning? That wouldn’t last multiple weeks.

Pulled a muscle at the gym? That was a joke, considering you hadn’t gone to a gym since your senior year of college.

Anxiety? Well that was a given, considering you had a nasty gut feeling about something.

Stress? Stress was nothing new. In fact, stress was a very familiar friend to you.

What the fuck was it?

Even meditating on the thought for the last three hours, an answer had yet to come to you. Without ever finding one, you reluctantly pull the plush covers off of your queen sized bed and push yourself up to sit on the edge before checking your phone’s lock screen for the time. 1:23pm. You still had quite some time before you needed to leave for band practice, but you knew full well that laying in bed any further would encourage your current laziness. Making your way around the clothes that haphazardly littered your disheveled bedroom floor, you entered your bathroom to shower and get ready for the day.

The warmth of the water did little to quell the unsettling feeling that emanated from your gut. You even attempted to center your with old therapy tactics such as identifying all of your surroundings, such as which muscles of your body the shower was raining upon or the different notes in your voice that reverberated off the shower walls as you subconsciously sang. When that had failed, you allowed your mind to wander through the metaphorical meadow that resided in your brain.

At first, your mind focused on whatever lyrics fell from your lips, recognizing the prose as one of your band’s songs. Connecting the words that were committed to memory with people, your mind began to wander to your friends—the three boys you were thankful enough to call your best friends of a decade and members of your band, Elixir—Tetsurō Kuroo, Takahiro Hanamaki, and Yūji Terushima.

Kuroo, or Tetsu as you sometimes called him, was the guitarist of Elixir and the “mastermind” behind the name of your little group. Mastermind being a relatively loose term, as at the time, you all had felt indifferent to the name. But as nobody had come with any better alternatives, you all had stuck to it until it had grown on you. Kuroo was a year younger than you and, outside of the band, was a chemist for a small time company at the ripe age of twenty six. As you thought of him, you let out a soft snort that nobody but you could hear, thinking of his disheveled raven haired locks that framed his face; thinking of his earlobe holes that had been stretched out to nearly half an inch in diameter; thinking of the myriad of tattoos that littered his body from neck to toe. Sometimes, it did seem a little funny that this man had to wear a lab coat on the daily. You were so proud of him and of his accomplishments. He was ambitious and driven, focused on his goal of succeeding in both his field and with his band. Whether that meant recording an album and touring or just continuing to have fun was unknown, since really he would be fine with either or both.

Entertaining your analytical thoughts about Kuroo brought you to the bassist of your band, Takahiro Hanamaki, as you had met them both at your high school jobs in a local cafe. Makki, though he initially seemed profoundly reserved, had a relaxed sense of humor that typically came at the expense of others. At the time, he was a distinct contrast to Kuroo’s loud, antagonistic nature. Now, the two of them began to take bits and pieces of each other’s personalities. While Makki’s cool, composed self remained, he also was not one to avoid baiting someone just to crack a joke or tease them, an attribute he had adopted over the years of exposure to you and the guitarist. However, his laidback attitude was almost never immediately acknowledged by strangers, as his lanky build and harrowing, deep set eyes typically intimidate those who don’t know the light hearted bassist. And while he wasn’t the most “modified” member of the band, many saw the two eyebrow rings that rested above the right brow and, in conjunction with his natural features, immediately assumed the impression that Makki was unapproachable. You always had a soft spot for Makki and his slightly misunderstood ways.

Speaking of misunderstood brought your mind to the youngest member of your quartet—Yūji Terushima, or Teru as you affectionately called him. While he was only a year younger than the boys, two years in comparison to you, he was the life energy of the squad. When he had entered the cafe in which you, Kuroo, and Makki worked at for his first day, it felt that the final missing piece of the puzzle had been found, though you didn’t know it yet. It had been a year later, with you officially accepting the role of supervisor instead of trainer and Kuroo being your replacement. The two hit it off swimmingly and, while Makki didn’t necessarily match his energy, he compensated with humor. Terushima was, and still is, a wild thing. He breathes life into the rest of you by offering up crazy adventures that varied from a simple 2am Walmart trip to breaking into forest preserves at the dead of night to swim in a creek even though you had finals to attend to the following morning. In a sense, Terushima was the very reason Elixir had been born. After all, he was the one who encouraged each you to learn covers of songs until the interest had been sparked enough to learn how to properly play everyone’s respected instruments.

Backtracking your thoughts—finals. Finals meant university, and university was probably the most wild time of your life. As the friendship between the four of you continued to blossom with years passing, you all had made a pact to attend the same university. At one point, it had been tricky, trying to decide on where you were going to go and if you wanted to wait for Teru to catch up due to the age gap or if you, as the eldest, were going to pave the way for your juniors. It came as a surprise to the boys when you announced that you would wait, taking a two year gap in order to save money to lessen the blow of tuition in your bank account. Even more surprisingly, Kuroo and Makki had agreed with each other to do the same—what was the point in you staying behind and waiting for Yūji if they weren’t going to as well?

Waiting for Terushima turned out to be the absolute best idea ever. While you were initially hesitant to be rooming with three boys, friendship be damned, the four of you getting an apartment together for your university years was the best chaotic good moment you had ever been involved in. In a way, you all had gotten to celebrate many firsts together because of it. Did it bother you that you were a slightly older freshman? Sure, a little bit. Did it matter? Not at all, considering you were able to start buying liquor and beer as a sophomore in college and, as soon as your younger peers found out, you had turned it into a business to help pay rent for your shared apartment. Oddly enough, Terushima was the one who handled all of the expenses and calculated what you should be charging for your, ahem, “services”. Go figure, the youngest of you all was a math whiz. There was one unwritten rule for the apartment—no parties. Period. You could use your services to grab whatever supplies needed, whether it be alcohol, weed from a dispensary, or cigarettes, they were for your guys’ personal use only. Home was meant to home, and that was that.

Home; probably the single most important word in the entirety of your personal dictionary. While home was most often defined as a place in which a person or family resides, it meant something entirely different to you. Being home meant being with your best friends, your family. It meant being free to be yourself, unapologetically and unabashedly. And, maybe after rummaging through every single thought and analyzing each one through a metaphorical microscope, maybe that was where the disturbance in your intuition—that nasty gut feeling residing in the pit of your stomach—was coming from. There was something that you could not quite place that was disturbing your freedom, your home. Coming to the realization that your hot water had now gone cold, prompting you to shut it off and seek refuge and warmth in a fluffy towel and robe. Had it gone cold in that moment—the moment you realized why you had been on edge? Or had it been running cold out of irony that you had been in meditation for so long you hadn’t even realized it? You would never know the answer.

2:07pm. You still had plenty of time before band practice, considering both Makki and Tetsu would still be at work for another hour. To give them ample time to unwind from their work day, practice always started at five in the evening. In an attempt to kill time, you opted to make yourself a small lunch before sitting down to do your hair and makeup so as that you felt more comfortable being in public. Not that the boys cared—they lived with you for four years in university, they knew what you looked like at your absolute worst. Perhaps it became a habit to do so when you re-entered the working world as a full fledged adult three years ago.

2:29pm. After having your lunch, even taking the time to do all the dishes before moving into your next task—getting ready. While you didn’t feel the need to go overboard on your appearance, since it was just practice after all, you still had a solid hour and a half before Elixir was supposed to meet. Having plenty of time to kill allowed you to take your time to forego some self-care as well; maybe giving your locks a little extra tender love and care if you felt you needed it; plucking stray eyebrow hairs that had grown just a bit further outside of your desired shape. You checked the time on your phone again after you felt your look was complete, hair, makeup, and all. How the fuck had only an hour gone by? That was way more effort than you normally put in, or so you claim, yet time seemed to be mocking you.

3:36pm. If you could magically waste time picking out an outfit to wear to practice, you were doing so now. One part of you almost wanted to chuck on the leather pants you would potentially be sporting for tomorrow evening so as to give them a slight stretch and make them more comfortable while you performed. Another said to just keep it simple, and stick to leggings and a nice loose tee to keep you at ease. The last option that your mind entertained was wearing shorts and a tank because it always got so hot in Terushima’s basement during practice. You even went so far as to try on multiple shirts and tops that were essentially the same, swapping out different preferred accessories to see if you liked the look, if only to make the minutes tick by. Hell, you even tried multiple pairs of shoes, lacing each foot individually before the clock had passed four in the afternoon. Eventually, you tied on your typical, everyday combat boots despite the wasted minutes trying to do a wardrobe check. Now that there was only an hour left for Elixir to begin arriving the at the drummer’s family home, you decide to give yourself ample time to stop by and grab coffee for everyone.

4:13pm. You send a text message out to your mates, waiting for them to reply with what you knew would be their typical orders. Well, as typical as it could be considering Terushima was always trying out crazy concoctions. One by one they responded and of course, your assumptions were correct when Teru sent in his drink that took up four rows of text. “What in the actual fuck?” You grumbled out, squinting at your phone while simultaneously trying to enter your car. Following your typical routine of turning on whatever guilty pleasure playlist you were feeling in that moment and lighting a cigarette, you glanced at your friends order one more time before ultimately deciding to place the order online. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself ordering Yūji’s stupid drink. After placing the order, you made your way to a Starbucks closest to the aforementioned boy’s family home.

The drive to Terushima’s wasn’t a particularly long, even with the coffee run. Traveling between two suburban towns typically only took about twenty minutes regardless of the direction you were coming from, though you hadn’t taken into account the long line wrapping around the Starbucks Drive-thru. Not that it mattered—you were still on time for practice. Even if it seemed all of your friends were already here. Cautiously exiting your car with the tray of drinks in one hand while you let yourself into the Terushima residence.

His parents greeted you warmly as you always did before you made your way down to the basement. “Ayeeee, there’s momma.” Makki greets, taking the tray from your hands and distributing everyone’s respective drinks. Small talk place between band members, distracting you from the other three people in the basement—your bandmates’ girlfriends. When you did finally acknowledge their presence, you gave them a tight lipped smile, so as not to be rude, though they only gave a blank stare before bringing their attention back to the phones in their hands. You gave a roll of your eyes. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them, per se. It was more along the lines of you were the only female in the band and they automatically assumed that you were out to steal their mans. Not the case, especially considering you all formed the band before any of them were even in the picture, but go off.

Having already finished your beverage from earlier, you began plugging in the microphone into the amplifier and tuning the guitar you used for a small number of songs. Everyone else seemed to be ready to go except for you, who was strapping on the aforementioned guitar to prepare for the insanity of an opening that is Kuroo’s masterpiece. Besitos, he called it. Spanish for little kisses, you often wondered where the romantic title had come from considering the narrative was less than pleasant, even foreshadowing murder in the final verse. When you asked him about the inspiration for the lyrics and the title, Kuroo did nothing but laugh, adding in, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

The second song was a project curated by your drummer, Terushima. Brick by Boring Brick was a song that he claimed was inspired by his girlfriend, which was an endearing gesture if that were the truth. But from what you and the rest of Elixir had known of his girlfriend, she didn’t come off as a person plagued with baggage. Not that you could base it solely off of appearance, but with her and Yūji’s short lived relationship, it was a bit unbelievable that he had unlocked her tragic backstory in a matter of three months. Then again, what did you know? You didn’t even remember her name.

The title of the third song, Growing Pains, always made you laugh at the irony considering that Makki’s tall ass wrote the song. While a romantic, upbeat love song from Teru didn’t strike you as a shock, it certainly did coming from the bassist. Emotions that danced in the “love” category didn’t really sway him often. Maybe his girlfriend was just that special to him? You weren’t sure, because once again, you knew none of their names. But you knew for a fact that the song seemed to call for something more stable, endearing growth together and support for each other, which had you questioning how long had you been apart from your friends.

After the third song, you were winded and uncomfortable and no amount of water you chugged was helping you with sweat and dehydration. “I’m gonna die tomorrow.” You joked after setting your water bottle down by your microphone stand.

“We’re only a third of the way through the set, headass.” Terushima joked, pulling down his lower left eyelid and sticking his tongue out to you.

“For real, it’s only been like twenty minutes since we started practice.” Kuroo chided.

“Yeah, but can we smoke instead? I think there were a few things we should tune up before moving onto the next third of the set.” You looked to your guitarist with pleading eyes, holding a cigarette and lighter between your fingers. Makki, without saying anything else, pulled out a small bowl and packed it. He knew that any form of pleading made Kuroo a weak man, which inevitably meant a smoke break was up next rather than continuing on with work.

“Fine.” Despite the mock defeat in his tone, Kuroo is already gliding up the stairs, taking two steps at a time with you in tow. More steps could be heard, but they were lighter than the boys you had come know so well, meaning the three stooges were most likely following suit, despite them not being smokers themselves.

You and Kuroo were currently seated on a stone barricade as you lit your cigarettes, the rest of the crew picking at sporadic seats along the wall. Teru and Makki were next to each other to share their bowl while their girlfriends sat on the outside of them, just to your right. Kuroo’s girlfriend had taken up occupying the space between you and your guitarist and, maybe for a moment, you were wondering they were deliberately arranged this way.

The worst part of the girlfriends accompanying practice, in your eyes, was not their presence, but rather the fact that you felt like you couldn’t even talk to your best friends, your bandmates at band practice, because they were too busy comforting them so that they “didn’t feel out of place”. Regardless, you respected your friends enough to not make the situation more difficult for them—if you needed to say something, you could say it in the basement where spectator talk was not welcome. Out of the corner of your eye while you were internally monologuing, you see the lanky arm of Makki offering you the bowl, a few cinders of his hot still lit. With poor timing, he grabbed your attention while you were exhaling the smoke in your lungs, unintentionally doing so onto his girlfriend. “Shit, I’m sorry.” She rolled her eyes, though you know you didn’t do it on purpose. Whatever, she had her truths. You held up your hand that squeezed the filter of your cigarette between your index and ring finger. “I’ll get it on the next turn,” making Makki shrug and pass the small glass bowl back to the drummer.

A couple more drags of your cigarette soothes your craving for nicotine and when the paper had finally burned all the way to the end of the filter, you tossed the butt into the dead fire pit that acted as the center for your gathering. Terushima stands up real quick to hand you the bowl that had been nearing its end—giving you the last couple hits before it was cashed. When it came to marijuana, you didn’t smoke very often, but today you were grateful for the offering. Maybe the high would take the edge off of your...anxiety? No, that wasn’t it. Irritation seemed to be a better fit.

The seven of you shuffle back into the basement, rearranging yourselves, and knocking back a beer. “Okay, so before we move on, is there any song that you guys think we should work on before moving to the next third of the set?” You asked, your back towards your audience while you looked at your bandmates in earnest. They looked at each other, before locking eyes with you.

“Is there anything you want to work on? You’re the one who’s switching around with instruments and you’re the one who runs around on stage so we’ll leave it up to you.” Kuroo says evenly. You pursed your lips in uncertainty, think back to how each song sounded.

“Ya know what, let’s work on...........”

[ Besitos ] » Kuroo’s Route

[ Brick By Boring Brick ] » Terushima’s Route

[ Growing Pains ] » Makki’s Route.

BONUS: Terushima’s Starbucks order.

[am-imagines]

Crazy in Love - Alex Morgan Imagine.

A/N: I’m sorry this took me so long to finish:  Anything involving a jealous Alex would be great! Maybe with an at first very oblivious reader. Thanks :)  I hope the wait is at least somewhat worth it, anon! <3

Being best friends with Alex happened naturally.

After coming back from a serious injury that put your career on hold, Orlando Pride gave you a second chance to prove your worth on the league.  It took you two years to come back, to test the odds and challenge your limits just to play once more. But you found your place wearing Orlando’s jersey, and you wore those colors proudly.

No one could match your skills, and in no time, you turned the league again.

With Alex as your partner at the front, Orlando had a lethal combination. It was unexpected, but exactly what the team needed to escalate on the board.

When Alex went away to the World Cup, you found your rhythm with Marta with ease although it wasn’t the same dynamic like with Alex. At least, not on your mind. Sure, you two still put on a show and did a fine job keeping the Pride on its track, but you missed number thirteen.

You two are really similar; passionate about what you do, hard-working, a little stubborn, and competitive to a fault. People assumed you would clash, but you never did. Your rivalry has been playful, and the only consequence of losing the ongoing bet is who ends up paying for dinner.

Life works in strange ways though, and when Jill called you up to the USWNT for the last match on the Victory Tour, Alex wasn’t there to freak out with you. She’s in L.A. and actually, you won’t get to see each other until she joins camp a day later than you.

It’s not a big deal.

Except that you’re meeting the team on your own.

You’re meeting World Champions and despite knowing them through the league, joining them in Chicago feels unreal. This is also the end of an era, and you have one single chance to make the best first impression. This is your time to shine so whoever comes after Jill knows you’re there.

You didn’t make the World Cup roster, but you focus on the future rather than the past. Your goal is the Olympic team, and if you get one chance now, you’ll make the most out of it.

Joining the USWNT comes with craziness; courtesy of Kelley O’Hara and Emily Sonnett. It helps to have Ali and Ash around; they take care of the introductions which is a good start, but doesn’t make things less overwhelming. Still, it’s surprising how easy you fall in place. It’s almost like you were a part of the National Team from the beginning.

By dinner, you’re engaged in lively conversation with Christen, Tobin and Allie.

At some point, Tobin excuses herself, and as soon as she leaves the spot next to you, someone is already taking it. It has been like that all day long; the girls are curious about you and everyone wants to have a chance to ask you something.

“Did you miss me?”

Your gaze snaps up to meet Alex; already in training clothes and smiling brightly. Without thinking, you wrap your arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. You know if you two were standing, you would’ve tackled her due to your enthusiasm.

It’s been weeks since you’ve been in the same city, let alone sitting next to each other. That hug; the one she reciprocates just as fiercely, is one you’ve craved since the moment she went back to L.A.

“So much,” you admit. “Nothing is the same without you.”

You feel her smile even if you can’t see her face. Can’t blame her when you’re smiling too.

Open displays of affection are relatively new to you, but Alex makes them feel right. So, you do little more than blush when she kisses your cheek before the hug finally ends.

Once Tobin is back, Alex doesn’t let go of the seat. She even puts on a show of holding into your arm as further proof she isn’t going anywhere. The Thorn only rolls her eyes in amusement, but quickly finds an open spot next to Christen.

Even then, Alex pulls you a bit closer while the chatter resumes.

You don’t mind the closeness at all.

You also don’t mind her becoming your shadow until everyone is back on their rooms. You also don’t mind it when she makes her way into your bed and you end up cuddling while you catch up. It’s not something foreign; you’ve had many movie nights in the past that have ended just like this; with Alex being the little spoon as you drift off to sleep.

A soft chuckle escapes you when the next morning, she rushes to sit next to you on the way to practice. She practically body-checks Sonnett in the process. You weren’t lying when you said things aren’t the same when she’s not around.

This experience is crazy, but having Alex with you through it is incredible. You laugh with the entire team and join their silly joke contest. Alex only manages to roll her eyes and groan when you share a particularly awful pun, but you can see the hint of a smile on her lips.

A bunch of nerds can’t practice because of injuries; Alex, Kelley and Ali are some of them. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t a part of training. Pictures are taken, conversations bloom everywhere, and Alex’s arms are around you whenever she has a chance to be close.

She tells everyone willing to listen about your abilities; the fact they’ve seen them while you play on your club doesn’t matter, and you get to show them the extent of your skills when Jill starts a scrimmage.

You’re paired with Christen at first, and no one can stop you. Same thing happens when Rose, Mal and Tobin are placed next to you on the field to try different combinations. You adapt to what Jill asks of you, and you do your best every single time.

Everybody is a little impressed, and a few comments are made about the things you could have done on the World Cup. It’s not like they needed you. After all, this is the Victory Tour for a reason. Before you can say so, Alex has distracted you.

Every day is harder to deny you have a crush on her, and it doesn’t help one bit she’s brushing a strand of hair from your place while telling you how great you did. The blush burns your cheeks, and it isn’t from exertion alone, but you hope she can’t tell the difference. Maybe one day you’ll get the courage to confess; today is not the day.

“You want to go out with us for dinner?” She asks once training is over.

“Of course.”

You heard the guys talking about it not so long ago, and you’re excited about sharing another thing as part of the USWNT.

You head out together; joining the rest while they decide where to go. It’s too late to make a reservation for twenty something women, you’re sure of that. However, google is one magical thing that leads you to the perfect restaurant in a matter of seconds. The team moves like a flock of flamingos or something like that; standing in one leg and looking like clueless birds for at least three blocks; aimlessly following Sonnett.

Then, someone pushes you to the front where the real madness is taking place. 

It’s very amusing, but you decide to hang on the sideline while Kelley does whatever she’s doing. You don’t want to ask why she took her shirt off. Nope. You have the feeling that someone is gonna take yours off if you do as much as staring at her for too long.

Thank the Gods for Christen, sweet Christen, joining your side and tugging on your sleeve until you follow her around the corner.

“Are they always like this?” You ask in bewilderment.

“Most of the time, yes.”

Christen offers you a smile, then heads into the restaurant to make sure they’re ready for a bunch of soccer players. And that’s when you realize that it’d be hard to do much without a few adults around.

“Hey, where did you go?”

You smile at the sound of Alex’s voice coming from behind you. A moment is all it takes for her to catch up, but instead of acting like a normal person, she jumps into your back.

This is a side of her you know too well; along the one stealing your hoodies when she stays over at your place. Of course, that doesn’t stop you from almost face planting with the inertia of her jump, but you manage to stay on your feet. The only thing you can do is laugh at her antics, shaking your head in amusement.

“Eh, Christen got me out of there before Kelley started stripping people.”

“I wouldn’t have let her take off your clothes.”

In a way, Alex has kept you safe since the beginning. She helps you deal with most of the pressure, and it’s easy to focus just on the game when she’s next to you. But, if someone is going to stop Kelley and the others from doing something way out there, it won’t be Alex.

That responsibility would probably be Naeher.

“And who’s going to stop you from taking it off yourself?” You ask with a smirk.

“You can always say no to me.”

Except you really can’t.

That’s why she’s still perched on your back; chin resting on your shoulder while you carry her all the way to the restaurant. She has no intention of letting go, and you don’t want the moment to end.

You find Christen waiting for you next to the hostess. She’s one patient soul, but you have the feeling that all hell would break loose the moment she snaps.

The lack of privacy doesn’t seem to bother Alex, she just waves at Christen without letting go. Then, she nuzzles your neck and places the softest kiss there and you almost drop her. There’s no way she doesn’t notice the way you shiver, but she needs to make sure your reaction is to her, so she nuzzles you again.

“What are you doing?”

Your voice is high pitched and strained although it never stops being a whisper. Your face is burning hot, but your hands are firm on her legs to keep her in place. How do you manage not to faint? You’ll never know.

That woman is going to kill you, and she doesn’t even know it.

Alex doesn’t have time to answer when the rest of the team burst into the small restaurant. They fill up the silence with chatter, laughter and even hollering. You can’t even hear what Christen says and she’s standing right next to you.

Two minutes later you’re at the table, and only then you realize that Alex is still on your back. Good. You don’t want her to believe your lack of coolness and massive crush are anything she’d have to feel guilty about. Her actions took you by surprise, and perhaps your neck is more sensitive than you’d like to admit, but none of that is her fault.

“Hey! Stop hogging the rockie.”

You’re not sure who said that; too worried about getting Alex back on her feet while pulling out her chair at the same time. It’s not an easy maneuver, but you manage not to knock all the silverware down. You didn’t expect others to sit next to you, or even want to. It makes sense, they were all over you before Alex arrived.

It’s still amusing to find JJ looking at Alex accusingly while Mal is already occupying the seat on your other side.

You’re the newest member, and the new attraction. Thankfully, T. is still the baby.

“Get your own,” Alex replies without missing a beat. “This one is mine.”

Her words are just playful banter with one of her teammates, you know that. But they still have an effect on you, although you’re not sure where that’s coming from. You like the hint of possessiveness in her voice and the way she immediately holds your hand to drive the point across. 

Most of dinner goes away in a blur. You barely notice how Alex never lets go of said hand. You join the conversation sporadically; listening to the stories they have to share instead of sharing your own. Honestly, you prefer it that way.

When you finish your food, conversation lingers. You’re all smiles while Alex joins a conversation with Kelley and flings your hand around as she expresses herself. It’s endearing, and you can’t find it within yourself to let go.

When the guys become too much to handle; too emotionally exhausting for you to engage willingly instead of out of social obligation, Alex knows it. She pulls you into a one-on-one conversation before she suggest a walk back to the hotel.

You’re not too far, and the night is just perfect.

Only then you forget about the rest of the world. She makes you laugh and at some point both of you stop so you can stare into each other’s eyes while talking about everything and nothing at all.

The way back to the hotel isn’t as long as you wish it could be.

She isn’t going back to Orlando until the next season begins, but you made plans to visit her in L.A. She’ll show you around while you get to spend more time with her. You have to finish the season first, and you promise her to do your best while she isn’t around.

The team catches up with you before you make it into your room, and a movie night is planned right away. It’s the best way to deal with the stress pre-game, or so they say.

Alex goes oddly quiet when you accept. Anyone would give it away to tiredness, but she’s not shy about calling it a night if she doesn’t feel like it. However, she accepts the invitation after you do, and then leaves your side to sit in a corner.

Usually, something like that could be brushed off with ease. Not after she has spent the last day latching onto you. The team seems happy she’s finally sharing, and they are all around you before you can ask her about the sudden change.

With a sigh, you focus on the rest of the girls. You want to know them better, and it’s hard to tell if destiny has the USWNT in your future once a new coach takes the control.

The movie catches your attention for a grand total of twenty five minutes. You know Alex is in that room, but you wish she would be closer instead of the furthest corner.

All in all, you have a great time.

When the film ends, you wait a few minutes until most of the girl leave. There’s no need to fight your way out when you can talk with Christen as she gives you some insight on the upcoming match. Chris is sweet as a cinnamon roll, talented and gorgeous.  Spending time with her is no chore at all.

And yet, you don’t miss the moment Alex makes an exit. You want to follow her but also don’t want to be rude with your host.

“Go after her,” Christen encourages softly. “You’re the one sharing a room with her and a grumpy Alex is not the easiest person to hang around.”

A chuckle is what you offer in lieu of an answer. Your favorite girl has a temper, and dealing with it can be pretty much like handling a dragon.

A muttered goodnight thrown to a hard chillin Tobin, a quick hug to Press and you’re out of there.

You run down the corridor just in time to avoid Alex closing the door on your face. Instead, she holds it open with an amused smile on her face. That’s a good sign. It doesn’t mean you’ll let her off the hook so easily, but it’s a start.

“Okay,” you say closing the distance between you. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

Alright, she’s playing dumb.  She can try, but you know her well enough to see through the facade. Countering her tactic with silence will only make her close up, avoid the topic and pretend nothing happened. You can’t have that; first because she’s your best friend, and second because you two are sharing a room and it’s impossible to ignore it.

“How much did you miss me?”

The question surprises her, but she’s not reluctant to answering it.

“A lot.”

“Enough to keep everyone away whenever they wanted my attention?”

“It’s not like that!” She defends.

You pull her a bit closer because she’s trying to avoid your eyes and you only want to know the truth. Alex seemed upset leaving Christen and Tobin’s room, so you know there’s something bothering her.

“Are you afraid someone is going to kidnap me to dye my hair pink?” You ask with mock shock. “Is someone going to set me up on a blind date if I don’t pay attention?”

“I’m sure more than one of them would like to date you.”

“Like who?”

Your heart beats madly in your chest while you wonder if this is really happening. You don’t want to get your hopes too high, but if there’s any chance of Alex liking you back, you want to know it then and there.

In your mind, everything makes sense. That could be your crush on Alex speaking rather than the objective truth, so you hold your breath while waiting for her answer.

“Christen to start with,” she says bitterly.

“Wait, what?”

Her answer throws you off entirely. You thought she was dating Tobin. Sure, she’s sweet but nothing about your interactions told you she liked you in that way. She was the one telling you to go after Alex when the latter stormed off.

