#sorry my brother left for college yesterday and i am Not coping well

[electribunny]

ur toothbrush is gone. of course it’s gone why the fuck would you leave ur toothbrush but it’s just another small reminder that u don’t live here anymore and it’s fucking me up

[winterscaptain]

i loved hotch’s top 3 parent moments, but what are his top 3 most defeated moments & how do the kids/mom help him cope/feel better

ooooh these got REALLY long so they’re going under a cut (they’re basically three drabbles so i included the ajf tag list (whoops))

a joyful future masterlist

1.

aaron comes back home from very long day full of infuriating people and politics, and isaac has left everything all over the living room floor. he trips on something (probably shoes) and breaks. he doesn’t get mean or anything, but his bark is definitely harsher than he intended. isaac is so so upset, and he holes himself up in his room. aaron feels awful, instantly. mom runs interference, and spends some time in the dark with isaac so he can calm down with minimal stimulus. when isaac is ready, mom goes back into the living room and finds aaron distraught, his head in his hands. 

“i promised myself i wasn’t going to become my father.” 

mom just wraps around him like a koala and is like “you’re not. you just had a bad day. for god’s sake, jack snapped at me over something ridiculous yesterday, and isaac and soph got into a knock-down drag-out fight last week about a puzzle while caro was simultaneously throwing a tantrum about fruit snacks. we’re all allowed to have bad days, and you can make it right. he’s a smart kid - just tell him what’s going on and remind him that you’re not upset with him and that you love him.” 

aaron goes to isaac’s door, knocks, and waits for isaac to tell him he can come in. aaron sits at the foot of his bed, waiting. they sit in the dark for a long time, and isaac eventually crawls into aaron’s lap. his dad tells him everything that happened in his day at work, and rounded it all off with “it was wrong of me to get upset with you, little man. it wasn’t your fault, and i love you more than anything, all the time, no matter what. i’m so sorry, and i hope you can forgive me.”

“i can.” 

mom walks in later to find them asleep, aaron propped against the headboard with his ankles crossed, isaac sprawled across his chest. 

2.

when the girls are older, maybe 14 or 15, he puts his foot down about an out-of-town concert with a friend and their older brother. the concert is a few days away, and sophia mentions it over dinner. 

without really meaning to, he goes into full drill sergeant mode and gets a little too specific about all the things that could go wrong. it was very clear in the moment that the topic was not up for discussion, that he was not under any circumstances going to allow the girls to go to a concert a couple hours away with only a nineteen year-old college sophomore as a supervisor. 

it turns into one of those “i hate you you never let me do anything” teenager moments. sophia gets up and shuts herself in the garage with the treadmill and runs until she’s tired, showering and going straight into her room without a word or glance in his direction. caroline really quietly sets her napkin on the table, and leaves out the back door, headed for the porch swing that faces the back of the property. she, too, goes to bed without saying goodnight. 

mom doesn’t say anything in the moment, and they finish dinner with the boys (isaac, now 16 or 17, and elliot, now 10 or 11) and get them ready to wind down for the night. when they settle into bed, he starts to doubt himself. 

“i was too hard on them, wasnt i?” 

before mom can answer, aaron gets a call from jack (now 26 or 27) on his cell. he tells him that sophia tattled to him about the concert, and he didnt mention this to them, but he’d be okay taking the day off work to take them and their friends, and even find a spot to stay overnight so they aren’t out driving late.

mom eavesdrops. aaron tells jack to hold on a second, and mutes him. mom says that would be a good compromise and reminds him that they aren’t little anymore, and they can mostly fend for themselves (thanks to a few weeks’ worth of self-defense with derek over the summer). “i know it’s hard, honey. i can’t say i’m wild about it either, but if jack goes, i’d feel a lot better about that than the alternatives.”

he sighs, kisses her, and tells jack that would be alright. “i’ll go down the hall and tell them.”

“have some sucking up to do, old man?”

aaron just rolls his eyes and hangs up before walking down the hall. he knocks on the door, and two flat “what”s come from the other side of the door. he opens it, and finds caroline and sophia facing each other from their beds on either side of the room. he could tell they were talking shit, the set of their mouths giving them away. 

they’re looking at him like he’s goddamn war criminal. he pulls caro’s desk chair and sits backward on it in between the ends of their beds. “your brother has very graciously offered to take friday off of work to take you and your friends to the concert and spend the night in norfolk with you.” 

“so, you’re letting us go?” 

he tries not to let the biting resentment in sophia’s tone get to him. “i am. i’m sorry for coming down hard on you at dinner. it was wrong of me, and i understand that it could feel like i don’t trust your judgement. i do.” he looks at them each in turn. “it just freaks me out a little that you’re getting older a lot faster than i thought you would.” 

caro’s lip wobbles, and she throws her covers back and crosses to him, giving him a hug. “thank you. we’ll be good, i promise.” 

“i know, my little love.” 

it takes him a little while to get back into sophia’s good graces, but when he picks them up from jack’s apartment at the end of the weekend, she can’t stop talking about how much fun she had. he’s pretty sure he’s forgiven. 

3. 

its when he first starts dating mom that jack starts to act out. he’s usually a really well-tempered kid, but sometimes he’d snap at her or withdraw and it made her feel awful. there were definitely a couple of nights were he’d snap at her over something small and she would retreat to the back bedroom to take a minute. it wore on aaron to tell her that she wasn’t an imposition, that she wasn’t replacing haley, that she isn’t his second choice or ‘the backup’

they both have this moment of total defeat - they’ve known each other for so long, and jack has known her most of his life, but the change in relationship status really brought up a lot of stuff for the kiddo. 

mom comes around faster, learning to understand that jack is just adjusting and having trouble with the idea that there’s a semi-permanent female figure in his life, and that his dad’s attention is divided. thus, when aaron inevitably breaks down about it, she’s there. 

“i feel selfish. maybe i shouldn’t have -”

“aaron. we are doing everything we can to make this an easy adjustment for him, but it’s difficult.”

“but nothing’s changed! you’ve been here for five years.” 

“love, everything’s changed, and we’ve only been dating for a couple of months. that’s a lot for someone who’s barely seven. you’re not selfish, you’re not a bad parent. you haven’t made a bad judgement call. he’s just really young and is having trouble handling these very big changes in his home landscape.” 

so aaron finds a therapist for jack to see twice a week, figuring it was a good idea anyway with all the trauma he may or may not remember. it’s still sucky for a while, but as jack starts implementing the coping mechanisms he learns and mom takes on a role closer to a peer or friend than a parent, things get a lot easier. 

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @vintagecaptainspidey @micaiahmoonheart @ogmilkis @thatreallyis-americas-ass @marvels-agents100 @newtslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @joemazzello-imagines @pinkdiamond1016 @sebbybaby0 @pan-pride-12 @hotchlinebling @lee-rin-ah @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @emmice9 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @bauslut @yourlovelynewsbian @sparklingkeylimepie @aili28 @kingandrear @reader4027 @spnobsessedmemes @rogers-mouth @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @phoenixfyre374 @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandi-ass-prentiss @songbird400 @dontkissthewriter @ellyhotchner @a-dorky-book-keeper @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @andreasworlsboring101 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst  @lcvischmitt 

[incoherentbabblings]

Take Back the Cake, Burn the Shoes, and Boil the Rice (5/11)

Within two months there have been two murders of Gotham newlyweds moments after the ceremony. The only connecting factor was both brides wore the same designer’s work. Needing to establish who exactly is behind the crimes, Bruce enlists Tim and Stephanie to have the biggest wedding Gotham high society has seen in decades, putting a target on their heads not just for the killer, but Gotham society too. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

Ao3 Link Here!

In the first hour on conversation with Rebecca Andrews, her phone had rung no less than three times.

“It’s… he’s just very worried about me at the moment.” She uttered, pulling out more inspiration boards for Stephanie (and Cassandra) to muse over. Why Steph had brought Cass she wasn’t entirely sure. It was not an insult to say that the girl’s fashion sense was lacking, nor did she really know what looked good on Stephanie. But, to the public, and Stephanie supposed in reality too, she was the Maid of Honour, and that did come with certain obligations.

Of course, Cass was also there to pick up any inconsistencies in the woman’s actions or thinking or…anything really, that would set off alarm bells.

As for the dress itself, a silhouette decision had been somewhat easy.

“Please no trumpet or slinky numbers. It has to be a little conservative.” Stephanie wrung her hands. “I’ve got a lot of scarring on my back and chest… rather not show those off. And we’re thinking of the Cathedral for the venue, after this that’s where Tim and I are heading, so I don’t want…”

“Oh no, no, no. I know the Dean and the Bishop. Stuffy old men if there ever were a pair.”

Rebecca had smiled in a friendly manner then, hand over her mouth thinking, pulling Stephanie to the centre of her old workshop. It was neat and fancy, with one wall entirely constituting windows that looked out onto the other red brick tenements of this area of Gotham. Three months ago, Rebecca may have prided herself on being a hidden gem, now it seemed she was hidden for a reason.

“Do you just want shoulders covered, or full sleeves?”

