#the entire chicago went silent

[diqldrunks]

DATE ME TO SCARE THEM — R. CAMERON

summary: rafe cameron didn't do girlfriends, or make deals — so why did he agree so quickly to being your fake boyfriend — for the sole purpose of pissing off your parents? (based off the song 18 by anarbor)

a/n: this is very different from the original which got lost when my acc got terminated

cw/tw: none! this is really short but other parts will be much longer!! asks for rafe (in this au and others) are open!! anons are welcome!

word count: 0.8k

DMTST — PART ONE

next part | nav | inbox

rafe masterlist | main masterlist

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ

you and rafe had been sitting on the beach when you asked him.

it was late summer, and the sun was slowly setting. the two of you had spent the entire day together, and the entire time, rafe couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d done something to upset you.

you had barely said 5 words to him that hadn’t been prompted by a question he asked you; there was an air of awkwardness surrounding the two of you and any interaction you had, and rafe hated it.

he spent ages going over anything and everything he had said, trying to figure it out. he'd eventually decided he'd had enough, and when you were reapplying your lip gloss, he decided to speak up.

"sweets," he asked, using the nickname he began using years ago after he realised the extent of your sweet tooth, "everything good with you? anything going wrong in your little world that i can help out with?"

the two of you had met two years ago, when your parents had dragged you to an overly formal dinner at the country club after you had moved — you were sat across from him and one of his sisters, sarah. together, the three of you tried to tune out the insufferably dull conversations that were happening — with one of ways being rafe and sarah explaining kildare to you, introducing the concept of ‘pogues’ and ‘kooks’ (with sarah later introducing you to some of her kook friends without rafe’s knowledge).

after a couple of these dinners, the three of you became friends — with it soon becoming commonplace for you to spend days and nights at the cameron’s’. you spent mornings in town shopping, afternoons on the boat and evenings at parties. though you met other people your age — both kooks and pogues — and became friendly with them, rafe and sarah were always the ones you were closest to.

over time, sarah became more distant, and your afternoons on the beach as a trio became just you and rafe. your parents weren’t that happy, having voiced their dislike for the boy, but as they worked away for business a lot, they didn’t have a chance to stop it. this month, they were away again, in chicago this time for a series of conferences, but were coming back in a few days.

they had phoned you a few weeks ago, and were clearly excited to be talking to you — one of their business executive friends had a son, and, although they didn’t say it explicitly, they expected you to go on a few dates with him. his name was matthew, and he was coming to outer banks with his father a few days after your parents return.

you were anxious and angry, and for days had been racking your brain for a solution — one that you could make last as long as you matthew went back home. you had eventually came up with a plan — it was risky, and frankly just a terrible idea, but it should work. you just had to get rafe on board.

you looked to rafe, his hair almost glowing gold from the sunlight.

"i need you to be my boyfriend."

the brunette paused, one of his hands frozen in place as it hovered over the cooler from where he was about to grab a second beer.

he was silent for a moment, his eyebrows slightly raised so the ends of his hair began to cover them.

"i'm sorry sweets, i need to what?"

this time your voice was louder than before, but still quiet enough that rafe had to try and block out the sound of the crashing waves to hear you clearly. "i need you to date me for the next two weeks — three at a push."

you take a quick look at rafe before turning you attention back to the hands in your lap as you continue to talk. "it's my parents — they're coming to visit for a few weeks and the last time i spoke to them, they were trying to set me up with one of their business friend’s sons — a guy called matthew-"

rafe ran a hand through his hair. "god sweets, do i really have to get dragged into this? your parents despise me-"

"that’s why this is so perfect rafe. they are setting me up for misery — let’s be real, matthew’s going to be as dull as a rock. i want to throw this stupid idea back in their faces — make sure they won’t do this again."

"you’re gonna use me to piss off your parents, sweets?" rafe smirked, remembering just how much you're parents hated him. "fake date me just so you can scare them?” rafe pauses, pretending to think. god, he was insufferable. “i don't know, seems like an awfully one sided deal..."

you needed rafe to agree, otherwise you risk sitting opposite full matthew at the country club for dinner. "rafe cameron i will literally do anything for you to agree."

rafe smirked. "if you say so sweets."

rafe taglist (lmk if you want to be added!); @izabellaemerson @spiderflunk @kitty-m30w @vincapandora @uraesthete @wickedtactics @harmoneeee24 @starkeybae @fairydvstss @alexiskirkland @devils-blackrose @makaylalovessmut @winterrrnight @clearbolts @slayystuff @neilove @littlemissborntolose @emyslittlebubble @ldrsog @stargrltara @isabelllauer @alexasznisforever @zizuras @sadgirlelenora @djosfuture @leaskisses444

[chaotic-toasters]

Invisible

TW: Bad-ish mental health

Chelsea!Reader

Ex-UNC!Reader

I don't think this makes any sense but whtvs

-----------------

Transfer to Chelsea, they said. It'll be fun, they said. Well, you said that they were wrong.

You signed for Chelsea under the promise of playing time and friendship, only to be immediately benched and left to wander the halls of Cobham by yourself.

In hindsight, it was a stupid decision to join the Blues. The winning WSL side had no need for you on their already stacked roster, and in no way were you going to be able to compete with the likes of Zecira Musovic and Hannah Hampton.

You'd once been told that only truly deserving and talented people could reach the professional level of a sport, but you were seriously doubting it. You weren't a quitter, but you were genuinely wondering if you should wait for your 23rd birthday next year to announce your retirement or if you should just announce it now. You were still young, and you weren't about to waste any more of your life waiting for your footballing career to blossom.

It was funny, you thought, how the same cycle just kept repeating. When you played in your home state of Chicago for the Red Stars, you'd sat on the bench and watched Alyssa Naeher, your captain and USWNT starting keeper, guard the net, but you'd at least been happy, being good friends with most of your teammates. Then, during your time at Manchester United, Marc Skinner had promised you that you'd play in games against easier opponents. You never did, always internally scolding yourself for believing that he would want to play you. Now, at Chelsea, you were all alone, not a familiar face or start in sight. The only time you'd been in the net during games was in college, where you'd been head of the DoD for UNC. That time was long gone, though.

-----------

"Y/N!" you almost missed Emma calling your name, too busy wondering if anyone would notice if you napped on the bench during the match. It was against Arsenal, but you were practically invisible to your teammates and the media alike.

"Yes?" you glanced up from the ground, only half-paying attention.

"Zecira isn't here and Hannah can't play on with that calf. You're going in."

"Okay." You didn't move, your manager's words not registering in your brain.

She stared at you. "Aren't you gonna go get your gloves?"

"Oh, right." You took off towards the changing room, grabbing your gloves, waterbottle, and blinding-white sweat towel that you'd had for the past three years.

When you went back outside, Emma patted you on the shoulder, offering you a word of advice and reminding you that the score was nil-nil.

It was embarrassingly quiet when you jogged into goal, the only cheers being a few quiet Chelsea fans in a sea of blue. You just shook your head to yourself, bouncing on the balls of your feet as play started up again. No distractions.

------------

A breakaway in the 51st minute had you barking orders at your backline, but none of your defenders were fast enough to catch up. Stina Blackstenius was sprinting at you full-force as you came out of your goal, and though her body shifted to the left and she passed the ball between her feet, you noticed how her eyes momentarily flicked upwards. Your hand instinctively shot up, smacking the ball away like a cat would a toy on a string, and as it flew over the crossbar, the entire stadium was silent other than the soft pitter-patter of rain on the roof.

The roar of the crowd rang out seconds later, and the Arsenal players eyed you with a newfound wariness as Steph Catley ran to take the corner kick.

"Hey," someone whispered, nudging you. "That was sick. I knew you still had it in you."

You glanced up and smiled. "Thanks, Foxy."

She ran back, sharing a few words with your other former UNC teammates, Alessia and Lotte, the three of them giving you small smiles as the whistle blew.

You came out of the net again as the ball came flying into the box, jumping up over Blackstenius again and swatting it away once more. The cheers from the Chelsea fans was deafening, drowning out whatever Emma was yelling to you from the sidelines.

Chelsea forwards and Arsenal defenders chased after the ball into the Arsenal half, leaving you, your defenders, and Arsenal forwards in your half. "Hey," Alessia called, giving you a little wave from the edge of your box. "Nice saves."

You waved back. "Thanks."

"You haven't changed a bit from Uni," she commented, jogging away. "Reflexes sharp as ever."

"You haven't changed either," you grinned. "Clumsy as ever."

Her head whipped back around indignantly. "Hey!"

-------------

It was strange being a part of your teammates' conversations. It was as if you'd been invisible before the match, and each save slowly made you appear before their eyes. They'd met you with smiles and claps on the back after the game, all too happy to secure a tie in the wake of losing their first two keepers. You could care less about your current teammates, though. The ones who really mattered were your old ones.

"We totally would have won if Chelsea didn't have you," Emily scoffed jokingly, giving you a light push. "You saved their asses."

You pushed her back with a shit-eating grin, lowering your voice. "I'll be saving your asses instead soon enough."

Lotte spit out her water onto Alessia, who shrieked in disgust. "Really?!"You snickered. "Yeah. Don't tell anyone, though."

Alessia pinched her jersey in her fingers, airing it out. "Have you thought about this? The Chelsea fans aren't going to like that at all. Trust me, I know."

"I don't care," you shrugged. "I'll be happy at Arsenal, and I know I'll get playing time."

"Well, we can't wait to see you at Colney," Lotte grinned. "Arsenal red will look great on you."

You grinned back. "I know it will."

[to-thelakes]

fuckin' calculus (lip gallagher x reader)

content warning(s); brief reference to weird teacher-student relationships (SUPER BRIEF), typical shameless themes (smoking, gratuitous swearing), that's it! (this is just 1.7k words of gratuitous fluff/comfort for lip)

summary; monica coming back really fucked lip up but he only lets himself cry when he's alone with you in your bedroom.

series masterlist

in celebration of my beloved jeremy allen white's win, here is a lil lip gallagher one-shot

You knew something was wrong from when he stepped into the hallway. Lip had this sober look on his face and it was the tell-tale sign he was hiding something. His mom had come back so that had to be part of it but you didn’t say anything. 

Instead, you walked with him to his locker where he grabbed the shit he needed for class. It was quiet for a moment, you stood beside him while he stuck his head in his locker, rummaging through the crap that had piled up. You were watching him, talking about something aimless.

“You know I really think Miss Davis wants to fuck Eddy. I mean, I don’t get it and I mean, come on, he’s like 15 and she’s fucking 40 but fuck, not the weirdest shit that’s happened. You know-” Your rambling was cut off by Lip’s hand slamming into the side of his locker. 