Oh.

“Are you jealous?”

She’s ready to deny it. You can see as much, but the truth is clear on her eyes, so she closes her mouth and nods. You shake your head because this is incredibly stupid. Like every other lesbian, or lady-loving woman out there, you can’t simply talk about your feelings.

“Would it help if I say you’re the only one I want?”

Her expression changes in an instant. There’s a moment of shock while her eyes sparkle with hope. She knows what she wants, and that’s you.

You make her nervous in ways she’s not used to and the way you’re smiling at her doesn’t really help. When she hesitates, you take charge.

It’s impossible not to look at her lips before closing the distance. The first touch is tentative, cautious as you kiss her for the first time. The ringing in your ears is all you hear while one of your hands goes from her waist to her cheek.

You need to feel her. To make sure she’s actually there and you aren’t just having the best dream ever. It takes a moment for her to react; hands going into your hair as she responds in kind. Kissing her is better than you’ve ever imagined. It leaves you breathless, a little lost when you pull apart, but you find home in her eyes; forever changing between blue and green.

There’s a dazed look on her face, and she traps the laughter bubbling out of you with another kiss. You indulge, holding into her while she takes you to another dimension. You’re not the only one craving that kiss, that much is obvious.

“I’ve been flirting with you since you joined Orlando,” she says when you rest your forehead against her.

“I’ve never been flirted with before. I didn’t know.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

You laugh at that before kissing her again. Now you know, and there’s no way you’ll let her go.

[loftec]

Hi i don't know if anyone haven't ask you about it or i'm the only one who wants to read it but CAN YOU PLEASE SHARE YOUR NOTES (ch.44) i don't know if you were serious about that but i really would love to read them cause i'm obsessed with everything what is ntw related 🖤 hope ur well

Hi friend! It’s possibly just you (or one other person, in case of separate anons) but that is enough! I was absolutely serious. 

Note on the notes! This is not all of it, because my notes for this chapter were often repetitive and very messy, and some older notes were from four years ago when I didn’t bother writing things out properly, so they barely make sense even to me. But! I’ve done my best to sort everything in some kind of linear order, and removed most of the repetition. And, well, you asked for it... sorry! 🖤

Ian shows up in the morning, Mickey digs out the magazine Iggy stole from Amelia’s dentist’s office the other day and confronts Ian about the big-ass article in Rolling Stone about IAN’S BAND, says he’s listened to some of their songs, takes out a paper where he’s written down some lyrics that sound strangely familiar.

You’re famous!

I’m in a band, people know about us right now, tomorrow they might not. I’m not famous.

You’re kinda famous.

Ian talks about Mickey recognizing him because of Frank. Hints that there might be several songs inspired by Mickey. It’s awkward as fuck, didn’t want you to know.

Were you ever gonna tell me?

Oh yeah, I had a plan. 3 dates, dinner and a movie, day out with Yev, dinner at my place turned vigorous love-making. Second prong; cohabitation, engagement, marriage, then on our wedding night I tell you about crushing on Justin Timberlake when I was 12,

then I tell you I’m semi-famous, if it still applies.

Mickey thinks his face might be on fire.

What the?

I’m fucking with you, Mick. Figured you already knew.

This again?

You angry?

No, I’m not fucking angry. Just-

Freaked out.

Kinda, yeah.

You shouldn’t be. Please.

It’s weird that I didn’t know, I feel like a schmuck. (And I’m pretty sure by your count we’ve already been on those first two dates.)

I’m sorry. I thought you knew and by some fucking miracle didn’t treat me different. I’d been gearing up to maybe have to have this conversation on our date, ‘cause it’s shit sometimes, you know? I don’t do interviews and I never talk about myself when I gotta do them, but there’s still a limelight and a lot of bullshit that complicates

I’ve been crushing on you since we met basically, and I thought I’d just… let it run its course, keep my mouth shut about it and deal until it went away and we could remain friends without me fucking it up.

Didn’t work, by the way.

Good.

Mickey is talking about it with Etch, who suggests that Ian’s been writing at the diner for a reason.

Etch looks up some lyrics and Mickey caps locks them to Ian

You might have inspired a few lately…

Fuck off. How many?

Since we met? Pretty much all of them.

Maybe one or two made it on to the album, but I wrote those before we really got to know each other so they’re just like… about moments, and how I would feel around you.

Didn’t think of it as creepy but it kinda sounds that way now.

No it’s fine

I won’t do it again.

Said it’s fine. Kinda like it.

Yeah?

You gonna tell me which ones are about me, or is that a secret too?

What are you doing tonight?

Thought you said you were going on tour?

We are, it starts tonight. It’s a small fan club gig here in Chicago.

You have a fan club?

Kinda. I’ll put you on the guest list if you want to come.

(Mickey calls Svetlana to make sure Yevgeny can stay with her over the weekend.)

It’s fine if you don’t want to, we’ll do something else when I get back.

Calm your tits Gallagher, course I wanna go. Needed to make sure I’ve got Yev covered.

Oh okay, good. You’re on the list. Doors at 7, gig starts at 8, no support.

You’ve got no chill.

(Ian doesn’t answer for a while)

I like it.

Good, that was torture. Never doing that again.

(Etch teases him about having his nose in his phone, and makes him aware of new guests arriving)

Gotta get back to work

Yeah, me too. See you tonight?

No chill at all.

Ian invites him to the concert and gives Mickey his phone number. Mickey makes sure Yevgeny stays with his mom on saturday, and after work he goes home and gets ready. Showers and cleans himself thoroughly, puts on cologne and a band t-shirt he hasn’t worn in ages, it’s gotten kinda tight on him since he got it. (He puts on a dress shirt first, tucks it into his pants and glares at his reflection).

He’s on the guest list when he gets there, the girl in the box office can’t find him at first but then Anne shows up and points him out, he’s on the VIP list and gets a pass that he’s told he needs to carry so it’s visible. He makes a point of shoving it in the admission guy’s face, but then shoves the ostentatious thing down the pocket of his jeans. Anne shows him in and tells him about the gig, about how the fan club got started. Anne says he can go backstage but he says he’ll pass, thank you. He gets a beer and finds a good spot, there’s a balcony halfway through the venue where he’s got a perfect view of the stage without having to stand in the front.

They text a little, Mickey says he’s there and Ian says he’ll make a sign when they play a song inspired by him.

run-through of the concert, Ian touches the side of his nose when the song is about Mickey. He’s sexy as fuck, and has some ridiculous stripper moves.

He takes off his hoodie at some point, and sweating through his tank he and Anne put on gloves and start hitting the barrels with crowbars.

Anne is the maestro, maybe Ian crowd surfs at some point? Warren Ellis that violin, man. He has little routines with Anne, and some with Jon too. One song, Anne gets one of his guitars and he does noisy stuff with his violin and plays on the oil barrels with Stran, completely in sync.  

They got some good stage banter going, and at some point Ian does a Tom Waits impression, and Anne groans and says he’ll sing the whole thing if they’re not careful. There’s a reason why he’s

For the encore, Ian touches the side of his nose and they start playing a song, Anne saying that this is a first. It looks like Ian is about to sing, but then it looks like he changes his mind and they start playing a song that Mickey sure as fuck hope isn’t about him. The insufferable man on a date right next to Mickey tells the woman he’s with that they were about to play the mysterious title track from their last album that never ended up on the record

“it’s derivative, but cute”

how can it be a title track if it’s not on the album

the guy talks about how he’s got a friend working as an engineer in the studio and he’s sent him an early demo version. It’s not their best song by far, but it’s cool that pretty much no one else has heard it.

Mickey asks the girl if she’s ok with this joker, and she says she’s fine. He offers to get her a cab or something, if she wants to get out of there.

She says she’s not interested

Lady, if I wanted to get with either of you, it wouldn’t be you. Just sayin, I ain’t picky, but that guy would’ve gotten the boot ten minutes into the date if he were here with me, no offense.

WHAT IF.

The concert is over, and crowd starts to let up. Then a fight breaks out at the front and Mickey makes his way towards it. It’s over before he gets there, and sees a guy in his 40s with a bleeding nose, and Lip shaking out his fist, a security guard between them.

Mickey talks to the guard and defuses the situation, putting the bleeding man in the position of a sad overzealous fan. It somehow warms Lip to him, absurdly, and he finds himself apologized to, Lip shaking his hand and wincing when Mickey grips his bruised knuckles a little too hard. Lip vaguely explains that that was an old ex of Ian’s, a real piece of work, and then offers Mickey to come backstage with them to see Ian. Mickey declines.

It’s Lip, Carl and Debbie (Liam is too young, and Fiona too pregnant).

“I was drunk, and wrong, and when I’m wrong I say I’m wrong. (IT’S FROM DIRTY DANCING YOU LITERALLY FORGET EVERY TIME AND HAVE TO GOOGLE IT WHENEVER READING THIS NOTE should I really be quoting Baby’s dad in this fic? Probably. If anyone can, it’s Lip.) And Ian tells me you’ve been there for him a lot lately

I wouldn’t say that

But he did, he doesn’t tell me a lot these days, but he told me that.

Mickey gets another beer at the bar as people mill towards the merch and exit, he sits on a stool with an eye on the backstage passage. He watches the band come out to talk to some of the lingering fans and sign shit. Ian comes out and is immediately surrounded by fans, he locks eyes with Mickey across the room and Mickey raises his beer in a silent cheers. Ian comes up to him after a few minutes, he looks damp and exhilarated and unexpectedly nervous,

How was it?

Not bad, Gallagher.

he asks Mickey over. He has to pack up his shit and do the rounds, but he’ll be done in half an hour, tops. Mickey says he’ll meet him outside.

Ian leaves and Mickey finishes his beer, watching Ian talk to some fans, signing shit and taking pictures. He goes for a piss and then goes out for a smoke.

Ian comes out after twenty minutes, carrying two guitar cases and a large wheelie-bag. Mickey takes one of the guitars off his hands and they walk together.

(maybe Ian has a banjo and he gives it to Mickey to carry and Mickey is all really? I wanna kick your ass so bad right now, country boy, but then carries it anyway.) (banjos are cool)

Walk from the club. Mickey mentions talking to Lip. They talk about Ian’s Tom Waits impression. You’re not musically illiterate at all! Talk about Mickey’s Radiohead tee that he stole from a hookup when he was sixteen, he’s grown into it now. Talk about Ian’s onstage dancing, used to be a stripper, well, not saying you can’t still do private performances (?? you know what I mean! this is not what they’re saying but you’ll remember it) (Note from 2020: I DID NOT REMEMBER IT.)

Talk about wanting to learn playing the trumpet. Don’t have trumpet playing lips.

”Sure you and your lips can do whatever you set your heart to, I believe in you.”

Looks at Mickey and smiles.

”What?”

”You’ve been flirting with me since we first met, haven’t you?”

”Maybe.”

”Huh”

“What?”

“Oh nothing.” “Just re-evaluating everything you’ve ever said to me.”

”Re-evaluate this;” gives Ian the finger.

”That an invitation?”

”Fuck you is what it is,”

“sounds like an invitation.”

Ian tells him a little about his different instruments, Mickey picks up the beat up guitar Gus first gave to Ian and strums it, Ian asks him to play him something but Mickey snorts and says he’s counting on getting laid tonight and him playing would be detrimental to that plan. Ian doesn’t think so, but accepts it when Mickey gives him the guitar.

”I’ve walked some thousand miles,” he starts softly, eyes on his left hand, moving over the strings, ”I have slept many hundred nights, and people’ve said hello and bye through the years since you were mine. But don’t think I’ll stop my mourning, don’t I know it’s overdue. Just because I’ve gotten older, none the wiser I cry for you.”

”Honey, cutie, sweetie-pie,” ”My darling boy, sweet old times, as long as I keep you in mind I will remember what love is like. So, don’t think I’ll stop my mourning, don’t I know it’s overdue.”

”Just because I’ve gotten older, none the wiser.”

”I cry for you.”

I’M THINKING OF WRITING MY OWN SONG BECAUSE I WAS THIS MOMENT TO BE MORE BEFORE SUNSET THAN ANYTHING, ALL SMILES AND DRAMA FREE. SO MAYBE A TEXT THAT IS A LITTLE MORE STRAIGHTFORWARD.

Ian plays the song and when he’s done, Mickey kisses him and they have really enthusiastic sex on the couch. Mickey is about to leave after when Ian invites him to stay,

How about some long-ass foreplay on the couch and then they move into the bedroom.

They start on the couch, they take it to the bedroom, they collapse on the bed after and Mickey is feeling too good to argue when Ian mumbles at him to “stay”.

(Sings the song, says it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just a song, it’s one quick thought put under a spotlight. Feeling like he should have known Mickey his whole life already. It’s too much, isn’t it? In the kitchen.

”do you normally take guys home and serenade them?”

”nah, don’t think it’d be very effective with most.”

”But you figured I’d swoon?”

”Figured you’d want the truth.”

”which is?”)

??? Need to find a good mix of excitement and new and easy, balanced with ho shit wtf are we doing this isn’t going to end well i think i fucking love him shut the fuck up. needs to be sexy and a little rough, as well as painfully sincere against better knowledge. kissing will do that. they’re doing stuff the way they usually do stuff, but for some reason it feels completely different.

Important that Mickey kisses him.

They stand up and stand chest to chest, Ian says they don’t have to do anything, Mickey says shut up and get naked

he helps ian take his shirt off and kisses him the second his face comes back into view

They fucks on the couch.

OR ALT FADE CUT END and don’t go explicit. Just saying, it’s an option. A valid option.

They can go at it in one of the sequels? Like the roadtrip can be more explicit? If I want? But also not?

I mean, there is such a thing as a nice middle ground right.

I just don’t think I’m interested in going all out porn after 40+ chapters of whatever.

THEY KISS AND THEN THERE’S A MOTHERFUCKING FADE TO BLACK MY FRIEND, BECAUSE THAT’S WHAT I HAVE DECIDED. Soz

WHAT IF!!

Iggy comes in, is all: guess what I found at the dentist this morning?

M: again? Did Amelia break another tooth?

I: It’ll grow back, take a look at this

E: Did you steal that from the dentist’s office?

M: Rolling Stone, wtf?

E: your dentist’s got rolling stone?

Mickey reads the headlines out loud as a customer comes in and asks Etch about something they’ve lost the other day, and Etch starts rifling through boxes behind the counter as Mickey moves over to sit down in Ian’s booth, rifling through the magazine.

M: what am I looking for?

I: I marked the page

E: what’s this note?

Mickey starts reading the article, realizing that the blurred picture is of Ian, and the interview is with Ian, and holy shit. Ian is legit famous.

Etch starts reading the list of coffees, eventually turning the page over and pointing out that there’s a phone number.

Iggy comes to the diner in the morning, Etch is rifling through stuff behind the counter and Mickey is doing the rounds with the few guests still there after the morning rush.

Iggy shows him the magazine he found at the dentist’s and Etch is in the background like wtf is this, reading from Ian’s note with the coffee orders, Mickey only half listens, trying to take in the fact that Ian is fucking famous.

Etch says there’s a phone number too and Mickey brushes him off.

Then he’s like, hold the fuck up! And gets the note from the trash and tries the number, and Ian fucking answers. And they have the you’re famous conversation on the phone and voila, Mickey has his number and vice versa.

So Mickey calls Ian in the morning, then there’s text talk during the day.

From Ian

So, you’ve had my number for x days and you only now decided to use it?

That’s cold.

From Mickey

You wrote it on a piece of paper you then balled up and threw on the floor, asshole, it’s a miracle it didn’t end up in the trash. didn’t know I had it until this morning.

You suck at this. (This is a nice revelation that he likes, but Maybe that doesn’t come across in text.

Not a complaint btw, just gleeful observation.

From Ian

Are we still on?

From Mickey

Of course.

Dumbass.

Ian

I probably deserved that.

At some point Mickey starts capslocking and sending lyrics to Ian, who has to explain through text why he’s written songs about Mickey, saying that he’ll point them out tonight.

HERE’S A QUESTION

SHOULD I SKIP THE WHOLE “WRITING SONGS ABOUT MICKEY” BUSINESS??

Isn’t it enough that Ian is famous and kept this fact from Mickey? Isn’t the writing songs business a little creepy? and if he did write songs about Mickey, would he really publish them without Mickey’s consent? No. Maybe I’m deliriously tired and about to fall ill right now, but I actually think I should skip that part. It’s a little sad because it’s been part of this idea for three years, but if I’m uncertain about it now imagine how I’m going to feel about it later?

When I started writing this story, it was supposed to be a quick and silly thing, and now it’s something else. It’s not important or anything, but also it is. To me. And making a decision on the rating was a big deal for me, and I think this is another one of those things. I’ve been holding on to this idea for so long but when I really think about it, is it even romantic? It’s romantic in that kind of teenage dream way, maybe? It’s more romantic to me if they fall in love for reasons other than Ian writing songs. But he’s written NTW, and he still thinks about performing it live, but we skip the whole thing about songs being about Mickey.

So they talk on the phone in the morning, and then there’s a text coming in after a little while asking if Mickey wants to come to the show.

HEYHO IT’S A REVOLUTION AND I FEEL FREE

Mickey and Ian text after the show (after Mickey declines going backstage) Ian asks him to meet him round back in twenty minutes. When Mickey goes out there, he sees Ian talking to a couple of fans by the bus and Mickey hangs back to smoke while he waits. The fans leave and Ian looks around, checks his watch, he has a bunch of guitars with him.

I AM LEANING HEAVILY TOWARDS MICKEY KISSING IAN HERE. He’s like “Stop, hold this” giving Ian back the guitar, so he can grab on to him and kiss him, smiling against Ian lips as the guitar tips over and clatters against the asphalt.

They’re outside Ian’s house, Ian says he has to get up at an unholy hour tomorrow. Invites him in anyway.

They’re in the elevator, then they’re in Ian’s apartment. Ian plays him the song, Before sunset ending.

almost none of that rhymed, just letting you know. kinda embarrassing.

(almost none of that rhymed, just letting you know. kinda embarrassing.

yeah, it’s not a very good song. is why we cut it from the record

oh yeah? thought it was ‘cause of the like, intensely personal subject

that too)

They smile at each other like fools and Mickey feels like he is exactly where he’s supposed to be, and there’s no rush. Fade to black.

Etch finds the paper, says there’s a phone number on it. Mickey dials the number and goes out back as it rings out. When Ian answers, he reads a question from the interview and they talk.

He goes back into the diner and basically blows the whole thing off, it doesn’t make any difference to him and he has to go back to work. Yevgeny does his homework and Iggy leaves, and Ian invites Mickey to the gig via text. Etch invites Yevgeny to stay over at theirs for a movie night.

Does Mickey tell Yev about the gig?

Start with Mickey out back, smoking. The phone rings and he waits for Etch to take it, but it keeps ringing. He bangs the door and yells PHONE and then it stops ringing. He kills the cigarette and goes back inside. Etch is behind the counter talking on the phone and going through the lost and found, looking for whatever the caller has lost. Mickey clears a table. It’s afternoon. Etch hangs up but keeps going through stuff in the box, talking to Mickey, when Iggy comes in.

It’s maybe more like afternoon (?) when Iggy comes in and shows Mickey the magazine. He calls Ian and they have a quick conversation (he probably goes outside to have it, to escape his audience) and they establish that Ian is sorta famous. Then they text back and forth a little, until Ian invites him to the show.

Mickey calls Svet to arrange it so Yev can stay with her, and then accepts. He goes home after work to eat, have a shower and change out of his clothes. He wears the only band tee he owns, mostly because it’s funny and because it’s kinda tight and he doesn’t think he looks too bad in it (and a dress shirt is way too much for a concert not-date, not that he tried on a couple first. Then he does a little bit of cyberstalking only to find very little personal information and a lot of crazy fans. Maybe he watches a couple of music videos, but they’re all really weird cartoons so they give him nothing. They’re cool though, and guess the music’s alright, even though he doesn’t have a connection yet to it so it’s hard to tell if he likes it.

Yevgeny calls, because Mickey switched the days and he wants to know why. Mickey asks if he knows about the Broken Bells, and Yev’s like duh who doesn’t? And freaks out when Mickey tells him about Ian. He doesn’t tell him about the whole date situation though, just that he’s going to the concert. Maybe Yev asks for some merch.

Mickey takes an Uber to the venue, even though it’s not too far from the diner (but on the other side, so at least a 30 minute walk) and it seems like they’ve already started letting people in. He hangs back until the admissions office is clear and then tells the lady that he’s on some kinda guest list. She can’t find him, and he’s about to give up and go home when he sees a familiar figure in the background. He calls her Stay-puft first, but then also remembers that her name is Anne and calls her that too. She remembers him, and finds him on a different (VIP) list, the venue staff woman is embarrassed, but Anne is borderline flirting she’s so nice about the mistake. Mickey gets a pass that he’s supposed to keep around his neck, but he shows it to the guards and then tucks it down his back pocket. Anne shows him inside the venue and asks if he wants to come backstage and say hello, but he kindly declines.

He has a quick peruse of the merch table (he checks the CDs, and then sees a smaller table next to the merch with a guy handing out pins, Mickey talks to him and finds out that it’s “fan club” pins to commemorate the gig and Mickey asks if his VIP pass gets him one, it does, and then the guy asks if Mickey wants to sign up for the newsletter) and then gets a beer, before finding a good spot on the mezzanine floor. He’s got a balcony railing for support and beer holder, and he’s got an excellent view of the stage. The floor is filling up with people packing themselves against the front. He texts Ian saying he’s here and they text a little back and forth. He gets someone to watch his spot and goes to the restroom. There, he finds a kid getting cornered by a middle-aged man. The kid looks vaguely familiar and not older than sixteen. Mickey steps in and casually accuses the guy of creeping on a kid and the guy immediately backs off, the kid says thanks and that he’s eighteen (because it’s an 18+ gig) and Mickey says sure.

Getting back to his spot, There is a douchebag on a date behind him that he wants to move away from, but he doesn’t want to surrender his good spot. He decides to tune him out, he’ll hopefully shut up once the set starts. It’s just a couple of minutes after eight when the lights dim and a song comes on louder than before, and the band start coming out on the stage. Ian is wearing jeans and a hoodie, like he normally does, but he’s clean shaven and his normally smiling face is set in blank determination. Anne is the front person, and she commands the audience with the slightest gesture. It’s obvious that the venue is filled with old fans, they all know exactly what to do exactly when she asks them to do it. Ian’s got like four guitars and a whole lot of other shit around him, and he’s super focused on doing his stuff, but now and then he does little routines with Anne and Jon, and gets a big cheer for his occasional solos.

A few songs in, Ian gets up to stand on one of the oil barrels, and Anne starts banging on it with a crowbar. That’s when Mickey starts to really get into it. It’s cool, and it’s a lot harder than Ian made it out to be, but kind of theatrical at the same time. Ian is brilliant, even though he dances like an uncoordinated stripper.

There is banter between the songs, mainly between Anne and Stran (girl sure bangs those drums!) Anne starts banging one of the oil barrels again and Ian and Jon do a little step dance next to each other across the scene.

At some point Ian takes off his hoodie. He’s wearing a white tank and he’s already sweating through it. He gives his guitar to Anne and puts on gloves. Him and Stran do a little bant-y thing and then they start a new song by both banging the barrels in unison while Anne and Jon start playing (maybe Jon plays something else, like an electric piano or a marimba?). At the crescendo of the song, Ian takes out a baseball bat and goes to town on the barrel, sweat shining on his muscly arms and his wet hair flopping down his forehead.

They go off the stage, but come back when the crowd chants a song, stomping their feet and clapping their hands. Anne says they’ve got one more song for them, and they start playing. She moves away from the microphone and it looks for a second like Ian is going to step up and sing. Douchebag behind Mickey tells his date about an unreleased b-side to the last album. But then Ian steps back and says something to Stran, who nods and moves into a slightly different beat. Without blinking Anne, steps back up to the mic and sings the last song.

Some of the crowd lingers by the stage after the lights have gone back on, but most move towards the bar or the merch table. Mickey hangs back to watch the crew take down the stage, and the two oil barrels being handed over to someone in the audience, along with set lists and left-over picks. Walking down from the mezzanine floor to go look for the restrooms, a fight breaks out on the floor. Mickey immediately recognizes one of them as Lip and the other one as the creep from the bathroom, and intervenes by clearly positioning himself on Lip’s side and reminding the creep that he could get him in trouble, the creep backs off and agrees when Mickey tells the security guards it was an accident (in a way that isn’t obviously helpful, but in the end still makes sure that Lip isn’t hurt or arrested for punching a guy) (because he did, he punched a guy, who is thrown out by the guards after Mickey’s intervention). Lip, Carl, Debbie, and Liam is there, but it’s only Lip who knows who Mickey is. He hangs back to talk to Mickey while his siblings go backstage (and PROBABLY DOESN’T tell him a little bit about the guy being Ian’s ex, making it clear that Lip really doesn’t like him). He also apologizes to Mickey for last time. He asks if Mickey wants to go backstage, but Mickey declines. He’s decided earlier with Ian through text that he’ll wait for him and thinks it’s better to do it somewhere that isn’t backstage where he might get asked questions and have to talk to people who aren’t Ian.

He gets another beer and stands in the bar next to the merch, watching as Ian and the rest of the band come out to sign some stuff and shake hands. Ian still looks slightly damp from sweat, even though he’s obviously changed clothes and run a towel through his hair. Mickey wonders if his skin tastes like salt. He drinks his beer.

Ian comes up to him after a little while, asking well? (or texts him, which probably makes more sense? But I also want Mickey to see Ian post-show)

Not bad Gallagher, not bad at all.

Ian looks pleased and asks if Mickey wants to come over, even though Ian has an early morning. Mickey says yes and Ian asks him to wait until they’re done packing up.

Mickey finishes his beer, goes to the restroom (where he sees douchebag by the urinal) and then he goes outside to wait for Ian. (He talks to douchebag’s date and offers to get her a taxi before the guy comes out.) He smokes a cigarette, and before he knows it, Ian is by his side, carrying a fuck ton of guitars. They decide to walk, for some reason, talking on the way.

HEY

Ian says he’s got a car coming and they walk a little bit to where they’re getting picked up. They talk about trumpet lips and stuff and Mickey kisses him. They get interrupted by the car arriving, and Ian picks up his guitars and says “you coming?”

Fuck yes

They sit in silence in the car, but it’s a good one. Ian says

Lip told me what you did back there.

He didn’t tell you shit.

He did, told me you stepped in and stopped him from getting arrested

He was getting his ass kicked, someone had to help the guy

And Liam told me you got him out of a tough situation in the restroom

That was Liam? Some pedo’s creeping on a kid by the urinal, I’m not gonna stand by doing nothing.

You know that’s not what happened

Yeah, well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

He isn’t a pedo, and Lip would’ve beat the shit outta him if you hadn’t stepped in.

You defending this guy?

No, trying to say thanks.

You’re shit at it.

Thank you, Mickey

Better.

So… friend of yours.

No. (Ian isn’t forthcoming with the info)

Alright, whatever.

And he’s definitely not someone I wanna talk about, tonight.

(Ian is smiling at him, all the promise in the world in his eyes)

Fucking fair enough.

They arrive.

OR Ian joins Mickey outside and they stand around and talk

They talk about Ian’s Tom Waits impression. You’re not musically illiterate at all! Talk about Mickey’s Radiohead tee that he stole from a hookup when he was sixteen, he’s grown into it now. Talk about Ian’s onstage dancing, used to be a stripper, well, not saying you can’t still do private performances (?? you know what I mean! this is not what they’re saying but you’ll remember it)

Talk about wanting to learn playing the trumpet. Don’t have trumpet playing lips.

”Sure you and your lips can do whatever you set your heart to, I believe in you.”

Looks at Mickey and smiles.

”What?”

”You’ve been flirting with me since we first met, haven’t you?”

”Maybe.”

”Huh”

“What?”