Cassandra piped up from where she was sat, behind one of the old green sewing machines within the studio. She was resting an elbow on the table, watching amusedly.

“I want her, and I know Tim would love it, to look like Cinderella.”

“How do you know that?” Stephanie’s tone was a bit pointed, still raw from last night. Cassandra only smiled, not giving anything away, and shrugged.

Rebecca meanwhile nodded, brain sparking off with ideas.

“Yes… I can do that. You practically are this city’s Cinderella case, aren’t you?”

“I mean… I guess so?”

Guess so. The parallels practically draw themselves, Steph. She berated herself as measurements were taken. She was wearing workout leggings and a tank top, fully intending to run to college once the ordeal was over. Not sweeping cinders from a fireplace, but certainly not Gotham’s highest social circle frequenter.

“If I may ask…” Rebecca began tentatively, measuring Stephanie’s under-bust and legs. “Why me? You must have… heard…”

The phone rang again, and Rebecca only sighed, excusing herself.

Left alone in the studio, Stephanie frowned. “I don’t want a Cinderella dress, Cass.”

“What do you want?”

Steph jolted. “What?”

“You don’t want sexy, you don’t want princess, so…”

“I’d rather have nothing.” Steph grumbled to herself. Cassandra caught it and gave her a dangerous look. Steph sighed heavily and looked out the window. “What Bruce wants he gets. What everyone else feels is irrelevant.”

“Steph.” Cass’s tone was sharp, and Stephanie knew somewhere inside herself that she was being a brat, but she was still upset from yesterday at Tim. At herself. She didn’t know why she was so frightened. She just knew in her churning gut that she wouldn’t be enough to hold him to her. She never had been. And he was too lovesick to realise it. And she was too weak to tell him no.

She wanted the job over fast, but they still had weeks to go. Her mood had turned foul, and she was increasingly biting at everyone. Tim, her mother, Cassandra, her classmates… She was slipping. But she was miserable, and for the first time in a long while, couldn’t find a way to cope. She felt like she was regressing.

Rebecca trundled in with bundles of fabric.

“Sorry about that!” She huffed. Underneath the piles of fabric she held a small portfolio. Thin taffeta, structured satin and fine lace tumbled onto a table. She held out the portfolio for Stephanie to take and look through. “So, here’s some rough designs I’ve done in the past, we can use one as a base and go from there. First off, I want to know what your main fabric is to be. Not all three, only for the detailing.”

Stephanie’s eyes were drawn to the lace, but then Cass stepped in. “I like taffeta. You’ll look like a princess.”

“I suppose.” Dragging her eyes away, she looked at the see-through taffeta, then down at one of the designs she had opened on. Saying nothing, she stared a little longer.

Rebecca smiled patiently. “It’s a lot huh?”

“I just… I didn’t think my wedding was going to be this big.” Telling the truth, Stephanie told herself it was to make Rebecca more at ease. “We have to scale up.”

“Hmm.” Stephanie watched Cassandra watch Rebecca, who was musing over what Stephanie had said. “Well, let’s go for this. What are your flowers?”

“…Carnations.”

“Car—oh gosh. Okay, and your shoes?”

“I haven’t…I thought you should buy the dress first.”

Rebecca laughed. “Oh, you’d be surprised. What about jewellery? Any ideas for that?”

“I…”

“Dad wants her in pearls.” Cassandra butt in again. Stephanie bit her tongue. “Family jewels and all that.”

“Ah, pearls. The something borrowed part of the rhyme? And your hair?”

“I want it down.” For that she was certain. “Or mostly down.”

“So… a high neck? But your hair down?”

Her sceptical tone made Stephanie’s hackles rise. Rebecca circled around Stephanie, face pinched. Stephanie’s heartrate picked up from the critique and staring.

“If we do a bateau neckline we can go a little lower with the back. And your hair can’t be down, not with a high neck and full skirt. You’ll look matronly.”

“But I –”

“I’ll give you a veil, don’t worry, no-one will get a clear view of any scarring. You’ve got a swan’s neck. Let’s show it off, hmm? We’ll go for taffeta and lace. Soft. But grand. No ruffles, no sparkles.”

Rebecca took the portfolio from Stephanie’s hands and turned to a memorised page. “This. Longer train, higher neck. You got your long sleeves, got the full cathedral train – fittingly – you got grand princess… but none of the tackiness. Sound good?”

Taken aback by the competence the woman displayed, Stephanie nodded. It wasn’t what she wanted, not entirely, but it would suit the occasion. If it ever got to that stage. Perhaps Bruce would solve it after this first meeting.

“When do you want me back?” Stephanie asked.

“Four days.”

She had a seminar in the afternoon, but, “I can do the morning.”

“Nine o’clock sharp please. We’ve got a lot to do in not a lot of time.” Rebecca turned to see Cass watching her. She didn’t seem off put by it. “How many bridesmaids have you chosen?”

“Just Cass. And Tim just has Dick for his best man.”

Rebecca smiled absent-mindedly, allowing Stephanie off the pedestal. “So not large in that regard. That’s fine. What will you be wearing?”

“Something gold.” That part of the wedding, Cass was pleased with.

“White and gold colour scheme.” Stephanie explained, grabbing her little backpack.

“Ah. Just the two colours? No in-between? No cream or ivory or custard?”

Stephanie managed to laugh. “No, no. White and gold. That’s all.”

Rebecca nodded. “The dress will have to be pure white then. No ivory for you Miss Brown.”

“Mrs Wayne.” Cass nudged Steph teasingly, who had turned white, close to her limit and wanting nothing more for the appointment to be done.

“Drake.” She coughed, trying to hide her discomfort. “Drake-Wayne.”

Neither girl missed Ms Andrew’s eyes sparking off. She smiled, but it seemed a little hollow.

“I’ll see you on Thursday.”

Steph nodded, Cassandra gently pulling them towards the exit.

“Thursday nine in the morning. Thank you, Ms Andrews!”

“Bye Stephanie.” She seemed to remember something and called out to the girls. “You won’t regret choosing me! Thank you for the chance to prove I’m bankable!”

Right on time, her phone began to ring.

Shutting the door to let them out onto the concrete stairwell, both girls knelt right down, and tried to listen to the conversation. Nothing could be heard through the solid stone walls and heavy wooden door.

Huffing, Steph caught the time after she pulled out her second phone. “I got class and then Tim and I are going to speak to the Bishop. Gotta bribe our way in there.” Glancing sideways, she looked at Cass. “What are you doing now?”

Cass did not answer. Instead, she forced Stephanie to a place she did not want to go.

“You don’t like what she’s making for you.”

“…No.”

“Then why –”

Stephanie’s temper flared once more, and she snapped at Cassandra.

“I don’t know what I want, okay? I just don’t. That allowed? Fucking…” She bit at Cass, who only glared at her. Cassandra had never been one to back off when Stephanie was in a foul mood. “I trust this designer to make me a nice dress and I’ll wear it with the biggest goddamn smile on my face. Tim can have his little fantasy and leave me empty at the end of it.”

The insult to her brother mortified Cassandra. For as much as she loved Stephanie, she also loved Tim. Tim who had, as far as Cassandra could tell, done nothing but be open with the girl a few steps down from her. She chided, “Stephanie!”

“Oh God I am not in the mood for a –”

Steph was shoved down several stairs, Cassandra having had enough of her self-pity. She gasped, clinging tightly to the wall in an attempt to catch her breath from the sudden jolt.

“Grow up.” Cassandra spat out. “Remember why you are doing it.”

Stephanie felt like she had been punched and was unable to catch her breath. Moving to hold onto the handrail, she turned back up to Cassandra, only to find her Maid of Honour was looking on with frustration. A frustration very close to anger directed straight at Stephanie.

There was something in the look Stephanie gave Cassandra in response, one akin to betrayal, that made Cass snort. She was not going to indulge Stephanie any further and left, whirring past her with no goodbye.

The bottom door slammed shut, definitively letting Steph know that she wasn’t welcome to spend the night with Cassandra.

Feeling very close to tears, Stephanie rubbed at her eyes in the empty stairwell, sniffed, then began to run, trying to leave her mood behind her.

She walked to the cathedral after class, feeling close to punching the next person who grabbed her hand without her permission, or asked her for news about the wedding, or who questioned her with such a hungry look in their eye, that it made her feel oddly frightened and unsafe.

Gotham had too many cathedrals for too many denominations, but they had ended up at this one because it was where Bruce’s parents were married and it was where their funeral service was held. They were trying to get as much sympathy from the public as they could.

It was built from an oily black stone that looked like it was almost sweating, it looked so slick, and inside it was the very definition of Gothic. And yet somehow it managed to be filled with light and colour. It was damaged or bits of it were blown up it seemed every other week, and yet it had endured.

Stephanie found Tim inside, sat at the front of one of the aisles. The way the light was falling through the stained-glass windows cast colourful patches across the row.

His hair looked very black and thick.

Stephanie stared at him from across the aisle as he failed to notice her. Tim didn’t look deep in thought or prayer, he just looked sick and lost in his mind, a thousand miles away and spiralling down in his head. He was sallow, almost green he seemed so unwell, and she could offer no comfort. He wasn’t sleeping. Usually he would nap as and when, in weird places and at weird times, but it was enough to keep him going. It seemed now like his own brain was keeping him awake as some part of a sick experiment to watch how the human body fails after denied sleep for so long.