The noise reverberated around the hallways, eyes drawing your way and you went silent. Lip had always been so calm and collected around you. It scared you - only briefly -, your eyes widened as you took in his frustrated expression.

His eyes were lined with tears, mouth set into a frown, his fingers curled up into a tight fist.

“Fucking’ Calculus,” He ground out under his breathe. You frowned but it was like you weren’t even there. 

“Use mine. I’ve not got Calc today,” You responded with a tentative smile. For a minute, you were convinced he had forgotten you were even there.

“Yeah, sorry, what were you saying?” He was quick to apologise. Though he only ever apologised when it wasn’t necessary, when it didn’t mean anything. Otherwise, he found it hard to spit the words out. 

“Nothing important,” You said as you pulled your backpack over to your front, pulling out your Calc textbook. You had only brought it in because you had it 4th period but he didn’t need to know that. 

“You sure it’s okay?” He asked, taking the textbook tentatively from your grip. You nodded.

“Course,” You reassured him. You then leant forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, smiling softly. You glanced at the clock, it was getting dangerously close to class time. You knew that you could get to class with enough time even after the bell rang for first period but you loved to be early. Lip knew that, “Gotta run to World History but got a free house until late if you wanna come over,” You asked. Lip nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds fun.” He sounded distant and you weren’t entirely sure he was listening but you let it go. You squeezed his bicep with your free hand and then disappeared down the hallway to class. ***

The walk back to yours had been quiet. Lip hadn’t said much all day. From the moment you got out of school to the moment you reached your front door, it was like he was somewhere else. It was a classic Lip Gallagher shutdown. It had happened a few weeks ago when Frank had tried to go sober. You couldn’t blame him.

“Bedroom?” You asked softly as you both kicked off your shoes and he stubbed a cigarette out on the porch, “Or I can heat us up some leftovers?” You added. Lip shrugged and you knew what that meant. So, you walked over to the thermostat and cranked it up a little before shedding your layers. Braving the Chicago cold was not for the weak.

Lip shed his coat and scarf, placing them on the hook before you grabbed his hand and coaxed him upstairs.

“Need to piss,” He muttered. You nodded and let him go before heading into your room. You picked up a few pyjamas and clothes that had been strewn across the floor. Your room wasn’t a mess but you couldn’t help but want everything to be neater for Lip. He lived in such chaos, you didn’t want to feed into it even if you were used to that same chaos too. You wanted to be his oasis.

You fished one of his hoodies you’d stolen from the closet and draped it over the back of your desk chair before you stripped off and changed into shorts and an oversized shirt. 

“Left a hoodie out for you, gonna lie in bed,” You called into the hallway just loud enough that he could hear in the bathroom. You didn’t get a response but you knew he heard you. You were quick to go back to room and crank the radiator on before sliding under the covers. The best thing about an empty house was the peace and quiet.

All you could hear was the muffled sounds of Lip washing his hands, wiping them and then coming out of the bathroom. 

His figure appeared in the doorway and he looked somehow more downtrodden than he had all day. He didn’t say anything as he changed into just boxer shorts and the hoodie. He rifled through his bag for a moment before pulling out the calculus textbook you lent him and placed it on the desk.

“You had Calculus 4th period,” He stated. Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Huh?”

“You needed the textbook.”

“Oh, yeah, but it’s not that big of a deal. Just looked over Maggie’s shoulder. She gets it better than I do,” You waved off his words with a small smile. He frowned and you tilted your head, “Come ‘ere,” You requested. Your voice was soft and quiet. He didn’t need to be asked again and when you pulled the edge of the covers up, he crawled into bed.

But rather than lying beside you, he lay on top of you. His head rested on your chest, your tits acting as a cushion. Your fingers slipped up into his hair while the other wrapped the duvet around the both of you.

“Why’d do you lie about Calculus?” He asked, voice muffled into your skin. You gently scritched his scalp.

“People do dumb things for the people they like,” You admitted softly. He buried his face further into your chest. You tilted your head forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, “Can’t help myself when it comes to you. You make me silly.” He rolled his eyes and tilted his head to the side. His cheek resting against you. One of his hands moved and began to draw patterns across arms. 

“Don’t get why she can just walk in and pretend none of it fucking mattered,” He said after a moment, “It’s bullshit. She fucks off and leaves us with dad and comes back and expects us to accept her with open arms. She didn’t fucking raise me. She didn’t care. Never sent me a fucking birthday card. None of that shit. Now, she’s trying to take fucking Liam? Who the fuck does that? Some fucking bullshit,” He ranted. It was less angry and more sad. You had known Lip since before Monica fucked off which meant that you knew the anger about her leaving had long turned into quiet contemplation and exhaustion. You knew that the constant questions plagued him and you knew that even though he had managed to let you in, he lived in fear that you’d fuck off too.

Not that you ever would.

It would take the strength of the Gods to separate you from Lip. You didn’t care what anyone said to you. 

“Want me to tell her to go fuck herself?” You asked, half-joking. He let out an amused huff before he shook his head.

“Nah, no point. She’ll do that herself,” He muttered. His eyes had gotten glassy and you continued to slowly run your fingers through his hair. He hated crying. Lip hated crying but he found it harder not to when he was with you.

“I got you, baby,” You whispered softly when you heard the first telltale sniffle of tears. He squeezed his eyes shut, curling into you. It was a subconscious attempt to hide himself away but you didn’t care. You ran your fingers through his hair and whispered sweet nothings as the tears continued to fall.

Lip didn’t say anything, there was nothing else he felt like he could say. So, instead, he cried in your arms as you gently shushed him and promised him that you’re right there with him and urged him to let it out. 

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed curled up together but by the end of it, Lip had fallen asleep against your chest. His breathing had evened out and the lull of your heartbeat had pulled him into the dream world.

And he stayed like that for hours. You didn’t mind. It gave you a chance to read and so you balanced your book and stayed with him.

At some point your parents came home and when they passed your bedroom door, they simply smiled.

“Everything okay?” Your dad had mouthed to you. You had simply nodded.

“Gallagher shit,” was all you had mouth back. He nodded and gave you a thumbs up. He mimed dinner and you nodded. Then he pointed at Lip and you nodded again. If you were gonna wake Lip up it would be with good food.

“Thank you,” You mouthed and your dad simply nodded and headed downstairs to talk with your mum. It was peaceful and you were glad Lip trusted you enough to allow himself to feel at least a semblance of that peace too.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead while he continued to sleep.

“I love you,” You whispered to him. You’d never dare say it when he was awake but you could tell him now. You were brave enough to say it now while he was completely unaware and content.

[saragarnier]

Away from you pt.2

pairing: Jay halsted x reader

summary: when y/n found out that her boyfriend was cheating on her she left Chicago, without saying a word.

warning: Angst maybe and bad english since it's not my first language.

A/N: i'm actually thinking about writing a part 3, but i'm not sure.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Previous part, next part

When Jay got home that night, he went straight to the bedroom, without noticing your absence at once; he was really tired after the intense day at work and after the night he spent with Hailey. He was feeling guilty about it, obviously, but he could find the courage, he just couldn’t tell his future wife that he completely messed up with everything. He loved her, he really loved y/n and he didn’t want to lose her, even if she would have all the rights to do it, after all he cheated on her, just few months before the wedding.

Jay was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realise that she wasn’t still at home; he removed the badge and the gun from his belt, placing them silently on the bedside table, then he looked around and he finally noticed that you weren’t sleeping in the bed. He frowned, looking around and trying to understand where you were; he couldn’t hear the noise of the shower and the bathroom’s door was open, so you couldn’t be there either. He searched the entire home, then he took his phone out and he messaged you, hoping that you still were with Kim outside.

He tried to not get worried, but he couldn.t help himself when he saw that the message hadn't been sent successfully; he stayed awake for another hour, before falling asleep on the couch, waiting for your return.

He woke up the next day, feeling pain all over his body because of the position he fell asleep with; he looked around and he got up, searching all the house to find you. The bed was still done, and it didn’t seem like someone slept in it the other night, so it was clear that you didn’t come back home.

Feeling his hear skipping a beat because of his worry.

Why didn’t she come back home?

Had something happened last night?

Was she in danger?

He grabbed his phone and called for Kim straight away, walking all around the house while waiting for her to respond. He knew that it was still early in the morning, and he didn’t want to wake her up, but he had no choice. Y/n could have been in danger, something could have happened to her while she was coming back home, and he needed to know at what time Kim and her left the bar.

“Jay, it’s six in the morning, what’s happening?” Kim whispered when she answered the phone, seeing Jay’s name on the screen.

“Is y/n with you? Did something strange happened yesterday? Did she leave the bar after a call from the hospital?” Jay questioned her without taking a single breath. He just wanted to know if you were okay, if you were with her, maybe after drinking too many beers. He couldn’t understand for what reason you didn’t come home last night and he couldn’t believe that something bad happened to you or he would have known by that moment, his brother Will would have advised you.

“What? No, she left around ten pm and she walked away saying that he needed to do something… why? Did something happen?” Kim got up from her bed immediately, especially after hearing his tone of voice and hearing how worried he seemed to be.

“Fuck.” He exclaimed, shaking his head, still walking all around the house; he grabbed his badge and his gun, then he left the apartment without even reaching for his jacket. It wasn’t cold outside, but you definitely needed to have a jacket with you all the time in Chicago, at least till the begin of the summer. “She didn’t come back home last night and she doesn’t respond to my messages or my calls. I’m going to call Mouse and to make him track her phone, after that I’ll call Voight if I notice something strange, okay?”

“Shit…” Kim whispered, worried. “Tell me if you find out something, okay? “

“Sure.” Jay reassured her, then he hung up and he called Mouse instead.

He waited for almost a minute before his friend answered the phone, still in his dreams; Jay could tell just by his voice that he woke up Mouse and that he wasn’t really happy about that, but he just couldn’t wait any longer, especially if something bad happened to you.

How could he have been so stupid?

You were never late, he should have called Mouse and Kim the night before, he should have called them before to make sure that you were okay. What if someone kidnapped you? What if someone hurt you?

It would have been his fault.

It would have been his fault because you went out with Kim alone because he wanted to spend the evening with Hailey, he would have been his fault because he should have called for help immediately, he would have been his fault because he wasn’t by your side.

“Mouse, I need you to track y/n’ phone right now!” Jay said without waiting a minute.

“What do you guys have with tracking each other phones, uh?” Mouse replied, mumbling something about last night, when you called him.

Jay froze at hi friend’s words; he pulled up and he parked the car before crashing into someone else, then he took a deep breath and he try to stay focused on Mouse.

“Wait… what does that mean?” He whispered, afraid of what he could have discovered.

“She asked me to track your phone yesterday’s night… she seemed worried about you falling again into ptsd and I immediately tracked your phone. I told her that you were in your older apartment and that’s it, I didn’t hear from her after that.”