“Oh nothing.” “Just re-evaluating everything you’ve ever said to me.”

”Re-evaluate this;” gives Ian the finger.

”That an invitation?”

”Fuck you is what it is,”

“sounds like an invitation.”

That’s when a taxi pulls up and Ian walks toward it

Could use some help with these.

They ride in silence

They carry Ian’s instruments from the car, and Ian says something cute

Mickey’s like “Stop, hold this” giving Ian back the guitar, so he can grab on to him and kiss him, smiling against Ian lips as the guitar tips over and clatters on the asphalt.

They’re outside Ian’s house, Ian says he has to get up at an unholy hour tomorrow. Invites him in anyway.

There he asks Ian to play him something that other people don’t get to hear (mostly to be a cheeky monkey, but also because he wants it) and Ian plays him None the wiser.

I’ve walked a thousand miles to end up in your corner booth

Grinning idiot when you bitch, falling fool for your dirty mouth

Sitting on my busy hands when you swagger by and I say -

Hey waiter, pour some coffee in my cup and bring me my toast, before you fuck me up

I’ve been in some thousand fights and it’s clear that so have you, too

Faded threats and cigarettes, sharp glass polished by the sea

Wish you’d put your hands on me and make your feelings clear

Hey waiter

meet me ‘round the back door, tell me I’ve got it wrong and fuck me up some more

‘Cause I’ve fallen a thousand times but never felt this way before, like I should have met you long ago

Walked with you by my side and had your back through thick and thin

Sickness and health, come what may, and I say-

Hey waiter

pop the damn champagne

None the wiser

you fuck me up again

Hey waiter

tell me you’ll be mine

I’ll give you my life

and fuck you up in kind

I wish I was just a plain white shirt

then you could wear me off to work

and I’d be one of the things you keep close to your heart

soft white cotton wrapped around your heart

(Contrasts have faded now

but color still haunt my mind

And words ripped off from their lines

Make bitter tears flood my eyes

Don’t think I’ll stop my mourning

Don’t I know it’s overdue

Just because I’ve gotten older

None the wiser, I cry for you)

Honey, cutie, sweetie-pie

My darling boy, sweet old times

As long as I keep you in mind

I will remember what love is like

So, don’t think I’ll stop my mourning

Don’t I know it’s overdue

Just because I’ve gotten older

None the wiser, I cry for you

’Cause I always say ’I love you’

when I mean ’turn out the light’

And I say ’let’s run away’

when I just mean ’stay the night’

But the words you want to hear

you will never hear from me

I’ll never say ’happy anniversary’

Never stay to say ’happy anniversary’

Bom-chaka bom-chak 23 verses

And he climbed up a mountain

And he looked around

Some kind of forest

With all these dinosaurs

And he stripped his woman

He stripped her bare

But there was a pterodactyl

There!

[kyloswarstars]

Eric Coulter, you’re a bastard • part 1 – “the start of the end?” Divergent • Mini-Series AU

How do you say sorry when you have fucked up basically everything? Eric isn’t sure. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to ever earn your forgiveness. On the other hand: why should you forgive him? He had made the mistake of his life.

A story about Professor Eric Coulter, Harold the chimpanzee, midnight coffees and fries in the auditorium. You and Eric, Ms. Giraffe and Mr. FBI, trying to conquer life together until Eric did what he thought would be the best for you.

Pairing • Eric x Reader

Warnings • language

Words • 1.8k

Eric Coulter, you’re a bastard • masterlist

/////

Eric Coulter, you’re a bastard

Your words burned into his retina. Eric still saw them when he closed his eyes. The phone screen was way too bright for his dark bedroom.

He didn’t know what to respond. He was a bastard. And all the other words you had described him with. His thumb hovered above the ‚S‘ to start off with a ‚sorry‘. When he saw the three dots, that implied you were typing, he stopped and didn’t say sorry.

Fucking stay away from me

He had fucked up. Eric shut his eyes but still saw your words. In the past there had been a lot of fighting and a lot of curse words because that was just how your relationship had worked – even though a relationship therapist may would have said that it wasn’t the healthiest way to interact with each other.

This was different though. This was the pain speaking he had caused. The burning brightness in his eyes got too much. He teared up although he tried so hard not too. Eric almost threw the phone across the room so he didn’t have to see your bright words anymore but then saw the three dots again.

And this time I mean forEVER

////////// 2 years ago //////////

„And here is the house where Mrs. Smith killed Mr. Smith because he had mowed the lawn the wrong direction.“

It’s been only the second night in the new city and Eric already went to a frat party. He shouldn’t be in this car. In his position he shouldn’t become friends with students. He should befriend professors. He should spend his free time at fancy dinner parties, in a suit – or at least a jacket – and a tie. An appletini in one hand and a cigar or some shit in the other. He didn’t really know how those dinner parties really were. Eric had never accepted a single invitation.

It was hard for him to keep a straight face while teaching college students that were only a few years younger than him. His career had started early due to his father who had ‚supported him all the time and just wanted the best for his son‘. Sometimes Eric was still angry that his father had pushed him into this path so early. But he had learned to accept it. After all, teaching was something he enjoyed. He never thought he would, but he did. And he really liked to be that approachable, cool dude of a professor his students weren’t afraid to talk to. 

He had been so good with declining invitations – he shouldn’t have taken the one to this frat party of his new students. It had led him to sitting in the car of a pizza boy, who’s name was Rafael. He had delivered about twenty pizzas earlier. It turned out Rafael had been the cousin of Carlo, one of Eric’s students, who had the really great idea to drive to that 24 hours opened pet store and cuddle with rabbits. On the way there they gave Eric a sightseeing tour with the weirdest facts about Chicago.

They were driving slowly through a quiet residential neighborhood that didn’t belong to the campus. The car was slow enough that, when a figure appeared right in front of it, it came to an instant stop.

An extremely upset face was illuminated by the headlights. Suddenly you banged your fist on the hood. And a second time with both of your hands formed to fists. 

„Get out there!“ Your voice was clear and sharp. The yelling in this quiet street would probably get the attention of some already sleeping parents.

„Oh damn.“ Rafael in the driver seat wiped his forehead.

„Rafael I said get out!“ You seemed to know exactly who had nearly run you over.

Rafael unbuckled his seatbelt and opened the door, slowly got out but didn’t go to you. He waited right behind his door. „Get in the car and let us talk later. Not here.“

„Do you think I care about who’s going to hear us?“ You seemed a bit insane. But maybe you were just furious because you nearly got killed. Maybe the beer had fogged Eric’s head. Under normal circumstances he would’ve never gotten between a woman as furious as you and a guy as intimidated as him. At least not before someone threw punches. But in his slightly drunk state he thought it was a good idea to get out of the car as well and be a mediator.

Before he was even able to say something, your fierce glance switched to him. „What are you looking at me?“

Eric’s hands got up like you pointed a gun at him. „I’m not looking at all.“

„Of course you are!“ You blinked at the headlights and studied him like a hunter it’s prey. Yes, he was looking at you. Your livid facial features amazed Eric’s cloudy mind. „Who are you even?“ You didn’t care about his answer though and walked over to Rafael.

„I’ve been searching for you for about an hour. Your shift ended at 9 and you said you’d be there to help me!“

Rafael’s head hung low. Getting scolded by a furious woman like you was probably not a nice thing to experience. „I forgot. Sorry.“

„Yeah, clearly you forgot.“ You opened the door behind Rafael’s and ordered the guys on the backseats to make room – they instantly obeyed. Eric felt like they all knew you too well to disobey your order. „Can you drive now? I have to get back our chimpanzee.“

Eric didn’t stay longer than ten minutes in that car. After Rafael almost run you – his twin sister – over, you had given four more orders.

1: „Rafael, turn on the heating, I’m freezing from walking over an hour through the cold to search your ass“ 2: „Ew Carlo, take your hands off of me. I’m your cousin“ 3: „Since you’re all here, you’re going to help me get Harold back from those fanatics who think they can care better for him“

Eric guessed that ‚Harold‘ must be the chimpanzee you had talked about getting back.

4: „And please throw this weirdo, who keeps staring at me, out of the car“

He should be glad he got thrown out before he got pulled into something that ended in breaking the law. Since this was only his second night in Chicago he didn’t have a clue where he was. It was hard to find a taxi so he ordered an Uber which was there to get him in under five minutes.

Back in his apartment, which was still incredibly chaotic because unpacking wasn’t one of his strengths, he just tried to forget one of the weirdest evenings of his life by falling asleep on his mattress.

/////

When his alarm woke him up the next morning, he was still not used to his mattress laying on the floor. Eric didn’t know where his bed frame was and didn’t feel the urge to search for it. Not yet. Unpacking was a process. It could take weeks. And rushing himself was a thing he consequently protested because it had a negative impact on his wellbeing. In simple words: He was lazy.

And because of that, the coffee machine was right beside the mattress. Still half laying, he pressed the button to get a fresh coffee. Thirty seconds later he grabbed the cup and sat up, resting his back on the cold wall behind him.

Today was his second day teaching at the new college. He wasn’t ready. Not after ending the first day with this crazy car ride.

And as if the universe had known his thoughts, he froze in his movements when he entered the auditorium and studied the college students. You were sitting there. In the auditorium. In his auditorium. You were… his student.

////////// current day //////////

The phone screen made a cracking sound when it came in contact with the floor.

Fuck. He couldn’t leave your texts unanswered.

Eric got out of the bed, hurried to get dressed, ran to get his keys and then left the apartment. Maybe he woke up the whole street with the rapid start of his bike and rushing down the street, but he couldn’t care less.

He always hated that you were living so far out of the city. You were still living with your family – for obvious reasons and he couldn’t blame you. Tonight though, he really wished you would’ve agreed to move in with him. But you had turned that down like so many other ideas he had offered to build a future together.

There were no lights in the windows of your house. He couldn’t just creep around the house and hope for an opened window. Eric pulled out his phone with the cracked screen and opened the conversation. It was horrible to see your words screaming at him like that.

„I told you to leave me alone. Once and for all.“ Honestly, he didn’t think you would even answer the call, but you did, whispering like you weren’t mad at all. That was a bad sign. „Was this your bike’s engine being cut off?“

How should he start talking? What should he say? Which one of the thousand sorry’s should he offer first? How should he start to explain why he did what he did?

„Eric, what are you doing in our front yard?“

He could see the shape of a person in the window of your father’s room. You were staring at him. Your fast breathing echoed in his ear. There was no way you would forgive him. The realization that your relationship was unrepairable broken nearly drove him insane. How should he breath and eat and sleep and just be when you weren’t part of his life anymore?

„Scolding myself for telling them it was you who had kidnapped Harold after they finally stopped searching for him.“

Falling for you had been the easiest thing Eric had ever done. Before he knew you he thought body functions, that happened automatically, were the easiest things to do because you didn’t have a choice – you just breathed. It was the same with you, though. He just fell for you. And that, he did every single day for two years now. He didn’t know if he could ever stop.

You didn’t answer but he could still hear you breathing into the phone. He could still see you standing there at the window. Had you been watching over your father again while he was sleeping? Had you been reading him Pippi Longstocking again like he had done it when you were little – even though he probably didn’t hear you? Why did you not just hang up? Why did you wait?

„Why?“ Your stifled question broke his heart. He tried not to picture your face right now – this situation was already unbearable.

„Because I love you.“

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN TREVOR

But it worked so well, and we knew that buyers would have a big pool of potential users, at least. Web browser.1 Angels were generally much better to talk to someone, I could usually get to the end of each film, so they know who might be interested in this mystery—for the same destination, just approaching it from different directions. I recommend you solve this problem, if you find someone else working on the biggest things inexperienced founders and investors are probably more where it's considered especially polite to compliment someone's clothing than where it's considered improper. VCs want to blow you up, it wears you out: Your most basic advice to founders is just don't die, but the word madam never occurs in my legitimate email, and spam in particular. Basically at 25 he started running as fast as possible. And what are the universities thinking?

The next best, for startups that aren't charging initially, is active users. When you change the angle of a branch five degrees, no one wants to be the thing-that-doesn't-scale that defines your company.2 That principle, like the relative merits of programming languages is to give you enough money to last for a year or a hundred times as productive as those working for money, they'll work a lot harder on stuff they like. 5-7% of a company like Apple and think, how hard can it be? Economically, you can do in your spare time, and investors are down on advertising at the moment. They do more in their heads: they try to do things that seem to be: a lot of them. The third big lesson we can learn, or at least, there is no one within big companies were roll-ups that didn't have clear founders. When I look back it's like there's a line drawn between third and fourth grade. That's what makes sex and drugs, it would be good to solve?

Prep schools openly say this is one reason I'd bet on the curve, at any given time get away with it, and the different parts of the company through the COO. Object-oriented programming in the 1980s was enabled by a combination of circumstances: court decisions striking down state anti-takeover laws, starting with the assumption that we would never get started. Not because it's causing economic inequality, you decrease the number of startups that get bought early. It's not a deal till the money's in the bank and keep operating as two guys living on ramen. I'm optimistic. They think that there will be ten JetBlues.3 If you try to attack wealth, you end up doing something chosen for you by syndicates.

And you don't want to see the Valley itself, but it goes fast. What Happened to Yahoo August 2010 When I went to.4 What this means in practice. That makes him seem like a winner, they may avoid publishing's problems. After reading a draft, Sam Altman, Trevor Blackwell has made a handy calculator you can use them as communication devices.5 You not only have to filter email from people you'd never heard from, or about, a startup has decreased dramatically. Startups are that constrained for talent. But it's harder than it sounds.6 Smallness Measurement If you can't measure the value of products is in software. You don't have to rely on. Hackers just want power.

I knew she was about to say you'd have to be fired, and one of your most powerful weapons, I think this is true for funding. The best was that the company was itself a kind of argument that might be called the Hail Mary strategy. They don't have time to work, just like a software company. But it hardly ever is. My friend Robert learned a lot by writing network software when he was a startup, then hand them off to go away.7 Sun. Oxford had a chair of Chinese before it had one of English.

Which means the slowdown that comes from being in America. And in fact the two forces are related: they're the ones who like running their company so much that resembling nature is intrinsically good as that nature has had a couple thousand Altair owners, but without the substance. Ditto for hacking. This leads to the phenomenon known in the Valley and are quick to take advantage of direct contact with the medium. We were all starting from scratch, that's a really bad sign.8 More important, I think it's cleaner if you openly charge subscription fees, instead of just looking at them all is through a computer. Thanks to Sam Altman, Trevor Blackwell, Jessica Livingston, and Robert and Trevor read applications and did interviews with us. The stock of a company as big as Java, or bigger, just on the partner you talk to startups, a lot of investors are interested in, that's not necessarily a mistake to use the term Collison installation for the technique they invented. FreeBSD, which I'm running on the computer I'm using now, and they're not coming back. Court hierarchies are another thing entirely. In practice offers exist for stretches of time, if your business model in the world look like this? Startups don't win by winning lawsuits.

5 spams per 1000 with 0 false positives. When I was in college that there were about 20,000. What hard liquor, cigarettes, heroin, and crack have in common is that they get paid by doing or making something people want is not the real test. Ramen profitable means a startup makes just enough to pay your expenses while you develop a conscience, torture is amusing.9 Wouldn't that at least someone really loves. Sex, or something just as bad. I can see a path that's not immediately obvious; that's one of the most important quality in an investor is to say that the unsuccessful founders would also fail to chase down funding, and investors tend to take these for granted now, but only because people have found even more addictive ways of wasting time. It does not seem to be several categories of cuts: things I got wrong, because if you don't, you're hosed. So we should expect founders to do it yourself. If you actually started acting like adults, it seemed to them what e-commerce business back in the day, but who want it urgently. 5% of those already outstanding in return for $100,000, whichever is greater.

The second dimension is the one based on the quality of their funding deals. So I want to zoom in on one detail of this picture. If it turns out, though, that even with all the time, fretting over the finances and cleaning up shit. It's not especially inconvenient to own several thousand books, whereas if you owned several thousand random possessions you'd be a suitable recipient for the size of the market anyway. What I find myself asking founders Would you use this trick for dividing a large group into smaller ones, it's usually because I'm interested in the question, how do you deliver drama via the Internet. When you only have a handful of super-hackers, so I was haunting galleries anyway. But I know the real reason: the product is only moderately appealing. Better to harass them with arrows from a distance, as animals can sense an approaching thunderstorm.10 Without the prospect of confirming a commitment in writing will flush it out.

Notes

Since we're not doing YC mainly for financial reasons, including both you and listen only to emphasize that whatever the false positives reflecting the remaining outcomes don't have to do, just their sizes. The problem with most of their origins in words about luck. It was common in the imprecise half. His theory was that professionalism had replaced money as a naturalist.

If you wanted to than because they need them to represent anything.

From? The way to fight. The Harmless People and The Old Way. I know, Lisp code.

Do not finance your startup.

Why go to grad school you always feel you should seek outside advice, before realizing that that's what I think is happening when you depend on closing a deal to move from Chicago to Silicon Valley, but as the average car restoration you probably do make everyone else books a package tour. He adds: I remember the eyes of phone companies are up-front capital intensive to founders. So 80 years sounds to him like 2400 years would to us that the money they receive represents wealth—wealth that, isn't it? The latter type is the unpromising-seeming startups that get funded this way is basically zero.

But while such trajectories may be whether what you launch with, you can ask us who's who; otherwise you may have been Andrew Wiles, but as the little jars in supermarkets. Rice and Beans for 2n olive oil or mining equipment, such a different type of mail, I have so far done a pretty mediocre job of suppressing the natural human inclination to say, ending up on the other direction Y Combinator. This is an instance of a business is to carry a beeper? This trend is one of those most vocal on the LL1 mailing list.

The First Two Hundred Years. Who continued to live inexpensively as their companies took off? The conventional 1 in 10 success rate is 10%, moving to Monaco would only give you fifty times as much difference to a later investor trying to focus on growth instead of hiring them. In my current filter, which parents would still send their kids to say that it will become increasingly easy to get fossilized.

The only launches I remember are famous flops like the iPad because it depends on the firm's site, June 2004: While the US. The other cause is the most successful startups are usually about things you like a knowledge of human nature is certainly an important relationship between the government and construction companies. People tell the craziest lies about me. Patent trolls can't even trust the design world's internal standards.

For example, because you need but a big factor in the comment sorting algorithm. Horace, Sat.

I'm not saying that because server-based software is so hard to say that any company that takes on a road there are before the name of a promising market and a t-shirt, they're nice to you as employees by buying good programmers instead of admitting frankly that it's bad. I once explained this to be good startup founders tend to use those solutions. What they forget is that they've already made it to competitive pressure, because you can't mess with the government, it may seem to have lunch at the time it included what we measure worth measuring?

[better-be-reddie]

Absconding, Aberrations, & Alligators

'It starts with Richie standing on a small stage in front of a decent crowd. It's been a good four months since his giant fuck up in Chicago- four months since the great Sewer Tour sequel- working title. He's finally working to get his career back on its feet, before he no longer has an agent or manager or all the other people that make his career somewhat functional. They're starting him off small, a test run to see if he's over whatever mental breakdown that caused him to bomb his last show and cancel the tour he'd been in the middle of. Spoiler Alert: he was just getting started.'

or

Richie takes an impromptu trip to Florida, somehow it all works out.

Hey! So I posted this fic to ao3 awhile ago but now that I have a blog I’m porting it here too. Rated T for language I guess No warnings, just 11,000 words feat. Richie’s gay crisis.

It starts with Richie standing on a small stage in front of a decent crowd. It's been a good four months since his giant fuck up in Chicago- four months since the great Sewer Tour sequel- working title . He's finally working to get his career back on its feet, before he no longer has an agent or manager or all the other people that make his career somewhat functional. They're starting him off small, a test run to see if he's over whatever mental breakdown that caused him to bomb his last show and cancel the tour he'd been in the middle of.

Spoiler Alert: he was just getting started.

Apparently Richie "Trashmouth" Tozier was never really off his bullshit. It's just, the nearly nonexistent filter he did manage to keep was corroding faster than he could keep track. And if he's being honest, it didn't actually start on that meager lounge stage in LA.It didn't even start three months ago when answering a knock at his front door forced him face to face with one Edward Kaspbrak, fresh from serving his now ex wife-mother monstrosity divorce papers. 

"Just looking for a place to lie low for a bit." Eddie had shrugged in front of his small mountain of suitcases.

 "What and they ran out of fucking housing in New York?" Richie had come back with.

"Fuck you, man! You said if I ever needed-"

"Yeah yeah," Richie made sure to cut off the would-be rant, "Get in here then." He'd said, throwing the door open and stepping aside, letting Eddie into his sorry excuse of living quarters. 

He quipped and sassed his best in order to keep the fact that he was internally screaming hidden. Especially when he noticed all of Eddie's little facial ticks giving away just how abysmal he found Richie's standard of living. The thing was, when they had parted ways in Derry, Richie had been ready to let go, to push down his feelings and the impossible level of affection he'd held for his friend. Afterall he had lived twenty-something odd years of his life without Eddie, so he reasoned that he could keep on living without him. 

That's what he had told himself anyway, over, and over, and over in the month it took Eddie to just show up unannounced. Richie didn't want to admit just how awful his pining had gotten those four weeks alone, but it had been bad. Somehow being reacquainted with the man had set off his aching heart almost more than he could care to control. But no, this shitstorm he was about to set off didn't start that day three months ago, nor any of the subsequent days after wherein Eddie settled in and became an integral part of Richie's daily routine. It didn't even start those four months ago when Richie walked into that damn Chinese restaurant and saw Eddie for the first time in decades, which had him falling dick-first into one hell of a sexuality crisis. Again. It didn't start when they were awkward, gangly thirteen year olds and Richie was stabbing his hands full of splinters in order to carve an embarrassing hommage to his dear first love on the rails of the Kissing Bridge. If Richie was being honest with himself, which he rarely ever was, he would admit that it all started a good thirty-four years or so ago when Richie was fresh into the first grade. Sometime after he'd mastered his ABC's but before he got his glasses that would magnify his eyes and really solidify his place as a loser; early enough that Richie would brag about being a master of mud-pies but back before anyone knew he was certifiably blind, except for Stan and Bill who worked as mediocre guide-dogs while everyone else just labeled him as a clumsy kid.

 It was a cool fall day when Stan and Bill hadn't been around which left Richie particularly vulnerable to his "clumsiness", this time to the result of him tripping and scraping his hands up. Richie had huffed and tried to wipe the mud off his palms and onto his pants when a pair of sneakers entered his bleary vision.

 "You should really clean off that dirt." The newcomer spoke.

"What?" Richie had asked dumbly.

The smaller boy sighed and readjusted the fanny pack strapped to his waist before replying, "If you don't wash the dirt out and patch up your cuts they'll get infected and you'll die." 

Richie had been startled but also bemused. He got cuts and scrapes all the time, and was almost always covered in dirt from playing. 

 "I won't die!"

 The boy shook his head, "my mommy told me that if you keep dirt in a cut it'll go bad. You don't want to have to go to the doctor and sit in the awful rooms just to make sure they don't need to cut anything off."

 Richie laughed, "That sounds fake, why would they cut anything off?" 

"If the cut goes bad they might have to!" The boy spoke, growing irritable, "Know what? Forget it, I might have something in my pack." The boy dug around in his overly stuffed fanny pack making Richie smile."Got it, now hold still and let me fix your gross hands." The boy said, followed with, "I'm Eddie, by the way." 

Richie's smile grew at how the boys- how Eddie's voice turned shy as he introduced himself.

"I'm Richie."

 It was that moment, decades ago on a school playground, that had started the chain of events that would build, and build, and build until Richie was so unbelievably in love that he would never really be able to move past it. It was the first domino in a series of ridiculous and probably ill advised life decisions that would leave him standing on a small stage in LA about to segue into his next joke featuring the infamous "girlfriend" character his writers just loved him to bitch about. It was a bit that he had rehashed over and over in his different routines, this new variation he had mastered last week before ever setting foot in the small lounge.

That was probably why his mind was elsewhere as he began, he was debating in the back of his head what Eddie would like for dinner later, whether he should pick up take out on his way home or   it took him a moment to realize that the next words out of his mouth were not exactly what he'd practiced from his script, 

"So, my boyfriend Eddie and I decided to try and -" Richie stumbled on the sentence, his brain kicking in a moment too late as a couple surprised noises came from the audience, and a few claps and hollers rang out. 

Thirty- something odd years of pining and daydreams of the day he'd finally get to call Eddie his had finally broken through his shitty barrier and merged his fantasies with reality. Boom. Domino effect.  

Richie began to realize not only had he just come out, unscripted onstage, but also that this show was being streamed online...live. 

He also knew that he couldn't afford to fuck this up, or make it look like he'd fucked up again so he stumbled his way through through rest of the sentence and ad-libbed the joke with alarming grace considering he felt like he was about to throw up. 

His manager was going to kill him.

He knew taking it back would have only ruined the show made it even more impossibly awkward, so he pushed on until the act was complete, rushing off the stage a little more quickly than he normally would, if only so he could hide behind the scenes and panic good and proper.

If Richie's manager didn't take him out in the next five minutes, Eddie surely would.

---

Richie had less than five minutes alone to panic in the dingy back hallway that lead to the club's emergency exit before his manager was marching up to him.

"You had one job!"

 "I-I know!" Richie said, voice possibly a tad strained.

 "Rich, what the hell."

 "I know !"

"You're single handedly making me go grey! Okay calm down- we can- we can roll with this- see online opinion polls and then come up with a strategy. God we might have to renegotiate-"

But Richie wasn't listening to him anymore, he didn't have the brain capacity to listen or be grateful to the man who had, once again, watched as Richie doused himself in gasoline and lit a match. He should have felt bad for the guy, and maybe when his own panic died down he would, his manager was only trying to offer an extinguisher. He definitely felt like he was on fire- and not in the good way of speaking. Sweat dripped off his brow and his skin prickled as his stomach churned, twisting and writhing itself into knots. All he seemed to be aware of was the near constant vibration against his thigh that his phone was giving off, as it blew up with notifications. 

Richie's hands shook as he reached for his device, the finger scanner refusing to work due to the alarming dampness of his hands. He unlocked the phone using his code instead and balked at the notifications. He could see Bev’s name pop up next a bold 10 to indicate how many messages she alone had sent so far, and the little numbers over his text app were steadily going up as the rest of the losers blasted him. 

Great.

 Good to know he had an audience.

His heart seized as the screen changed suddenly and Eddie's picture took over, blocking his home screen. It was a great picture, a wonderful candid Richie had taken of Eddie in one of his full blown road rage meltdowns. Richie had laughed heartily when he'd seen how the picture turned out; Eddie, on the other hand, had been less pleased and demanded he delete it. Naturally Richie made it the man's profile picture instead. The photo always managed to get a giggle or smile out of him as if he were some schoolgirl with a crush. He wasn't laughing now. His eyes darted between Eddie's comically angry face and the green answer call button. Richie felt frozen unable to respond as the tightness in his chest grew, he felt dizzy as the walls closed in around him. The vibration of the phone stopped and the screen flipped back to his home page. A new notification for another missed call appeared, followed seconds later by a notification for a new voicemail. 

Richie gasped and began to move quickly towards the exit door shouting an excuse to his manager who called out in alarm behind him. He all but fell against the metal door and staggered out into the hot LA sun, the thick air and humidity nowhere near the relief he wanted against his already flushed skin. 

His phone jumped to life once more, vibrating in his hands as Eddie's familiar picture flashed onto the screen once more. Richie gulped and swiped over the green answer button and brought the device up to his ear with shaking hands.

"Richie? Fucking finally- what the hell?" 

Richie's eyes widened and he quickly hung up, nearly dropping the phone in order to do so. He didn't know whether to laugh or scream, an uncanny hysteria bubbled in his chest and everything just felt like too much. Eddie must hate him. There was no way he couldn't. His phone alerted him to text another text. 

Eddie.

'You better have been disconnected.' 

Richie's phone rang again. Richie swiped to ignore.

 'Pick up. We need to talk.' 