A memory of him lying on her stomach when they were young, both snoozing on her bed, offered itself as a potential solution.

She found herself not really wanting to however and quashed the thought. Where did Tim get off looking like such an abandoned puppy? She was the one who had to have asked to defer her graduation until winter due to time constraints and work overload, she was the one being forced into a role she didn’t want…

And he had the nerve to look like she had broken his heart. Tim, who had done that to her countless times over countless years, thought he was hard done by. She had no patience for it.

But then he noticed her approaching and his eyes flittered to hers. His eyes sparked with life, just for a moment, but then the blue grew dull once more, and the fog resumed.

Something inside her jerked painfully and before she was fully aware of what she was doing, Stephanie had rushed over, stood in front of him, and pulled him forward until he was being cradled. Almost aggressively, her fingers ran through his hair, and she felt him tremble.

They remained silent for a long while, Stephanie’s mind whirring at a thousand miles an hour. She could feel Tim slipping back into his lost thoughts once more. There were not many others present inside, so it was only the quiet sound of muffled footsteps and mutterings, a reassuring humdrum in the background, which kept her focus on him.

“It’s not fair.” She whispered, begging him to understand. “But I... I don’t trust…anyone with us.”

Tim made a mumble which suspiciously sounded like an apology to her. His hands crept up, to hold her elbows, and Stephanie rested her cheek on his head. She found herself scratching behind his ear.

He pushed her away, very gently, only so he could look up at her.

“I’m going to prove it to you. That everyone else doesn’t matter.”

A settled determinism had appeared then on his face and his posture, but Stephanie sighed, disregarding his mood. “I think you’re naïve.”

The bitterness crept back in, despite her regrets of her earlier spiteful thoughts and words, but this time it wasn’t directed at Tim. It was a general despondency and distrustfulness that even Tim, for all his earnestness, couldn’t save her from.

“Let me try.”

“Tim...”

Whatever Tim was going to say in response, she didn’t get to hear, because his open look slammed shut, and he peaked behind her left arm. Stephanie turned to see two elderly men approaching. One in a black suit, one in a robe.

“Mr Drake? Miss Brown?” Asked the man in the suit.

Tim’s game face on, he smiled affably. It seemed to placate the two men, who smiled politely and held their hands out to shake, but as Stephanie watched, she realised what their conversation the other day truly meant.

Tim had sometimes asked her who she truly loved, the suit or him, and she hadn’t understood why he had gotten so upset at her knowing his real name at first. Robin was Tim and Tim was Robin.

But then… that was less and less true. And some of that was her fault.

Tim wanted to prove to her the rest of the world didn’t matter, and yet he was retreating so far inward that soon even his friends and family wouldn’t know him.

Stephanie snaked an arm around Tim’s bicep as he shook hands with the two men, she following suit a moment later.

The Dean looked sterner than the Bishop, and insisted they walk around the cathedral grounds. The Bishop did all the talking after that point as they walked towards the cloisters.

“We understand that desire to marry where one’s family had in the past, and I am sure Mr Wayne would be over the moon…”

“But…” Tim asked, slowly stopping in a patch of light down the long corridor.

“But, well, we usually ask that anyone wanting to get married here attends church every Sunday for at least six months, and you two want to be wed in…four weeks? I’m sorry Mr Drake, but we can’t make an exception to you and Miss Brown.”

“But—” Tim tried to explain, but the Dean cut them off.

“It’s exploitative. We aren’t a pretty venue for a socialite’s wedding. I believe you have your own property for that kind of thing.”

There wasn’t much to say to that, as the pair knew he was right. These guys took their roles seriously, and they knew what Tim and Stephanie’s request looked like.

“Then why didn’t you say over the phone? Why did you invite us here? To chide us for even asking?” Stephanie managed to push back. She tried to measure her tone back down. “We love the cathedral because it is beautiful. We chose it because of its importance to our family. Bruce especially.”

“We aren’t exploiting anyone… least of all you. We know it’s on very short notice. If we had another choice we would be delaying a bit but…”

Tim trailed off, as if the pair were holding off on some dark grief-stricken secret that no-one, not even the Bishop, could know. The two older men exchanged glances, and Stephanie looked at her feet. Talking of exploitation…

“No.” Concluded the Bishop.

“But we –”

“I am sorry, the pair of you.” The Dean did not sound sorry. “But that’s our answer.”

The Bishop at least, looked slightly sorry at Tim and Stephanie’s genuinely sad expressions.

Stephanie, internally, was cursing up a storm. It would look laughable that they had been rejected from here as a venue. They would look entitled, they would look out of touch that they thought they could buy their way in, they would look foolish. She squeezed Tim’s arm repeatedly, practically massaging it. She wasn’t sure if she was comforting him, or doing it to reassure herself.

“I’ll walk you both out.” Said the Bishop, noting that neither were making any movement to leave.

Tim tried very hard not to glare, and they turned, walking with the Bishop. He seemed sheepish, embarrassed as much at himself as for Tim and Stephanie, who were both more than a little white faced, not sure what to say.

“If…if anything happens… if you do get the chance to stretch it out a little, consider coming back.”

Out on the front steps, Tim finally turned to look at the Bishop.

“Why did you agree to meet us? Why not tell Mrs van Rijk that the dates didn’t work, thank you very much but no?”

Stephanie meanwhile was watching people walk by below and across the street. It was looking like it was going to start raining again soon. Mrs van Rijk was determined to have the reception in the manor gardens. Having looked at the scheduled forecast for the next fortnight, Stephanie was not entirely optimistic for next month, even as it was approaching mid-May.

The Bishop had no good answer to give.

“The Dean and I agreed that it was better to tell you the truth in person.”

“So you have a slot that we could fill? But you won’t let us.” Tim was getting pushy now, whereas Stephanie was ready to just drop it. She was having a foul day, best to call it a loss and go home.

Except home was supposed to be at Tim’s. Her bed didn’t even have any sheets on it now, and she was so tired all she wanted to do was crash, and hope her mood improved in the morning.

“Well, yes, however, as the Dean said, there’s no sincere reason for either of you to choose here outside of Mr Wayne’s parents had services here. Sentimental reasons aren’t enough for the church.”

“According to the Dean? You don’t think the cathedral will benefit from something as high profile as this? Or is that too exploitative and cynical?”

Stephanie was taken aback by how aggressive Tim was being. She turned back around and laid a hand on his back, though he did not relax.

“It’s alright.” She said, her tone decidedly not alright. “We’ll find somewhere else. There’s still time.”

“No.” At Tim’s denial, Steph’s hand clenched in his shirt. “Why would you both even jump to the conclusion that Steph and I were using you?”

There was something unspoken in Tim’s question that both Stephanie and the Bishop heard. Stephanie’s grumpiness shifted immediately to upset, and she didn’t miss the way the Bishop’s eyes deliberately trailed up and down from her legs to her face. She stumbled back down a step or two as if she had been punched.

Tim also took a step back, but then his face flushed red, frustration changing to anger.

“You know what—”

Blood splattered over Stephanie, and the sound of a shot rang out. She cried out in shock, quickly realising the Bishop had collapsed on the steps. People on the street screamed and shouted, and Tim looked up to the right.

“He’s been shot.” Stephanie uselessly said. Immediately she was on the floor with him, and she looked up to see Tim tightly bound, like a spring. Someone had shot at them, missing only because Tim and Stephanie had moved down a step each at the wrong moment. Stephanie saw Tim’s line of sight looking to a neighbouring tenement.

“Go,” She urged. “I’ll get him inside. Call for help.”

She could feel dozens of eyes on her, but it felt more akin to her time as Batgirl then as Stephanie. She found the wound, pulsing blood down her fingertips in the Bishop’s left shoulder. It was bright scarlet, and there was a lot, pouring down the steps. Other members of the public, seemingly realising that it was just one gun shot, began to stop and stare, unsure what to do.

Tim shouted directly at one lady to call an ambulance, causing the bystander effect to fall away, then he ran straight for the building, training kicking in. Stephanie hoped he would reach the vantage point before the shooter fled.

She, meanwhile, managed to get Bishop Sherborne just inside the front door, in the patch of coloured light from the rose window. She stared at the trail of blood she had made. The Bishop was resting on her thighs, and she was pressing hard on the wound, trying to stifle the blood flow. The man’s face was turning grey, and his breathing was shallow, so Stephanie knew the ambulance would not arrive in time.

“I’m sorry.” She found herself saying. “I don’t… God, I’m sorry.”

He spluttered blood, lungs filling up, and managed to reach upwards, holding onto her forearm.

She held on tight, and people began to gather. She stared at her fingers, seeing them becoming as red as the robe the dying Bishop wore.

She could feel the man slipping from her.

Tim nearly fell back into the cathedral, just in time for the Dean to arrive to the scene as well. He stumbled a bit, through the small crowd of people migrating towards the dying man on the floor. The Dean yelled at them to maintain their distance, then he did not speak again.