In that moment, all the dots connected.

That’s why Kim said you left earlier that’s why he noticed the backup- key in the wrong position, that’s why she didn’t come back home and that’s why she didn’t respond to his messages or calls.

She knew.

She found out.

He messed up and she knew it.

Jay stayed silent for what looks like hours, even days for him, even if it was probably for just one minute or two. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice he was crying, not until he was brought back to reality from Mouse.

“Uhm… Jay, there’s a problem…” he whispered. “I can’t track y/n’ phone, it’s like it’s dead. Maybe she didn’t have the chance to charge it? But why did you need her location? Is she with you?”

Jay gulped, looking outside of the car, looking at everything and nothing at the same time. he was like a ghost, he felt like a ghost, he felt like he was dead, like he lost all.

And he did.

If she really saw him with Hailey, he knew that he lost the love of his life, and all for what? Some sex with his partner at work? He said he loved Hailey, he always said it when they fucked, but while doing it he always thought about y/n, about the love of his life. It’ didn’t make sense, it didn’t make sense for him either and he didn’t expect the others to understand, that’s why he never told you or anyone else, even if he really wanted to after the first time he and Hailey had sex together.

“Jay?” Mouse asked again, worried when he didn’t hear anything from his friend for minutes. “Are you okay?”

“I ruined everything, Mouse.” He whispered at the phone, crying silently. “I lost her… I think she broke up with me… I think she left…”

“What?! What does that mean? She couldn’t have done it, couldn’t she? Why?” Mouse didn’t really understand what was happening between his friend and his friend’s fiancé, but it was clear that something bad happened between them since he heard Jay crying on the other line of the call.

“I cheated on her… I cheated on her and I think she found out… she didn’t come home last night, she doesn’t respond to messages and calls… I don’t know where to find her, I don’t know where to find her to talk to her and explain everything to her. She had all the rights to know the truth from me, but I can’t do it if I can’t reach for her.”

Mouse stayed silent for some minutes, then he had an idea.

“She works at the hospital, maybe she’s there, no? It’s seven am and she had to present her resignation letter if she really wants to leave Chicago, no? Maybe she’s at the hospital to do it, maybe you still have time.”

It was one last hope and Jay accepted it; Jay took it immediately.

“I’ll call you from the hospital. Thank you, Mouse.”

He hung up, dried his cheeks from the tears and he drove towards the Chicago Medical Center as soon as he could; when he arrived, he met his brother, Will, but he was to focused on finding y/n, so he ignored him and went straight towards Meggie. Before he could ask her where his fiancé was, Jay got stopped by Will, who pushed him into an empty room.

“Will I do nit have time for this right now!” Jay exclaimed, trying to go out go the room to find you.

“Well, you’ll have to find some time because I want to know why y/n presented her resignation form on a fucking mail!”

And that was when Jay lost his last hope.

“W-What?” he whispered, sitting on an empty chair before falling on the ground. “She left?”

It was too late.

He arrived too late.

Will nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder, and trying to reassure her in any way possible.

“What happened, Jay?”

“I fucked up… I fucked up and I lost her, Will.” He whispered. “I lost her.”

And it was true.

He lost you.

And the best part was that being a detective’s fiancé helped you to find a way to be invisible.

New phone.

Only cash.

Being a ghost.

You didn’t want to be found, especially not by him and, while he was crying on his brother’s shoulder about losing the love of his life, you were landing in New York city, trying to find a way to hang on, trying to start a new life.

A life away from him.

Away from the last version of you.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Request: wrong number au, Eddie texts Gareth something personal but puts in 1 wrong number & ends up texting Steve. The two of them hit it off & start chatting & then when they meet IRL they are completely head over heels in love & its cute as fuck

MY LOVE MY LOVE MY LOVE!!! LOVE A GOOD WRONG NUMBER AU!!! I can't believe I've never written it before now. I also had to actually include Gareth because I am actually obsessed with him lately, and I just think it's really neat that we can make these characters our own. This was such a fun and cute request! I didn't do the inappropriate route because I thought this was hilarious so sorry about that. I made up for it with something else! - Mickala ❤️

----------------------------------------------------------

GARE BEAR! You won’t believe it but i dropped my phone in a sewer. Lost everything.

He had never been so happy about having his closest friends’ numbers memorized. His phone was somewhere under the streets of Chicago, floating through dirty water and sewage, dying a slow and painful death.

He texted everyone else one at a time, let them know he had a new number and to completely delete the old one because it would never be recovered.

They were used to things like this happening; He lost his phone annually at this point and it was cheaper just to get a new number than transfer everything to a new one.

He went to dial Wayne, the old school part of him insisting on phone calls instead of texts still, when Gareth’s name popped up with a new text.

Not sure who Gare Bear is, but sorry about your phone. That’s shitty.

Eddie let out a loud laugh.

did you mean to make a pun?

Did it make you laugh?

yes

Then yes.

Eddie sat down on a bench, entirely focused on his conversation with this stranger.

Did you find your Gare Bear yet?

Not yet but i think i’m pretty happy talking to you for now

Smooth, Eddie.

Admittedly, he was in a hell of a dry spell.

Going on almost two years, actually.

A little flirting with a stranger never hurt anybody, not when he clearly needed some practice.

Not sure if your Gare Bear would like it very much though

Wait, what?

Eddie stared at his phone, trying to comprehend what that could mean. Why would Gareth not want him talking to a stranger?

I hope you find your partner though!

Oh.

Oh!

Eddie hit the call button in the corner before he could even register what he was doing.

“Hello?”

Oh no, he sounded hot.

“Hi. So, Gareth is very much not my partner. He probably actually wishes I would really forget his number,” Eddie rushed out.

“Um. Okay?”

“He’s been my best friend for ten years and he thinks I’m a mess. Not a partner,” Eddie further clarified.

“Got it. Not a partner.”

“Yes, exactly.”

They stayed silent for a moment before Eddie coughed.

“I’m Eddie, by the way.”

“Steve. Sorry about your phone, seriously that sucks,” he sounded genuinely apologetic, like he personally threw Eddie’s phone in the sewer.

“Oh, no big deal. I lose my phone more often than I go out with someone,” Eddie said.

Why did he say that?

Steve let out a laugh and it was like music.

Eddie couldn’t help the smile taking over his face at his laugh, already knew he wasn’t gonna be able to let this guy go without learning more about him.

“So you’re, what? Celibate?” Steve asked.

“Far from it. Well, maybe not far from it. Temporarily, maybe. It’s been a while,” Eddie admitted.

“How long?” Steve asked, a loud bang coming from his end of the phone. “Sorry, I had to go outside for some privacy.”

Eddie wasn’t going to read into that. He wasn’t.

“Two years give or take. I mean I’m not counting shitty dates that ended before they got worse. So, yeah. Two years.”

“Been a year for me, but. Yeah, I get it. My last relationship didn’t end on the best terms. She decided I was too in love with her I guess,” Steve sighed, voice sounding pained.

She.

Steve was probably straight.

There was no way he’d be lucky enough for Steve to like men.

Or for Steve to like him.

“I can’t really imagine breaking up with someone because they loved me too much. I’m usually the one who falls too hard,” Eddie admitted.

“Yeah, well, same here,” Steve sounded sad, a bit withdrawn.

Eddie wanted to hear him laugh again.

“I doubt either of us have ever fallen as hard as my phone did down a drain,” Eddie said sadly.

Steve let out a loud laugh and Eddie smiled.

“This might sound crazy, but I’m kind of glad your phone decided to live in the sewers,” Steve said when he finally calmed down. “And maybe a little too happy that you typed your friend’s number wrong.”

“Oh really? Why’s that?”

Was this flirting? Was he successfully having a flirtatious conversation with a potentially very hot guy?

“So I can be bold and ask if you maybe wanted to meet up somewhere?” Steve asked hesitantly.

“So you’re in Chicago?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah. You?”

“For the last five years, yeah.”

“You busy tonight?”

Eddie’s heart stopped.

He was really going to meet up with a stranger just because he liked his laugh and hoped he was hot.

He’d done more with less.

“Yeah, actually. I’m getting dinner with this guy I accidentally texted,” Eddie smirked, looking down at his feet.

“Dinner? What a lucky guy. Where are you going?” Steve sounded amused.

“Well, it depends on what he likes. I’ve been craving some pierogies. Ever been to Staropolska?” Eddie asked.

Gareth’s family owned it, and he used to eat there two or three times a week while they were in college, usually working off his bill in the kitchen doing dishes after.

He hadn’t been in a couple months, work keeping him busy and his budget being pretty tight when he moved into a studio apartment by himself.

He had enough to treat himself tonight though.

“The one on Milwaukee? Yeah. One of my favorite places to get devolay,” Steve sounded surprised that he knew it.

“You won’t believe this, but the friend I was trying to text when I got you, his family owns that place.”

“No way! Then we have to. We owe it to the guy who has almost my exact phone number,” Steve responded.

“Meet you there at seven?” Eddie asked, suddenly more nervous.

“Seven sounds good.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Steve giggled. Eddie fell in love.

“We should probably hang up.”

“Should we?” Eddie asked, not wanting to stop talking to him yet.

“Yes, I have to do my hair. Gotta impress the guy who drops his phone in the sewer and texts strangers about it.”

“He sounds like a loser. Don’t put too much effort in,” Eddie sighed. “But okay. See you at seven.”

“See you then.”

They both stayed on the line for a minute.

“Okay. For real. Bye,” Steve laughed.

“Bye, Stevie.”

He hung up before he could convince himself to talk to him for the rest of the afternoon.

He breathed out a loud sigh, smiling as he realized he had a date.

He dialed Gareth’s real number immediately.

“Gareth, I have a date!”

“What is this number, Eddie?”

“Oh, I dropped my phone in the sewers. Not important. I have a date!”

“Jesus Christ. Okay. Come over then.”

—-----------------------------------

Gareth had been his pre-date hype man since high school, though he wasn’t very good at it.

Mostly he calmed Eddie’s nerves and helped make sure his hair didn’t look like he just woke up, which was often its unfortunate state of being.

“So, you don’t know this guy,” Gareth said from his bed.

“No.”

“And you talked for like two seconds and decided you’re in love with him,” he continued.

“Yes.”

“And you think this is totally normal and sane?”

“I didn’t say that. But we just…I dunno. We clicked. I haven’t been that at ease with someone in a long time. It felt natural,” Eddie fell back on his bed, starfishing so his arm and leg hit Gareth’s legs.

“Dude, I’m not discouraging it. I’m happy for you. I just don’t want you to be disappointed if it isn’t as easy when you meet,” Gareth said softly.

“Yeah, thanks. I think it’ll be okay, though.”