Panic seized him. There was literally no good reasoning behind the phrase ' We need to talk.' God, he even added a period at the end. His phone rang. The panic boiled, crested in a mind blanking peak. 

Richie blinked owlishly at the broken remains of his phone. Shattered against the dirty pavement of the alley. Great.

 "Hey...Rich?" 

Richie definitely did not jump. He turned to see his manager behind him, peeking out from the door.

 "You good bud?" 

He was definitely not good. 

"Yeah. Yeah, sorry."

 "Okay, okay, you sure? Cause you sort of seem not good?" 

Richie had a strong sense of deja vu all of the sudden. He shook his head. His mind was coming back online and he had no idea what he was supposed to do. He couldn't just stroll into his house like nothing was wrong, Eddie was waiting for him at home and Richie liked his dick attached to him thanks. He looked back to the shattered phone. 

"Hey can I borrow your phone?" His manager side-eyed him dubiously, cautiously and then the broken phone on the ground.

 "I guess- as long as it isn't going to end up like that."

 -

Richie's first instinct had been to call Bill, he was closest afterall, and he was the man with a plan; but that would have been his most obvious move. Eddie would no doubt storm the place in the midst of a rage so deep Richie didn't even want to picture it. So Bill had been mentally crossed off his list. Stan, Richie loved , as much as he could platonically love someone, but that would be obvious too. Plus he and Patty had been on somewhat of a retreat. Something about doing something relaxing and therapeutic after nearly dying and Richie really didn't feel like intruding on that. Beverly would have his back. She would laugh in his fucking face, but she would also give him one of her hugs after and let him mope. The problem with Bev though, is that she came with Ben. Now Richie adored Ben, it was literally impossible not to, however all it would take was one angry look from Eddie and the man would crumble faster than a house of cards in a hurricane. He couldn't lie for shit, especially when emotions were high. And that really left Richie with one last alternative. Which is how he found himself stepping off a plane, with no more than his wallet and the clothes on his back, half way across the god damn country, in fucking Florida. Richie looked around the airport as if it had personally offended him, and honestly it sort of did simply for being located in such a subpar fucking state. He really didn't see what the hell Mike saw in the place. He really didn't get it. Speaking of Mike.

"Richie!"

 Richie looked up and saw the man of the hour waving him over. Mike beamed at him and greeted him with arms wide open.

 "It's good to see you man!" Mike said,

"Yeah, yeah you too." Richie agreed.

It was good to see Mike again, they'd stayed in contact the same way they all had; through group chats and Skype calls mostly but this was the first time since they all separated in Derry that Richie had seen Mike in person. He really wished it was for better reasons. And not in Florida. 

"Alright, let's get your bags and then we can head out. There's a good diner not far from my place, I think you'll enjoy it." 

Richie shuffled awkwardly, "I'm all here man!"

 Mike looked confused for a moment then somewhat incredulous."You- you're all-? Did you not bring anything with you?"

 "I said it was an impromptu trip didn't I?" Richie said.

The look Mike shot him appeared as if he were waiting for Richie to crack a joke, when none were forthcoming his brows raised.

 "Alright man. I guess we can stop and pick you up some stuff you'll need. I have an extra toothbrush at home you can-" 

"You were always the most prepared outta us!" Richie cheered possibly putting too much energy into a...toothbrush. 

Richie knew it was weird, the whole situation was weird. He knew it was weird, and he knew Mike now knew it was weird. He could only hope that his fake enthusiasm could be obnoxiously distracting enough that Mike would let it slide unquestioned. 

"Uh-huh." Mike said still eyeing him up, "Well, follow me I guess."

Richie breathed out a sigh that at least they weren't going to have this conversation in the middle of the Arrivals gate.

 -

Mike's home was small but cozy, it had the foundations of something older with character that had maybe been remodeled sometime in its recent history. The living areas were clean but cluttered; books, and notebooks, and loose leaf were strewn around in somewhat organized heaps that probably made sense to Mike and Mike alone. The home was nestled amongst a forest of tall trees and brush that gave a sense of privacy, and to the side was a barely visible trail which Mike had pointed to when they pulled up and told him went straight to a little beach. Richie had eyed it dubiously, on one hand, beach day but on the other hand, he didn't feel like running into any gators, or snakes, or whatever the fuck else lived in this hellscape of a state. If he wanted to die that badly he would've stayed in LA thank you.

The first night the two of them had enjoyed boxes of take out which were supplemented by maybe a bit too much alcohol. They talked into the night, catching up in a roundabout way that dodged the elephant in the room. Of course that was mostly in part to the way Richie would circle the conversation back around to another of Mike's many research projects whenever the man looked like he was readying himself to broach the subject on what the real reason for Richie's visit was. Apparently Mike had been in an out of service area at the time of Richie's show and either hadn't yet heard about the disaster that it was or was too polite to corner him about it. Still, it sort of left Richie feeling like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then again, that could have also been caused by the fact that he was still without a phone and thus had no clue how extensive the damage he caused actually was. Well, he had a tiny idea. He'd already ruined the best damn thing in his pathetic life, what did the rest of it matter? Richie ended up taking the bottle of vodka to bed with him that night.

 -

The next day Mike took them both into town to pick up some more things for Richie under the disguise of grocery shopping. During which, Mike casually asked if Richie was thinking of replacing his phone.

 "You said it broke right?"

 "Yeah," he sighed, " Yeah, okay I guess I should get on that." 

Before his manager had a full on aneurysm. He was sure his publicists were already dead from shock or stress.

After spending way too long in a small outlet shop in a nearby strip mall Richie finally had a new phone set up. Richie played with the device as Mike drove them back towards his house. He hadn't turned it on yet, he simply passed the phone from hand to hand, it gave him something to do. He got the same model as the one he'd broken so that he could keep using his old SIM card. He told himself that he would turn it on once he got inside, face the music. Of course once the two made it back Richie went about the rest of his day doing anything but set up his phone. Richie even let Mike lead him down the death trail to the small beach, which would have been really nice had it not been in Florida.

"And not a gator in sight!" Richie said enthusiastically as he sat on the sandy shore.

"You joke, but that pic I sent you guys last week was only a twenty minute walk from here, in a river that a-ways." Mike gestured behind and to the left of where they sat and Richie shot him a dirty look.

"I came here to try and relax." 

Mike only laughed. 

-

That night, after the sun had set in a myriad of colors much less impressive than the ones which shone in good ol' Cali. Richie found himself curled on a deck chair Mike had on his front stoop, watching the moths and other bugs circle the porch lights with an intense fixation, the darker it got the more of them had appeared. His phone was once again in his hands. It had been charging all afternoon, face down on the coffee table. He sighed and finally stopped his fidgeting to turn his attention to the device. He waited for it to load up after he turned it on. Before long he was staring at the familiar screen, there was only about a second of silence before the phone jumped to life and loaded the-

Jesus Christ -over a hundred notifications. He felt a little bad as he skimmed over the list of people vying for his attention, mostly he had messages from the Losers. Maybe it had been a kind of dick move to drop off the face of the earth for two days. He quickly turned to his email. He winced at the couple he had from sponsors. Well, former sponsors he assumed without having to open them.

He instead concentrated on the email from his manager.   

  'Alright  Rich,     I'm assuming you still have access to email, despite your sudden vacation but please make sure you tell me when you have a reliable phone, I'd like to discuss some things further.        Good news: Your live-stream is trending, and there's been a lot of supportive interest within a whole new demographic. With a little work-shopping we can pull this all back together and make something out of it.    Bad news: we lost a few sponsors, some of the higher ups weren't happy with your unpredictability. Also there's been some negative press from some previous demographics, as well as some confusion on whether you were serious in your bit.      After hashing things out with the team we think you should start forming more of an online presence, we are working on getting your Twitter verified. Make a statement, control the flow of rumors, if you would like I can talk to the writers about coming up    with a statement for you. We need to encourage support from this new demographic by reassuring people your coming out bit  wasn't just a bad joke.      Call me once you've read this, and get your ass back to LA.' 

Richie let out a shuddering breath. A bit of the hysteria he had felt back in LA had begun to crawl up his spine. He could feel his pulse quicken at the mere thought of taking to social media, especially to what? Tell everyone he's gay? Again? Hadn't the first time been horrific and awkward enough?

His teeth clenched together as he worked his jaw until it ached, his breath seemed to burn his nostrils and tightly wound throat with every motion. Emotion thick and cloying wrapped around him until he felt as if he were drowning. He felt the sudden urge to jump up and run. As if he had anywhere to go in fucking Florida that wouldn't end with him in the jaws of some ugly reptile.

He placed his phone to the side and rubbed his hands together, feeling inexplicably dirty suddenly. He had run half way across the country and he still felt just as bad as he had in LA. All the gross intrusive thoughts were still there, the voices telling him how disgusting he was, how he'd disappointed his friends, driven them off. That he'd wind up sad and alone again. Behind that overwhelming fear was shame, shame that he had been lying for so fucking long, and yet behind that was the fear of anyone finding out, which circled back to more shame over his feelings to begin with. He shot his phone a scathing look. His manager wanted a statement? What the fuck was he supposed to say? What the actual hell was he supposed to Tweet out?  ' Hi guys, it's true, I love cock but don't worry I hate myself more than any of you ever could!' ? Yeah, like that would go over well.  Richie tried to amuse himself by picturing the look on his publicists face. God, it was suddenly even more tempting. Though he really couldn't afford to lose another one, especially while dealing with this latest fuck up. He wondered if he should finally face the music, open up all of the Losers unread messages. He opened his messenger app and immediately felt even more overwhelmed. His thumb hovering over the list of names. His eyes fixated on 'Eds '. Still, he hesitated. Terrified by what he'd see. 

A small part of him tried to hold onto the sliver of optimistic news his manager had relayed, however it seemed slippery and hard to keep hold of it lieu of all the other shit. He pressed down over Eddie's contact name and held until it highlighted and with shaking hands he quickly deleted the message thread, erasing all of their previous conversations as well as the slew of unread messages. Almost immediately he felt as if his stomach had fallen into his gut. Regret and fear churned in him and he felt more strongly than ever as if he'd lost something. Richie startled as his phone buzzed obnoxiously; he looked down, heart in his throat, expecting to see Eddie's picture and was surprised to instead see Stan's.

He swallowed thickly before accepting the call.

 "Hello?" Richie winced at how tepid his voice sounded.

"So, he is alive." Said Stan, dryly. 

Richie groaned and slumped even lower in his chair, covering his face with one hand as if blocking his vision could also block out his embarrassment. There was a beat of silence before Stan asked,"So, what's going on Rich?"

And Richie couldn't help it, all the stress and emotional upheaval- that fact he was in Florida of all places - hit him all at once and bubbled up. First as a near silent giggle, then falling apart into gasping, full bodied laughs. Tears tracked down from his cheeks and Richie honestly couldn't tell what sort of emotion was behind them. Stan, bless his heart, waited patiently for him to gather his wits and calm himself down before prompting him again with a: "Yeah?" 

Richie nodded despite knowing no one could see him, "Yeah." He agreed.

"The groups been pretty worried." Stan pushed gently. 

"I- I don't know what to say." Richie admitted, feeling his guts churn with unease. 

"Well, that really is something isn't it?" Stan said, "not everyday we find something that shuts you up."

 And Richie can't help the startled laugh that escapes his throat. Despite his unease, his fear, the smile doesn't leave right away."It's been an eventful few days." He finally agrees.

"And how do you feel?" 

Richie pulled a face, "Who are you? My therapist?"

 "Pretty much except the pay is shit. Now answer the question." 

Richie sighed, "I feel-" he cut himself off trying to discern a word he could use, "bad." 

Surprisingly Stan didn't mock him for his eloquence, or lack thereof.

Richie tried again. "I'm…" 

His guts continued to knot and squirm until he had to physically draw up his long legs to his chest, hoping for a respite, "I feel kinda sick." 

"You always did get queasy when your nerves were high. You threw up on the first day of school." 

"How the fuck do you remember that?" 

"Like I'd ever let you forget. You threw up all over Greta Keene's light up shoes." 

Richie groaned, "I mean, she kinda ended up deserving it?"

 "True." There was another beat of silence, but this one was much less awkward. 

Richie looked out into the dark foliage, lost in thoughts. "I can feel you thinking." Stan said softly. 

"I fucked up." 

"A bit, but probably not as much as you fear." 

"I-I doubt that. Did you- Did you see it? The show?" Richie asked tentatively. 

"Yes," Stan said after a moment's pause, "not while it was live...but afterwards." 

"Then you know I fucked up." 

"Yes, but as I said-" 

"I don't know what to do." Richie interrupted Richie could hear Stan sigh through the phone. 

It didn't sound like a noise made out of frustration but Richie's own self doubt was making him question everything.

"It's okay to be scared."

Richie felt his throat constrict at the words and he had to close his eyes against their sudden burning. He suddenly really wished Stan was here with him.

"I- I am. Scared." He said, haltingly.

"That's okay. You're not alone though, you know that right? You don't need to be alone." 

"What if- what if they hate me?” ‘What if he hates me?’

“They could never. There's no way you're getting rid of any of us that easy." 

Richie let out a humorless chuckle. 

"Why do you think they would hate you?" Stan asked softly, though the question felt more like a prompt than asked out of genuine curiosity.

Stan always had a way of sounding older than he was, like he already knew the answers he was trying to make you understand as well. Richie felt suddenly off kilter as he wondered if Stan had somehow already known.

"Because-- Because I'm- Gay." He swallowed down the bile that suddenly threatened to rise up. He had never said it before. Not out loud and never to anyone else. 

There was a pause as Stan waited to make sure Richie had said all he was going to before answering.

"Richie." He said, "None of us think any differently about you. You need to know that." 

"How- how do you know- I mean what if-"

 "None of us think any less of you. I'm not going to say this isn't a big deal, because to you it is. This is, well, it's obviously been something eating away at you. And sure, maybe you decided to come out in somewhat of a dramatic fashion and freaked yourself out, but you don't have to face all of this alone. We are going to be here to support you one hundred percent." 

Richie sniffed back a few wayward tears that threatened to escape. 

"Are you...are you sure?"

 "Have you read any of the messages they've sent you?"

"No- I- no."

 "You should. I think it will help. Also everyone was super worried when you went AWOL. You are...safe aren't you?" 

Richie felt a pang of guilt at the hint of unease that marred Stan's voice. 

"Yeah. Yeah I'm safe." He eyed the bushes warily, "as safe as I can be."

 "Good. But...I could be in LA in just over a day you know." 

Richie felt his heart swell and he wiped away a stubborn tear that refused to be pushed down. "Thanks, but I'm okay...plus I'm...not exactly in LA right now." 

"You're not?" Stan said sounding a bit alarmed. 

"Nah, taking a small vacation."

 "Have you told Eddie? He's been-"

"We haven't spoken."

"Richie." Stan sounded tired now.

"I - I can't, okay? You saw the fucking show. What the fuck am I supposed to say to him now? 'Hey! So I told the whole world about my big gay crush on you! Oh, by the way, I have a big-'" 

"Richard!"

 "What!" 

"Promise me you'll talk to him. Whatever happens, it won't be as bad as you're making it out to be in your head."

 "Fine." Richie said begrudgingly followed closely by a put upon huff.

"Thank you. Now, will you be okay?"

 "Yeah," he said, and though it was with little confidence, a little was still more than he'd felt previously. 

"Good. Call me anytime if you need to talk. But you should try messaging the others, I know they'd like to hear from you and...they'll understand Richie. Losers gotta stick together." 

Richie smiled despite himself. "Losers gotta stick together." 

He parroted back. 

"And call Eddie." 

"Okay mom."

"I'm being serious Richie." 

"Goodnight Stanley!" 

Stan sighed but gave in, "Goodnight." 

Richie took the phone away from his ear and ended the call. He sat staring at the screen until it flipped automatically back to his homepage. He hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath and opening his messaging app. He clicked on the first name on his timeline list and began to scroll, eyes darting over the string of texts, a small smile making its way into his face as he took in the words of, yes shock but also support. Once caught up, he moved on to the next Loser until he had read through them all.  And no he definitely didn't cry. 

Well, maybe only a little. He felt another pang of loss when he remembered just why Eddie's name wasn't on his messaging list. He quickly opened up a new message draft and selected Eddie's name off his favourites list and then froze.

 Stan's words played over in his head, encouraging him. All Of his friends show of support warmed him to his core, he could do this- A loud rustle from the underbrush sent Richie's heart jack-hammering in his chest. He froze, wide-eyed as he stared into the dark. A loud snap of a twig sent Richie vaulting over the side of the deck chair and nearly ripping the screen door off its hinges in his haste to get inside.  'Not today Satan', he thought as he slammed the front door closed behind him and slid the deadbolt into place. Richie huffed and wandered over to the pullout bed that had become his new home and collapsed onto it. He looked at his phone once more, and the opened draft before he deleted it and turned the device off. He'd message Eddie tomorrow.

 -

Richie did not message Eddie the next day, nor the day after that.However, in his defense, he had been busy. Richie helped Mike with odd jobs around his property and was becoming more and more convinced that there was a large reptilian monster of some sort living on the grounds. Mike could roll his eyes all he wanted but the truth of the matter was that one day Richie swore he saw scales moving slowly through the brush. 

Richie had also taken up his managers challenge and started trying to revamp his online presence. Now that he was officially verified he began, as the young ones would say, shitposting. His first order of conduct being a small tweet which read:

Richie Tozier @OfficialTrashmouth 'Turns out my biggest joke was pretending I was straight.' It had taken him a good three hours of nervous sweating before he had finally been able to post the tweet but he had also felt an immense sense of relief after receiving a screenshot of his own tweet from Bev minutes later followed by some words of love and way too many emojis. The rest of the losers had also sent their love and support through the group chat and private messages. He mostly ignored his twitter feed though, he had made the mistake of checking up on the tweet and its relevance earlier and had immediately felt overwhelmed. Not to say that most of the feedback was bad or anything, however as someone who had spent such a long time clinging to a carefully constructed persona, suddenly being unmasked and thrust into the spotlight was...scary. it was hard not to feel the shame and frustration he had been fighting off all his life. 

Later, Mike had proven that he wasn't as much of an internet phobic recluse as Richie had begun to believe him to be, when over dinner that night he had clapped Richie on the back and told him only a little awkwardly that he was happy for him and that he hoped he could live the rest of his life with more confidence in who he was. Which? Okay, damn.

Richie had simply nodded, taken aback from how touched he'd been, luckily Mike had not seemed to be expecting anything back from him and the rest of the night flowed into something more familiar. Before they split for the night to retreat to their own sleeping arrangements, Mike asked if he had spoken to Eddie yet. 

"Bill said Eddie was sounding pretty worried about you."

Richie had felt the swirl of something related to guilt settle over him, leaving him feeling restless with a negative energy he couldn't quite shake off. 

"Eddie's a big boy, he'll be fine." Richie said, mind already wandering and worrying.

 Mike sighed but let it drop before wishing Richie a good night. Another day another battle.

 -

Richie lay awake well into the night, going over all the little dominoes that had fallen over and lead him to where he now was. Which of course meant that, mostly, he thought of Eddie. He reminisced about hot summer days spent by the quarry, of nights spent tempting Eddie out of his bedroom window to go look at the stars, he remembered the nights when they would talk about all the things they wanted to do with their lives, about how much they wanted to leave Derry behind but never each other. Their pinky fingers interlocking in quiet promises that extended far beyond the reaches of Derry. 

He wondered a little bitterly how he could have kept his feelings contained even as long as he had, when there had been so many moments, so many times when he felt ready to explode with them. All the times he felt the need to pull Eddie’s metaphorical pigtails because he just couldn’t stand not being the center of his attention any longer. God, had he gotten good at it though. He couldn’t help but smile as memories washed over him, so precious for how long he’d gone without them. A chasm opened up in his gut though as his thoughts drifted back to his future, and its shaky foundations- hell, it didn’t even have foundations to be built upon. All Richie had was an email from his manager and the knowledge that Eddie must hate him. The thought of moving on with his life without Eddie by his side somehow seemed so improbable, so completely terrifying that Richie’s chest seized considering it. He wondered angrily where his conviction he’d had just over a month ago had gone. When he’d been so ready to keep lumbering onward. Maybe he had succeeded simply through lack of foresight. By waking up each new morning with a heavy despair in his chest and starting his day by pushing it down, down, down, before he could find the curiosity to examine it. By busying himself with distraction after distraction. 

He wondered why his patented technique wasn’t working now. 

Eddie had stepped into Richie’s apartment and scrubbed it until it sparkled and he must have done something to Richie himself as well. It was like the moment Eddie had stepped back into his life he’d swept away all of his previous coping mechanisms. Richie felt a wave of irrational anger suddenly. Anger at Eddie for throwing his life off its axis by his mere presence, at himself for growing comfortable with it so damn quick that he’d tricked himself into believing it was permanent. 

Richie stewed in his tumultuous emotions in the darkened living room of Mike’s Florida home with nothing to distract him from his circling thoughts and growing loneliness except the obnoxious singing of the swamp insects that inhabited the area.

 -

“It’s not a swamp.” Mike said, shaking his head and fixing Richie with a tired look.

“Listen, if it looks like a duck and quacks like a-”

“It’s a floodplain.”

“It smells like shit and is full of fucking snakes and gators Mikey.” Richie argued sometime during the next afternoon.

He’d gotten a somewhat fuzzy photo of a snake curled up next to a tree by the water and had uploaded it to his Twitter account with a “ Get out of my swamp!” caption and had been arguing with Mike on and off ever since.  Honestly Richie had been on a roll with creating a new Twitter, uploading mostly photos and quips but he wasn't really in the mind to be too serious while on the platform. His manager was still thrilled.

“What is with you and the alligators?” Mike questioned with a shake of his head, “You haven’t seen one since you got here and you’re still somehow obsessed.”

 “Do you know how old those things are Mike? They are nature's perfect killing machine. Evolution fucking stopped cause it got it right on like the first go, it just just paused long enough to make them a little smaller. They were here before us and will probably outlive us.” 

“Eddie tell ya all that?”

Richie scoffed and made a bit of looking awfully offended. Mike laughed so he counted it as a win. Sort of. 

“...speaking of-” Mike began.

Richie’s gazer darted to Mike, eyes narrowed.“He called this morning.” Mike continued.

Richie felt his heart rocket into his throat and his stomach drop into his gut so quickly he had to swallow down the urge to dry heave onto the sand. 

“What?” 

“He’s looking for you. Did you honestly not tell him where you were going?”

“You didn’t tell him, did you?” Richie gasped.

“Hey now- calm down Richie. He just sounded really worried.”

“Did you tell him?” Richie demanded. Mike sighed then replied, “I told him I’d get you to call if you popped up.”

Richie’s eyes narrowed but he wasn’t such a dick that he would call Mike out for lying without proof. “I can’t face him right now.”

“Why not? I mean, it sounds like you have a lot to talk about.”

“Nope.”

“I saw the video.”

“Oh for fucks sake!” Richie threw his arms up, “Isn’t privacy a thing anymore?”

“You live streamed the show Rich, I don’t think privacy was a concern at the time.”

Richie folded his arms and scowled. 

“Listen, just, call Eddie. Before he drives Stan and Bill crazy.”

That made Richie pause, “Stan and Bill?”

“If you would go into the group chat instead of hiding you’d know what I mean.”

“The moment I go on everyone will be able to see, including Eddie, so.” Richie shrugged, “No group chat.” 

“Full offense, bud, but you’re treating this whole thing like a child would.You won’t be able to avoid Eddie forever.” 

“Watch me.” Richie muttered, knowing full well that he was only reaffirming Mike’s accusations.  Mike rolled his eyes but seemed to give up the argument and left the porch to retreat back inside to let Richie mope in peace. Not long later Richie heard the shrill ring of Mike's home phone. Why the man bothered to have a home phone instead of working off a cellphone like a normal person Richie would never know, regardless, he couldn't pick up what was said from where he sat.  A few minutes later Mike was back out on the porch.

 "I'm going into town for a bit. Got some errands to run. Why don't you relax and think about what I said? Maybe call Stan." Mike suggested, shuffling his feet a little awkwardly. 

Richie took in the man's tense posture and shifting eyes. Mike was usually the type to stand strong, make eye contact as he spoke. Richie started to feel a little bad, thinking perhaps he'd been a bit too much of an ass today. 

"Sure, okay." He said agreeably in an effort to make up for his earlier prickliness.

 "Need me to pick you up anything?" Mike asked as he circled around his truck.

"No," Richie said, already feeling like he'd put Mike out enough for crashing at his abode for so long. 

Mike shrugged and tossed his keys with almost a nervous energy before nodding and saying "Alright, well, I'll just, uh, be going then." 

Richie nodded and waved him away, "if I'm not here by the time you get back, assume the gators got me." 

Mike huffed but there was a smile on his face as he hopped into the cab of the truck and started it up. He waved to Richie again as he circled around and started down the long drive to the main road. Richie was bored by then end of the hour. There was very little to do while in the boonies that didn't run the risk of being eaten by the local wildlife, especially without Mike there to help spot potential risks and watch his back. 

Richie wandered about Mike's home, exploring and generally being a nosy little shit. He was able to amuse himself for a good thirty minutes after he found an honest to God banjo tucked away in the attic. He brought it down to the porch ready to strum like mad and make a damn good nuisance of himself when Mike got back. However, as the minutes ticked by Richie's attention wandered and he poked around some more, flipping through Mike's extremely niche and weird collection of books, his notes, examining his bits and bobs. He took pictures of things he found particularly weird and bizarre, he was busy going through his photos and trying to think up anything that might have been considered funny to Tweet about, because that was really a concern now apparently, when Richie finally heard the telltale roar of Mike’s truck engine coming up the drive. He sort of hated the flash of excitement he got from the sound, he was a grown adult who should be in enough control over his life that he didn't rely on others to bring him amusement; of course that being said, if Richie had any semblance of control he wouldn't have even been in Florida, would he?

Richie stood up from the deck chair and raised a hand in greeting when the truck came into view, the banjo resting behind him ready to go. However, as the truck moved closer and the sun reflecting on the glass of the windshield shifted Richie began to become aware that Mike wasn't alone in the cab of the truck. Richie walked off the porch and into the front yard to try and get a better look but it wasn't until Mike was all but pulling onto the property that Richie's eyes locked onto none other than Eddie fucking Kaspbrak glaring daggers at him through the glass.

Now, Richie had experience many terrifying things in his life, the variety of traumas he had locked up would be enough to personally fund some lucky psychologist for years if he felt so inclined to go. So it's with great authority and experience that Richie swears that seeing Eddie fuming in the passenger seat of Mike's god damn car, in fucking Florida, was the second scariest occurrence he had ever witnessed. Only being trumped by the horrifying reality he'd been forced to watch in the deadlights. He knew he must have made one hell of a picture, still slightly hungover, hair unbrushed, jaw dropped and eyes wide. Richie felt frozen in shock at the sight, Eddie, his Eddie in fucking Florida. The truck had barely finished rolling to a stop before the passenger door was being thrown open and Eddie was bursting out of it like a mini tornado of rage.

Richie couldn’t help but note the state Eddie seemed to be in, hair usually perfectly groomed looked knotted and windswept, his skin pale despite having tanned in the LA sun and his eyes looked haggard, dark bruises from sleepless nights weighing heavily, even his usually ironed shirts and slacks looked wrinkled; his rough appearance did little to take away from the bright angry sheen in his eyes as he fixed Richie with a sharp look and began to march over. Richie had known for a long time that there was something seriously wrong with him, what, with his seemingly perfect ability to self destruct at every possible turn, however the point was really hammered into his head when the only thought that seemed to penetrate his shocked and empty brain was ‘My God he’s fucking gorgeous.’ 

That was until of course Eddie’s sneer picked up a notch and he opened his mouth to let out a scathing,

“You fucker!”  

Richie took a giant step back shaking his head eyes fixed so solely on the short angry demon marching up to him that he didn’t even see Mike get out of the truck afterwards.