“I couldn’t find them.” Tim said, tears in his eyes as he begged the Bishop and the Dean to understand. The Dean looked blankly on at his dying colleague. Having received no response, Tim knelt, and held the Bishop’s hand.

The blood soon stopped flowing, and the chest stopped rising. Stephanie let out a cry she wasn’t aware she was holding onto, and the suddenness of what had happened caught up with her. She began to sob. Deep, sore gulping cries that hurt her lungs and ripped their way out of her throat.

This man had not been the target. Bruce had made them promise. No more deaths, he’d said.

She looked up at the Dean, begging an apology. Distantly she understood she was hyperventilating, which was not like her. She saw Tim’s hands shaking as he gently tugged the Bishop off her lap, lying him flat on the floor. She looked down, seeing how she her hands were dripping with blood and her clothes were damp and dark. Uncomfortable memories rose up, and she began to desperately gulp down air, unable to see straight. A skeletal smile and a dirty floor throbbed in her head.

She looked again in the direction to the Dean, searching for him in her line of sight wildly. “I couldn’t save him. I’m sorry.”

Tim was around her then, picking her up and setting her aside. The ambulance had arrived, for what it was worth, and would need to speak to them soon enough. He sat them in a dark and damp corner, behind a large pillar and slightly off to the side. Eyes followed them, but they were far enough away to be alone, though still in sight if they were suddenly needed once more. Stephanie buried her face in her hands, the stench of drying blood smearing on her face making her nauseous.

“Steph. Stephie.”

She cried hearing his pet name.

“Stephie you need to breathe.”

“I am.”

“Slower. Hands on my chest. Come on.”

She did as she was told, and Tim whimpered at the blood she had smeared everywhere. “Breathe with me, okay?”

She shook her head, wet and fat tears slipping freely down onto her shirt.

“Sweetheart, you can do it, watch your hands. Breathe up and down.”

Seeing her hands rise and fall slowly with Tim’s chest, she slowly began to match it. She was still crying, but it became manageable.

“What happened?” He whispered. “You’ve seen this before.”

“It’s my fault.”

“No.”

She nodded, eyes squeezing shut. She rumpled Tim’s shirt. “They said no because of me. He was shot because I was the target and they missed.”

“And me. It’s my fault too?”

“No.”

“Then it’s not yours.”

Looking and feeling an utter state, she leaned forward, letting Tim catch her and pull her close. Steph curled up into a ball, and his legs bent upwards to allow her to perch herself in a manner that meant she was compressed between his chest and thighs. Tim rested his chin on her head, and watched the Dean say goodbye to his co-worker once the ambulance had taken away the body.

The police had arrived then, and to Tim’s surprise, Commissioner Gordon was amongst them. Though on further musing it made sense after what looked like the assassination of a major public figure.

He recognized Tim, and after a moment clicked that the blonde curled up ball in Tim’s arms was the girl Babs had taken to helping out recently.

He walked over, bending his knees to check on them both.

“You doing alright kiddos? No injuries?”

“No.” Tim shook his head. “But I think whoever was shooting aimed for us. We moved down a step just before they fired.”

Gordon leaned back on his heels. “Why would someone be aiming for you?”

Stephanie realised Tim had put his foot in it. Neither knew how much information Batman had shared with the Commissioner. And of course, Tim and Stephanie knew nothing of wedding murders and unlucky wedding dress designers.

“...I don’t know. I just... feel it.”

It was weak, but Gordon pretended to buy it.

“You will both have to give witness statements...”

Stephanie nodded, emerging from the cocoon that was Tim’s embrace. Gordon’s shoulders heaved up and down at the sight of her.

“You didn’t need to sit with him. The Dean told me what you did.”

“...Couldn’t leave him alone out front.”

“No.” Gordon sighed, rubbing his hands on his trousers. “Once we’ve got your statements, go home and rest up. Why were you two here anyway?”

Tim looked up, to see the Dean staring at them. He still appeared very much in shock, blank and uninvolved with what had just occurred. Tim’s gaze seemed to animate him, and slowly, like the old man he was, he trotted over.

“They were here…” said the Dean, ringing his hands, “to book their wedding venue.”

Tim gave a strangled noise. He thought the man was here to mock them, to point the finger. His colleague was dead because of their entitlement. Never mind that they could have been told no over email or the phone, never mind that Tim and Stephanie weren’t supposed to be targets until the wedding day… they couldn’t have known. Tim tried to convince himself, otherwise his words to Stephanie of the same fact would ring hollow.

This wasn’t their fault.

Gordon’s nose twitched. “Oh, yes, Babs mentioned that the other day. Congrats you two.”

Sat on the floor, covered in a dead man’s blood, Stephanie could only assume Gordon hadn’t meant his statement to be as ill-timed as it was.

The Dean’s eyes tightened, and he got down to be eye level with the couple still sat on the cold floor.

“I think, I may be acting out of turn here, but please, the 25th of May at two o’clock is a fine time for the wedding.”

Stephanie gave a broken whimper, turning back to rest on Tim’s chest. “No.” She whispered.

Tim ground his teeth together and squeezed her shoulder. Looking at the Dean, he just nodded. They would sort it out later.

Eventually they moved to the pews, which is where Bruce found them an hour later. They gave their statements and were clear to go, but the pair remained, not quite ready to leave. Bruce had a packet of wet wipes in his hands.

Tim felt Stephanie tense next to him and Tim��s own breathing slowed. He couldn’t endure a lecture from Bruce. He was going to bite back the minute Bruce’s tone got out of hand.

To Tim’s surprise, Bruce just sighed, and sat next to Stephanie. Pulling out a tissue, very carefully, he began to wipe the blood off her hands. Tim watched as Stephanie slowly turned towards Bruce, still a little tearful. She was welcoming the affection from him in a way Tim had never seen from either Bruce or Stephanie before. A strange ripple of jealousy migrated through his gut.

Stephanie sniffed a little, attempts to talk choking her throat.

“You said no more deaths.”

“I did…” Bruce sighed, though it did not sound like he was angry. Disappointment was there, because of course it was, but it was somewhat tempered knowing that the pair were undoubtedly crucifying themselves regardless of his opinion. “But I said you were to leave the investigation to me. I missed this. And now a man is dead. And it could have been you.”

He handed the tissues to Stephanie so she could clean her face. She smiled weakly and began to scrub at her cheeks, revealing raw red skin under her makeup.

Tim pinched one for his own hands. “Any news on that front? What did you find from the vantage sight?” He asked, trying not to sound too aggressive.

“…Whoever it is. They aren’t leaving anything behind. But I have a few leads. The designer and her boyfriend, the main pair…”

“She and our wedding planner were the only ones who knew we were coming here today.” Stephanie whispered.

Bruce nodded. “And the Bishop and the Dean…” He said, turning to see that the Dean was nowhere in sight. “But I don’t think it’s the Dean.”

“Somehow I doubt Mrs Van Rijk is responsible either.” Tim muttered.

“Did Cassandra say anything? About this morning?” Stephanie interjected.

Bruce gave a look which suggested Cassandra had said a lot of things.

“I’m needing a plug on her phone. She doesn’t have any private social media, nor email. That partner of hers… There’s been multiple incidents of the police called out to her residence in the past for domestic disputes.”

“Same boyfriend who won’t stop calling her?” Tim raised his eyebrow as he asked. It seemed obvious to him who was behind it. Abusive boyfriend couldn’t let his girlfriend be independent of him. Why was Bruce messing around?

“Needs confirming.”

“But –”

“You’re better than this Tim. Circumstantial evidence is not enough to build any case on.”

The insult threw Tim down two or three pegs. He loathed to be spoken to like that. He was better than what? Himself? Was it just another dig at how Bruce thought Tim was slipping?

Bruce sighed once more. “On a grimmer note. This whole event… it seems you did the right thing, trying to help Bishop Sherborne. Comments online have been very sympathetic and praising.”

“We didn’t even do anything.” Stephanie pled. Her face was turning a milky shade of green.

“Regular civilians comforting a dying man in his last moments is not something to be sniffed at, nor is running into the building to try and find the shooter.” He looked at them both individually, trying to make them understand. “And seeing through having the wedding here of all places.” Bruce paused, looking around. Tim believed this place held nothing but bad memories for him. How it must have seemed like Tim and Stephanie were spitting on his parent’s graves. “Shows you’re not frightened. People like that.”

“It feels manipulative… to use his death for our benefit…”

Tim just sighed. “Maybe. But it’s all to catch this murderer.”

Stephanie turned back to look at Tim. “All of it? Really?”

Tim struggled to reply, and Bruce took that as his signal to go. “Will you go back to Park Row? Or with me to the manor?”

Tim kept his and Stephanie’s eyes locked when he muttered. “We’ll go to mine.”

“Very well. I’ll see you tomorrow. No night job tonight. Try to sleep.”

With Bruce gone, Tim picked up a clean wet wipe, and gently began to stroke places Stephanie had missed on her own face. One place on her neck, he knew from experience used to make her sigh and close her eyes when he used to kiss or stroke it, and sure enough, she shut her eyes and began to relax bit by bit as he cleaned her up.