“Alright. Tell babcia I’m coming by tomorrow for lunch.”

Eddie sat up and gave Gareth a quick hug.

“Thanks Gare Bear!”

—-------------------------------------------

He arrived 20 minutes early so he could sneak in the back to say hi to Gareth’s grandmother, who still insisted on getting her hands on the food every day for a couple of hours despite being nearly 80 years old.

“Babcia!”

“Eddie! My kochany! You forget to visit and I forget what you look like!” she rushed over, flour and oil stains all over her apron.

He should have kept some distance so his shirt didn’t get ruined, but he ignored the part of his brain telling him to look perfect for his date so he could get a hug.

“You know I have to watch my money,” he said against her shoulder.

“And you know I feed you for free if you clean up after yourself. No excuse,” she pulled away and looked him over. “You look handsome. Why?”

Eddie put his hands on his hips.

“What? Don’t I always look handsome?”

“Of course, but this is different. Your hair is smooth and you smell like the perfume store,” she smirked. “Is it a girl? Or a boy? Or a someone?”

“It’s a boy. We’ve never met in person, so I wanted to make a good first impression,” he admitted.

“Oh! How lovely! What’s his name?” She was back to kneading dough, but kept her eyes on him.

“Steve. He actually has been here before, loves the devolay?”

Babcia froze.

“Steve? Oh goodness.” She turned to the sink and washed her hands, muttering under her breath about something.

Eddie’s heart sank. Babcia didn’t seem happy about this.

“What’s wrong? You know him?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Is he not a good guy? Has he been mean to you? I’ll call and cancel right now,” he insisted, reaching for his phone in his pocket.

“No, no. Nothing like that. He is a very sweet boy. He got broken up with in this restaurant a few months back. Tore me to pieces. He just sat here for hours crying. I moved him to a corner booth for his privacy and he left me a $100 tip and ever since then when he comes in I make sure to give him as many szarlotka as he wants.” She touched Eddie’s shoulder. “You be good to him. He has a nice heart.”

Eddie’s mind raced.

Why had Steve agreed to come here for a date if this is where he’d been broken up with? Why did he even bother coming back if it held such bad memories?

What if he didn’t see this as a date?

The front door chimed and he heard the employee at the front welcome someone.

“He will be good for you, drogi.”

Eddie nodded before making his way to the front, stopping in his tracks when he saw the most beautiful man he’d ever seen standing at the podium, talking to the employee with a smile.

“That’s him,” Babcia said from behind him. “Go get him.”

She shoved him forward, nearly making him trip, which caught the attention of Steve.

He looked over with a curious smile, and then realization seemed to hit him.

“Steve?” Eddie managed to ask, loud enough to be heard over the few full tables in the restaurant.

“Eddie?” he asked back, hesitantly moving towards him.

“I, um,” Eddie started, then cleared his throat. “I usually sit by the window, if that’s okay?”

“That’s perfect,” Steve nodded.

It was cliche, like the room around them closed into just them existing together, like the stars had aligned exactly right for this moment to happen.

They sat down at the table Eddie usually sat at, staring across the table at each other in slight awe.

Eddie really hoped that Steve was having the same feelings he was.

But one thing was stopping Eddie from being completely enraptured.

“Is this a date?” he asked suddenly.

“What?” Steve seemed surprised by his question. “I mean, yeah. I’d like it to be. I thought it was.”

Eddie nodded once, but remained quiet, thinking.

“Oh God, it wasn’t, was it? You were just being nice. What is it with this restaurant? If I didn’t love the food so much or babcia, I would never step foot here again, I swear-”

Eddie put his hand on Steve’s to calm him down, frown on his face.

“Woah. What?”

“I just. I don’t have the best history with dates here and I guess I didn’t learn the first time something bad happened, and now I’m being too much too fast again in this place and-”

Eddie pulled Steve’s hand up to his face, placing a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“Stevie, calm down. This is a date. I’ll have as many dates here as you want to to get rid of whatever negative stuff you associate with this place. Babcia would hate that I ruined this place for you,” he said quietly.

Steve seemed to relax at his words.

And if you wanna tell me about what happened, you can. If it’ll help,” Eddie offered.

Before Steve could reply, Gareth’s cousin, Ben, came to take their order.

It was a quick order, both knowing exactly what they wanted, and then Steve looked back at him.

“It’s just. My last girlfriend, who I was with for almost three years, dumped me here. It was kind of out of the blue for me, and I had a really hard time that night.”

Eddie felt his heart break.

How could someone do that to Steve? He didn’t need to know him better to know that he didn’t deserve that, especially not if babcia had taken him under her wing so quickly.

“She must be awful to have let you go like that,” Eddie squeezed Steve’s hand in his, resisting the urge to go to his side of the table and hold him.

Steve shrugged and looked down at their hands.

“I mean, I should have known. She was never much for romance or spending time together that didn’t involve work or school. I was looking at engagement rings and she was looking at apartments to get away from me. I was just…really blinded by what I thought was love,” Steve smiled sadly at him.

“It wasn’t?”

“Well, it may have been a type of love. It was more comfort than anything. She was kind of all I had for the first year we were together, and I think I just ignored how unhealthy that was for both of us. And then I met Robin in college, and she was like the opposite of Nancy in every way. A few months before Nancy broke up with me, I told her that Robin’s parents kicked her out when she came out to them and that she needed a place to stay until we graduated. She agreed, then never made any attempt at getting to know her. And I didn’t read into it, Nancy isn’t like, super talkative with people she isn’t already close with, and Robin just kinda stayed to herself when Nancy was home.” Steve took a shaky breath. “But it turns out she didn’t bother getting to know her because she already knew she was gonna break up with me and leave the apartment to me and Robin, so.she just. Didn’t bother. Robin warned me, but I didn’t listen.”

Eddie wanted to cry.

Steve’s voice was full of pain, but not in a way that told him he still loved her, or still hoped they would get back together. More that she broke a part of him that he still hadn’t been able to fix no matter how hard he tried or wanted to.

“Was she jealous?” Eddie asked, trying so hard to understand what could have happened.

“I dunno. I mean, Robin’s a lesbian, and I definitely never had feelings for her anyway. Nancy was always so sure of herself, I can’t imagine she’d be jealous.”

“It sounds like she didn’t appreciate you very much.”

“What do you mean?” Steve didn’t sound mad, just curious.

“Well, she didn’t even make an effort to get to know your best friend, right? And it sounds like she was too busy focusing on her future to even think about what you looked like in it, and instead of trying to plan it with you, she made a future for her. She sounds a bit selfish,” Eddie shrugged.

Instead of being upset, Steve laughed.

God, Eddie loved that laugh.

“Sorry, it’s just that you sound exactly like Robin. You’d probably be two peas in a pod.”

“Tell me about her,” Eddie genuinely wanted to know more about the person who kept Steve going.

Their food arrived in the middle of the story of how Steve and Robin met, but it didn’t stop him from continuing.

Eddie listened with a fond smile, filling in Steve’s gaps of silence as he chewed a bite of food with questions or something related to what he’d been talking about.

It was easy.

It was fun.

Halfway through the meal, Steve’s foot rested against one of his and it felt like electricity shooting through his bones.

Eddie told him about Gareth, and his family who had pretty much adopted him when they both moved here from a small town in Indiana. He talked about his uncle who raised him for most of his life, who visited every Christmas despite being on a really tight budget.

Time passed quickly, but not at all.

They hadn’t realized how long they’d been sitting there until babcia came out without her apron to hand deliver an apple tart.

“You boys enjoy. I’ll see you both soon!” she said as she smacked a kiss on top of each of their heads.

Both of them blushed, but tried to cover it up with a bite of food.

As they finished, Steve looked outside to see how dark it was, how few people were left walking the streets.

“Guess we should head out,” he muttered, sounding like that was the last thing he wanted to do.

“Would you wanna come to my place? We don’t have to do anything except talk, I promise. I just don’t really want this to end yet,” Eddie suggested.

“Really? I haven’t bored you?” Steve asked, just a hint of self-deprecation in his tone.

Eddie shook his head.

“Not at all. I’d really like to get a chance to love you the way you deserve,” Eddie said.

Steve’s eyes widened.

Eddie should back up, should say something less intense.

But if this ruined it, then at least he said what he was thinking.

“You think you could love me?” Steve asked, barely more than a whisper.

“I think I already do a little,” Eddie admitted.

Steve blinked at him for a moment, mouth slightly agape.

“I need to kiss you,” he finally said.

“Now? Here?” Eddie smiled.

“Now. Here.”

“I won’t stop you.”

Steve stood from the table and stood in front of Eddie, placing both hands on his cheeks and leaning down.

Their lips brushed in a barely-there kiss, softer than Eddie expected.

Steve stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, and Eddie couldn’t help the words tumbling from him.

“You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

If someone had said it to him, he would think they were just trying to get him into their bed, but that wasn’t the case here and he hoped Steve knew that.

“People used to call me a charmer, but I don’t think I’m half as good at it as you,” Steve whispered, his breath ghosting against Eddie’s lips.

“Just honest.”

“Take me home,” Steve said, opening his eyes and staring at Eddie, his eyes glowing with something close to love.

—-------------------------------------

They stayed up all night, never doing more than kissing and mapping out patterns on each others’ skin.

They talked about everything, even the painful parts of life, even the parts that they hadn’t shared with anyone else.

It didn’t make any sense that someone who had been a stranger not even 24 hours ago could already mean so much.

When the sun started to shine through the curtains of Eddie’s apartment, Steve sighed and buried his face in Eddie’s neck.

“I have to go to work,” though he burrowed his entire body further into the bed and Eddie’s side.

“You could call in sick,” Eddie suggested, pressing a kiss to the top of Steve’s head.

“Robin would kill me.”

He and Robin worked together as team teachers at an elementary school. When one of them missed, it left the other with 34 kids alone.

Plus, Steve loved his job, worked hard to be a teacher, and hated missing a day if he didn’t need to.

“Maybe you could bring Robin here after work? I can make dinner?” Eddie’s job was pretty easy, marketing for an Indie record label based out of New York remotely really kept him busy for a couple hours a day and the rest of the time was spent writing his own music.

Steve sat up and looked down at him, his hair ruffled from Eddie running his fingers through it for the last eight hours.

“You’d wanna meet Robin?”

“Yeah, if you want me to. She sounds like fun.”

Steve started crying.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you cry. Good job, Munson, already ruined something good,” Eddie was reaching for a tissue from his bedside table.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I’m just tired and emotional. And just. It means a lot that you’d wanna meet her,” Steve said between gasps for air as he continued to cry.

“Of course I do. I could even invite Gareth over, too, if you want. He won’t believe that our date went well,” Eddie joked, brushing the tears away from Steve’s cheeks.