“I can’t believe you! ” Eddie continued, “Don’t you dare take another step Richard, I swear to God!”

And all at once, all of Richie’s survival instincts were kickstarted back online.

“Nope!” Richie said, voice a little higher pitch in his fear, and he turned and ran. 

“RICHIE!” 

Richie didn’t turn to look back, he just went for it, dodging past Mike’s small home and straight into the Floridian woods. There wasn’t any logic to his actions, he didn’t even bother to stick to the trail, Richie simply pushed his way through the trees and grasses. He had no destination in mind, just the strong urge to run, much like the one he felt during all of his life's most uncomfortable moments. He ran, and ran, and ran, until he could no longer hear the sounds of Eddie and Mike calling after him. It was only when he felt like his chest was about to explode that he stopped to wheeze against a tree, he clutched at his side as he sputtered pathetically at the ground and silently cursed the decades he’d spent mostly ignoring his physical health. 

“Jesus fuck” He grumbled once he’d finally remembered how to properly pull air into his lungs and breathe. 

He took a moment to look around only to realize that he had absolutely no idea where he was. Mike had to have, like, neighbors somewhere, right? Richie groaned he knew this was stupid, he had nowhere to go except further into the Florida wilderness and that was one stupid way to die. Sighing, and mentally preparing himself, Richie turned to go back the way he thought he had come from. 

He snarled as he pushed his way through the thick bushes and trees grumbling at the sticks that caught the fabric of his clothes and scratched at his skin, he was going to look like he’d come out of a fight with a pissed off alley cat after this shit. God Eddie was going to be so incomprehensibly furious at him. He cried out in victory as he pushed through some particularly thick bushes, only for his cries to turn almost immediately alarmed when the ground under his feet seemed to disappear and sent him careening down a muddy, slick embankment and face first into green tinged waters. 

Richie resurfaced with a loud gasp as he flailed and coughed out a mouthful of disgusting water, swearing profusely. He splashed until he was able to finally get his feet somewhat stable on the thick muddy bottom of the riverway he seemed to have fallen into. The water luckily seemed to be slow moving without too much of a current.  It was however, quite deep, reaching up to his chest. He glanced around and cursed his luck, the river was narrow but he definitely didn’t recognize it. Which meant he had most definitely been moving in the wrong direction. He cursed again, this stupid shit wouldn’t have happened to him back in LA. 

All at once Richie felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as his whole body erupted into a strong shudder that had more to do with instinct than the cool waters. He turned, eyes darting back and forth along the murky water when movement locked his attention to the opposite embankment. Richie felt ice cold terror grip him as he watched a huge alligator pull itself down the muddy shore and slip gracefully into the slow moving water. Panic seized him and he spun around to begin clawing at the shoreline desperately, uselessly, his hands coming away with chunks of mud and grass, doing nothing to pull him out of the water. A noise he wasn’t proud of escaped from his throat as his mind whirled. This was not how he wanted to die, not in some fucking swamp water, not to a fucking alligator and certainly not in fucking Florida. 

He pulled himself along the shore trying to get to a narrower portion he could climb up when he heard a splash behind him. Richie didn’t turn to look though everything in him wanted to, but right in front of him was a tree, and Richie wasted no goddamn time pulling himself up. Thinking back, he had no idea how he found the strength to climb all the way into a tree when he could barely make it up two flights of stairs without needing to pause for air, but one moment he was in the water with certain death and the next, he was curled up in the branches looking down. Richie looked over the water and shouted out a relieved cry at the pair of reptilian eyes he could swear were staring at him, no more than ten feet away, 

“Yeah, fuck you! Not getting any of this today pal!” Richie laughed and felt himself sag against the scratchy bark, “Now just, go fuck off so I can leave.” 

He finished with a grumble. And then waited.

 And waited

And waited

And-

Richie was going insane, every time he would begin to think that stupid animal had finally buggered off, there would be a ripple in the water or he’d catch sight of a pair of eyes bobbing above the waters surface. He had no way to call for help, his phone abandoned somewhere back on Mike’s porch, and even if he had had it with him Richie wasn't sure the device would have survived his impromptu bath. He had tried calling out for help a few times but had gone completely unanswered. He was totally alone. 

Besides from stressful, being stuck in a tree because of a potentially murderous gator was beyond boring and extremely uncomfortable. There was nothing to keep his mind occupied and distracted enough from re-analyzing the series of events that had him stuck here in the first place, and the hot humidity in the air made it so he never really dried off from the water and instead just became more and more itchy and cranky. 

As the minutes dragged on into hours, he had taken to singing, badly, to himself when another sound caught his attention. Richie paused his singing to listen, ears perked for anything out of the ordinary. For a moment there was nothing, and then all at once he heard it again. His name, distant but there. 

“HEY!” Richie shouted as loud as he could, “OVER HERE!”

Richie felt an intense burst of relief as his cries were immediately answered by another shout of his voice and a barely heard: “ Where?”

“HERE!” He shouted again,

“Richie?!” Mike’s voice.

“BY THE RIVER!” He called out hoping Mike was familiar enough with the land that he knew what that meant. 

“ARE YOU HURT?” Eddie’s voice rang out, so much closer.

Eddie.

Richie’s chest tightened but he would willing sit through whatever lecture Eddie had as long as he got away from this stupid- oh god.

“WAIT!” He shouted, “BE CAREFUL! GATOR!”

“WHERE?” Mike again

“RIGHT FUCKING UNDER ME!” Richie yelled glaring spitefully at the large reptile that had decided to make camp on the sand, less than a body's length away from his tree. There was rustling in the undergrowth, and Richie knew they were close, 

“You’re close, I can hear you, be careful!” 

Moment’s later Mike and Eddie burst through the thick bushes with a swing of a long machete Mike was wielding. 

“Jesus, Rich-” Mike cursed when he got a good look at the precarious situation Richie had gotten himself into. 

Next to him Eddie wasn't doing much better.

“What the fuck? What the actual fuck Richie! Are you kidding me, are you fucking kidding me? Can you go literally nowhere without pissing shit off? That's a fucking alligator!” Eddie began screeching and pointing. 

“I fell into the water!” Richie tried to defend, 

“Oh my GOD!”

“Hang tight Richie, I’ll call the animal control or something I guess,” Mike said, taking out his phone.

Even as he did though, Eddie was bending down to pick up a large rock from the ground, eyes wild and half-mad looking. The smaller man grunted as he winded up and threw the huge stone, hitting the alligator right in the side with a thunk. 

“FUCK OFF!” 

“Eddie! Shit , Stop!” Mike cursed, phone half way to his ear. 

Eddie wasn’t listening as he picked up a large branch and threw that next, the gator made a loud hissing noise and thrashed it’s tail to the side, spraying sand into the air. Richie’s jaw dropped at the sight of Eddie attacking a fucking alligator, it honestly would have been the hottest thing he’d ever seen if he wasn’t so instantly terrified that it would end with Eddie dead. 

“Eddie, Eddie fucking stop it, I swear to god!” Richie said, even as he began calculating how he could throw himself onto the damn thing if it decided to charge his friends. 

Eddie picked up another large stone and threw it, cursing the gator out as it sailed through the air and hit the large beast right in the eye. The animal recoiled and Richie felt his stomach drop thinking that it was going to retaliate for sure and that he was going to have to die to try and stop it, but for once in his miserable life luck seemed to be on his side.  The alligator pushed itself quickly away, sliding into the water and making a B-line for the other side of the river.

Eddie barely took the time to breathe before he was yelling at Richie further,“Get down! Get down right now, or I swear to god Richie, I’ll use Mike’s fucking machete to cut the tree down with you in it and leave you to the swamp!” 

Richie was only scrambling to obey, and after nearly falling twice, his feet finally touched the ground. 

“Phew,” Richie said and whistled, “That was sure an adventure, huh guys? And you said this place wasn’t a swamp, I swear it almost smells as bad as-” 

“Beep beep, Richie.” Mike said, looking too exhausted.

Richie’s mouth snapped shut and he felt a little guilty for causing the man so much stress. He sighed as he walked over to the other two,

“Look, I’m-”

“Don’t.” Eddie said, cutting him off.

Richie looked at him and frowned, Eddie appeared more stony faced than he had been since he’d shown up hours before. 

“Mike, lead us back.” Eddie demanded.

Mike took a moment to look between the two before he nodded, “Sure, follow close and watch your step.” 

The walk back to Mike’s house was spent in mostly weighted silence that had Richie growing increasingly uncomfortable with each step he took. It was of immediate relief when they made it back to the small abode, Richie’s eyes were trained on the door as he made a B-line for it, he couldn’t be out of the open air fast enough, he needed a shower and maybe to sleep for like a week. He carefully wasn��t looking at either Mike or Eddie when he was stopped in his tracks by a hand gripping his sleeve. 

“Go on ahead Mike, we’ll be in in a minute.” 

Richie gulped nervously as he sent a silent plea for Mike to save him. Mike, though, barely took the time to glance at them before he was nodding and heading into the safety of the house. 

Richie took a deep breath and knowing that he couldn’t possibly run anymore turned to face Eddie. Eddie for his part seemed to be working himself up again, there was a deep furrow between his brows and his lips were pressed into a thin line. Richie waited a moment to see if Eddie would speak first, before he decided to just get it over with himself, he had barely parted his lips to speak when the silence of the early evening air was broken.

“Florida Richie? Fucking really?” 

Richie’s snapped his mouth shut.

“I can’t believe you just took off like that! You didn’t even text me! Do you have any idea what that was like? You just disappeared! Once I realized you weren’t camping out at Bill’s or Stan’s or-or the others, I freaked! I thought you were fucking dead, man! What the fuck!” 

“Wow, breathe Eds.” tried to deflect, noticing just how red Eddie’s face was getting.

“FUCK YOU!” Richie winced and looked to the ground. 

There was a beat of silence. 

“I looked everywhere for you, I was so worried,” Eddie continued, softer this time, “I even went through your phone numbers and called your manager, but he told me he couldn’t divulge any information about clients and-” Eddie sighed, shaking his head and said, “You can’t ever do this again.” 

“I’m sorry,” Richie’s heart was thumping in his chest. 

Eddie’s face twisted, “Why the hell did you take off like that?” 

“I-”

Richie didn’t even know where to begin, all of the past weeks emotions were battling it out in his chest and abdomen, made somehow even more striking with Eddie standing right in front of him, his fist still clenched around Richie’s sleeve as if he were afraid that Richie would bolt again if he let him go. Eddie was looking up at him, eyes cleared of the anger that had been burning so bright since he’d shown up, he looked confused, worried, and maybe something else that Richie couldn’t quite name. But he was looking at Richie with all of his attention, and god, Richie almost wished he’d never stop, never stop looking at him, holding him, it terrified him how much he wanted Eddie.

He almost cracked a joke, because of course he would, but he held back, swallowing it down at the last moment. The thought of lying to Eddie, was causing him even worse discomfort than he was already in. So, for the first time in a long time Richie decided to be brave.

“I was scared.” 

Eddie’s brow creased again. 

Richie took a shaking breath, “I was scared and I didn’t- I didn’t know what to do-”

“So you ran to fucking Florida?” 

Richie sighed and shot Eddie an annoyed look.

Eddie snapped his mouth closed and motioned for him to continue, “I panicked, and yeah, I ran to fucking Florida because-because even this god damn swamp was less terrifying than going home and having to- having to lose you and-”

“Lose me?” Eddie interrupted again looking impossibly more bewildered. 

“You-You saw the show. I fucked up- I know I did but-”

“Did you mean it?” Eddie said, cutting him off again.

“What?”

“In the show, was that- was that some sort of joke to you? Were you jerking me around or did you fucking mean it?”

Richie was sweating, he was sure of it, his wide eyes burned from how much he wanted to just blink, but he was frozen, everything around him seemed to have stopped, his field of vision narrowed down to Eddie. The rest of the world could have evaporated and Richie wouldn’t have known the difference. In the stillness, he knew that the next words out of his mouth were important, more important than anything else he has ever said. He could feel another one of his life’s dominoes tipping.

“Every word.” He whispered, “It wasn’t a joke, I hadn’t even meant to say it, but I did mean it, every damn word. I- I like you Eds, I have for years. Almost as long as I can remember, even when I couldn’t remember- it was always you.” 

The silence was deafening. All at once Eddie’s hand which had been holding his sleeve was gone and Richie felt as if his heart was going to shatter. He tried to prepare himself, for the rejection or disgust, but even so he wasn’t sure how he could possibly survive it. Suddenly, he felt hands clench at the collar of his shirt and yanked him off his center of balance, he barely had the mind to stop himself from falling before everything went blank and he died. 

Or at least, Richie was assuming that’s what happened because there was no way that Eddie would be kissing him otherwise, he had to have died. It took his brain a second more to realize that no, this was happening, Eddie was kissing him, and that he needed to fucking respond before he ruined it.

Richie brought his hands up, one to grip Eddie’s hip and pull him closer, and the other to gently cup his cheek as he finally began to kiss him back. All at once Richie felt himself settle, all of the turbulence and anxieties that had plagued him for as far back as he could remember finally dissipated, his head felt light as the elation hit him even as the heat coiled in his belly, grounding him. Richie could scarcely believe this was happening, he sighed into the kiss as he felt one of Eddie’s hands trail up to tangle in his curls.  

Eddie was the first to pull away, only when the need for oxygen grew too strong. Richie couldn’t keep the smile off his face as Eddie kept his hands on him, leaning up to rest their foreheads together, breathing the same air. Richie opened his eyes, unsure of when they’d even closed, and took in everything he could. The slight flush to Eddie’s cheeks, the small upturn of his lips that hinted at a smile, Richie wanted to kiss him all over again- and then keep kissing him. But before he could, Eddie was backing away.

“God I can’t believe I did that.”

Richie had a brief flash of anxiety as he suddenly worried he was about to lose it all.

“You were practically swimming in that swamp , god you’re filthy! Uhg, no, no more, go inside and shower right now! I’m not kissing you again until you do.” 

Richie’s face broke out into a huge grin, he didn’t know it was possible to feel this happy, the suddenness of it felt like getting whiplash. 

“But Eds-”

“No, absolutely not! And that’s not my name!”

Richie’s grin grew impossibly large as he opened up his arms and went in for a hug, delighting when Eddie screeched and tried to dodge him. The two of them chased each other up the porch and into the house, Richie giving up the game and instead taking Eddie’s hand in his, his stomach swooping pleasantly when Eddie not only allowed it but gave him a reaffirming squeeze. 

Yeah, they still had a lot to talk about but Richie had never felt more excited to do so.

-

It ends with Richie walking out onto a large stage in LA, his palms sweaty as he smiles and waves at the cheering crowd. There was a nervousness clawing at his chest as he made it to center-stage, but with it also a giddy sort of anticipation. He picked up the microphone and stared out over the audience, not seeing much due to the bright lights shining over him, but still the silhouettes carried a touch of intimidation. He breathes, smile growing as he greets his audience, his voice steady and loud, cheers rise up in accordance and he plants his feet, grounding himself, readying. Yet despite that, the usual pres-show dread that Richie is used to feeling crawl in his stomach is absent, in its stead is a right sort of deliberateness that he’s never felt while walking out in front of a sold out crowd- or any crowd for that matter, not since being picked up decades ago in LA. There’s something peaceful about the steadfastness of his conviction, about knowing however the audience takes this new show will be a drop in the bucket compared to the opinions of the people he’s already shared the script with. Eddie’s approval meant more to him than any of these fuckers combined. So it was easier for him now, more than any other time in his life to recite the words from his script- words he himself had written. 

Yes, he was nervous. But he was also resolute as he turned to look into the camera and the audience and say:

“So, my boyfriend moved in recently, like officially and-”

The smile that broadens Richie’s face is more genuine than any one he’d given on stage before as his audience hoots and cheers. Maybe he’d really send that fruit basket he’d been considering over to his publicist, or his manager for convincing him to take to Twitter to improve his fan-base. Fuck it, he’d send his whole team fruit baskets. A thank you to everyone who had been supportive of him, who continued to back him while he figured his shit out. People who gave him the opportunity to stand on stage and feel the pride that ballooned in his chest at each laugh and holler each of his jokes got. Pride was a feeling he’d had very little of in his life, it was hard to grasp when you’d spent most of your life in hiding. There were moments even now, despite everything, that had him instinctively wanting to curl up and slink away, because having pride in oneself is a learned behavior and one Richie was working on still. It got easier though, with every smile from his friends, any and every little touch Eddie blessed him with, and every morning he got to wake up and have Eddie right there next to him- everyday was full of little moments, little opportunities for him to feel so fucking lucky. So, yeah, walking out on that stage was an ending. A metaphorical book closing on a life lived in hiding and in shame- and he wasn’t going to miss a second of it.

Richie was starting a whole new novel, one composed of all those little and big moments worth holding onto, even if they were scary, maybe especially so; because for the first time in as far back as he could remember Richie wasn’t running away. He was pushing forward with the strength of more than just himself, and he was making a conscious decision to finally make his leap of faith, because even if he fell, he had six great people waiting to catch him. Richie pushed onward, because even though this was an ending, it was also the start of something so much greater. -

[mustangshelby04]

Boston Boy - Chapter 16

A/N All right guys, there’s only one more chapter after this! But don’t worry your beautiful heads off, I’ll be doing some one shots to continue the story. Let me know what you want to see. I would love to get your ideas for the future of this beautiful couple!

Kate sat in the nursery with Gally curled up next to her and Dodger sitting with his head on her leg.  She looked around the room and admired hers and Chris’ handiwork.  They had gone with a Winnie the Pooh theme, using the original drawings of the characters since the colors were softer.  Chris had bought a beautiful and very plush, white and gray glider with a gliding foot rest for the nursery and it was Kate’s favorite place in the penthouse now.  She would spend hours rocking in the chair and dreaming up what her child’s life would be.

The glider was the only piece of furniture in the room beyond a bookshelf that was already starting to collect books.  The travel system from Ellen was sitting in one corner of the room with a large box full of the rest of the amazing gifts from her.  The rest of the furniture hadn’t been bought yet.  She and Chris were ordered not to buy anything beyond the glider.

Kate was now four weeks away from her due date and was beyond ready for it to be over with.  The world tour she’d joined Chris for had taken a lot out of her.  While she had had a ton of fun, her body just hadn’t been up to the task of that much fun and growing a small human at the same time. She had taken another week off and then gone back to work.  Unfortunately, the doctor was worried about her blood pressure and her showing some early warning signs of preeclampsia, so he had asked her to stop working as much as she had been.

Danielle had been amazing about everything.  She had two kids of her own and understood what Kate needed better than Kate herself did.  She had promised that Kate’s job was secure when she was ready to come back full time. Until then, she would only work part time if she felt up to it.

Chris walked into the nursery and chuckled. “You know, you can’t hide forever.”

“Who says I can’t try?” Kate retorted.

He just held his hands out to help her stand up. “Everyone is downstairs waiting.”

She took his hands and let him lift her to her feet. “I hate baby showers. And bridal showers for future reference.”

“Noted.  Not like I can do anything about it.  You’ve met my mother.  And my sisters and my brother.  You’re welcome to fight that.”

“Chicken shit.”  

“But hey, the cake is really pretty.”

“You weren’t supposed to go downstairs.”

“I needed something to drink.  They kicked me out pretty quickly.”

Lisa, Carly, Shanna, Scott, and Helena had all decided that they were going to decorate and Kate and Chris weren’t allowed to see any of it.  They didn’t even know who was on the guestlist. The whole thing had been kept hush-hush from the parents-to-be.

“I can’t wait to get our place to ourselves again.”

“It is feeling a bit crowded this week.  Careful!” Since the doctor had mentioned the preeclampsia (and Chris had done research on it), he had been hyperactively protective of her.  He freaked out if she tried to walk up and down stairs by herself.  She just rolled her eyes at him.

“Happy baby shower!” Everyone yelled and Chris and Kate came down the stairs.

There were so many people there!  Helena, Bill and Jan, and Lisa, Carly, Shanna, and Scott were obviously there; Chris’ dad, Bob and his wife; Kate’s aunt Charlotte had come up from Virginia and her uncle Ron and aunt Debbie had come in from Chicago; Scarlett Johansson had come; Downey and his wife were there; Chris’ best friend, Tara, had made it down; April was there; Danielle had come with her husband, Charles; Amy had driven up for the occasion; Sebastian Stan had shown up; and Megan was there, too.  The place was decorated with pink and blue streamers and balloons that said, “It’s a Boy” and “It’s A Girl” on them.  There were a few that said, “Boy or Girl?”  There was a massive pile of presents in the living room.  The cake and food had been set up in a beautiful display on the kitchen island and a drink station with a blue punch and a pink punch was set up on the kitchen counter.  There were little woodland creature decorations everywhere, too.

Carly and Scott walked over to Kate and Chris.  Carly draped a “Mommy-To-Be” sash over Kate while Scott pinned a “Daddy-To-Be” button to Chris’ shirt.  Lisa and Helena were both wearing pins that said “Grandma-To-Be.”  Someone had made a diaper cake and set it next to the actual cake, which was two tiers of cutesy woodland creatures running amok.  There was a photobooth area with different props for the pictures that Danielle had kindly set up and offered to run.

“Happy baby shower!” Carly squealed, kissing Kate’s cheek.

“That is a fuckton of presents.” Kate said.

“We’ll get to those.  Right now, we want pictures!”

Chris and Kate were stood at the photobooth and the guests that wanted pictures were allowed to pick the props.  It took a good half hour before they were allowed to get food.  Chris fixed her a plate so she could go sit down.  The love seat had been decorated with blue and pink streamers and someone had created the backs of thrones out of cardboard. One said Daddy and was painted blue and the other said Mommy and was painted pink.  There were even fake pink and blue jewels glued to both of them to make them even more throne-like.

Carly made Chris and Kate sit in their respective seats while people ate and Shanna hosted the three games they had planned.  April won the game where the guests had to use string to guess how big around Kate’s stomach was.  She received a gift bag filled with home spa items.  The second game was where the guests had to guess what candy bar was melted in the different diapers.  Tara had won that game and was given a gift bag filled with candles, an engraved picture frame, and various candies.  The third and final game was called “My Water Broke” where everyone had been given an ice cube with a plastic baby in it.  The first person who’s baby was free of the ice had to yell that their water broke. Sebastian had been overenthusiastic when yelling it, startling everyone in the room.  He had walked away with a $50 VISA gift card.

While everyone started throwing their plates away, Helena had Chris and Kate cut the cake.  She stayed to serve the pieces to everyone while the parents-to-be took their love seat thrones again.  Carly, Shanna, and Scott had begun moving presents closer to the love seat to be passed over to Chris and Kate.  While they waited for everyone to get their slices of cake and eat them, Scarlett came over and sat down next to Kate on Chris’ side of the loveseat.  Chris had gotten up and was across the room talking with his father and Bill.  Probably getting some dad advice.

“You’re not having any fun, are you?” Scarlett said conspiratorially to Kate.

“Not in the slightest.” Kate said. “I hate showers.  And I feel like a bloated whale.”

“I hate these things, too.  Just give me the presents and don’t make a fuss.”

“Exactly!”  

“And for the record, you don’t look like a bloated whale.” She held her hand out to Kate. “Your fiancé sucks at introductions.  I’m Scarlett.” “Kate.”

“I’m sorry we’re just now meeting.  I wanted to come along on the Civil War tour, but I had some prior engagements.”

“It’s ok.”

“Chris has talked almost non-stop about you and the baby.  I’m so happy for you guys.”

“I’ve actually been kind of nervous to meet you.”

“Yeah?  Why’s that?”

“Chris talks so highly of you.  You’re one of his closest friends.”

“Oh, I’m not that scary.”

“I didn’t think you would be, and hey, I survived meeting Tara.”

“She’s a cool chick.”

“Yeah.”

“If I’m being honest, I’ve been kind of nervous to meet you, too.”

Kate laughed. “Me?  Oh god, why?”

“Well, I’ve met a few of Chris’ girlfriends.  None of them, in my opinion, have measured up to what I think my friend deserves.  I can be a little protective of him.  I was a little nervous that you wouldn’t measure up, too.”

“That scares me.” “Don’t worry.  From what I can tell, you exceed expectations.  Chris looks genuinely happier than I’ve ever seen him. Downey, Mackie, Lizzie, and Hemmy all sing your praises.”

“They’re sweet.”

“So how are you feeling?”

“Um…. Done.  I’m feeling done.  If Jelly Bean wants to vacate the premises, I won’t stop him or her.”

“I remember those days.  They pretty much sucked.”

“Yes.  Yes, they do.”

“You’re in the home stretch now.”

“Thankfully!”

“Any contractions yet?”

“Lots of Braxton Hicks.  They’ve been happening a lot on and off today.”

“It’s all the excitement.”

“That’s what I figured.”

“Oh god, have you started nesting yet?”

“Yes!  It’s insane! It’s been driving me batty not to have the furniture we need to finish the nursery.  We were told to hold off on the big stuff.”

“I would love to see it.”

“Yeah?” Kate started the struggle to get up and Scarlett helped her to her feet. The two women headed around into the kitchen and started up the stairs.

“Whoa, hey.” Chris came rushing over. “Where are you going?”

“To show Scarlett the nursery.”

“I’ll come with.”

“Chris, baby, I can walk up the stairs without help.”

“But….”

“Go back to the party, Evans.” Scarlett joked. “You’re being a helicopter mom right now.”

Chris looked at them with wide, puppy dog eyes. “I’m immune to those things now.” Kate said. “Put them away before you strain your eyes.  I’ll be fine.”

Scarlett laughed and followed Kate upstairs, turning briefly to mouth to Chris, “I really like her.”

Ten minutes later, the two walked back downstairs arm in arm and laughing. It made Chris happy to see that they had hit it off and seemed as thick as thieves already.  Lisa walked over and apologized to Scarlett before taking Kate away. She and Chris spent the next hour and a half opening all of the presents that their guests had brought and ones that had been sent from friends that couldn’t make it to the shower.  Carly was writing down what they got and who sent it so Chris and Kate could send out thank you cards later.

When the shower finally wound down and people began leaving, they were given cute little gift bags with travel-sized hand sanitizers from Bath and Body Works, mini-jar candles from Yankee Candle, some butter mints in a little baby bottle, and little engraved frames holding a picture from Chris’ and Kate’s maternity shoot that Danielle had insisted on doing.  The only ones left at the end of the night were Amy, Lisa, and Scott.  Helena and Bill had declined the offer to stay at the penthouse and had gotten a hotel nearby.  Lisa and Amy were staying at the penthouse in the two guest rooms while Scott was taking the couch from Kate’s garage apartment that Chris had put in the downstairs guest room that they had turned into an office for him and Kate.  Carly and Shanna had driven back to Sudbury so Carly could get back to her kids and Shanna could get to work in the morning.

“We’ll start working on putting this all together tomorrow.” Lisa said.

“I can’t believe we got all of this stuff!” Chris said. “Everyone is so sweet for doing this.” Kate let out a heavy breath and rubbed her stomach. “What’s wrong?” Chris was on instant high alert.

“Braxton-Hicks.” Kate said. “They’ve been happening on and off all day.”

“Are you sure?  Should we call the doctor?”

“I have an appointment tomorrow.  I’ll be fine.”

“Do you need anything?” Lisa asked.

“Actually, I’ve got a headache and I’m feeling kind of tired.  I want to go upstairs and lay down.”

Chris stood up and helped her to her feet. “I’ll be back down in a little bit.”

“Go on up and stay with her.” Lisa said. “We’ll clean up down here.”

“Thanks, ma.”

Kate sighed as Chris helped her change into her usual oversized T-shirt she slept in, take her contacts out, and lay down on their bed. “Thanks.”

“Are you ok?”

“Could you grab some Tylenol for me?”

“Of course.” Chris rushed into the bathroom and came out with Tylenol and a glass of water.  He set to work massaging her feet, but stopped when he noticed how swollen they were. “Babe, are you sure you’re ok?”