When they did return to Tim’s apartment, Tim took an almighty gamble.

“I know we said I would sleep on the sofa whilst you were here but… Steph, you okay to be alone tonight?”

She screwed her eyes shut, standing at the entrance to Tim’s closet. She had on her pyjamas and was squeezing her teddy like it was a stress ball.

“When was the last time you slept? All the way through the night?” She asked, refusing to answer his question.

“A while.”

She was trying to make the situation about him, deflecting and pretending her feelings didn’t count for as much as his. He grumbled to himself, knowing it was not a productive way of coping.

Stephanie smiled at him, trying to be cheeky, but it fell flat. “Then… you can stay. It’s a big bed anyway. If you have a nightmare…”

“If you have a nightmare…”

“We’ve never slept in the same bed before.” She muttered as she clambered in. Fluffing up her pillow, she rested down, laying a little bit like a corpse in a coffin. Tim very quickly joined in on his own side.

“We have.” He disputed.

“Not like this. Under the covers.”

Tim wiggled his eyebrows, and Stephanie snorted. Her laugh very quickly became sombre. Tim pressed his cheek down on the pillows. Already under the covers it was becoming warm with her lying next to him.

“Thank you, Tim. For today.”

“It wasn’t our fault.”

“No. But I freaked out.”

“You’re under stress.”

“And you’re not?”

“Everyone reacts differently to trauma and –”

“Sweetheart…” She kissed his cheek, and Tim fell silent. The gaze she received could only be described as adoring, and she hoped her own expression was equally smitten. “All these excuses you give me…”

She shifted, moving closer and closer until they were laying inches apart, practically sharing their breath. Her hand crept up, cradling his cheek. Gulping a little, Tim moved as she bid him. She shifted the pillows, propping herself up enough that her torso was above the sheets, but still shallow enough that she could sleep. She cradled Tim, pulling him so his head rested on her stomach. Both hands curled around his head, one stroking his hair, the other his exposed cheek

“I’ll sleep when you sleep, okay?”

The only sound in the room that Tim could make out was her muffled pulse and breathing. He was warm. He had been given something he had been craving since it had been taken from him years ago, only to not realise until recently how much he missed it. He inhaled deeply, distantly smelling the candy scented soap she used, and closed his eyes.

In his own bed, surrounded by Stephanie, and exhausted beyond measure, it did not take long for Tim to fall asleep, nor did it take Stephanie long to follow suit. She’d have a horrid sore neck and headache the next morning, but it was nothing one dose of painkillers wouldn’t mask.

The pair slept a full eight hours. No nightmares.

When Tim woke up to the natural morning light drifting through his curtains, and a blonde messy lump next to him, he tried to stop himself from crying. The emotional relief was so sharp, so intense, it nearly overwhelmed him.

He could do it, he told himself for the thousandth time. He could show her. This was how it was supposed to be.

[5-seconds-of-bucky]

So I Don’t Forget (Luke Imagine)

A/N: Anna's writing 5sos stuff??? It's been forever since I've posted anything with 5sos but nobody reads it so . . . Anyways, I know this is a cliche idea but I like it. Thanks to everyone who reads this! Please reblog and leave feedback! It would mean the world to me!!!

Summary: You write letters to Luke to help cope with his death

Word Count: 2.1k+

Warnings: Mentions of death, very sad, swearing

*Italics are the letter, normal font is y/n's actions* 

                                                                                                          April 13, 2018

Dear Luke,

It's been a month since the accident and I haven't been doing so great. My therapist suggested writing letters to you to help cope but I don't think they're going to help. I've only felt more upset now that I have to think about you more. I don't even know what to write about. Not much has been going on since you left. I haven't been able to do much without feeling the need to break down. I've tried to stay strong for Robbie but it's so hard. He's too young to understand what happened, other than the fact that you aren't here anymore. Everyone is nice to me, but in a pitiful way. It's almost like death is contagious or something. They bring over meals and tell me that they're there for me if I need anything but the second I invite them in, they act like they have somewhere to be and leave.

That hurt: realizing that nobody knew how to comfort you, or even made an effort to try. Without Luke, you felt so lonely. You had Robbie, but he couldn't do much, being so young.

You should see Robbie now. He's grown so quickly. I can already see you in him, it's insane. His hair is all curls and his nose is an exact replica of yours. I wish you were still around so he could take after you personality wise. Now he's going to be as sarcastic as I am (which probably isn't a good thing). Fuck that driver who couldn't stop to think about how dangerous drunk driving is. They didn't just take you from us, they left Robbie without a dad, your bandmates without a brother, and me without my soulmate. You left too soon and now I have to be a single mom when we barely had this parenting thing down with two people. It's so hard.

The tears that had been few and in between for the past few days were pouring down your face now, some splashing onto the paper of which you were writing your letter. You couldn't help it. The more you thought about it, the more the pain crept into your soul, consuming every last cell you had. You had lost you husband, your soulmate, and you'd never get him back.

This is all I can write for today. I love you so much and I promise I will never forget you. Not a second goes by when you're not consuming my thoughts. With more love than we could ever imagine,

Y/N

It was done. Your first letter to your dead husband was finished. What else could you write to someone who would never read it?

                                                                                                                    6/30/18

Dear Luke,

It's been a while. I'm sorry, I just haven't been able to get myself to write this. I've been doing so much better lately. I can go out and do things like a functional person now! Everyone's doing a lot better actually. The boys have been coming over a lot recently for dinner. They look less heartbroken, and I guess I do too. They've talked about finishing the tour soon but they're probably going to break up after that. It's not the same without you. Who knows, maybe they could get someone to replace you! (Haha, they could and would never. You are just too special to replace.) That was kinda mean but I think this deeply heavy and emotional letter needs some comedy relief. (You can tell I'm doing better since I'm making jokes again.) How is it up there? I hope you're doing alright and that you're not lonely. Robbie is convinced you don't have enough friends and you need some company but I told him I'm sure you've made plenty. He really misses you now that he kinda understands that you're gone for good. He's told me that he wants to be just like you when he grows up. (He's convinced he could replace you in the band if someone would just show him how to play the guitar. I don't trust his three year old hands around them though so don't worry, your guitars are perfectly safe.) He's going to start preschool this year and I'm not sure I'm ready for that. He's grown up so fast! Soon enough he'll be going to college and I'll be all alone. I forgot to tell you, I got a job! At first it was just to distract me from my grief, but I've found that I really enjoy it. Sure, we have enough money to live comfortably for a very long time, but I didn't want to spend the rest of my days sitting around and doing nothing. Anyways, that's all I really have to write for today. I miss you so much and I love you to the end of the universe and back a million times! Love,

Y/N

You clicked the end of the pen with a sigh of relief. You had written your first letter to him in two months and you were just now realizing how much better you felt. It was like swearing when you stubbed your toe. A bit of relief from the pain you felt. Maybe this helped more than you originally thought.

                                                                                                                      7/3/18

Dear Luke,

I know it's only been a few days but you need to hear about this. Robbie told me he wants another pet. Another fucking pet. I though Petunia was enough but no, he wants a cat. I love cats and all, but do we need another pet??? Petunia takes up enough space as the baked potato she is (I love her for it don't get me wrong) so we don't need another animal right? It's really hard to get ask your advice when you can't respond. Maybe we should do it just because we can and I think Petunia needs a companion. She's good around cats, right? Fine, I'll do it. I can't believe writing to you is helping me make up my mind. Oh well. While I'm here, might as well mention that I miss you and I love you so much!!! (Three exclamation points, that's a lot! That's how you know how much I miss you) Sorry this letter is so short but we have to go look for a cat now. Love you! Love,

Y/N

P.S: We bought all the supplies for the cat. Now we have to go find one (7/4)

P.P.S: We got a really fluffy cat and Petunia loves her (7/6)

                                                                                                                      8/1/18

Dear Daddy,

Hi daddy! It's Robbie! I miss you so much!! Mommy has to write this cause I don't know how to write yet. We got a kitty and we named her Oreo cause she's black and white. Petunia likes her soooooo much. When I play blocks Oreo knocks them over and then I have to start over. I built a really cool castle yesterday but Petunia ran into it before mommy could take a picture of it. My birthday is coming soon! I'm going to be 4! Mommy said that Grandma and Papa are coming over and we are going to eat cake and open presents (but the presents are for me because it's my birthday).  I'm going to play with Petunia now! I love you!!!!!!!!

Love, Robbie

Hey Luke, It's me, Y/N. I'm not gonna waste paper so I'll write this on the same sheet. I think we'll keep the letters to once a month now so I have stuff to talk about and so we don't forget. Robbie drew you a picture so I'll put it in here when I fold the letter. It's a picture of all of us and Petunia and Oreo. I don't know why I'm so short compared to you. Maybe because I told him that you were super tall? I don't know. Anyways, the boys have decided not to finish the tour. They claimed it's just not the same without you on stage and that they don't want to have a 5sos without you. I don't know if they're going to continue as a band or not. I know you would want them to but it would be weird without you. I'm gonna go now. Sorry these have been short lately. I'm not really sure what to say anymore. These letters help to cope but I don't think I can really put everything I want to say on paper yet. Love you more every day that passes by! 