“I’d love to meet him,” Steve said, sniffling.

“When can you guys get here?”

“Usually we’re done by four, but sometimes we stay later to finish grading stuff. Maybe we should say six?”

“Got it. Any allergies?”

“Robin is allergic to shellfish. She says she is. I think she just doesn’t like them,” Steve rolled his eyes.

“No shellfish, got it. Any preferences, my love?”

Steve blushed at the term of endearment, looking down before he leaned in to kiss Eddie softly.

“Anything you make will be great.”

“You wanna borrow some clothes for work?” Eddie asked.

“Do you have any business casual stuff?”

Eddie gagged.

“Unfortunately, it’s required for the job sometimes. Far left of the closet should have something,” he nodded towards the small closet by the bathroom.

Eddie watched as Steve walked over and picked out his only pair of khaki pants and a navy button down. Steve looked back at him and winked before he nodded towards the bathroom.

“Could use some help working the shower if you’re willing to,” he smirked.

Eddie jumped up from the bed and ran into the bathroom, ignoring the way Steve was laughing.

“The hot water is tricky sometimes. I should probably get in there too to make sure it stays hot,” Eddie said as he stripped off his pants.

“Definitely. Wouldn’t want me to get cold,” Steve put a hand on his shoulder to slow him down. “Kiss me?”

Eddie leaned in to kiss him slowly, letting his tongue brush along his lips just to get a taste.

“Okay?” Eddie checked in.

“Yeah. You remember what you said last night? About loving me like I deserve?”

Eddie nodded.

“I want you to. And I want to love you back.”

“I think we can arrange that.”

[poppadom0912]

Together (III)

Warnings: Mentions of violence, blood, injuries, bullet wounds etc. 

Summary: The news unravels and it isn't pretty at all. 

A/N: A levels are already kicking my ass but it's okay because things are only getting juicier. Hope you like a little bit of a change!

Previous Chapter / Series Masterlist / Next Chapter

Trudy was good, happy even. No one had gotten on her nerves today and her stomach was content from the donuts she took from the break room.

She expected the rest of the day to go slow, going through paperwork and handle the occasional annoying citizen. What she wasn't expecting was a call from a woman working at 911 dispatch saying she had something Trudy would probably find interesting.

Thanking the woman, Trudy opened up the link that the woman sent her. The voice that greeted her was one she immediately recognised and normally she would roll her eyes but this time, her face blanched.

Without another thought, she buzzed herself upstairs and walked into the bullpen. As a reflex, she scanned the room, looking at each desk which had a person sitting at them but one. Right, she'd seen him leave early today.

Walking into Hank's office, she didn't even bother knocking or checking if he was busy. "Hank, you need to hear this."

Not waiting for an answer even if she received a nod, she rounded his desk, clicking a few things before the audio came up.

"911, What's your emergency?"

"Detective Jay Halstead, badge number 51163, reporting the kidnapping of a Chicago firefighter, cop and-"

Jay's voice was cut off from the audio but it continued playing. Men grunted, the operator asked a few questions but got no answer and then several gunshots were fired before the line went dark.

"Boss, what's up? We caught a case?"

Watching Trudy storm into Voight's office, everyone silently argued who would be doing the honours, Adam pulling the short straw. The question was innocent but the answer was unnerving.

Increasing the volume, Trudy replayed the audio clip. Hearing it for the third time, she could hear the pain and grit the detective spoke with, the amount of men in the background seemed to increase, spiking her anxiety even further than it already was.

"When was this?" Adam asked, trying his best not to worry too much. Jay had been kidnapped before and that experience definitely left its mark with the entire unit.

"An hour ago but Halstead left way before that." Trudy said, remembering when she bid adieu to the detective.

"Right. Him, Will and Y/N went up to their dad's cabin to clean it out. Jay said they were gonna sell it." Adam recalled, backing out of Voight's office and going towards his desk.

"What's wrong?" Hailey asked the question they'd all been thinking. Adam was supposed to give them answers, not pile onto the high stack of questions they already had.

"The Halstead's have been kidnapped."

The silence was unsettling as those five words sunk in. Not just one Halstead but all three had somehow been kidnapped and been missing for several hours now.

"Y/N's phone is offline but the other two put them at the cabin." Adam said very much confused at the information he was reading on his screen. That didn't add up.

"Upton, you stay here with Trudy, you'll be feeding us from here. The rest of you, we're going to Wisconsin."

*****

You winced, pressing your lips together so your cries wouldn't escape, instead you whimpered from the pain. Will was the biggest godsend. He managed to make sure there was no infection, all your wound sites were clean and covered by hundreds of layers of gauze and with the minimal amount of thread, he was able to stitch a few deep wounds.

You had long lost track of time but during the short period Will was tending to you, you became aware of the sweat collecting on his forehead and how his shirt went a darker shade, sticking to him.

"Wh-what happened to you?" You swallowed, poking him gently before pointing to his abdomen. You felt bad for interrupting him mid stitch but you needed to know.

"Nothing." Will lied, trying to keep his breathing steady and even while he finished with you. The pain was unbearable and he could feel his stab wound continue to bleed out; if there was any spare gauze, he'd use it on himself.

"So, what's the prognosis doc?" You said, lips tugging up into a smile, trying to keep the atmosphere somewhat light even if you would fail. At this point, you'd do anything to distract yourself from dwindling into a spiral of what ifs.

"Unfortunately, you're going to live." Will said with faux disappointment painting his face but in reality, he wasn't too sure if what he was saying was the truth or a lie.

You groaned, tutting at the news sending the two of you into a quiet fit of laughter that was short lived when the door was pulled open, resulting in both of you jumping at the loud sound.

A body was pushed into the room, the door slamming shut behind it. You could hear all the locks being turned, the metal scrapping causing you to cringe.

Laying your eyes on the groaning figure, your curiosity disappeared when the unknown figure pushed himself up, showing his face to you and Will.

"Jay?" You and Will said in unison, looking at your brother in confusion. Will very briefly told you about Jay escaping but clearly it failed.

Will immediately got up, stepping away from you to help Jay get onto his feet. He had the occasional bruise and scratch on his face, a few on his hands but your eyes landed on the blood staining his jeans.

"Come one, sit down." Will lead Jay to sit besides you, gently helping him sit up against the wall. When Will was brought to help you, instead of staying in the room you were tortured in, you two were taken back to the basement where the temperature continued to drop each minute.

"You guys okay?" Jay asked, groaning in discomfort when Will looked at the extent of his gunshot wound. "Nevermind, you both look like shit."

"I think I look beautiful." You pouted, replying with sarcasm as you poked his bicep in retaliation. "Thanks a lot for that."

"Your welcome."

*****

Pulling up to the cabin that looked identical to the other three they passed in the last half an hour, the team split up, making sure the entire place was clear before regrouping.

"This place is so clean, it's like they were never even here." Kim shook her head grimly, standing in the middle of the living room, pulling her beanie further down her ears due to how cold it was inside.

"She's right Sarge. Both doors were locked and the cars are locked, still looking for their keys though." Adam suddenly added, passing by in the hallway before disappearing again, most likely joining Kevin somewhere.

"I've got blood." Antonio interjected from his crouched position by the dining table.

Antonio pointed out the spots of blood surrounding a leg of the dining table along with the horribly hidden baseball bat behind one of the chairs, blood on the end.

Kim swallowed harshly at the newly formed information. One of the Halsteads were hurt but by how much time had past, who knew it any of the Halsteads were even alive at this point.

"Just checked the boiler room." Kevin said entering the living room, black gloves on his hand as he held several evidence bags. "I've got two phones, two keys and all their wallets - badges included."

"I want bodies in here and in every corner." Hank ordered, watching Kim get on the phone and call in the nearest police department. "These bastards are hours ahead of us, we have no time to waste."

"Sarge, I've got Trudy and Hailey on the line." Adam joined them, gloves also on his hands from collecting the few pieces of evidence with Kevin.

"What've you got?"

"CCTV and Pods are busted because of the weather. We did see Y/N get in at eight this morning but that's all." Hailey told them, her voice bleeding out the phone from being on speaker.

"Hank, I've been looking at any past cases or people affiliated with the Halsteads." Trudy started, the sounds of paper being shuffled through being heard before she spoke again. "You remember Jackson and Ezra Murray?"

The second Trudy said their names, the entire room froze, dread filling them all. They remembered the brothers like it was yesterday, the trauma they caused for the Halstead siblings was immeasurable and they'd left their dent on everyone who got involved in even the slightest.

"Ezra's dead and Jacksons doing life though." Adam tried fighting back, denial settling in even though it was slowly seeping away. "There's no way."

"Well, apparently there is." Trudy replied, just as confused as everyone else. "And they've got the Halsteads."

"Shit." 

Series Taglist:

@mads-weasley

@sowrongitslottie

@elite4cekalyma

@senjoritanana

[sarahmadpeople]

Family Dinner

Summary: Halstead’s sister thought that this time, family dinner would be peaceful but boy was she wrong.

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Hailey Upton, Will Halstead x Halstead!Reader, Jay Halstead x Halstead!Reader

Characters: Halstead!Sister Reader (OFC), Dad Halstead, Will Halstead, Jay Halstead, Hailey Upton, Jay’s daughter (OFC)

Tags: light angst, fluff, brother love, family dynamics

Warnings: none

Word count: 1101

Disclaimer: i don’t own any of the characters and this is purely fiction but based on true event ✌🏼

a/n: first chicago med fic although i’ve been watching the series since forever,, jay and hailey have a daughter in here (they deserve so much),, sorry for any mistakes and hope you enjoy this short fic ~~

Masterlist

~

There’s no Halstead family dinner that’s uneventful and that includes tonight. Everyone’s here at dad’s home for our weekly dinner. Will was the one who insisted on having dinners like this to spend time together after dad’s narrow escape from death in the apartment fire (and to watch dad’s diet once in a while, not that Will would admit that).

Dad’s seated at one end of the table and Will at the other end while Jay and Hailey sat at one side of the table and Alina and I sat at the other side of the table. Alina is my niece, Jay’s and Hailey’s daughter, who’s turning 8 years old in a few months.

Our plates were all loaded up with food that Will and I cooked since we’re in-charge of dinner tonight.

“The mashed potatoes are so good! I’m guessing Evie cooked it?” Jay said, in between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes. I laughed, “That’s right, big brother, and it’s mom’s recipe so can’t go wrong.”

There’s a pause of silence after I mentioned mom but that’s normal, we all miss her. Trying to cheer the moment, Hailey complimented the pasta that everybody knew Will made because it was his go-to dish to cook (and his most famous in the family). Dinner resumed and everyone made small talks with each other.