“I’m a little dizzy, but I think that’s cause of the headache and all the fun today.”

“Kat, your feet and legs are really swollen.  That’s a sign of preeclampsia.  So are headaches and dizziness.”

“The doctor did say I was at risk.  We’re going tomorrow, so we can ask then.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to call now?”

“Chris, it’s late.”

“It’s nine at night.”

“Well, that’s late enough.” Kate curled up on her side. “I’m going to sleep.”

“I’m going to brush my teeth and take my contacts out, then I’ll join you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” He leaned over and kissed her.

 *_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Chris woke up to the sounds of his name being called between gagging coming from the bathroom.  The clock said it was around three in the morning.  He quickly jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom.  Kate was clinging to the toilet, shaking and crying. “Hey….” He moved to her side and let out a curse when he saw the blood in the toilet. “Kate!”

“Chris, I don’t feel good.” Kate sobbed.

“We’re going to the hospital.” He jumped up and ran out of the room. “MA!” Chris burst through the guest bedroom door, startling his mother awake. “Ma, it’s Kate!  Help!”

Lisa was up like a shot.  She followed Chris into the bedroom and then pushed past him when she heard Kate. “Oh no! Sweetheart…. Chris, get her some clothes.”

“What’s going on?” Amy asked from the doorway to the bedroom.

“I’m taking Kate to the hospital.” Chris said, grabbing a pair of yoga pants out of one of Kate’s drawers while dialing the number to a car service on his cell phone. “Can you go wake up Scott?”

“Yeah!” Amy turned and ran downstairs.

Lisa was running a washrag over Kate’s face, whispering comforting words to her. “Come on, Katie.  Let’s get your clothes on.” Chris came over and gave his mother the yoga pants as he dialed the emergency number to Kate’s doctor.

Scott ran in, throwing a shirt on. “What’s going on?”

“Scott, come help me.” Scott rushed over and helped his mother get Kate into her pants and shoes. “Amy, honey, do you have Helena’s phone number?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Amy said. “I’ll call her.  Where are you going?  I mean, what hospital?”

“New York Presbyterian.” Chris said. “It’s not far.”

“Ok. I’ll call her.”

“Here,” Chris grabbed the pen and notepad out of Kate’s nightstand drawer. He quickly wrote down a number for the car service and another number underneath it. “Call this number and give them this account number.  Send a car for her family, they’re at the Millennium Hilton, and then get one for yourself.  I’ve already got one on the way.” He turned and swept Kate up into his arms.  Scott and Lisa helped steady them as they walked down the stairs.

 *_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Kate looked around the private birthing suite and sighed.  She had been poked with needles and had an IV in her arm, ready to administer drugs if needed.  They had brought in an ultrasound and had hooked her up to a fetal monitor after taking her for a CT scan.  Chris sat on the bed next to her, holding her hand.  He was the only one allowed in with her right now.

“I just want to go home.” Kate said, laying her head down on Chris’ shoulder.

He kissed the top of her head. “I know, baby.”

Doctor Beauchamp walked into the room and looked at the waiting couple. “Well, the blood in your vomit is from a small tear in the lining of your esophagus. Sometimes this happens with the nausea and vomiting during pregnancy.  It’s manageable if we can control the nausea and get you to eat soft foods for seven to ten days.  What concerns me is the protein in your urine, Kate, and how high your blood pressure is.  We talked about you being preeclamptic and you’re showing enough of the signs right now.”

“So, what’s the plan, Doc?” Chris asked.

“I want you, Kate, to try and make it to 39 weeks.  Right now, you’re still within reason to give birth naturally like you want, so what I’m going to do is keep you here for the next two weeks so we can monitor you, but you’re on strict bedrest.”

“You’re not going to induce?” Kate asked.

“I could and I might even be able to do it more naturally than giving you Pitocin since you’re dilated to one, but I don’t want to and I know you want to avoid the Pitocin at all costs.”

“Yes!”  

“I want Jelly Bean to bake for a little longer, so two weeks here on bedrest. You’re only allowed out of that bed to go to the bathroom and to take very quick showers.  Chris, you may want to go home and pack some of Kate’s stuff. Comfortable, loose fitting clothes, please.”

“You got it.” Chris said. “Anything.”

“Ok. I’m going to go discuss with the nurses everything they need to know and I’ll be back later with a list of some super fun bedrest rules.” Doctor Beauchamp walked out and Kate burst into tears.

“Hey,” Chris pulled Kate to him tightly. “Shh, it’s ok.  It’s only two weeks and then we’ll meet our little Jelly Bean.”

“But there’s so much to get done before then!”

“Ma isn’t going anywhere anytime soon and neither is Scott.  I’m pretty sure your mom isn’t leaving now.  I can call in whoever else we need to get the stuff put together before the baby arrives.”

“But I won’t get to help.”

“I can bring some stuff here for you to work on.”

“I just want to go home.”

“You will.  And when you do, you’ll be holding Jelly Bean.” Chris kissed her sweetly. “I’m going to go let everyone know what’s going on and see if we can have anyone back here besides us.”

 *_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

Over the next week, Kate didn’t show much change.  Which wasn’t a bad thing.  She had started to dilate some more, so the doctor was happy that she might even give birth without any help.  Bill and Jan had gone home, but Helena had decided to stay to be there with her daughter.  She and Lisa were staying at the penthouse with Scott.  They Facetimed with Chris and Kate so the couple could help finish decorating the nursery with the furniture they had gotten.  

On her twelfth day there, July 8th, Dr. Beauchamp had decided they didn’t need to wait any longer.  She decided to try the more natural induction of labor by going in and stripping the membranes.  It was extremely painful, and Chris had no idea how that much of the doctor’s arm fit up inside his fiancée, but it was effective.  Kate’s contractions had set in and she went into active labor.  Chris was by her side for every single minute with Lisa and Helena taking turns on Kate’s free side.  Kate labored for fourteen hours before it was finally time to push. Dr. Beauchamp allowed Kate to move around and try to find more comfortable positions to deliver the baby in, but nothing was working.

“Kate, the baby is stuck and going into distress.” Dr. Beauchamp announced. “We need to get this baby out now.  I’m going to have to do a c-section.”

“No.” Kate growled, trying to push again.

“Kate, you need to stop pushing.  This baby isn’t going to come out naturally and you’re only going to hurt yourself and the baby if you keep trying.”

Kate let out a scream as another contraction bore down on her. “I need to push!”

“Kate, your blood pressure is through the roof.  You need to calm down.”

Chris tried soothing Kate, but nothing helped.  Doctor Beauchamp called for the anesthesiologist to meet them in the OR with a spinal tap while she administered an anti-anxiety medicine. Kate was so scared and so worked up that the medicine didn’t have much of an effect.  Chris was made to stay in the room while they got Kate prepped for surgery.  He paced the floor, waiting for them to come get him.  They had told him it wouldn’t take more than ten minutes.  It had now been thirty minutes.  He was about to start kicking doors in when a nurse came to get him.

Kate was strapped down to the OR table with a sheet pinned up as a screen. She was still panicking and gripped his hand tightly.  He whispered comforting words and tried to keep her focus on him.  She kept complaining about how bad her upper back was hurting and she couldn’t get comfortable.  The doctor and nurses begged her to stop writhing, but she was in too much pain. They gave her a booster on her spinal tap and that seemed to do the trick some.  The doctor took advantage to quickly perform the c-section.  Chris stood up to peer over the curtain to see the baby come slithering out of the open wound.  The baby’s cry echoed in the room and Kate closed her eyes in relief.

“It’s a girl!” Doctor Beauchamp announced.

Chris turned to Kate and started to say something, but the words died on his lips as the sound of the alarm on the heart monitor went off.  The nurses came up and told him to leave, but he refused.  He began yelling at them to help Kate and security was brought in to physically remove him from the room.  They took him back to the birthing suite where his mother and Helena were waiting.  They jumped up and he started to sob.

“I don’t know what’s happening!” Chris cried. “They won’t tell me anything. She was in pain and they gave her more drugs and just after the baby was born, her heart rate dropped.”

Tag List

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[astrozones]

Sanders Behavioral Health; Chapter 5: Virgil’s Assumptions

hey gays I’m Aster and I’m actually posting woah. it’s also on ao3 which is where I post as soon as it’s out so.

uhhhh discord- Astro’s Zone

yeethaw- 

ANGST AHEAD

Virgil found himself in front of the door to Roman’s house, which was, frankly, ginormous . His house was almost as dramatic as he was, for God’s sake! He shuffled around at the doorstep, working up the courage to ring the doorbell.

He just had to force himself to do it! Just reach out and press the button, no regrets!

He pushed the button.

Regrets.

Roman had probably been kidding- right? They weren’t even friends yet, why would he have invited him? Well, technically Patton had invited Virgil and Logan to Roman’s house, which was confusing in itself, but that wasn’t the point, the point was-

The door opened, Roman standing in front of him with a smile, but was quickly pushed aside as Patton launched at Virgil, trapping him in a hug.

“MY SON HAS ARRIVED~” Patton shouted, arms tight around Virgil. Roman looked amused.

“I- ok I guess we’re doing the son thing- erm, can I breathe? Please?” He wheezed out. Patton let him go, cheery disposition not faltering in the slightest.

“Patton got here about 10 minutes ago, Logan has yet to arrive,” Roman started. “You’re welcome to come in.”

“Ah, right.” Virgil skirted around the boys and into the house. He looked around.

It had a very, well, home-ly feel to it. The windows allowed a few streams of light into the room, and a viewing of the sunset. The floor was mostly carpeted, from what he could see, and he was standing on the few bits of wooden floor there were. He assumed he was supposed to take his shoes off- or, wait, what if he was wrong?

“I think I understand why you’re so dramatic, now.” He said bluntly, turning to face Roman, who looked sheepish.

“Yeah, this place is pretty dramatic. My parents work a lot and are very stressed, so they like to have somewhere nice to return to. I’m really grateful I have all this, really, even if- well now I’m rambling!” he laughed. “You can take your shoes off and we can wait for Logan before I show you around?” he offered. Virgil nodded.

Roman told him to deposit his items in the corner of the living room as they waited. None of them said anything, just stared at random corners in the room waiting for someone else to peep up.

Virgil stood and walked over to the fireplace, which had a few books on the mantel. Virgil picked up a book that was titled 'The Hospital Is No Place To Meet Future Boyfriends' by Queen_Whovian_And_Everything_Else555. Well that's a weird pen name for a professional author , he thought. He shrugged it off.

He noticed other books like ‘Waste Away’ from NicoAndTheNineGalaxies, and ‘April Fool’s (Would You Be So Kind) by TiredPanAndNotAFan. Okay, clearly either Roman or his parents had a weird obsession with weird author pen names.

“I didn’t know you could read, Roman,” he commented, looking over yet another book with a strange author. He smirked as he heard Roman splutter behind him.

“Hey! I totally read! Those’re my parents’ books though. Mine are in my room.” he explained. Virgil shrugged.

“If you insist,” was all he got to say before the doorbell rang again. Patton nearly flew to the door to greet Logan, Roman following at a much slower pace. Virgil would’ve stayed in the living room, but followed them because, well, anxiety .

Patton bounced around a very confused Logan, screaming about how ‘the whole family is here!’ Virgil was glad to be the one viewing the Magic (or Insanity, depending on who you ask) of Patton, rather than be on the receiving end.

“If we’re all a family, excluding Roman, then why don’t we share the same last name?” Logan asked, trying to prove a point. It was a futile attempt.

“Well than we can make up a last name!” Patton dragged Logan into the house. “Why not Sanders! Get it? Cause we all go to Sanders Behavioral Health!” he giggled. Logan sighed, shaking his head.

“If you say so, Logan Sanders,” Virgil smirked. Logan glared.

“Aaaaanyways do y’all want me to show you around or are we just gonna stand here?” Roman interrupted. Logan physically cringed, but nodded.

And with that, they were off.

—

“Jesus Christ,” Virgil sighed, falling onto Roman’s bed. “I thought that ‘little’ tour was never gonna end!”

Roman snickered, letting the others into the room. “Yeah, it’s pretty large, my parents kinda just want the best for me… Sorry, that was a bit rude, wasn’t it?” Roman shook his head.

“Anyway, we’ll probably hang out here for most of the day, but we only have one guest room, so I was thinking 2 stay here and the others in the guest room? I mean, I’m claiming a spot for this room, so one more here and… yeah” Roman finished awkwardly.

“‘m not moving from this spot for at least a day,” Virgil mumbled, fiddling with the blanket he was on top of. Patton and Logan nodded, content with this plan.

“The guest room is similar to this, with a king sized bed as well, so it should be pretty comfortable for you guys!” Roman grinned at the two. “I’ll lead you back there, and you can get yourselves situated.”

“I’m staying here,” Virgil said immediately, causing Roman to laugh. They all chatted for a few minutes before the others left the room.

And Virgil was alone with his thoughts.

Maybe they had left him on purpose, maybe they were already bored of him. He heard Roman’s laughter from down the hall, and he shrunk into his hoodie.

Distraction- Find a distraction, Virgil.

He glanced around Roman’s room. He had… a lot of Disney posters, to say the least. A lot of musical posters in general, really. A Disney poster for just about every movie they had, even the more obscure ones. And the musical posters varied, from Mamma Mia! to Avenue Q, and Chicago to School of Rock.

Damn. To say he loved musicals would be an understatement.

Virgil walked over to the bookshelf that Roman, surprisingly, actually , had. He scanned the titles, finding a huge collection of fairytales. If they weren’t actual fairytales, they were twisted fairytales, he could only assume. With titles like ‘The Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister’ and ‘My Name is Rapunzel’.

The few titles he did recognize were The Lunar Chronicles, a story following Cinder, who was essentially Cinderella if she was a cyborg, overthrowing a dystopia with other fairytale characters. The only reason he recognized that was because he had seen so many people reading it at school that he had eventually decided to pick up the book himself.

Virgil fiddled with his hoodie strings, needing to do something that wasn’t crushing his head between the bookshelf and the wall behind it. He flopped down on Roman’s bed.

He couldn’t really describe why he had the impulse to do that. It was, to say the least, disturbing. But he could hardly think when the buzzing in his head was so loud. It was like a bundle of thoughts trying to push its way out, begging to be released.

He felt annoyed that the only word he knew how to describe it with was buzzing, but he couldn’t think of anything else, just that it was there and it wasn’t right and it mentally hurt .

Virgil closed his eyes and just… well, he existed . He tried to push the thoughts and buzzing out of his head by just letting go and focusing on the world, focusing on the little things that made him happy. Like outer space, like reading, like getting into a pool at just the right temperature on a hot day. Simple things. Simple, distracting things.

He was having a hard time resisting the urge to use the harsh edge of the table beside him to cut his arm open.

He was fine, he was safe, he was okay .

And okay was an okay thing to be.

—

He was almost asleep by the time the others returned. The moment the door slammed open, he was sitting straight up and panicked.

!!!TOO LOUD!!!!!!

“Jesus Christ,” he started, rubbing at his eyes, trying not to let the panic show. His heart was going a mile a minute. “Warn a guy, yeah? I was almost asleep because you took so long.”

“Well jeez, so rry I’m not psychic!” Roman jumped on the opposite side of the bed, the impact nearly causing Virgil to fly off his end. He glared at Roman, who smirked.

“So, what are we supposed to do until we sleep?” Virgil asked. Roman shrugged, and Logan looked indifferent.

Patton, however, bounced on his feet.

“Why not hide and seek? This place is big enough to have a lot of places to hide in! It could be fuuuuuun!”

Logan sighed, “I’m not particularly interested in playing children’s games.” was all he said. Roman fixed him an accusatory stare, which caused Logan to groan, before agreeing to play.

Err… what?

Both Roman and Patton badgered him to join their game, and after a few minutes, Virgil relented, on the contract that he could be the seeker. He was not about to squeeze himself into a small space for an undetermined amount of time today, thank you.

They established a couple rules- no going outside the house, no revealing other’s spots, and they weren’t allowed to move many items, or they might break something.

They made a system where every participant would text Virgil once they were hidden, because they weren’t sure how many seconds were needed to hide in the obnoxiously large home.

Virgil had to wait in Roman’s room once more until everyone was hidden. He even had to switch his notifications on (he usually had them off so they wouldn’t ring at inopportune moments. It was a valid fear, okay? He had notifications on for a lot of YouTubers.) just for this game. He hoped to a God he didn’t believe in that he remembered to switch them off before he went to sleep.

About 10 minutes later, he finally got the notification from Roman (the last one who had found a spot) that he was ready. He waited for a couple seconds more, the bed was so comfortable, before forcing himself up and out of the room.

He walked down the hallway to a railing at the end, overlooking one of the living rooms. From his vantage point of two floors up, he couldn’t see anyone, but that still was no certainty. Years of anxiety had forced him to check every place, and it was time to finally use that for something good.

He walked into a few more rooms, overanalyzing every place one could hide, even the more obscure ones. Nothing.

Virgil found himself in Roman’s mother’s room. Roman had only mentioned it on the tour, as with most of the rooms, saying, ‘My dad snores too much so my parents sleep in separate rooms.’

It was clean, not a speck of dust to be found, not a thing out of place.

At first glance, at least.

Virgil shuffled through the room, checking under the bed, that was a lot of bottles , and in the closet, where he only found a bunch of family photos shoved into a corner.

There was an apology note for Roman, dated 4 days prior, because apparently his parents were extra, too.

He knew he shouldn’t read it, but… his curiosity told him he had to, and it was right there and there were no good excuses for it, but he did it anyway.

The letter’s contents included Roman’s mother apologizing for not being able to be there that day, telling Roman he was a good son, and that she was so, so, sorry for not appearing until the next day. It was signed with a heart.

Roman really had life going for him, didn’t he?

Virge couldn’t help but feel jealous. Roman had all of this, the whole house, anything he wanted, supportive parents, everything. While Virgil had grown up being pushed around and suffering, Roman was probably laughing and getting presents every day. It just didn’t feel fair.

Why was Roman in therapy, anyway?

It didn’t add up. He was likeable, extroverted, fit, had kind parents, rich, and if Virgil was being honest, not bad looking in the slightest. So why was he there with the kids who had extreme issues?

Maybe… maybe he had lied to get into the group, lied to get attention .

∨İгｇ¡🇱 ωαડ Ｓ໐, 🇸๏ ш🇷०በ🇬.

He pushed his thoughts away with a sigh, giving the room a final once-over before leaving, closing the door behind him.

One more down, an insane amount of rooms left to go.

—

10 minutes later, he found Patton had contorted himself into an empty kitchen cupboard. It took 5 minutes to help him get back out.

They chatted while Virgil searched, Patton was very careful not to give anyone away, to Virgil’s chagrin.

—

After searching for what felt like 30 minutes, they still had no clue where Logan or Roman were. Virgil slumped against the door to Roman’s room with a sigh, thumping his head on the wood.

“Y’think we can just hang here until one of them gives up?” he asked. Patton shrugged, causing Virgil to groan.

They chatted about nothing for a few more moments, before Virgil decided to speak up against something that had plagued his mind since he left Roman’s mom’s room.

“Not to sound rude but, do you think… Maybe Roman’s faking it? Like of course there’s a chance he isn’t, but, looking around, don’t you think it’s a ‘lil suspicious? He’s got everything he wants and he acts so happy all the time and… I dunno…” he finished awkwardly.

“I don’t know, Virgil, but I doubt it. Why would he want to fake being in therapy?”

“To laugh at us! To laugh at those of us who are actually suffering!” Virgil spat. Patton backed away a few steps.

“Calm down a bit there, kiddo… I’m sure Roman has issues of his own, just because it isn’t on the surface doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

Virgil allowed himself to be calmed down, Patton giving him an awkward side-hug once he had. 5 minutes later, they were participating in the game once more.

—

The room had thin walls.

—

Virgil eventually found Logan in the basement that Roman hadn’t shown them on the tour. Logan explained he had noticed the door and, seeing that Roman hadn’t explained it, decided to investigate.

Virgil groaned at his own stupidity.

—

When Virgil had finally found Roman, it was when he had completely given up.

“Y’know what? Fuck this,” he said, ignoring Patton’s disappointed stare. “I give up! I really do! Roman must know some weird, obscure hiding place that he didn’t show us. So yeah, I’m giving up.” Virgil threw open the door to Roman’s room and-

Roman was there.

Roman was there , lounging on his bed, phone in hand, and looking at them expectantly.

Oh, for the love of God-

“What took you so long?” he snickered, sitting up to face them. Virgil stammered to find the words he was looking for, and might as well include the right emotions he was trying to wrangle up, too.

“You- I- Found you.” He finally got out. Roman smirked.

“Nuh-uh! Thin walls!” he knocked on the wall behind him. “I heard you say that you gave up!” Virgil groaned.

“How long were you in here, anyway?” Logan asked. Roman smiled.

“I snuck in here after Virgil disappeared into another room! I’ve been chilling here ever since.”

For a reason Virgil couldn’t figure out, Patton looked concerned, and guilty.

—

After the game, Roman roped them all into watching Disney movies, which was no surprise to Virgil considering the amount of posters.

Virgil was a bit of a Disney fan himself, but he wasn’t going to let that slip out to these strangers, surely they’d make fun of him for it.

One might think that Virgil was being stupid for forgetting that the only reason they had been watching them in the first place was because Roman forced them to. But anxiety was a pull, constantly overanalyzing the most simple things and underanalyzing the more complex. It wasn’t a case of ‘this is a bad thing, I should be anxious’, it was ‘this could be a bad thing, I should be anxious. So many things can go wrong’.

And that could was warped into will, no longer a maybe, but a definite, no matter how the situation actually happened.

It wasn’t fun in the slightest.

—

It was quiet.

Near silent, if it weren’t for the crickets chirping outside.

Patton and Logan had long since left the room to go to sleep. That left Virgil laying on the side of the bed he had claimed, silently scrolling through Tumblr, and Roman to get ready to sleep.

Roman had been staring at himself in the mirror for 10 minutes before Virgil took notice.

“You must really like yourself, huh?” Virgil deadpanned. This only supported his theory.

“Wha-” Roman jumped and spun around as he spoke, hand on his chest. “Oh, um… not really- WAIT I mean- uh- mOVinG On!” He cut himself off before glancing at the mirror once more.

Wait , he thought. I’ve been a dumbass, haven’t I?

Virgil made a lot of assumptions.

Just because the mental diagnosis isn’t obvious doesn’t mean it’s not still there!

“‘s there any like… weird hidden areas you know of ‘round here?” Virgil asked. Roman turned back to him, thinking.

“Wanna hang out on the roof?”

—

“I’M GONNA FALL!” Virgil shouted, clutching onto the gutter as if it were his only hope for survival. Roman snickered.

“C’mon, I’ve done this for years!”

“ We are three storeys high you bitch!”

—

Through a hefty amount of consoling, Virgil had finally reached the top of the roof, sitting on a small part of the roof that was flat, and clutching onto the chimney.

“So you’ve done this since you were a child ?” He asked. Roman was spread out on the slanted roof, seemingly indifferent to the fact that one wrong move could send him to his death.

“Mhm. I was the more adventurous type, if you couldn’t tell.” Roman glanced at him with a smirk. “But yeah. I find it calming up here, nothin’ to disturb ya but the wind. Plus, the stars are pretty.”

Virgil wouldn’t help but agree.

“Didn’t take you for a space nerd,” he said. Roman turned back to face the sky.

“I’m not, really. It’s just pretty. The most I really know about is galaxies, because they’re beautiful, really. I recommend looking up the Rose Galaxy, it’s my favorite… sorry, I’m rambling.” Roman laughed awkwardly. “But other than that, I don’t know much. Just the names of a few beautiful places.”

“That’s better than nothing,” Virgil supplied. Roman hummed. “I like planets, personally. ‘Coulda guessed your favorite was based around roses though.” he laughed. Roman smiled.

“The whole Disney thing kinda gives it away.” Virgil added.

“I hate that you aren’t wrong. Floriography has always been an interesting topic for me. But to be fair, roses have different meanings based off of the color.” Roman sat up, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but was holding back. So, Virgil acted on a whim.

“How so?”

It was like setting off a glitter bomb. Roman turned to him, and Virgil could practically see the stars in his eyes.

“WELL! Of course red roses mean love, yellow roses are for jealousy, pink is grace and elegance! Blue’s mystery, peach for gratitude, and purple are for pride and enchantment.” Roman paused for a second, calming himself down. “And I need some christmas roses.”

“What’re christmas roses?” he asked. Roman smiled. In his rant, he had scooched over towards Virgil, not enough to invade his space, but just enough that he was able to whisper,

“Well, I thought it fit well with the whole therapy thing,” he started. “But christmas roses mean relieve me of my anxiety.”

“Bitch I need some too!” Virgil said before nearly falling off the roof by laughing.

—

“I refuse to die crawling down a roof!”

“Well how else are you gonna get down, then?”

“I won’t. This is my home now. Just throw some food up here every now and then and I’ll be golden, because I am not falling off a roof .”

“Oh my god ,”

—

The beauty of a king sized bed, he found out, was that two, maybe three people, could fit on it  without even having to be close to the other.

Virgil went to bed without even changing his clothes, a nasty habit he had picked up. He stared at the wall, willing his brain to recognize that it was time to sleep.

He felt Roman start shifting on the other end, another insomniac, before he spoke up.

“And I oop- OW !”

Taglist because apparently I have that now:

@too-attached-to-fiction

[current-mcr-news]

Casual Interactions 10: Full Transcription

John: Greetings from Asbury Park, New Jersey and welcome to Casual Interactions. I'm John "Hambone" McGuire, and today we've got Frank and the Future Violents here in an airstream trailer outside of the Asbury Lanes, and we're gonna talk to you about the album Barriers and a little behind the scenes action about Frank's upcoming video for Great Party, as well as his summer tour that's going on right now. Now this is a little bit different than your traditional episode of Casual Interactions. Unfortunately, Shaun could not be here with us to hang out, he is here in spirit. And Frank, Shaun, and I will be back in the fall with more episodes of Casual Interactions as promised. This is just a little something to get you through the summer blues and hopefully to get you excited to go see Frank on tour right now. Check it out. This is everyone's first time playing at the Lanes since they've redone the lanes.

Everyone: Yes.

J: Anyone play here before?

Everyone: Yeah.

Frank: I've been here before. Yeah, Thursday did a couple shows here.

Tucker: Four nights of it, yeah.

F: Oh damn!

J: No big deal. Sold out every one. 

T: In a row.

F: Did you say fortnight? 

T: Fortnight, yeah. Two weeks worth. 

J: Put me on the guest list, I appreciate it. 

F: Hey, what are you gonna do? 

T: I'm always gonna do that for my friends. 

J: It's a Jersey thing. I call him up, I say.

T: I got a guy down there.

J: "I know your mom." 

F: Thursday, playing on a Wednesday. 

T: (unintelligible) 

F: Oh man. Alright, so flashback to about 20 years ago. 1999, say.

J: -ish, yeah.

F: Ish. Pencey Prep signs to Eyeball Records, right? It's a band that myself and Hambone were both in. At that point, Tucker's in Thursday still, and you guys are on Eyeball. Waiting is coming out, or just came out?

T: Just coming out, I believe. It was like, that day or something, it feels like. I remember it being simultaneous. 

J: You know, for the longest time I thought that that album was actually called Porcelain. Yeah.

F: Originally?

T: I think it might've almost been called Porcelain. 

J: Yeah. It definitely wasn't called Porcelain. 

F: I remember though, being at an Eyeball party. I feel like the best thing about Eyeball house and Eyeball parties, was that every time you went there, you were gifted the new release. 

J: Yes.

F: Even if you had it already, you were still given the CD. So I got Waiting and I remember then going on vacation and listening to it nonstop.

J: Right.

F: In Long Beach Island, and thinking like, "Oh my god, this fucking record's amazing." And then meeting you at a party later on, and being like, "Alright, I wanna be in a abdn with him."

J: It was a game changer, for sure.