 Love, Y/N

Throughout the next few months you wrote Luke letters, hoping that the words would just flow onto the page. Every month it seemed harder to put something down. You felt much happier now, but that emotional barrier was still present. After a while you stopped writing the letters, too frustrated with yourself to try to write more. You never forgot about your husband, but you started to think about him less often than before. That was, until the one year anniversary of his death.

                                                                                                                    3/13/19

Dear Luke,

I'm back. I know it's been too long but I've been doing so well. The letters got to a point where there was nothing for me to put down on the page. They started to make me more frustrated with myself than they helped me cope. I never knew what to say other than I miss you and I wish you had never left. I finally finished my last therapy session! (Last week actually, but now is not the time for technicalities) I'm so much more at peace with myself than I was a year ago. A whole year that you've been gone and it feels like an eternity. It's been so hard without you here. I know I said I've been doing better but sometimes I feel myself slip without anyone there to catch me. There are nights where I can't do anything but cry because I know that I have to live the rest of my life without you. That I will never find someone who I love like I loved you. Like I love you.

In that moment you broke down. Luke was gone for good and you couldn't do anything about it. The only part you had left of him was his guitars and Robby. 

I know I have to be strong but it's so fucking hard. Life is shitty without your sunshine personality to make it better. Robby is constantly asking about you and I wish I didn't have to leave you partially up to his imagination. He needs a father figure here and I can't give that to him. I've tried to get back into the dating game but I just can't. Being with someone that isn't you doesn't sit right with me. The thought of someone taking your place as my husband and as Robby's dad is terrifying. You were supposed to be with me through it all and you were barely there for the first portion.

You place the pen down on the desk you kept in your room and stood up to go to bed. You couldn't finish this letter. Sobs pushed through your body and you couldn't seem to stop them as they slowly got louder and louder. Normally you would be concerned that Robby would hear you but at this point you just needed to let it all out. The pain that you had held down for the past year all came out at once. What if Luke had been five minutes late from the meeting rather than out on time. What if you had asked him to pick up the milk you needed so he would have to take a different turn. What if that stupid driver hadn't gotten drunk in the first place.

"Mommy, why are you crying?" Your son's voice came from the doorway. He was holding the stuffed tiger Luke had bought for him when he was born. Ever since the accident, Robby rarely let it out of his sight.

"I just miss daddy," You reply, sitting up in your bed and holding out your arms to pick him up when he walked over to you."We lost him a whole year ago now and I miss him a whole lot."

Robby was clinging onto you now, hugging you as tight as he could and burying his face into your shoulder. You sat like that for a minute, trying to stop your tears until you felt Robby start to shake.

"Why can't daddy come back to us? I miss him!" He wailed, causing you to shed a few more tears. At that moment, the only thing you could do was rub his back and cry with him.

"I miss him too baby. I miss him too." 

[kokotaro]

Hello there! May I request a scenario for Todoroki Shouto? Him having a sister (which is the reader) and hating her since she resembles Endeavor but she admires him? Later finding out she ran away because she can't stand it anymore? How would Todoroki react? Thanks in advance!!

oho something a little angsty, i like it. this will be from the sister’s pov, both are adults, and shouto is a pro hero!

“Bubby, Bubby!” I called looking up to Shouto. “Guess what!” He didn’t reply. He only gave me a look that, at the time, I didn’t understand. It confused me until he shoved me over and walked away. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the image of my older brother casting me away without hesitation. 

“B..Bubby?” 

I woke up with a start, cold sweat running down my forehead as I jolted up in bed. The same feeling resided in my chest just as it did when I was a child. That unwelcoming thing that seeped in and routed itself there only to grow more and more as I grew older. It all came from him.

 All I ever did was admire him, idolize him, and I had voiced it often. At first he used to smile at me and pretend to be the absolute best hero as we’d play pretend. Then our father took him away from me and the rest of my siblings to train him to be better than any other hero. I missed him when that happened and I would try to sneak away from the others to see him. After a while, however, my older brother, my idol, the very person I admired so much and held so dearly to my heart had begun to hate me. I never realized it though. Shouto has always been such a subtle and aloof person that I just assumed something else had been bothering him. Growing up together didn’t necessarily aid the situation either, especially after mom was put in the hospital.

Thinking about my childhood again made the same hot tears begin to form in my eyes. I stared angrily down at my hands that clutched the sheets. These weren’t tears of sadness or regret or even because of the hint of nostalgia that touched my memory-like dream. No. None of that affected me anymore. They were tears of anger, and self hatred, and even confusion. I hadn’t thought about my brother for years. Well, at least I tried not to think about him but with him being on the news every 2.5 seconds it was a little hard to manage. Whenever I did think of him I would always wind up just as I am now. A sniveling, enraged mess.

Looking over to the clock I noticed that my alarm was about to sound. I quickly wiped my face of any pesky tears, reached over, and turned it off before any noise happened. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to calm myself down. Emotions were never easy to deal with but at least I coped better than Shouto did. I threw the blankets off of myself to go to the bathroom and when I flicked on the light, I swore I saw a flash of my own father in myself in the mirror. So I stood there staring at my own reflection for an indefinite amount of time. I didn’t just resemble the old man. I looked exactly like him down to every annoying detail. We have the same auburn red hair, bright blue eyes, height (I stand at 5′9), muscular figure. I got his damn quirk too. Stupid Hellflame. I even have most of his personality. I’m stubborn, violent tempered, prideful, and full of resentment. But I don’t hate the fact I’m the Number 2 Hero. I could give less a shit about being a pro hero. I hate the fact that I was pushed away by my own family for years. 

Although, just because I’m mad at Shouto and my dad doesn’t mean I don’t stay in contact with the other siblings. They cared for me when dad was so focused on my brother and my brother pushed me away because of my appearance. They encouraged me to do whatever I wanted to do, to be undeniably me, and to not let the fact that Shouto hates me bother me. I’ve done two of the three things I’ve been told. I’m currently in college working towards getting a degree in biomedical engineering, have a part-time job at a local cafe, happily committed to my significant other, etc. etc. I remind myself daily to just be me no matter what I look like too. 

Sometimes, like today, the feeling that was planted in me so long ago returns and starts to manifest within all over again. I feel it beginning to burn itself into my being. It lurks up to my mind and tells me that I’m just only a product of a man who wanted nothing to do with me. That I’ll never be good enough for anyone else. That my looks are the only thing that define me. And it makes me want to scream into nothing, pull at my auburn red hair, burn things to a crisp, and punch a hole into the damn wall to make it go away. 

My breathing becomes more rugged the more I stand in front of the mirror and look at myself. It turns into the only sound in the room. I bring myself back from the haunting memories and sunken feeling beginning to take over in time to hear my phone. It’s only the notification tone but when I go back to my bed to check it, there’s four more messages attached to the one I heard. Good thing I realized what happened to me before it was too late. I take another deep breath and sit myself down on my messy bed. 

Unknown Number:

Hey.

It’s me. 

Oh. I have come to realize that you must not have my number saved in your phone. 

It’s not surprising though.

It’s Shouto.

I have to read the messages over and over again to understand that this is actually happening. I still haven’t come to terms with the way he treated me and I’m sure as hell I wasn’t even close. He knows this. I know he does. I put a hand to my forehead as I feel a headache coming on and groan softly. So much stress has suddenly put on me from this because he wouldn’t just text me out of the blue to catch up. That isn’t what Shouto does. And I knew that ever since we were little. He’s the type of person that either wants to be around you or he doesn’t. There isn’t any gaps in between seeing him then meeting up again after you haven’t seen him in a while. That’s not who he is. As I sit there and scan over the messages yet again, another one pops up.

Unknown Number:

Please reply. 

Anger begins to bubble up in me all over again and I clutch my phone. If I hadn’t been holding sitting on my bed, holding my phone, in a highly flammable room I would have been covered with infuriated flames by now. Who the fuck does he think he is!? He treats me like shit for more than half of my life and suddenly he wants to talk to me!? I feel hotter by the second and hastily pull my hair up into the worlds worst bun before typing my reply.

Me:

What the fuck do you want?

An immediate response came back. Might as well save the contact while I can then because it doesn’t seem he wants to leave me alone any time soon.

Shouto:

I wanted to say that I’m sorry.

It has been a long time since we last saw each other. And there have been people that came into my life who made me realize certain things.

Like the way I only swore to use my right side.

I didn’t give him a chance to finish and I replied before he could finish typing.

Me:

Why the hell should I care that you’ve figured out you can be better with your left side? A half assed apology and a stupid sob story isn’t going to get anything from me.

I don’t idolize you anymore, Shouto. I don’t care about what you have to say now. You’ve done your damage.

With that I refuse to look at anything else he sends me and toss my phone onto my bed. To keep myself from doing anything stupid, I look out the window and see the sun barely peeking up above the horizon. There are soft looking clouds slowly rolling by above and the sight soothes me almost immediately. 

“Shit.. I’m going to be late if I sit here and stall any longer.” I grumbled to myself before getting up and rushing into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. Good thing my roommate takes night classes and doesn’t come back until the time I have to leave. 