“I want to eat bread with nutella,” whined Alina and I glanced over to see that her dinner was already half-eaten. “Go and take the bread and nutella from the kitchen,” I instructed and Alina smiled cheerfully, skipping to the kitchen and back to the dining table with said items.

I helped Alina to spread the nutella on the bread and continued eating my dinner. Not even 5 minutes later, Alina called out to me, “I want more,” so I said, “You can do it yourself, Alina”. I pushed the bread and nutella to her. I was about to continue eating when dad voiced out, “Why can’t you just do it for her? She wants to eat it.”

Before I could even answer, he continued, “Sometimes, I think that you don’t like Alina. The way you treat her at times is just uncalled for.” I looked at dad, was he being serious? Was he really going to talk about this during dinner? Granted I’m not the kind of aunt who’s lovey dovey with their niece but that doesn’t mean I don’t love her. I’m rough with her because she’s like my younger sister who can tolerate and even return that treatment to me. It was like your typical sister siblings behaviour. Regardless, it was a mutual agreement that we don’t upset each other while eating and dad being dad, went straight to break it.

“Dad, Evie’s in the middle of eating, she hasn’t eaten since lunch and was busy the whole evening, besides, Alina’s old enough to spread the nutella on her own.” I heard Will saying. I felt myself shut down, which usually happens when I’m upset.

“Yeah dad, Alina can do it herself, don’t be mad,” Hailey started before turning to me and apologised, “Sorry Evie”. I shook my head and smiled (more like grimaced) at her, whispering a short “it’s okay”. Then, before Alina could reach the bread, I took it and made one for her. My eyes got teary and I knew if I talked I’d cry so I whispered to her, asking if she wanted more. Alina nodded so I made another piece for her.

I went silent the entire dinner. Having lost appetite after what happened, I ate slowly and ended up picking half of what’s left on my plate. I felt Will nudging my leg from under the table and I looked up to see the concern in his eyes. I smiled and continued picking at my food.

One by one, everybody finished their dinner and I carried my own plate together with what’s left on the dining table to the kitchen. Tonight, it was also mine and Will’s turn to clear the dishes and clean the kitchen. So while the two of us were in the kitchen, the rest were in the living room watching tv.

“I’m sorry about dad. He shouldn’t have said that, especially when we’re eating.” Will said, starting what he hoped to be a conversation that I honestly was not in the mood for. I shrugged and replied, “Whatever, not the first time and i’m sure it’s not gonna be the last. Let’s just clear all these so we can go home.” My tone giving Will no room to retort or continue the conversation. So we cleaned in silence and soon dad’s kitchen was back to its original state, clean and tidy.

‘Hey dad, I’m gonna go home first. See ya around,” I didn’t bother to wait for any replies before heading out the front door.

“Evie!” I heard Jay called out and stopped. I felt Jay approaching before he entered my line of sight. “I want to apologise for dinner, about Alina and Dad. I know you love my daughter, no doubt about that. It’s not fair for dad to say that to you, after what you’ve done for Alina ever since she was a baby. I’m not excusing him but it’s not like you don’t know him, right. Please don’t let this be our last family dinner.” Jay said.

I scoffed because yeah, I know what dad is like, but I thought he could’ve at least spared my dignity over dinner. “Don’t worry big brother, I’m not gonna disappear just because of tonight. I’ve faced worst than this, and I’m sorry too about Alina, I could’ve just prepared more than one piece of bread and no drama would occur. It's my fault too.”

Jay laughed and shook his head, “Don’t blame yourself, we’re Halstead, what’s life without drama,” he paused, then continued, “Okay, not gonna keep you here any longer than you’d want, so see ya around kiddo, and wait for Will, you live with him,” Jay ruffled my hair and went back in. Seconds after, Will was rushing out of the house.

“You’re so impatient, lil sis, left me high and dry in there to explain to dad why we’re rushing back home,” I heard Will and rolled my eyes. As Will turned the car engine on, he looked at me and said, “Dad said he’s sorry for what he said just now,”

I nodded. I looked at the house dad stayed and thought about the people inside and knew that I wouldn’t change this family for anything, even with the baggage it comes with.

“Okay.”

~

thankss for reading!! ❤️

[bullet-prooflove]

A quick round up of updates on the blog including new characters added to the ASK LIST and a list of fics that went out last week:

New characters were added to the ask list this week:

Sean Archer

Jack Reacher

Jack Hodgson

AJ Chegwidden

Carlton Lassiter

New Fics:

Chicago Med:

The Only One (NSFW) - You're the only woman Sean has been with sober.

Big Heart - How it starts between you and Mitch.

The Morning After - Mitch makes a decision after the two of you spend the night together.

Fuckable - You and Mitch were never just friends.

The Study Part One: Courting Disaster - Dean realises Jack is courting you.

Sleeping Late - You sleep late for the first time in years. (Jimmy Lanik x Reader)

Chicago PD:

Make Me Forget - Antonio is devastated when he catches up with you after the op.

CSI Vegas:

Something About You - Trey has never been able to figure out how he fell in love with you.

The Equalizer:

Watch Me (NSFW) - You want Harry to see everything he does to you.

FBI:

Little Changes - Stuart notices when you start to make little changes.

FBI International:

Live Stream - You recieve a lead on Damian's location.

Ravaged - You find Damian in a bad way.

FBI Most Wanted:

Attention - Remy realises you need a little extra attention.

Fire Country:

Sunday Mornings - Luke takes your advice and carves out some time for himself.

Haven:

Burden - Dwight carries the entire town's burdens on this shoulders.

All Night (NSFW) - Dwight spends the night with you.

Law & Order:

Pushy - Cyrus has forgotten how pushy you are.

How We Met - Nolan reflects on your relationship.

Happy Birthday - Nolan doesn't celebrate his birthday.

Distraction - You distract Nick from work.

Law & Order SVU:

Say My Name - Joe needs to hear you say his name.

Marvel:

The Day We Met - Frank reflects on the path the relationship has taken.

Mayans:

Future Building - Riz builts you a house.

The Musketeers:

Memories - You and Treville have a lot of history.

Duty - Treville is bound by his sense of duty, even at the cost of your life.

Rubies - Aramis spends a momeny alone with you.

Love You More (NSFW) - Athos hates that he loves you.

NCIS:

In The Night Hours - Alden reflects on your relationship and how far you've come

Nothing I Wouldn't Do - There is nothing you wouldn't do for Nick.

NCIS LA:

At His Best - AJ only wants you to have good memories of your time together.

For Better, For Worse - Your sister Sissy causes problems for you Nik.

Numb3rs:

Invaluable - Ian stays the night.

Psych:

Coffee - Carlton knows something wrong from the way you take your coffee that morning.

Reacher:

Not What I Expected - You aren't what Reacher expected.

The Rookie:

Out of Your League - John has always thought you were beautiful.

Scars - John loves you and all your scars.

The Rookie Feds:

Lifetime - Brendon is building a life with someone else.

Climax (NSFW) - You think about Brendon on the day of his wedding.

Silent Witness:

The Backseat - You and Jack have an unusual meet cute.

Cursed - Jack is sure his car is cursed.

SOA:

Worship (NSFW) - Tig worships you in the bedroom.

ATF!Series Part One: A Rabbit You Don't Want To Chase - Stahl makes an unwelcome return to David's life.

Triple Frontier:

Break (NSFW) - Frankie forces you to take a break.

Yellowstone:

Bluebelle - Walker sings you a very important song.

Stop Thinking, Start Listening - Ryan hates seeing you with another man.

[dasboligrafo]

Illinoise -- May 24, 2025 @ St James Theatre

Oh my god, what to say about this one. Remember my theatre rating system (how many times I cried, over 5?) By the system, this show is...what percentage is infinity out of 5?

Basically, the lights went down, the (absolutely fantastic) band swelled out the first few bars of "Concerning the UFO Sighting," and I started silently weeping and I. Could. Not. Stop. for the remainder of the show. Despite being, generally, a huge crybaby, I could not have predicted that reaction.

I passed on seeing this show at the Armory (I have a string of terrible decisions involving the Armory...I still have not seen Lehman Trilogy after passing on seeing it on opening night, among so many others.) I will say I'm not sure that was, for once, necessarily the wrong decision, just because it's hard for me to imagine seeing this show there, especially from high up in the seats. I suppose it depends on the showz but that space can feel quite alienating. The St James is a pretty small theatre and I doubt there are any really bad seats in the house as a result. I'm sure the show got sanitized, some edges polished unto anodyne for Broadway. It doesn't matter. It was so fucking moving.

Before taking my seat, I grabbed my summer theatre treat of choice (the $50 big white wine, with ice. Pure class) and the lady who sold me the drink, while perfectly friendly, asked me what I knew about the show in that sort of tacky way I get asked about stuff in New York by younger white people who assume they must know more than me than whatever interest of theirs I'm about to engage in. (I guess, interpreting charitably, I look like a tourist to them.) I mumbled something about Justin Peck and NYCB, not even trying to get to -- listen, Lady, Sufjan was the music we listened to in college, so by extension, it is the LAST popular music I am aware exists. Sufjan is very much the soundtrack of my life.

Only I didn't really realize that, apparently, until I saw the show? Although I listen to Seven Swans a few times a year, I didn't realize, prior to "Illinoise," that I know every word to "Illinois."

The thing about "Illinois" is that, like all great generational works of art (there, I said it), you can receive it entirely differently depending on your age at the time you encounter it. So when I heard "Illinois" as young dumbass, I thought it was music about yearning; about the things you want so badly and might never realize and/or might not be able to front the cost. And now as an old(er) dumbass I find the record is about regret, about the things you give up and the mistakes you make ("I made a lot of mistakes...") making those choices or letting them happen to you, and about how the choices haunt you, even as you're making them. And I didn't understand that then, although the *second* word sung on the record is "revenant."

The *magic* of this record is that it is spiritual concept folk-rock opera music, still managing to connect, in an age devoid of spiritualism and shy of conceptual pop music, with an incredibly broad audience. To clarify, I'm talking about the current age; when the record came out, you could still make a concept album. I believe that age ended around 2012, Kendrick Lamar excepted. I don't know when the age of spiritualism ended, I think it was before I was conscious of contemporary art works. If you go to a Sufjan Stevens concert, or to "Illinoise" for that matter, you will be treated to the sight of literal children -- people under 15 years old -- singing all the lyrics. And crying millennials, naturally. My boomer friend told me "Chicago" is his and his (gen z) daughter's song, dating to when he drove her to Chicago for graduate school.

And oh, yes, it is a sublime piece of Americana purporting to exalt the state of Illinois and its millions of inhabitants and events, past and present, and actually examining, at the most personal level, how faith can fail to deliver you, and still impart your life with grace.