F: Yeah. And then shortly after that, meeting Matt because Murder By Death, or at that time, Little Joe Gould.

Matt: Right, it was still, yeah.

F: Was touring, or you guys met them on tour?

T: We met them on tour at a coffee shop together. 

M: No, it was the stinky Anarchist bookstore. 

T: Same thing.

M: Close enough. Much worse smell.

T: Potato / potato.

J: I've heard it both ways. 

M: It was called The Secret Sailor but it was actually known as The Stinky Pirate. 

F: Weird.

J: Where was that?

M: That was in Bloomington. And at that point, Full Collapse was recorded but not quite out yet.

T: Yes.

M: And our friend who had booked the show said, "Hey, this band needs to jump on," and we were like, "Okay." And I think it was Geoff, was like, "I got a friend in Jersey, he's gonna put your record out." We were like, "Nice to meet you, you guys are great, we'll never talk to you again." 

F: That's actually called the Jersey role. That's what we usually do. We always make some plans, then we'll never see you again. 

T: It usually means, "Get away from me," or "Let's actually do this."

M: Turned out it was "Let's actually do this thing."

F: So then I remember, flash forward a couple months later, being at the Eyeball house and Alex who ran the label, and Mark, got a card from you guys in the mail. Like, a handmade card because they had signed you, or said they were gonna put your record out. I mean, at that point it was just handshake deals, but got a card saying, "Thank you. We're so glad to join the family," and everybody was so excited, and then we heard your record, and everybody was like, "Oh my god, we need to get better right now." Because I remember everybody at the label being like, "Oh, we all thought everybody on the label was good, but this is the best record we've ever put out. This is the best record."

J: Banger.

F: Yeah.

T: Aw. 

F: It's true.

J: And then we actually saw you live and then everyone actually started practicing. 

F: Yeah yeah, totally! Yeah.

J: Because, I don't know if you recall when, the first time they came around to the area, they just got thrown on a show at the Loop Lounge. And this is a little ways after Great White burned the club down, but still early enough that Carl and Bruce would let you light things on fire onstage, so Little Joe Gould at the time had a stage show where they'd be blowing fire. They had a little keyboard player, Vincent; a small, unassuming, meek little dude who would actually spit Gene Simmons fireballs, and then the old drummer Alex would light the cymbals on fire. And this is a small club with not the highest ceiling. 

F: And the ceiling's covered in just shit on the wall, Applebee's type things. There's a motorcycle, and there's dust on top of that, and a fish tank with dead fish in it.

T: And all of it was on Alex's head. 

M: Yeah, but stuff that wants to be on fire.

F: Oh yeah, probably, yeah. He's burned me.

J: Almost took out the disco ball one night.

M: We had some close calls in those days. I remember playing at the Fireside Bowl in Chicago and the guys came up and they're like, "Listen, we don't wanna do this, but we have been told if you do the setting shit on fire thing, we're supposed to kick all of your stuff over and blast you with fire extinguishers and you don't get paid." We're like, "That's probably bullshit, but point taken."

F: Yeah, "gotcha."

M: "Cool, we'll take the night off." 

F: Alright. So let's stop there, and go to the weird other thing that happened was Kayleigh, you at this point are in upstate New York.

Kayleigh: Yes.

F: Right? Alright, in college?

K: Where are we going? 

F: Well, you took a class.

K: Oh yeah! Okay! 

F: And Tucker, yeah.

K: I was like-

F: I'm sorry!

K: "At what part of my life am I in upstate New York? What's happening?"

J: Real long way to go to get a superhero origin story.

F: Watch though, this is crazy. So, you're-

K: I went to college at Fredonia State, which is a very unassuming college in western New York, but it's really great for, at the time, it was one of the only state schools that was offering music business as a major. So, I went there to study music business and get a degree. I was touring in a band at the time, and my parents told me if I got a degree, that after I graduated I could come home and tour. So, went to school for music business, and the thing about Fredonia that's really cool, is that it has a great sound recording program because Dave Fridmann lives in Fredonia. So, all the time, there's also this awesome bar called BJ's who everybody used to play there, but all of Dave Fridmann's bands when they were recording would also usually play at this tiny dive bar. Because they'd be working on new material, or just finished a record, or whatever, so I saw MGMT, I've seen Explosions in the Sky, all these- Sleater Kinney.

F: That was like your Wayne Firehouse, basically.

K: It was the coolest little place, and yeah, one day I went to class, my music business class, and Thursday was the guest speakers at my class.

J: And this class was, "Don't take a handshake deal at a party house."

F: "Never sign a man named Matt from Indiana and bring him to Jersey."

T: I just remember going into this class. It was Geoff and I, and you know, everyone looked like babies to me, because we felt like old people in there, but everyone was like, "Get out of here. We don't care about a single word you have to say, you hacks."

F: "Go cry about it, emo kid." 

T: "Shouldn't you be partying instead of teaching this class?"

K: But I think that's also funny. It didn't dawn on me that that actually happened until we were rehearsing at your house. And I said something about Fredonia, and you were like, "Oh, I've been there," and I was like, "Oh my god, you have. And I was there too."

F: I like how Fredonia also sounds just like a place that Dave Fridmann would make up in his head of like, "If I were the ruler of a kingdom, it'd be Fredonia and I would have a music school there and I would bring Thursday in to talk!"

T: Exactly. Fridmann, Fredonia. 

F: Come on.

T: His name is Dave Fredonia.

J: Writes itself.

F: Just saying. 

M: It also sounds like a medication to get you off of something else. 

F: Oh yeah, that too.

M: Like, "I gotta run this cycle of Fredonia."

T: In the commercials, people are riding bikes through a really green field, you know?

Evan: Side effects are deathly diarrhea. 

T: So much diarrhea in one of those two bathtubs on the hill for no fucking reason. That's the one.

J: Yeah, but you know what? You could climb mountains and kayak.

T: Probably after the diarrhea. You do what you gotta do.

J: One would hope.

F: Alright, last circle of weird coincidences. So, My Chem goes on tour and Murder By Death plays with us at Club Krome, right?

M: Yes.

F: With Vox.

M: That was the Halloween show.

F: Halloween show. And Evan is at that show. That's also the first, I don't know if that was the show or the venue where your first band, On Arms, we had you guys open for My Chem.

E: That's right.

F: Was that the same show?

E: I don't think so. I don't think that was the first one.

F: But it was the same venue.

E: It might've been Starland. 

F: Oh shit.

E: It was right when you guys released Three Cheers, I think.

J: No, it was neither one of those clubs. It was the Birch Hill Nightclub.

F: No, we never got the play that because Otter took a shit downstairs and it blew the fucking pipes up. And then they flooded the whole room and no one could, you couldn't play there for months. It was crazy! It was like the dead of winter. Alright, so in the dead of winter, we show up and it's a long drive, it was like 20 minutes or whatever, so Otter's like, "I gotta go to the bathroom." So he runs down to the downstairs and he takes a poop, and he flushes and it blows the- it explodes the entire pipe system at the venue. So it floods the entire downstairs and they have to close the club down.

Geoff: Hey guys.

F: Hey Geoffy.

J: Hey buddy!

F: We're talking about history.

G: Oh I love history.

J: And poop stories!

F: So yeah, for the longest time, you couldn't play Birch Hill Nightclub anymore, and what was the venue attached to it?

J: That's what I was thinking of.

T: Was it Stingrays?

J: Stingrays, yeah.

T: There was a two room deal.

J: What was the show that we did I Am A Graveyard before My Chem, when Gerard came out and did the big Winston Churchill Iron Maiden intro?

F: Yeah, that was weird. That was a one-off thing I think.

J: Either way, at that time, Otter was subsisting on a diet of nothing but Popeye's fried chicken so you can understand how what was gonna happen, was gonna happen.

F: And Fredonia. High dose of Fredonia. Oh man. So that's over 20 years, that's how this band is kinda starting to form, right? And then, I guess flash forward to 2017, 2018? No, alright, let's flash forward to 2016 because we get into an accident, and then shortly after that, we ended up starting touring again, and we go on tour with Dave Hause and the Mermaid, and that's how we really meet Kayleigh. And our first show is in Williamsburg, a music hall in Williamsburg. I remember watching Dave's set, especially seeing Kayleigh playing and how she sings and all that stuff, playing basically everything on the stage, she would just run around and play everything. I was like, "Holy fuck!" These are the types of people, getting to see Thursday, getting to see Murder By Death, and the way that these people in thsi room thought about music. How it wasn't just like, "Oh, I'm just following a guitar part," you know? You see a performance where it's like, "There's three guitar players onstage. They're all playing the same thing. That's so weird. Okay, I guess nobody wanted to sit down." But you know, the idea that you're creating a soundscape with a bass, you know? Or you're playing a melody on the drums that's like, that's the hook of the song. Even though it's very rhythmic, there's a melody there. Same thing with Kayleigh, her solo records and the stuff that she was doing with Dave, that's the stuff that I saw, it was just like, "Whoa, these people think on a different level," you know? So, I started those other projects and had Evan in with the Cellabration and the Patience, and I always knew if I can, I never wanna be in a band without Evan again, you know what I mean? So that's just always gonna happen. But how do we fill this out, how do we do this, get to the next step, next level, and have people in it that are really pushing the envelope and inspiring you on a daily basis? And it just so happened that at the end of 2017 or beginning of 2018, everybody was going to end up being free to do some songs. Or at least Tucker and Matt and Evan were, and then we found out later on that Kayleigh might be free to come in and write some stuff with us.

J: It's awesome. I know from an outsider perspective, watching you go through the different bands. I'll tell you, Evan's great because no matter what band of guys you got backing you up, I always know it's Evan playing guitar. 

F: Right, yeah.

J: You're like the secret weapon. You know? He's like the secret sauce. Like the In 'N Out sauce except we can get you on the east coast which is nice. You know? But I mean it's a cool thing because having written a record, I've written a bunch of music with you, and then watching you write the songs for My Chem, because you were pretty writing them in my apartment.

F: That's true.

J: I know what it was for you to strike out on your own and do the Cellabration and do the Patience, but always kinda having that really nice constant which is Evan. 

F: Yeah.

J: And then I also remember sitting there over breakfast, me, you, and Shaun. By the way, Shaun couldn't be here tonight, he had something else to do. Anyway...

F: He got him so good, look at him!

J: We were having breakfast and he was telling me, he's like, "Yeah, I'm starting up a new thing," and I'm like, "So who you got?" And he goes, "Well of course Evan. But I think I can get Tucker, I think I can get Matt," and I popped. I was like, "Really?!" And I've compared it to getting the stacks rhythm section, like the MG's backing you up. And I was psyched.

F: And the MT's.

J: Yeah, the MT's.

T: I came in cheap, four million.

J: Print some t-shirts, make some money together.

T: Five grand.

J: And I mean, I heard the songs too. I came over to your house and we hung out.

F: That's right! You sat in on one of the early recording sessions.

J: I sat in on one of the early writing sessions. And he's like, "There's this girl, I wanna bring her on, I think it's gonna be the difference maker," and it was. You came in.

F: I agree.

J: Like the secret weapon.

F: That was the final brick in the wall. It was like, "This is really something awesome and special, but I know what it can be and how incredible it can be," and that was bringing Kayleigh in. 

J: And I'll tell you the Stomachaches and Parachutes both are incredible records.

F: Thank you.

J: But this is the first record that I've heard you do in a while where I feel like you were writing with other people. Other people who were not just sitting there being like, "Alright, you play this, you play this, you play this," like everyone brings their own their own unique, special thing to the party, and it's fucking awesome. 

F: I agree. That's the thing too is like, this is the first record where people are writing in a room, they're familiar with the songs, they're writing the parts that they wanna play, and really knowing what the song needs, you know? So like, they're writing for the betterment of that song, and then going into the studio and they're the ones that are playing it, live in the room, to tape. That, we've never had before. You know?

J: Now how many songs did you have written before you started bringing other people in? Not counting Evan because you guys work together a lot, but you know, how many skeletons did you have before you started bringing people on board?

F: Well I had a list of like 21 skeletons, a lot of which we never even touched. And then that would kinda be filtered out. I'd bring one in, I think the first one we worked on was Moto Pop. And that was, "Alright, we're on a roll here." There's songs like Medicine Square Garden that started as a kind of an idea I had written down on paper but I couldn't, I didn't have the full idea of what the song should look like. I couldn't be like, "Oh it's E, F, G," it wasn't like that. It was more like, "I had this idea of a song where it feels like this, and the guitar line sounds like this and follows the vocal but it doesn't make sense so I can't just write it down."

J: So what was the song when you brought everyone in, where you're like, "Fuck yeah, this is it, we got something."

F: I think Medicine was the first time it was like, "Whoa, we did it."

T: That was like the end boss, that song.

F: Yeah, I agree.

T: It was like, "If we can conquer the initial structure of that one."

F: "Then we can do anything." Yeah.

M: I think the first time I came over, I think Young And Doomed was one of the first ones that we worked on just because it's like, we can get something mostly nailed down with that but when we got into Medicine, I remember that one was giving me fits, because it was like you were describing it and I don't know what my part of that is yet. And for the first couple of days it was like everything I tried to play sounded like Livin' On A Prayer by Bon Jovi or something.

F: Yeah yeah yeah!

M: And this is not what it's supposed to be, but it's the only thing my stupid hands do.

J: You are in New Jersey.

M: Right.

J: It's contagious.

M: Maybe I'm trying too hard to sneak in under the Jersey radar.

T: The gift that keeps on giving.

M: But when it clicked it felt like such a victory, you know? It was like, "Okay, we can do it."

J: How about you, Kayleigh? When was the moment for you?

K: I think that what Matt was describing was pretty much my entire- because I came in late to the project because I was busy for the first half of the year and then-

F: She's been on tour for three years straight.

J: Oh yeah, she's a musician's musician. You're even sneaking off to do a show on one of your days off.

K: I know. Surprise, yeah. Surprise show.

J: That's fantastic.

K: But doing multi-instrumentalist work, I think it's I'm a glutton for punishment in the best and worst ways because I kind of approach this project like I don't know what- not only do I not know what to play, parts wise, I don't know what instrument would be best for this song. And also kind of trying to figure out the groundwork that was the bones of all of these songs was already so put together, and so awesome, that I was almost- it really challenged me where I was like, "I can't fuck this up, what am I gonna- what kind of sprinkles am I gonna put on top that's gonna make it, can I make it better? Am I gonna make it better?"

F: What's funny I think is you tread carefully on that stuff because you don't want to step on toes like that, but you're initial instincts are always so great, and make, at least me, think about songs in different ways, and that's why it was so amazing having you come in. To jump forward again, having a new band play old songs is kinda crazy. And then also bringing in musicians that play different instruments is like, "Wow alright, now you have to really reinvent songs off Parachutes and Stomachaches for the live show." So like, she'll be like, "Oh, I was originally thinking violin on a song like Veins," and I was like, "Wow, that's so fucking crazy!" I never would've thought to do that. But now, I can't not hear that song without that instrumentation, it's crazy.

J: So let me bring it back a second. You know, a lot of musicians play a lot of their songs and their hits for years and years and years, and it's almost taboo to kinda try to reinvent that. I mean, we remember the Bob Dylan incident at the Tropicana where we didn't remember-

F: That was so weird.

J: We didn't know a single song until he got to the choruses, but how does it feel for you to have new life being breathed into these songs.

T: He just grazed right over that, by the way.

F: I love it.

J: I'm good at what I do, Tucker. I'm a goddamn professional!

T: You really are!

F: I love it. That to me, having that ability and opportunity to be creative on the road as well as in the studio, that fucking rules, you know? To know that- here's the thing that I attribute that to, that Lou Reed thing where he would put out a record and then you'd go see him, and that shit was different already because he was already onto the next thing. I think that you have to do that type of shit.

J: Now are you pulling out some songs that maybe you would not have played on this tour because it's more fun now with everybody?

F: Yeah, I guess so. I mean, I've put together a list of songs that I thought would be really fun to do with this band, and that's what we've been doing. But I think now, seeing how those things have changed and how much better we've made then, I would like to kinda go back and look at other stuff. But also at the same time, you run into this project, all you wanna play is new stuff.

J: Of course. What old song do you think is the best, is better now having the new crew?

F: Man. I like Veins with the violin in it, it's fantastic to me. I think Let You Down, now Kayleigh's playing an acoustic on there, I've always wanted that rhythmic section to that. We've been doing this rendition of Miss Me with just acoustic guitar and violin and I think that's really really fun. 

E: Viva with the violin too sounds incredible.

F: Viva, oh my god! Yeah, that might be my favorite.

J: Kayleigh, how many instruments do you play?

K: Pretty much violin, guitar, piano. But then the mandolin is the same as the violin, so that makes- that adds that to it. I play the ukulele but who doesn't?

J: That's right.

K: And then there's that whole assortment of keyboard based instruments that if you know how to play piano, you can pretty much weasel your way around.

J: You would think that ska bands would've figured out getting a multi-instrumentalist years ago, instead of having like nine guys.

F: Eight guys, and one guy dances.

J: Four dudes, Kayleigh, and a dancer who also sells merch.

F: But yeah, I don't know.

T: The Merch Pit.

F: I'm having so much fun, seriously. I will say this too. In addition to the playing, which is beyond anything expectation I had, I've never laughed more than in this band.

J: That's awesome.

F: It hurts your lungs.

T: Oh totally.

F: It's kind of amazing, yeah.

J: How was the first leg of the tour, speaking of people you're gonna laugh with, with James Dewees?

F: Oh my god.

E: He is such a character. 

J: Did he make you watch a lot of Seinfeld?

E: Well, we were going to originally! I actually brought-

K: I'm not sure who wanted to watch Seinfeld, James or Evan.

E: That's true. Apparently, James had all of the episodes on his iPod. 

F: Yes.

E: He would just watch them on his iPod. Which a screen of an iPod, old school iPod classic, is what? Two inches by an inch and a half? 

J: Yeah.

E: And he still watches all of them?

J: All the TV he needs.

F: I feel like James has pigeon sight, where he can see in 360 and everything looks big. I think like an iPod screen, that's fine. 

J: I think all the candy he eats helps him focus.

E: Yeah exactly. But I had brought all of the episodes on DVD with us, but of course, this bus that we just had didn't have a DVD player!

J: That's old technology.

E: I know!

T: This stack of shit would just get moved to this side, to this side, to this side.

J: It was a lot of seasons!

T: Yeah.

J: Oh man. So that first leg was James, this next leg of your tour, you're going over to Europe first with Laura Jane Grace.

F: Yes. Yeah, and The Devouring Mothers. Yes, we get to hang out with Atom and Mark Hudson, it's gonna be fun.

J: And then when you're back in the states hitting the west coast, it's when Geoff.

F: Geoff, yeah. Who's actually playing tonight as well.

J: Fantastic. 

F: So we're going to do the UK. We got a couple of festivals actually happening next week. We're going a UK festival, we're going a couple of shows in Russia, Kiev, and then a Czech festival, and one other that I can't think of.

E: Back in the UK.

F: Another UK. And then we'll be back here to do a festival in upstate New York.

J: Cool.

F: With Taking Back Sunday and the Menzingers. 

K: Oh, that's right.

F: And Glassjaw, right? And then we do the west coast Warped Tour, and then we do our shows with Geoffy, and then we go back to the UK to do it with Laura Jane. And then, well, before that I think, our video for Great Party is gonna come out.

J: Oh cool!

F: Which I'm really excited for because you're in it too.

J: I'm totally in the video! 

F: I know! And it's really good.

J: Yeah. It's a super fun video and we super top secret did it Memorial Day weekend, right? 

F: I know. Which I can't believe we got the venue for it. We did it at a Masonic Lodge in Clifton on Memorial Day weekend, and I feel like, even though that's not tied in with veterans and stuff like that, I feel like those things are usually rented out.

J: I thought those guys would be at barbecues, to be honest with you, but they were like, "Yeah, we'll clean up after you guys. We made coffee."

F: It was rad. 

T: They were like, "We'll watch you clean up."

F: But I mean the directors, David was amazing, and our friends from Surfbort came out, Sean and Dani.

J: They were amazing.

E: Yeah, they were awesome. 

F: Dude, that was the thing too. When I wrote the treatment for the video, the thing that I saw in my hand was Dani's face, really, setting this bomb off.

M: And if you don't know what that face looks like, it'll all make sense when you do.

F: Yeah exactly. That smile, it's all about that devilish grin, it's awesome. It's beautiful.

J: It's gonna haunt your dreams.

F: Yeah, she's so unique and just so amazing.

J: Have you seen the finished product yet?

F: I have, yeah. It's done. I think it comes out on the 18th or something, or the week of the 18th. So yeah.

K: Awesome. 

F: I'm very excited.

J: Very cool. I mean, I'm not sure what this day this is gonna drop, but it's gonna drop something around then. So you're either going to get excited because the video's coming out, or be excited because now you've seen the video and you know what we're talking about, and you've seen the face.

F: My kids are excited too because they're in it, but for a split second, so they were really excited to be in it, and then they saw it and they were like, "What the fuck! I'm not in it for long enough!" I was like, "Well, it's not your video." 

J: "They cut out my stage!" 

T: "You write a song."

F: Yeah.

J: "I thought the kids stayed in the picture! Not this one."

F: "Hey, I told you to clean up your room."

T: They did write a song, Best Friends Forever and it's pretty good.

M: Write another one.

F: Another one!

T: "It's not even on an album, that's on an EP." 

J: I think their college funds have been doing fine on royalties.

F: "Write an album track. See how easy it is."

T: "Bring me a single."

J: Alright, so this was Casual Interactions with Frank Iero and the Future Violents. Definitely check them out if they're coming to your town on tour. You will absolutely not regret it. You're gonna have the time of your life. 

F: Sick. 

J: Party on, dudes.

F: Great job.

E: Love y'all!

K: Thanks!

T: Thanks, Hambone.

J: Bye! 

[zealynstan]

Unlabeled Interview Final Part

Isabelle: And speaking of touring, like we're saying before, someone said in here, "I wish it didn't cost so much for you to share your music and voices." We could not agree more.

Zealyn: Oh yeah.

Isabelle: Wouldn't you say?

Zealyn: Absolutely. Yeah. Oh, there's so much we would be doing if it didn't cost so much, I mean yeah, I would have a music video for every single song well done, super well done.

Isabelle: Yeah.

Zealyn: Amazing live videos. I would have- I would be on tour all the time. I, oh my gosh, there's just so many things.

Isabelle: Yeah. We would probably- I'd probably be on tour all the time if touring didn't cost us so much money.

Zealyn: Yeah! Another thing that lots of people don't know is lots of the big artists, if you want to go on tour with them, we have to buy on to it. Umm...

Isabelle: Yeah.

Zealyn: And so recently, I just got an offer to buy on to this really awesome tour. I just couldn't do it. But yeah, just- everything is a pretty penny and so-

Isabelle: Everything's a pretty penny.

Zealyn: But you know hopefully, one day and I believe it will happen one day, our music will take off and we'll finally be able to make money like good money doing music and it'll come full circle at some point. So-

Isabelle: It will. It always does. I was listening to Tyler Perry on Supersoul Conversations this morning on my drive home.

Zealyn: Nice.

Isabelle: And like, same situation. I think nobody starts at the top and I think we forget that "Oh, we see all these people at the top." And it's just discouraging until you hear their stories and you realize, "Wow, they had no money either." He was talking about putting all this money into his first play and how he thought 1200 people are gonna show up. And it was at the 14th Street Playhouse in Atlanta, which I grew up in Atlanta so I know where that was. 30 people showed up.

Zealyn: Aww.

Isabelle: So he lost his car, he didn't have rent or anything and that was like, it sucked to hear that but wow, it's inspiring. And I hope that-

Zealyn: You see where he's come from.

Isabelle: Yeah. You see everything he's gone through and that we're doing the same thing and there's nothing different about it.

Zealyn: Yeah.

Isabelle: Other than not stopping, everytime we get a "no". And that's why this podcast for me is important because I don't know how many of you are watching and I know there's dancers on here and there's singers and aspiring everything but I just hope that you realize that like there's really nothing you umm... that's gonna come easily.

Zealyn: Right.

Isabelle: All the hard things are so much better when you get them.

Zealyn: Yeah. Absolutely.

Isabelle: What is your- what's an insecurity of yours that you are fighting umm... like in your day-to-day or music or just personally? That's like a big question but-

Zealyn: Well, yeah, I mean- I don't- I think that one thing that I do that I- everyone does but I do especially is umm... living in LA for 5 years now, been able to meet a lot of incredible awesome musicians and songwriters and just so many awesome people and a lot of them are doing really good. And like actually though, it's not just "social media" really good but like they're genuinely doing so well and blowing up and always busy and I think an insecurity of mine is like, comparing myself to other people. Is that right?

Isabelle: Yeah.

Zealyn: So um... I always- I'll at least have one bad night a week where I'm just get sunk into that "Aww man! That person's doing so much better than me." and that- and it's a good thing! I'm so happy for my friends like, "Wow, she got that?" "She got that?"

Isabelle: You're not alone.

Zealyn: Yeah!

Isabelle: Everybody feels that way in life.

Zealyn: And that's why- but I think that's something that I struggle with, it's just not- I just need to stop comparing myself. Everyone's started from somewhere, everyone's path is different like it's okay if it's taking longer or, whatever.

Isabelle: Yeah, yeah. I know, but that's umm... it's really great that you said when you're really honest. Because when I look at you, I don't see that you are insecure about that at all because you're so like, in your own lane to me. But it goes to show that we are all the same in that way.

Zealyn: Yeah. Totally.

Isabelle: Those insecurities never go away no matter- even if you were probably a little more successful, you'd probably see the best above you.

Zealyn: People were doing even better right *laughs* for sure.

Isabelle: Umm... Tammy asked about social media handles, so we're just gonna plug this in real quick.

Zealyn: Oh!

Isabelle: So she's @zealyn on Instagram, and @zealynmusic on Facebook.

Zealyn: It's Z-E-A-L- Oh there it is, you can see it. Aww, wow!

Isabelle: Z-E-A-L-Y-N.

Zealyn: You're so well prepared!

Isabelle: I know, it's just me, it's all me, I don't want anyone helping me out. Umm... and then, do her a favor and go if you guys have Apple Music, Spotify, go follow her. It's the same spelling and just like actually click the follow button and like put all her songs on your playlists and actually listen to them. Don't put them on a playlist because I said so, but actually listen because all those little things help us kind of get our music heard and everything like that.

Zealyn: Totally. Yeah.

Isabelle: Umm... I had a question for you- Oh, somebody asked... I'm trying to get through comments- Hailey asked, "What's LA like?" *laughs* That's such a loaded question.

Zealyn: It is. Well, I don't know, yeah. So, I love LA, first of all, I'll start there.

Isabelle: Yeah.

Zealyn: There's nowhere else I'd rather live. I genuinely love this city, it is motivating, pushes you to do better, everyone is going hard like everyone's pushing themselves to be better than they were the day before. So that's the good thing about it. The bad thing about it is that everyone's pushing them-! *Both laugh* Everyone's doing so well, everyone is hustling and I think that's when you also get stuck in a trap of, "Wow, they're going out every week to shows and networking and I only go out once a week. Oh boy, maybe I should be networking more or-" you know, there's just- every stupid little detail, it gets in your head and umm... yeah.

Isabelle: Just don't- I don't wanna discourage everyone for coming out here but if you're gonna come out here, just know that you will be very lucky if you have instant success. I hope that you do, I really do hope that everyone can do that.

Zealyn: Yeah.

Isabelle: But if you don't have instant success, you definitely have to look deeper into the other wonderful positive things happening that may not be exactly what you asked for or wanted but those are the things that you hold onto in order to stay out here because a lot of people don't last in LA because they think, "I'll give it a year and things would go well!" It sometimes happens but a lot of times it doesn't.

Zealyn: Yeah.