I quickly shower, brush then style my hair, brush my teeth, and wash my face. It feels like a mini reset button because once I step out of the steamy bathroom I begin to feel much better. My hair is put up today which isn’t a normal occasion but I felt like I saw it on my face or in my peripheral vision then I would get pissed off all over again. It’s cute enough though. I throw on the outfit I chose yesterday, grab my bag, keys, and phone then leave. I don’t bother checking my phone until I’m already halfway to class. 

Shouto:

I know that..

And I also know that you aren’t dad.

I’ve come to.. I suppose accept is the right word, what he’s put me through. I still hate him but we’ve talked a lot recently. Now that I’m a hero it seems I’ve grown enough popularity to fulfill his selfish desires, he acts more rationally. He’s told me he even regrets pushing us and abusing mom because he was clouded by greed.

I have to stop reading because it’s hard to believe. Very hard. But some part of me knows that Shouto wouldn’t lie to me despite not having the largest liking to me. A small voice in the back of my mind tells me that I should at least listen. No chances can be given yet but hearing him all the way through wouldn’t be the end of the world. I decide to find somewhere to stop during my walk to class and sit down on a nearby bench to finish reading these messages.

Shouto:

Plus.. He’s not doing well. I won’t go into detail unless you want me to. He’s made me think about how horrible I was to you and the thought won’t leave me alone. I feel so guilty.

I’m so sorry for doing the things I did and making you run away.. That’s never what I wanted for you.

I have to look away from my phone again because so many emotions begin to swirl around in my mind and I chew on my lower lip a bit anxiously. There’s only one message left to read but I hold off for a bit, thinking about dad. If Shouto thinks he isn’t doing well then there must be something really wrong with the old man and I can’t help but begin to feel worried. He was definitely worse than my brother but I guess family is still family and I’ll always have some sort of care for them whether I like them or not. I look back to finish reading.

Shouto:

We’re planning to have a picnic soon, just a day for family and family only. Mom is even allowed out of the hospital for it. Please come, Nemo.

My breath hitches at the last fragment of words and I feel even more emotion come over me. I have to blink away a few tears. There’s no way in hell I’m crying for a third time in one day. I read the nickname again. He hasn’t called me that since I was.. I don’t even know, four? maybe five years old? I can’t believe he even remembered it. I can’t believe that I remember it either. A flash of memories come back and I’m reminded of how I earned that nickname in the first place. There isn’t much to think about though since I was so young but I do know that when being introduced to new people I always grew terribly shy. I shake my head from these memories and make myself reply.

Coming up with a response was harder than I thought and I pursed my lips.

Me:

Oh.

Good job. That’s totally how you should react to this very intense, emotional, and serious situation.

Me:

I can’t say this makes me exactly happy to hear. I kinda still can’t stand you.

Okay now I’m just being mean. Think of something else to say dammit! 

Me:

But I’ll go to the picnic. For mom, for dad, and you guys. I haven’t had much contact since I ran away..

My chest tightens at my last message and I can already see him typing something.

Shouto:

I wasn’t expecting you to reply let alone agree.

This is great.

Then he sends something I didn’t think he’d ever say so quickly.

Shouto:

Are you busy? Can we meet up? I’d like some one-on-one time before the picnic.

I feel my fingertips begin to shake lightly. What am I supposed to do? Here I was, seething with rage not even an hour ago and now I’m already frantically typing out a yes to the very person I thought I hated. I hit send without even knowing it and I almost threw my phone to the ground as if it were on fire. I try to swallow the lump in my throat and recollect myself.

Why did I even say yes? I filled myself with more confusion that Shouto only fueled. Well, looks like I’m skipping class today. Whoops..?

Shouto and I decided to meet up at a bookstore oddly enough. Turns out we both still have a passion for reading just as we did when we were children. I guess I’m the first one of us to show up because after a little scouting through books and the store itself, there’s no sign of him. Then again I may have missed him. He is a hero after all so strolling around in casual clothes may cause too much attention gained. He must be wearing some sort of disguise. I send him a slightly reluctant text telling him where I was and he read it but never replied. Typical. I decided to go to the mystery section to browse for a new book or two. Might as well buy one while I’m here right? Right. I nod to myself as I walk through the silent aisles of books. 

I nearly jump out of my damn skin when someone puts their hand on my shoulder and I have to use every ounce of will in my not to shriek nor burst into flames. The hand retracts abruptly when they feel how tense my body became within an instant and I whirl around, ready to give this shit a piece of my mind but suddenly I’m left with nothing to say. 

The person in front of me is definitely taller than me by three or four inches and even though his hair is covered by a black baseball cap, I can still tell who it is. His eyes are somewhat wide with surprise at my reaction and I even see a soft glimmer. I can’t tell if it’s from the light spilling through the windows or his own reaction to seeing me. He almost looks like he’s about to cry. Those two toned eyes searched my face then moved down my body in an instant. He was analyzing me. I felt my hands clench into fists and his eyes followed quickly. U.A really helped him grow, that much I can tell. My grip tightened on itself. I felt proud for seeing him all grown up and mature (even though I’m younger) but I also felt mad I didn’t get to see the process.

“Don’t do that to me Shouto! I almost set you on fire.” I scolded quietly. He seemed taken aback. 

“Oh.. Sorry. I thought it would have been better than calling out to you.” He replied with an awkward glance to the side, avoiding my scowl.

“It’s.. It’s fine. I don’t care.” My words were more rushed than I intended. “So.. Are we going to talk or just be together as siblings or?” I raised a brow at him. He never specified why he wanted to meet. 

“Both..?” He seemed to not know what he wanted either. “Let’s go.” He stated and grabbed my hand. My first reaction was to pull away and in the middle of doing so, he looked at me. Our eyes locked. He looked like he didn’t understand why I wouldn’t want to be this close at first and I saw the gears turning in his head. Before he could make the connection I swallowed my pride and gripped his hand back. 

“Lead the way, Shouto.” I had no idea where he wanted to go and I was a bit worried to find out but, I trusted him for one reason or another.

In the end, we had an almost childish day together. Both of our childhoods had been heavily suppressed by our father so I paid no mind to the fact that we got ice cream (both double scoops on a cone), got excited about new video games, raced, got into meaningless competitions with our Quirks, and somehow landed at the park. We were sitting on the swings and it was just the two of us. Everyone else had gone home due to the time. The sun was setting and we sat there silently, watching the clouds disappearing while different hues of orange, red, and even pink painted the sky. There was a soft purple towards the end of the sunset too. I turned to Shouto and chewed on my lip momentarily. He was still staring at the sky and I couldn’t bring myself to disturb him. As I turned back he sighed. 

“So..” He muttered.

“So.” I mimicked. “Is this the part where we get serious?” I asked. He nodded. “Alright.” 

“I know that it was just as hard on you as it was on me when we were growing up.” He pulled off his hat. A breeze blew passed us and his two toned hair moved with it, as did my auburn red hair. “I said it once but I don’t think no matter how many times I apologize it won’t change the past. It won’t change the way I disregarded you completely because you took so much after the old man too well.” He spoke gently. It sounded like if he talked too loudly then his voice would shake. This is harder on him admitting than I thought it would be. Guilt crept up on me for doubting his genuineness. “But even so.. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He put a hand to his face. “I love all of you so much. I wanted to protect you all from him the most. I didn’t care about becoming a hero at all. I just.. I wanted you all to be spared from what he always put me through.” His voice cracked. 

I had no words to say. I wanted to forgive him from the sheer sincerity but the grudge I had wouldn’t let up so easily. I looked back to him again and the sight broke my heart within an instant. I never thought I would see Shouto in such a state of.. I wouldn’t even know how to describe what I saw. It looked like regret, guilt, frustration, unhappiness, and anything in between. A tear ran down his cheek and glinted in the light the sun still gave off. His jaw tensed as his free hand gripped the chain of the swing. He started to apologize over and over.

I jumped off the swing and crouched in front of him before I even knew what I was doing. My body had just moved on its own. I brushed this aside and focused on him. I reached and grabbed both of his hands. He seemed surprised by this. I was too but I didn’t let it show. My right thumb stroked the back of his hand. 

“I didn’t think you felt this way.” I said softly. He froze. “I.. Spent a long time building up this grudge against you when I really shouldn’t have. Right now it’s not necessarily easy to forget what happened when we were younger..” He looked hurt. “But.” His eyebrows rose slowly. “Today has proven to me I can start a process to forgive you.” I gave him a sweet smile. “And hearing how sincere you are not only about me, but about all of us, makes me think you’ve really changed.” I gave his hands a squeeze. He squeezed mine back right after. “I’m happy we can be siblings again, Bubby.”

This seemed to push Shouto over the edge because even more tears tumbled down his cheeks and I could tell I struck a chord in him with the use of his old nickname, just as he had done to me earlier that day. He hopped off the swing to get down on his knees and right when I opened my mouth to ask what he was doing, his arms were embracing me. My eyes widened as I stared at the now dark sky behind him. Slowly, my arms moved to be wrapped around him too. 

“I love you, Bubby.”