The magic of "Illinoise" is that it is a concept ballet masquerading as Broadway, of all things, i.e. an expression of universalism and accessible theatrical cliche where the text is, incredibly, a tale-as-old-as-time style campfire story anthology (hello, Decameron! I've got your story framing device here....) WITH NO DIALOGUE, about leaving your (gay) lover behind to experience the pleasure and promise of the big city and how you will feel regret and gratitude forever for the gift of having him, the gift of moving on, the gift and curse of free choice, the curse of loss.

When I think about "Illinois" only barely disguising its core concern with Christianity ("to recreate us...all things go, all things go" only a couple misunderstood syllables away from "to the Creator..." for example) and outright telling us what it's about in other places ("I made a lot to mistakes," "If I was crying, in the van, with my friend, it was for freedom from myself and from the land," etc)...this beautiful directness and lack of high-minded artifice was always already destined to be on Broadway. I didn't mind that the show is, at times, frankly...quite literal. I experienced "Illinoise" as the rare miracle of a message arriving packaged in its perfect medium. I feel so fortunate to have seen it.

Coda: I thought the dancing was fantastic, easily my favorite Justin Peck choreo this year. Genuinely accessible, technically proficient, appropriate to its text and moving.

[dreadsuitsamus]

Chicago | Renji Abarai x Reader |

part two

author's note: the song in this fic is called Chicago by Highly Suspect! very good song and very good band that i recommend 🫶 also, this is that other au i had thought of the other day haha

pairing: renji abarai x fem!reader

warnings: au, angst, lost love, renji-centric

A ring of smoke is pushed from Renji's lips as he leans against the balcony railing. He's home for once, and he remembered almost instantly why he hates it so much— too big, too empty, too quiet. It's the near polar opposite of his usual daily shenanigans, and the twinkle of one particular star, the one that shines brighter than all the rest, has his chest clutching a fierce vice over his heart.

"Baby, I met you in downtown Chicago." He sings quietly; he can't count the amount of times he lost a song this way, neglecting to write down what comes to his mind when inspiration surges. But this one has always been different, with each lyric stuck and a melody he's never cared to write branded ever since his downtrodden feelings and regrets guided his creativity to it in the first place.

He glances over his shoulder to his mansion, and he takes another puff from his smoke as he heads back inside from the cool, airy night. The piano in the foyer calls him, and who has he ever been but at the mercy of the music? There's an ashtray on the piano that he doesn't remember leaving behind, but it's convenient and he doesn't question it as he sets his cigarette down and ties his red hair up.

Renji's never been much of a social media user, usually leaving it to the band's team of publicists to make the majority of his posts— but he can't help but start a live video after setting his phone atop the piano, silently hoping you'll be watching.

Would you be? Do you even follow him, after all the years and the way he broke your heart?

"Why am I fucking up so bad?" He says to himself, staring blankly at the piano keys. "What am I even doing?"

She's not watching.

"When am I ever gonna learn what it is she already knows?"

And he hates the lump in his throat, despises the way his eyes blur for just a moment. He's on camera, self-imposed at that, and yet he wants to cry his eyes out for a love he lost through his own actions. It's all his fault, always was. It was never over the money or fame— no, those he could do without. But he had to follow the music, and it was just something you could never understand.

Before the pause gets too long and his agent could send a SWAT team to his house and intervene, Renji's fingers begin to move over the piano keys. It's not entirely confident and he's certainly playing with the melody for the first time, but he's able to find a stride in mere seconds. It's in his natural born talent and the skill of being a musician for so long, and he manages to find a sliver of pride for himself in all of this.

"Baby, I met you in downtown Chicago. But I, I had to drive away the very next day. So I flew your pretty ass to New York City. Then I… I left you in L.A."

The song isn't much more than him plainly spilling his truth and regrets, perhaps from the lack of actually writing it down and trying. And if that alone isn't an allegory for how he treated your relationship, then at the very least the irony isn't lost on him. He could've tried harder, could've walked away…

He said he'd lose himself if he didn't keep going. You said you'd lose yourself if you went with him. Maybe you were both selfish. Or maybe you were just smarter than him.

Yeah, you definitely are that.

Renji feels it but he can't brush away the tear on his face, and fuck he's gonna get some shit for this one. Unrehearsed song and it's clear, it's late at night and there's no way in hell you'd be watching, for fuck's sake it's about two a.m. in your time— if you're still in Chicago, anyway. And now he's crying on camera, his smoke has fizzled out and he's as sober as ever, no blaming any drugs on this one. It's too raw and it's too much and it's too fucking bad that nobody will ever understand his reasons.

He should've stayed in Chicago.

"So it's another late night out here in California. And I'm, I'm burying my pain into somebody else. And now you're back at home living with your mama, got my first record sitting on your shelf."

The somebody else left him sometime ago too, and he can't find it in him to blame her or even miss her. She knew as well as he did that she wasn't much of a replacement that could fill his heart. And all he did was laugh when he'd come home from a tour and the house had been wiped out of the pretty things. God, he's an asshole.

When the song's finally done and he can stop making a fool of himself, he picks his phone up and swiftly ends the live, chucking his phone into some direction and heading upstairs to bed with all the lights left on.

Renji's in Chicago again a few months later, on another tour and the band's genius, asshole agent whipped his vulnerability into a positive and now it's a single that he performs every goddamn night. Might as well go ahead and commercialize this pain too, he thinks to himself before each performance. Maybe one day it'll make it hurt less, and he'll be numb to it.

There's no fault in hoping, but he knows better than to truly believe that.

He's doing his best to be incognito as he walks around the city, with a hood up over his fiercely colored hair and sunglasses on his face despite the dreary, cloudy sky above him. There's a café with outdoor seating nearby, and he nearly breaks his expensive sunglasses when he sees the waitress tending to an elderly couple on the patio.

You're still here, and you're a waitress again.

His heart's in his throat and he wants to scream, to run for you and hold you again. His eyes burn with sudden tears and then fuck, you see him too. His legs are moving and then he's jogging, and you're tentative but you're moving towards him too—

"Baby!" His voice cracks and he reaches out his hand to you.

"Renji…" Oh he could cum right now at how sweet your voice sounds his name out.

There's so much to say and he wants to say it all… But there's those telltale screams again, the ones he tried to avoid. And you know them just as well as he does, and with that the moment's lost. You shake your head despite his drowned pleadings of "No, no, no!" and walk away as he's surrounded by adoring fans that are ecstatic he's come to their hometown, asking relentlessly for autographs and if he's performing Chicago tonight—

You spare him a merciful glance over your shoulder before you go back inside, and when you blow him that kiss…

Renji realizes you were watching him make a fool of himself on that night after all. And for just a second, he'd made you a hopeful fool again. But nothing about reality has changed.

He's gonna keep following the music, and his manager's gonna keep spinning the fruit of that painful decision into profit.

And you'll still be in Chicago, failing to forget him.

[greatwesternway]

Traintober Day 24: Odd Jobs - Iron Show Pony

1948 - The Chicago Railroad Fair "Wheels-A-Rolling" Pageant

"You there, you know your mark, don't you?" 999 asked the engine facing the opposite direction on the other track. She'd just come off stage from her brief role in the pageant and the next engine, a stainless steel diesel-electric, was waiting for his cue.

"Yes, I know my mark," Pioneer assured her. "Right before the end of the stage."

"Just make sure you hit it exactly," 999 told him. "There's going to be a lot of people moving around before and after. Let's have no mistakes to pull focus." She had been next to last in the show, if you didn't count all these cars and bicycles and horses. The last thing she wanted was this new upstart diesel messing up his entrance and upstaging her grand charge across the stage, a pale reduced recreation of her record breaking run that it was.

That he had been given the finale just for being the newest was a slight enough. At least they were making him go slowly. Speed record or not - and hers still beat his by half a mile per hour - he'd only done it the once. He wasn't practiced at demonstrating his speed. He couldn't be trusted to do more than glide across the stage and stop just short of the wing so his flat, slanted front end stayed in view and everyone could see how shiny he was.

"Not to worry, Miss," Pioneer said. "I'll do it right."

---

1963 - The Museum of Science and Industry

"You might have said you'd been the star in an entire movie!" 999 pouted.

"Imagine trying to impress the famous No. 999 with that," Pioneer defended. "As if you would even have seen it."

"No, you just let me go on like that to a seasoned show engine instead." Worse than learning that Pioneer had extensive stage experience was knowing that he'd indulged her in the notion that he didn't.

"You're so famous, I was a little awed to be getting advice from 'The Queen of Speed'," Pioneer recalled. He graciously neglected to recall further that it was advice he hadn't needed. "There's not a lot of engines who can tell you something like that. And you'd already done so many more of those pageants than I had."

"Humph."

"It's not exactly the same doing it live either. If you miss the mark on film, they let you do it over," Pioneer went on. "In a live show, you do have to get it right in one try. So it wasn't as if you were wrong to say so."

999 stayed silent, but Pioneer thought she might be softening so he pressed on.

"It wasn't even a very good movie from what I heard."

"Yes, well…" 999 said, trailing to let him appreciate the gift of her forgiveness. "The important thing is we put on a perfect show. And you did hit that mark exactly."

[tinylittledeergirl]

You can read the first chapter of my story, Promise, here!! The rest of the story is on wattpad. It’s still ongoing, and I’ve published up to chapter five!! My username on wattpad is Cutewith0braincells. Hope you enjoy!!

March, 1994

The flashing lights and shouting voices seemed to fall into some deep, grey void in which they were the only things that remained. Or perhaps that's all he remembered since his face was promptly shoved into his mother's side as soon as they arrived upon the scene.

An unmoving body lay on a covered stretcher and a motorcycle lay on the ground a few feet away, crumpled like aluminum foil.

Theodore tried to quietly peek his head just a little, just to get a better understanding of what had happened, but he heard his mother's quiet and tearful mutterings of "don't look at it, Theo."

He looked out just long enough to catch his father's face as he watched them unzip a fragment of the body bag to reveal Theo's brother, bloody and cold.

At some point, as Theo had turned his head towards the scene he heard one of the medics carefully explaining that his death was caused when his vehicle flipped forwards, and his head had hit the pavement.

His father returned from the scene in front of them to cradle his family.

Nobody ever really knew where Tristan went, and nobody really worried over it either. Even Theo's mother and father had given up thinking about it, so Tristan did what he wanted, whether it be sneaking out or skipping school or buying a motorcycle and driving it as recklessly as he pleased. There was a silent recognition that everyone agreed on that one day Tristan would just leave and not come back and that fact was inevitable. Now that his dead body was right in front of them, they began to wonder if they were wrong and it was very easy to change the outcome this entire time.