Isabelle: And then it's discouraging and you're like, "Well, I'm just gonna go home." but you know, don't do that like wherever you go or if you go away to college or umm... you go to a new city like give it time. Even when I went to college and I went away from the first time, it was the hardest thing ever. I called my mother everyday like, "WHY'D YOU SENT ME AWAY? Why'd you sent me here?" and then, I was so fulfilled and happy. Ultimately, that's what made me such an independent person. And moving to LA too, there were days when I first moved to LA... I was alone, I had a couple friends from college that were here, I went through such bad depression. It's the type of depression where you wake up in the morning, and you don't have anything you need to do, or that needs your attention. And you slept for like 11 hours, and you still- you wake up like exhausted, and you napped throughout the day not because you're tired, it's literally just you're so depressed because you're numb, you don't know what to do.

Zealyn: Yeah.

Isabelle: And guess what? Those things past, and they move away and the positive things come back and they slip in and then you're gonna slip back out of it. Right?

Zealyn: Yeah. And LA really is one of those places that you can't come to L- you can't visit LA for two weeks and expect to see LA and get a sense of the city in two weeks. It's impossible. It takes- LA is massive okay? I think people always think of LA like Downtown LA, like just the little downtown area, n-no. LA is huge, you can drive a whole hour and a half and still be in LA. So, it really truly takes like.... to me, it took a year. For me, it took a whole year to understand like, where everything is, where do I actually want to live, and it takes so long. Umm...

Isabelle: Yeah. It takes so long. I just feel settled now. I've been in here like 5-

Zealyn: I think I truly felt settled like- like I wanna live here forever after 3 years like it literally took 3 years. And I think at that point I was like, "I'm never leaving. I wanna stay as long as I can." Yeah.

Isabelle: I love it here too. So Gina just asked, "Are you going to Nashville?" I would love for you to answer that and tell us the cities you'll be touring in.

Zealyn: Absolutely.

Isabelle: If you remember them all.

Zealyn: Yes! I'll try.

Isabelle: Okay.

Zealyn: Uhh yes. I will be in Nashville, that show actually is announced already, tickets are at zealyn.co

Isabelle: Yeah, all the seats(?) are there.

Zealyn: Yeah, umm... But I mean, I could list them off, yeah. There's actually- I don't know, yeah so it's Minneapolis, Chicago, Indianapolis, Nashville, Atlanta; Beverly, Massachusetts which is my hometown, New York, DC, Philly, Pittsburgh... so that's all everything on the East Coast. West Coast is still like completely being figured out.

Isabelle: Okay yeah. Yeah, it takes time.

Zealyn: It looks like Seattle, Portland, Redding, San Francisco, LA, San Diego.

Isabelle: Uhh, can I open for you now? *both started laughing*

Zealyn: The West Coast one? Oh my goodness.

Isabelle: That's amazing!

Zealyn: Yeah that one's still like- we don't have the venues locked in or anyth- or the dates or anything.

Isabelle: Okay.

Zealyn: But it's August-ish.

Isabelle: August-ish, okay.

Zealyn: Yeah.

Isabelle: Well, if you wanna hear all the dates, go to zealyn.co, that's just "co" not ".com", just "co". And all the dates are up there, all the info about her. She's- like I said, an incredible artist.

Zealyn: Thank you.

Isabelle: Go listen to her music and just support her and I'm really glad that you asked all these questions, I'll be answering all these questions when we're done.

Zealyn: Yeah. Such awesome fans! There's so many questions coming in.

Isabelle: Yeah, they're pretty incredible, I'm lucky I am so lucky that you all show up every week or every other week.

Zealyn: Yeah, that's amazing.

Isabelle: But, Unlabeled the podcast, episode 5, will be uhh... 2 weeks, April 7th, check it out. This podcast you're listening to right now will be up on Tuesday and yeah. Zealyn, thank you for coming, go follow her at Zealyn on Instagram and uhh-

Zealyn: Thanks for having me. You're the best.

Isabelle: You're welcome. I'm honored. I love you, thanks for being here.

Zealyn: Me too. Thanks.

Isabelle: Adios, everybody! *both waved at the camera*

Zealyn: Oh, did it end already? Bye!

[mattzerella-sticks]

A Family Affair (a Mary-centric Thanksgiving fanfic)

With special guest appearances by: John/Mary, Sam/Eileen, Mary/Bobby, and of course... Dean/Cas

Mary didn't have the best relationship with Thanksgiving. But like most things over time, it changes.Take a look through Mary's life and see just how she starts out not really caring for the holiday to appreciating it in a new light.

           Mary didn’t much care for Thanksgiving, at first. The dull feeling has always existed, beginning early on in her life. When her cousins would visit and she’d laugh and play outside until her mother called her in to help ‘cook’. “Can’t have you dirtying up your nice holiday clothes, Mary,” she would always say, tapping condescendingly on her head, “better you learn now so when you bring a boy over, you can impress him with your food!” Mary didn’t care about basting, seasonings, or the perfect temperatures. What she wanted was to tackle Caleb into the mud before he scored a touchdown, and then rubbing his face in it for laughing at her pink frills.

           It didn’t help that every year her mother would call her in earlier and earlier until finally she stopped going out all together when she hit puberty. “We need all hands on deck,” Deanna said, “and now that you’re older, you can do more than just watch.” So she did, with a scowl on her face, glaring at all her male cousins tossing the football around. Even Brett, who Mary knew would have gladly switched places with her in a heartbeat.

           The food and preparations didn’t matter to her, only family did. And you shouldn't need a special day to make that happen. Luckily she found a kindred spirit in John. He was more impressed by her aim than he was her cooking. “I could care less if you burn water just by looking at it,” he told her, one night when they were lying in bed together, their first Thanksgiving on the horizon. “We don’t need some big meal. We’ll make do with take-out.”

           She said ‘I love you’ shortly after that.

           For the first few years of their relationship, the holiday was like a record playing at a party: still present, but softly, and in the background. Easy enough to go unnoticed. No one quite paid attention to it, but it was still there.

           Except Dean happened, and then Sam; suddenly Thanksgiving meant something again. And Mary started cooking – although nothing special. She was just thankful her food was edible, mostly. One year she ruined the turkey past the point of saving, and they had turkey sandwiches for dinner. “I don’t know how you did that,” John said, he and Mary staring at the charred bird, “it’s like you threw that thing up on the ceiling and hit it with a flamethrower.”

           It was a miracle when Dean managed to make grilled cheese without starting a fire. “You guys make it look so complicated,” he told them, flipping a burger at the age of ten, “but it’s not too hard.”

           Mary didn’t know what to think. “Well, obviously he didn’t get it from me,” she whispered to John, “this tastes good.”

           Dean was in charge of Thanksgiving by the time he reached high school. For the next four years, their little family shared a traditional meal together.

           But then Dean went away to culinary school. “It won’t be long,” he told them, “I’ll be back before you know it!” Dean was hired right after graduation to work in a restaurant in Chicago. It took some convincing from all of them, but her little boy flew the nest for one final time.

           And then when Sam left for California, the holiday was vanquished once more.

           Or so she thought. Because then, Sam met Eileen, and their family grew.

           Eileen was a lovely girl her son met at a Barnes & Noble, when they both attended an in-store lecture on Celtic Mythology. He was sitting in front of her, blocking her view of the interpreter.

           She tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, but has anyone ever told you you’re really tall?” Sam was awestruck. He could barely say a word as Eileen looked at him, expectantly. “I can’t hear,” she explains, pointing at the interpreter, “and I need to see her.” Nodding dumbly, Sam switched places with her. “Thank you.”

           “I was so distracted,” he told Mary later, “I could barely focus on the guest speaker… but I guess that was okay. Because after she and I sat down at the indoor Starbucks and she filled me in on what I missed.”

           Eileen gave Mary her side of the story much later, when they met. “I felt kind of bad,” she said, “I thought I was ruder than I meant. So it was an apology of sorts…”

           Their friends made sure to bring up the story at their wedding.

           And not long after their bliss, Sam and Eileen welcomed their first-born son, Declan Winchester. Mary cried so many tears when they sent her a photo of her first grandson. It was one of the happiest moments in her life.

           Except it brought Thanksgiving back once more.

           Sam called her on a night in September. “We rarely see you, and it’d be a great reason to have you and dad visit,” he said, “You won’t have to worry about anything.”

           Mary raised her brow, “Why, is Dean cooking?” She didn’t have to see her son to know he was giving her, what her eldest son affectionately calls, a bitchface.

           “No, I doubt he’ll even be coming this year what with his new restaurant…”

           Dean became a popular chef in his own right, and was kept busy his first few years after culinary school being shipped from restaurant to restaurant by the owner. “It’s getting pretty exhausting, never knowing what my week’s gonna look like,” he confided in her during Sam’s wedding, “but I’ve been talking with my friend, Cas? He says I’ve got the skills to open up my own place and… well, I’m no good with numbers, but he said he’d help me through it all. I think I’m gonna do it.” He did.

           “Anyway,” Sam continued, “Eileen will be handling it. Although, I hope you’re not too partial to turkey. We’ll probably be having seitan since we’re, y’know, vegetarian.”

           John complained, but they booked their flight almost immediately. It was nice seeing Sam, Eileen, and Declan, but they could do that anytime. In fact, they were back in Kansas for Christmas. Even Dean managed to sneak away and join them. He found the time for that holiday, and Easter – even Fourth of July; but never Thanksgiving.

           Even when Mary had to make the journey to Sam’s alone.

           John died on a quiet night in April. Mary woke up to find he wasn’t in bed, and started looking for him. She found him asleep on the couch, never to wake. “I think he knew it was his time,” Mary said at the funeral, hands shaking on the podium, “And he didn’t want the first thing I saw to be his lifeless body. I’m just thankful for all the mornings in-between that we shared together…”

           Mary didn’t go to Thanksgiving. She barely left her house the first year; too busy navigating her life like a ship, with no port to come home to, adrift and directionless.

           It was the next Thanksgiving, and she didn’t have a choice. “I bought your ticket already, so you have to come,” Sam had told her, “Dean even said he might find the time to stop by. And the kids miss you. Just the other day, little Brendan signed that he loves his grandma, unprompted.”

           “I highly doubt Brendan did that.”

           “But the guilt’s working, right?”

           She couldn’t let her boys down. Mary packed her bags and flew to her son’s home.

           “Dean called earlier,” he said, “Something came up, he didn’t say much except that he was sorry and he was going to make it up to us.” Mary wasn’t that upset, she had a feeling her oldest wouldn’t be coming. “But, we do have an extra guest.”

           She met Bobby Singer on Thanksgiving. She knew of him for far longer. “He fixed my car up even better than it was before,” Sam said, “And for half the price I paid when I took it to the chain store on the other side of town.” That was only the first story, but the others were few and far between.

           “So,” she asked, after a few glasses of wine, “no other family to celebrate with?” Sam and Eileen were seeing the little ones off to bed, and she was feeling brazen. Bobby was gruff at dinner, giving short answers, all somewhat mysterious.

           Even now, she has to needle his words out of him. “Wife’s dead.”

           “My husband died, too,” she shrugged, sipping on her fifth glass, “Although Sam probably told you about that.”

           “He did.”

           “No children?”

           He flushed at that. “I had a son…” Mary is well familiar with that special ‘had’.

           “…I’m sorry.”

           “No, it’s… it’s okay,” Bobby said, even though Mary could tell it wasn’t the truth. He was looking all over Sam’s living room, and his hands were rolling and unrolling his tie. “Daniel died four years ago… out in Afghanistan. Bomb. It was his third tour – I told him to give it up after his second one but he wouldn’t.”

           Mary placed a hand on his shoulder. “You were in the army?”

           “I was a marine.”

           This piqued her interest. “My husband was a marine.” John had signed up right after high school, serving two tours before taking a break. They met in the interim, and didn’t start dating until after his fourth.

           “Your son told me. John Winchester – I hadn’t heard that name in years.”

           “You… you knew John?”

           “Sure, we ran in the same circles, sometimes were in the same unit.” He pulled out a faded picture, of a youngish looking John and another man that must be him. “Told me what happened and… I wish I went to the funeral. When he found out I was doin’ nothin’ today he invited me, said you were gonna come. Figured you might want to see this and… I’m sorry, really, I get a bit personal the more I’ve had to drink.”

           Mary wiped away her tears. “No it’s… it’s okay. Thank you, really.” She tried to hand him back the picture but he didn't take it. Told her to keep it. “I’d feel bad,” she said, “it’s your picture.”

           “Then why don’t you tell me about him,” he offered, “We didn’t stay in touch after he retired… I’d like to hear what happened since.”

           She smiled, genuinely, for the first time in a while. “I’d be happy to.”

           They kept in contact after that. They’d email, text, and sometimes called each other. Those were some of Mary’s favorite conversations. At certain points both of them would stop talking, and they’d take comfort in hearing each other’s breathing. Almost as if they were in the same room.  

           Bobby’s friendship helped steer her in a new direction. Gave her the motivation to leave the house and take on the challenges life continued to throw at her. Even to seek out a few new ones.

           “I feel like there’s more I should be doing,” she told him, “It seems like all I’m doing nowadays is going shopping and coming home. Occasionally I might go out with a few friends, but either everyone’s busy or they’re dead.”

           Bobby huffed from the other end. “Well, didn’t you use to do anything?”

           “I worked,” Mary said, smiling, “out in the field, chasing down criminals and solving crimes. But I retired years ago, when I had Sam. I doubt they’d let me join back so easily.”

           “No hobbies?”

           “I used to write, a long time ago…” Mary dreamed she’d make a career out of her writings, way back when she was a teenager. Until her mother ripped her notebook out of her hands and tossed it into the fireplace. Deanna Campbell wanted her daughter to focus on more important things, said that dreams were the playthings of little girls with nothing better to do. ‘Jokes on you mom,’ she thought, ‘I’m sure you would’ve liked a writer for a daughter more than a police officer.’

           A rough clearing of the throat brought her back. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

           “I said that maybe you should pick it up again,” he said, “Or find something to bide your time. Listen, I gotta go…”

           Mary thought about what he said that night, into next morning, and all for the rest of the week. ‘I haven’t picked up a pen in years. Who knows if I’ll even be good at it.’

           She wasn’t good at it, not at first. But Mary kept at it – writing down ideas and characters from the morning to the afternoon in a little notebook, and then typing it all on the computer. It was coming together slowly, but she still didn’t feel right. Like she did when she was riding in the police cruiser, the sirens blaring, and her partner yelling into the radio.

           Then she saw the ad in the town’s newspaper: Columnist Wanted.

           Mary wrote for her college’s newspaper. She took a journalism course for the credits, but enjoyed it. And when the class was over, joined as a reporter to keep getting her fix. ‘I don’t know why I stopped,’ she wondered, looking over the job description, ‘I had so much fun. I think I still remember…’

           By next week the position was filled. Mary joined the staff at the Lawrence Gazette as their newest columnist. And she loved it. It was the missing piece in her life, and through her job she made tons of new friends.

           Like Chuck, her editor-in-chief. She was always making sure he was taking care of himself – the man had a habit to forget the simplest of things when he was working. She also grew very close to Rowena, who wrote the Horoscopes Section every week. Rowena always had a barbed comment waiting, ready to fire, and Mary enjoyed watching her hit her targets.

           Mary even got to know a few more folks in Lawrence. There was Ellen Harvelle, owner of the Roadhouse. They met when Mary came to interview her about recent renovations, and became fast friends. And Jody Mills, when she moved to town to become the newest Sheriff; Mary not only asked her questions, but also gave her a few tips on the town.

           But no matter how many new people Mary brought into her life, nothing could come close to replacing John, except one, maybe.

           “So Bobby mentioned you again,” Sam said casually one night during a weekly phone call. Mary rolled her eyes, her youngest son, subtle as always. “You two seem very close for people who only met once…” There was a question he couldn’t ask, and Mary understood why.

           “We’re very good friends,” she said instead.

           Sam didn’t buy it, either. “Sure…”

           Mary sighed. “Sam, Bobby and I are friends. Maybe if things were different, or our lives weren’t too firmly established in different places but… we can’t go back and change that. And we wouldn’t. We’re happy where we are now. If that changes… then maybe more will, too.”

           He dropped it, but still invited Bobby to Thanksgiving again the next year, and every year after until the holiday brought more change.

           Which leads her to now.

           Dean surprised all of them in mid-October. “Hey, I know you guys do Thanksgiving in California, but I was wondering… could y’all come up to Illinois? I – I want to host it this year. I’m always missing out because of business and… I miss you all. Please, just think about it?”

           It didn’t require much thought.

           Sam agreed whole-heartedly. “He’s a chef, why wouldn’t we let him cook?” He even told her Bobby bought a plane ticket already, too.

           She smiled to herself. “Of course I’m going to go,” she laughed, “the only reason I celebrate this damned holiday is because of you folks.”

           So on the day of Thanksgiving, Mary paid her cab driver and rolled her suitcase over to her son’s house. It was a large thing, with two stories, a verdant lawn, and a picket fence. “A beautiful place,” he described it, “with a lawn big enough for the kids to run around.”

           Mary figured he meant Sam’s kids, as her son never got around to having any of his own. It hurt to see, as she knew Dean wanted children to raise more than anything. But it came with the job. He didn’t have any time to truly find someone. There were a few – girls Mary thought could overcome his schedule. But all of them lost out. Cassie’s job was just as demanding. Anna wanted Dean to stop pushing himself and cut back. Lisa made him choose between his career and her. When he said he couldn’t, she and her son moved back in with her parents. That hurt Dean the hardest.

           So when she rang the doorbell, she was surprised to see a little boy with a mop of sandy hair answer the door. He grins up at her, one of his front teeth missing. “Hi!”

           “Um… hello?” she says, looking around. Dean's living room is just like she remembers. ‘This… this is the right house, right?’

           “Jack!”

           A man comes stalking in, dressed in a white shirt and slacks, and scoops the young boy up. Jack giggles, pressing himself into the man’s neck. He looks at Mary. “I’m sorry, I heard the doorbell but was busy peeling. I hope you didn’t wait long.”

           “No, not at all, but…” she looks him up and down, “I’m pretty sure this is my son’s house.”

           Dean walks in at that, wiping his powdery hands up and down his apron. “Ma!” he says, rushing over to give her a hug. He pulls back, wincing at her white-stained top. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

           “Dean!” Mary says, “It’s okay but, uh… are you going to introduce us?” She glances over at the other two, and he gets the hint.

           Dean moves to the other man’s side, standing close. His arm swings around back, hand drifting close to the hip, only to swing further up and land hesitatingly on a shoulder. “Ma, this is Cas, remember. My friend. And this,” he ruffle’s Jack’s hair with his other hand, “is Jack, his son. He and his family are joining us for Thanksgiving.” His smile drops, then. “I… I should have told you, shouldn’t I? I figured –“

           “Dean, it’s okay,” she tells him, “this is your house. We’re guests. Speaking of, has Sam and Eileen arrived yet?”

           “No, but they called a little while ago from O’Hare. Said they’d be driving over soon.”

           “I must have just missed them. He tell you he’s bringing a guest as well?”

           “Oh he’s told me all about him,” Dean says, winking, “Although I’m sure you can do that yourself.”

           Mary rolls her eyes, shoving him. “Go cook, otherwise I’ll grill you on your love life.” That startles him, and he looks once more at Cas before heading right back into the kitchen.

           Cas steps in, offering her a seat on the couch. “I’m glad to meet you, Mary. Dean has talked very highly of you, but we’ve never had the fortune of meeting.”

           “He’s done the same of you,” she says, smirking, “although he did forget to mention a few things…” Like how attractive he is. She thought he was some scrawny, awkward man in a trench coat. Her son forgot to mention his tanned muscles, the swoop of raven hair, blue eyes and a kind smile. ‘Oh to be young again…’

           “Yes, well,” Cas blushes, “I’m sure he had his reasons.” Just then a teenager plods down the stairs. Her blonde hair is pulled back tight in a ponytail, and she’s smoothing out wrinkles on her skirt.

           “Dad,” she says, “Is this better? And be careful because I’m not changing again – oh!” She notices Mary, face reddening.

           Mary waves to her, “Hello.”

           “Claire, you look great. Now come say hello,” Cas motions for her. She passes by Jack, the boy too absorbed in playing with his action figures to look up, and stands beside Cas. “Mary, this is my daughter Claire. Claire, this is Dean’s mother, Mary.”

           “Sorry about that,” she says, shaking Mary’s hand, “I didn’t know anyone had arrived yet.”

           “It’s okay, I’ve been where you are. If I didn’t have to change three times before my mother was pleased she might have had less frown lines.” They all share a polite laugh before Mary looks around the room. “So, Cas, a son… a daughter… will your wife be joining us soon?”

           “That’d be pretty difficult,” Cas chuckles, “For someone to pop out of thin air.”

           Mary raises a brow. “I find it hard to believe at your age no one’s staked a claim in you.”

           Cas rubs a hand at his neck, not meeting her eyes. “Well I wouldn’t say that…”

           “So Claire and Jack?”

           “Claire’s parents were my brother and his wife. Unfortunately they passed after a horrific accident when she was young, and I’ve been caring for her since.” He grabs for Claire’s hand, rubbing small circles into it. The younger girl smiled. “Jack, on the other hand, was the son of a dear friend of mine. She didn’t make it through child birth, so I took him in as well.”

           “Well I’m happy to say Dean was right about you,” Mary says, “a kind man with a big heart. It must not have been easy raising two kids by yourself, especially when you’re helping my son run his restaurant.”

           “I just handle the finances, and I can do that from he – home.” He turns towards the kitchen, beaming softly, “And I had help. Dean stepped in whenever he could to help me. He was always there when I needed him, and vice versa.”

           There was something there. Cas and Dean were tiptoeing around something, and Mary’s keen insight was picking up the breadcrumbs. She wanted to ask a question, but soon enough the doorbell was ringing again. Sam and Eileen, the kids, and Bobby were all tumbling in, and greetings were exchanged once more. Mary barely said two words to her grandkids before they were running over to Jack, joining him.

           “I take it they know each other already?” Mary asks Sam.

           “Yeah,” he tells her, “Seems like Cas, Jack, and Claire are always over whenever we visit.”

           “So you knew they’d be here.”

           “I mean I had a feeling they would?” Sam sighs, glancing around before leaning in close, “Dean spoils Cas’s kids. Last time I was here, he had built Jack a tree house in his backyard. And Claire, he’s been teaching her to drive the Impala.” He has more he wants to say, but Dean pulls him into a hug, and their conversation is put on hold.

           Even more so when Bobby makes his way over to her, his copper beard somehow more gray than she remembered. “Hey.”

           “Hey, yourself.”

           It’s another hour before dinner is ready.

           Dean calls them all in. Seating is a bit telling. There are two tables, one for the adults while another for kids. Jack and Brendan sit on one side of the foldout while Declan and Claire take the other. She put up a small fuss, but twin glares from Cas and Dean quickly stopped it.

           The table for the adults is fit for a feast. The turkey, already carved, waits for them on a silver platter. It’s surrounded by a bounty of sides from mashed potatoes to cranberry sauce, candied yams and macaroni and cheese. There’s even a smaller platter with some steamed vegetables and seitan. “For Sam because he’s still denying his heritage,” Dean joked. Sam punched him on the arm.

           They took their spots. Dean sat at the head, and while Sam took the seat on Dean’s left, Cas was in the chair to his right. Mary was at a loss, unsure of where to sit. “Here,” Bobby pulled the chair across from Dean, at the other end of the table, out. She gladly took it.

           Especially when it proved to be the best seat in the house.

           The clues start connecting themselves the further through dinner they get. While Dean and Sam chat, Cas dishes out plates and servings. Always filling her son’s plate before his own. They share stories, always giggling, staring at each other too long, and waiting for the other to finish their thoughts. “We thought about expanding,” Dean said, halfway through the meal, “but with Jack, it’d be tough for us to manage tworestaurants.” The picture is clear for Mary soon enough.

           “Dean, you really outdid yourself,” Sam says, patting his stomach tiredly.

           Eileen rubs a gentle hand through his hair. “Agreed, we wish you were able to come to all our other Thanksgivings.”

           “It’s a busy life,” Dean shrugs, “’m just glad y’all were more than happy to come here.”

           “We missed you,” Sam tells him, smirking, “And your cooking.” Dean barks out a laugh, slapping Sam on the shoulder. “Seriously, though, it’s somehow better than usual?”

           Dean blushes at the praise. “Wanted to make this special, s’all…”

           Sam rolls his eyes. “Maybe if you cooked like that more often, you’d find somebody, Dean.” Mary watches as Dean and Cas nervously glance at each other, neither laughing.

           Her son starts to stand, “I think maybe it’s time for dessert –“

           “I’ll get that, Dean.” They all turn to stare at Mary, already out of her chair, and moving towards the kitchen.

           “No, Ma –“

           “Nonsense,” she tells him, pushing him back down, “You’ve already done so much. It’s the least I can do.”

           Dean swallows roughly. “There’s… there’s a lot. More than one person to carry.”

           “Cas will help me, won’t you?” She offers a warm smile, the other man sitting ramrod straight in surprise. He shakes out of his stupor after a long beat, agreeing.

           There’s more on Mary’s mind than just dessert.

           Cas leads her to the kitchen, where four different pies are laid out on the counter: cherry, apple, sweet potato, and pumpkin.

           Mary walks past each, slowly, finger trailing the edges of the counter. “So many… you know, Dean usually only bakes this much when he’s nervous.”

           “I… I do.”

           “Although I have no reason to believe why he should be, when it’s just us visiting,” she stops, turning towards the other man, “Do you know, Cas?”

           Cas doesn’t answer. He moves over to the pies, “We should probably bring these out –“

           “How long have you and Dean been seeing each other?”

           He stops, hands hovering over the apple pie. ‘Dean’s favorite…’

           “How do you know?”

           “A mother always knows, Cas.”

           “And you…”

           Mary sighs, rubbing a soothing hand across his back. “I want what any mother wants for her kids – to be happy. And Dean looks very happy with you and your kids. Is he?”

           Cas leans into her touch. “Yes, very much so.” He finally looks over at her. “You must have a lot of questions.”

           “I have a right to them.”

           “You do, you do…” He rubs a hand across his jaw, back and forth. “Dean invited you all here because he wanted to tell you all we were together. He and I… it’s been a strange dance. We were two different people back then – a rising star and a man beat down by his numbers. Dean helped me see there was more to life that I was missing, holding myself back from. And when the time came, I paid him back in full. We’ve been through so much together – threats from competitors, partners leaving us, the loss of my brother, my friend… Funny, sometimes you walk through life waiting to meet the one… when in reality they’ve been beside you all along?”

           Mary grins, fighting back the tears. “Sounds like something Dean would do. He can be a bit oblivious.”

           “Both of us were… that and stubborn,” Cas says, “We only got together months ago… but it’s felt like years.”

           “I’m glad,” Mary tells him, “That you two found each other. For you and your family, giving Dean the one he’s always wanted. The one he deserves.”

           “He adores Claire and Jack,” Cas confesses, “Treats them like his own. We were only dating for two months before we moved in here. It didn’t take much convincing, since half of our things were always here.”

           Mary laughs at that. She pulls away, picking up two of the pies. “So,” she says, “should we get moving? They’re probably wondering…”

           Cas stops her, a hand on her arm. “Before we do, I… I want to tell you something.” She nods, and he starts digging into his pocket. “Dean wanted this night to ease you into our relationship, spill everything out into the open and… I can’t toe the waters anymore. I’m plunging in.” He pulls out a small, velvet box. Inside, a beautiful silver band rests, a small diamond in the middle. “I’m proposing.”

           Mary almost drops the pies. “Are you asking for my permission?”

           He shrugs. “We’re kind of springing everything else on you, last minute. It’s the least I can do.”

           It’s not something she has to think about for long. “Come on then,” she says, “I can’t wait to see the look on his face.” Mary leaves him there, making her way back towards the dining room.

           Mary never much cared for Thanksgiving in the beginning, but she learned to love it. It brought her family closer together, gave her new friends and memories to cherish, and a happier life.

           And Thanksgiving was when Dean said yes.