“I love you too, Nemo.”

[daveywankenobie]

It’s 2am and my mind is racing.

I can’t sleep – and in any normal blog this would be the point where people would probably roll their eyes and say ‘he’s overthinking everything because it’s Friday and he has to weigh in tomorrow.’

However it’s not a normal blog. Nothing about anything is normal any more and I find that my mind has begun quietly screaming in silence as I’ve slowly watched things begin to turn both inside out and upside down around me.

I’ve internalised my feelings so much more than I have for many years lately because it’s been necessary. I can’t write with honesty and expose the lives and personal problems of others – and for the last two months this has largely been my issue.

Around the time I stopped writing (an unfathomable month and a half ago) a person close to me (not my partner) suffered a serious medical event that has had far reaching and long term consequences for their life.

They’ve moved from being independent to dependant practically overnight – and to see the deterioration whilst they fought to survive in hospital for two weeks was heartbreaking.

This was not just because of the pain and discomfort that they were experiencing at the time, but the emotional torment that it caused, both to them and those that care about them.

I started losing sleep almost immediately – and I’m not sure I’ve managed to sleep properly since.

Now in any normal blog this would be the root of my trauma, I’d talk through my feelings around how worried I am about them, why it’s meant I can’t talk, and why it’s de-railed my eating (which it has).

Biscuits have been a thing. I’m not going to lie.

Like I said though – these aren’t normal times in which we live and a sudden impulse to indulge in snacks seems to be relatively insignificant – because this person is not just gravely ill now – they’re classified as someone with a ‘significant underlying health condition‘.

With the last two months heralding the arrival of Covid 19 and the world turning upside down this person is also no longer the only and most significant thing I have to worry about.

Since I last wrote, pubs, clubs, restaurants, bars, cinemas, and leisure centres have all been told to close down.

All of a sudden there are people I love with ‘significant underlying health conditions’ all around me – and they all have to self isolate for 12 weeks.

Furthermore in our suddenly virus obsessed world people with a persistent dry cough and a fever have to self isolate for seven days – and anyone in their immediate household for  must do so for 14 so they they don’t pass on the infection on to others.

I’m in a bizarre reality now where it’s a worry to myself and my brother that my 80 year old father is taking public transport to a launderette to do his washing.

The television and radio are drip feeds of fear and I’m not ashamed to say that I’m terrified for what this could mean for myself and those I love.

Day to day I manage to hold it together and I do my job – but when I get home things are different. My partner can see it in my eyes just as I can see the weight of it all in hers. We’ve been sinking into each others arms for increasingly long hugs filled with sighs and occasionally tears too.

I’ve moved from what seemed like relatively minor worries about not having a career or working direction in life to getting a temp job in early January which now (in mid March) places me on the government’s ‘key worker’ list.

This is because my new job (although I never said at the time) happened to be a supporting role for the NHS.

I’m far away from front line that all of the doctors and nurses are on – but I’m close enough to them to get a sense of the scale of what is unfolding in the UK. Like me they’re nervous about what it means for the coming weeks and months as well as what the cost will be for their families, loved ones and personally.

There’s no hand sanitiser left in the world – and even if there was it probably wouldn’t matter.

On top of this the (surprisingly large number of people) I know who are suffering from ‘underlying health issues’ have almost overnight become ghosts and now I have an insight into what’s developing I fear for their wellbeing like I never have in the past.

In our developed and modern world we’ve been in control for so long – and now it seems like that (illusion?) is slipping.

All of a suddenly (if like me you try to shop after work) every shelf in every supermarket is empty – and even the most basic items are now seemingly out of reach to normal working people.

Furthermore they are fighting over toilet roll – and it makes my blood boil when every day when I walk past Aldi on the way to work at 8.30am I see people pushing trollies containing nothing but four packs of 12 roll toilet paper.

Who seriously needs 48 toilet rolls?!!!

It’s darkly comical that in a world where every breath we take contains the possibility of ingesting a potentially lethal virus we seem to be far more concerned about being unable to wipe our asses.

The memes are everywhere – and yet I’ve found it hard to laugh at the humour of it all.

Almost overnight (relatively speaking) I’ve moved from someone who usually wears his heart on his sleeve to being someone increasingly quiet and with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

I know I’m not alone in this.

As social media organises itself around the problem of sudden and enforced isolation for the majority of the population I’ve seen the words ‘looking after your mental health’ again and again wherever I look online.

There are tips for staying fit and healthy, ideas about how to cope if you’re struggling with the enormity of Covid 19 and online sessions where people are forming choirs, orchestras, self help groups.

There are now and even online weigh ins.

You know it’s serious when Slimming World cancels all groups.

I’ve been off plan for two months now and in this respect things have not gone well diet wise. Loads of bad habits that I thought were gone forever have crept back in and I’m struggling to eat properly.

It doesn’t help when there’s absolutely no fresh food in the shops – but I’d be lying if I said that the sole reason I’m not coping with my food demons.

It’s comfort eating, plain and simple.

The mad thing is that this (a situation that would have filled me with a sense of personal failure in the past) is so far down the list of identifiable concerns in my life that it practically doesn’t even register.

I’m walking to work (I still need to go in to the office) along increasingly empty roads, on ever more silent pavements and the people I’d slowly begun to recognise every morning have withdrawn from sight.

The elderly Sikh lady I with oddly bright and clean trainers I passed daily down the road from her temple (presumably on the way to help or pray) is now gone.

The man in a high visibility jacket who rolled past me on his mountain bike always looking hung over near Sainsburys every morning is no longer there.

The student who was always smiling to herself whilst listening to her tunes that I passed by the recycling centre is now no longer walking to college with her brightly coloured blue laniard and badge.

The father and his son who every day sported a cheerful orange anorak (and is always in deep conversation with his dad) no longer walk hand in hand together along the road by the guide dogs for the blind.

The lady by the pub who always seems late and rushes past me to open her garage to get her little red car out is no longer turning the key in her lock.

The girl who stands by her garden wall near my house in a school uniform texting her friends as she waits for them is absent.

There are some people – but the faces I know are gone.

When I get to work there’s often barely anyone around – and I’m now sitting in a small room largely on my own (with occasional visitors) and working on the phone to try and help people who are just as worried and preoccupied as I am.

One area that I’m sure I’m not alone in though saying that I don’t know how to process what’s happening.

My partner is a teacher – and every single day that I’ve watched her leave for work recently (until yesterday when all the schools were closed to everyone but children of key workers) I’ve done so with a sense of dread and worry.

Five years ago I was alone, drunk, morbidly obese and flushing my life down the toilet. I didn’t have any fear of loss because I was certain I’d die through my own selfish and self destructive hand before anyone I loved.

Now that’s almost certainly not going to be true – and in the coming weeks things may well happen to reverse that stupid assumption in ways I could never have imagined back then.

Furthermore the spectre of my mother’s death suddenly looms large.

She passed away fighting for breath as her lungs filled with fluid – suffering from the side effects of chronic smoking.

Her hospital was calm, organised, well equipped and (despite what we may expect given political rhetoric about pressures on the NHS) well staffed and resourced.

She had a room to herself and the nurses caring for her appeared to be busy – but used to and capable of managing their workloads. They were able to respond to changes in her condition, and (somewhat amazingly) kept her alive much longer than I expected them to.

If what’s happening in Italy is going to happen here then we can expect a lot of very different outcomes and radically different care situations not just for people like her but everyone that needs support.

My primal fear of suffocation is (and has been for a few years) now inextricably linked to how she passed away – and the distress that I witnessed in her as she fought to breathe with her oxygen cylinders has never really left me.

Now it’s all back in my mind – because it’s on the horizon once more.

It’s real – and whilst I want to sit down and blog about positive things at the moment I just can’t.

I’m sorry.

I just need to start writing again, now more than ever – and share that I am struggling just like everyone else, but trying to find a way to cope. I want to reach out to the world once again and begin to talk openly about what’s going on inside my head, because it might help someone else as much as it helps me.

As we become more and more physically distant whilst we lock our doors and move into quarantine we must (as much as humanly possible) remain close and look after one another.

Plus – I’d like to finally blog at some point in the increasingly near future about the reality of what happens when the apocalypse arrives and there’s only one sheet of Andrex left.

Let’s face it – the puppy is soft, absorbent, loves to play in the shower and is infinitely re-usable. Furthermore if you have one with a darker coat (especially a puppy that doesn’t moult) then it’s practically the perfect crime.

So I guess I’ll leave you all (with a no doubt delightful) mental image there. It’s now 5 am and I’m no closer to being able to sleep – so I’m going to play a video game.

Part of me feels better for writing all of this down but I know there’s a lot more to come in the days, weeks and months ahead and I’m probably going to get deeper as time goes on.

I want you all to stay safe, stay healthy, and keep going – if only for the purely selfish reason that it would be nice to have someone left to read what I write when the dust settles and life eventually begins to return to normal.

Keep yourselves safe.

Davey

Use the puppy It's 2am and my mind is racing. I can't sleep - and in any normal blog this would be the point where people would probably roll their eyes and say 'he's overthinking everything because it's Friday and he has to weigh in tomorrow.'