Theo's parents whispered quiet promises to each other that they would do better this time. They both held their son a little tighter when they made those promises. Theo didn't really know what they meant by that, but he knew that he had to be better too. For his parents. He then quietly peeked at Tristan as they wheeled him away. Theo had to be better for him too.

He sat there, his backpack on his lap with his phone up to his ear.

"Hey, Theo. It's Chris. From college, you know. I know we haven't talked in... years, but I heard from an old friend about how you're doin'. I wanted to say I'm sorry. That's awful, but I'm in New York, and I've got a guest room. Not trying to make it seem like charity or anything, but if you don't have a place, the invitation is open. Call me back if you're willing to stay here, and we can work something out."

Theo had very few memories of college and all that came before it. He knew that he was happier than he was now. Chris was, at one point, a very close friend to Theo. The downward spiral that began at age nineteen had eventually led him to homelessness on the streets of Chicago after he lost his job a little over a year ago, and he lacked any motivation to get another. The city he had moved to so many years ago that held so many promises and opportunities. That same city was now grey and empty. Anything important that he owned was stored in the book-bag that he held in his lap, and he had probably worn the same thick coat for a week straight. The cold bench on the sidewalk made it hard to believe that there was a time when his life was warm and forgiving. He had tried desperately for many years to remember where that life had shattered, and how he could put the pieces back together, but it never worked. No matter how many times he fixed every bad decision in his mind, he realized that he was always going to end up here.

He stared at his phone for a few minutes after the message had finished, his eyes not moving for a second. He wasn't sure what he was looking at, as his vision began to shift and blur the longer he stared at the unmoving screen, contemplating whether or not he should even respond, and what he could possibly say to something like that if he did. It went black a couple of times before he clicked it back on just to stare at the screen some more. He picked up his things and stood up, not sure where he was headed.

May, 1994

"Oh, you have a son?" Cecilia asked, car keys dangling from her finger. Her accent was the thickest the other had ever heard. She had inly moved from Italy with the past few months and she had only spoken to Neoma once in her short time at the office. It seemed like the first sunny day in a very long time.

Neoma smiled and nodded. "Theodore. He's seven," she explained. "He's been having a hard time. He's always been quiet, but he's hardly been talking at all recently."

Cecilia slowly nodded her head to affirm that she was listening. "Something happened?"

"Mhm. His brother passed just a few months ago. He was a lot older." She looked at the ground with one hand on her hip.

"Oh, so sorry," she tilted her head in concern. "They were close?"

Neoma shook her head slightly. "Not really, no. Their age difference sort of stopped that, and Tristan was never really home to see Theo, so they didn't know each other very well." She waved her hands in the air to shoo her thoughts. "Sorry about all that, I didn't mean to... anyways. Do you have kids?"

Cecilia nodded. "I have a daughter. She's a... loud girl, but not very good with English yet. Genevra. Almost seven years old. She doesn't have friends in America yet. All her family is in Italy."

Neoma smiled. "She sounds sweet," she mentioned, slowly stepping towards her car. She opened her door and stopped for just a moment. "Cecilia?"

Cecilia perked up for a moment and looked at Neoma, signaling for her to go on.

"Maybe we could get them to meet up? If you're not okay with that, that's fine. But I think it'd be good for Theo to make a friend."

Cecilia shrugged to herself. "I don't mind. Gena can be hard to get along with, but you can try."

"Okay. We'll set something up, then. See you tomorrow." Neoma waved as she got in her car and pulled out of her parking space.

Gena was a little surprised to find that she was going to meet a strange American boy, and even more surprised to find that he didn't want to speak to her, even after she so politely greeted him.

"Mamma, non sta parlando," she said, turning towards her mother and looking at her with very serious and disappointed eyes.

Her mother firmly grasped her arm and crouched to her level, leaning in towards her ear. "Genevra, smettila."

Gena pulled her arm from her mother's hand and took a step forward. "Perché sei arrabbiato? Lo non ho fatto niente." She proceeded towards Theo, who stood with his head down and hands in his pockets. "My name is Gena," she introduced. "Yours?"

Theo lifted his head and looked at her. "Theodore," he said before putting his head back down.

"Okay," she said, taking his hand and pointing to the other side of the park. "There." Gena pulled him along, sitting down in the grass beside him. She had led him to some shady spot under a tree, away from the heat of the sun, beginning to transition from a mild spring to a very hot summer.

He plucked up little pieces of grass and tossed them back to the ground as he listened to her tell stories, half of which he couldn't understand. He found himself laughing when she did nonetheless. She spoke with so much young confidence that he felt like he knew what she was saying.

Most memories of Theo's life before college centered around Gena. There were times when remembering her caused him this guilty, aching feeling for reasons he couldn't remember. This feeling was typically followed by the familiar, eerie words in his head. Word's that didn't sound like his own voice.

"You had everything. What did you do with it?"

He ignored that relentless voice, no matter how it always echoed in the back of his head.

"You had everything. What did you do with it?"

The only face that Theo could ever put with this voice was Tristan's. He could never remember actually looking at his brother face-to-face. Every image of Tristan that Theo had crafted in his head was solely off of the pictures around his parents' house growing up. The voice that he had made up was entirely from his own mind. There wasn't a single instance where Theo could recall his brother's voice, and there weren't any recordings of him speaking. All he knew was that this voice wasn't his own, and that Tristan was certainly watching him right now. He was watching when Theo ruined his own life after Tristan had died for him to have everything growing up. He was watching Theo give up everything for nothing at all.

Hours passed until he finally responded to Chris's message.

"Hey. I don't really know how to respond to that kinda thing, but thank you, and I think I'll take you up on your offer. Won't bother you or anything; I'll just be there to sleep at night and nothing else."

[keanureevesisbae]

↳ ❝ [a love story - 1.] ¡!❞

Hank Voight x Kazuha Takahashi (asian ofc)

Summary: Kazuha's grandmother Georgina just met Hank Voight.

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 1.1k

A/N: hi everyone, i'm sorta back. this is a little love story i envisioned. i hope you enjoy it!

Masterlist // One Chicago Masterlist // a love story masterlist

It had been a very quiet few minutes after me and my grandfather first got into the car. I know it’s unfair to give a man his age the cold shoulder, but to be entirely fair: he totally deserved it.

‘Grandpa, what did we agree on?’

He huffs. ‘That whenever I have to go to the store, I ask you to come with me.’

‘And what did you do?’ I ask, ignoring his initial stubbornness. My tone resembles that of a kindergarten teacher.

‘I went to the store.’ Grandpa picks up on the silence I leave between us. ‘By myself.’

‘Do you have any idea how irresponsible that was of you?’ I ask, as I raise my tone.

My grandpa has the audacity to scoff at me. ‘I have been going to the store a lot longer than you’ve been alive, Kazuha. I can manage.’

‘But you’re eighty four now, grandpa. Just ask me next time, instead of having the clerk of the store needing to call me because you suddenly can’t remember the way home.’ I want to scold some more, but he would only become more pouty and he is too old to have these types of long discussions with anyway. When I was younger, the two of us had endless debates, but our last discussion was when I was seventeen and he was sixty eight. 

A lot has happened since then.

A lot of misfortunate, meaning discussions are not in question anymore.

‘Listen grandpa,’ I continue, ‘I worry about you, okay? I get that you want to go to the store by yourself, but I just want you to be safe. I can’t lose you.’

He stays silent, sighing deeply. ‘I’m old. You’ll lose me eventually.’

I groan. ‘I am well aware, yes, but that can’t happen anytime soon. I need you to last a little while longer. Just don’t do this anymore, okay?’

Knowing he is skating on very thin ice, grandpa doesn’t scoff, huff or struggle. Instead he simply says: ‘Okay, I won’t.’

My grandparents have been there for me when I needed them the most. Living with them is the cheapest way for me to survive now. They don’t want me to pay rent, meaning I get to save and pay off debts I had been creating due to my previous housing situation.

I park the car in front of our house in Bridgeport. It’s a nice little neighborhood and they moved here around five years ago. While I loved their old house, where I spend a lot of my time growing up, this is a much better fit, a better neighborhood for them to live. 

I really owe a lot to my mother’s parents, as me and my own folks didn’t get along very well. Unlike my paternal grandparents who lived in Japan, grandma and grandpa took me in when I was fifteen, because according to my own parents, I was an out of control teen. 

I’ve always wondered what I had done wrong, but I think it was a lot of things. Me and my parents have never really seen eye to eye. 

When I step out of the car and wait for my grandpa to do the same, I hear a loud: ‘Hi baby!’

I turn around, as I don’t see my grandmother in the doorway of our place. On the other side of the street, I watch her walking out of the house, holding a man’s arm. I have seen him around, as he is the one who lives across from us. I know that man drives a car that is a perfect representation of who he truly is. 

‘Grandma!’ I yell.

On her pace—which isn’t very quick—the two of them walk over to us.

‘Who’s the sleaze ball?’

‘Grandpa, shut it,’ I hiss. Once she’s closer, I ask her: ‘What happened?’

‘I locked myself out of the house,’ she chuckles. ‘Thankfully our sweet neighbor saw me, provided me with a cup of tea and a nice couch to sit on. Honey, this is Hank Voight, he works for the CPD. Real stuff.’ She pats our neighbor Hank on the arm and says: ‘This is my husband Richard and our granddaughter Kazuha.’

‘Mister Voight,’ grandpa says, holding out a bony and shaky hand. ‘Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you for taking good care of my wife.’

‘Of course,’ Hank says. 

‘Now I gotta keep an eye on her, there is a chance she’ll stray.’

‘I would never,’ grandma says.

Hank holds out his hand for me. ‘Hank Voight, nice to meet you.’

‘Hi,’ I say, my insides twisting and turning in a way I’m not used to. ‘I’m Kazuha.’

‘That’s a beautiful name,’ he says. ‘Never heard it before.’

I smile. ‘It’s Japanese,’ I say. 

He nods, offering me a small smile. 

‘Thank you for taking care of my grandmother. I always tell her to hook her keys on her pants, but she never does. She’s stubborn, like this old man. A true match made in heaven.’

‘Your grandmother told me quite the stubborn stories about you,’ Hank says. ‘Guess you got that from them.’

I let out a chuckle, straightening my light green dress as I am balancing on my Chanel heels that match the color of my dress. Sure, I could be paying off debts, but shopping is too much fun anyway. Originally I had a day off. I would spend it shopping with my friends, however I had to short cut it because of a wandering grandpa. ‘I bet she did,’ I say. ‘Well, thanks again for taking her in. I really appreciate it.’

‘Of course.’ Hank looks at my grandmother, smiling at her. ‘It was a pleasure having you around, Georgina.’ 

‘I might be forgetting my keys soon,’ she jokes. ‘Spending time with a handsome man like you… If I go like that, I’ll go like that.’

‘Don’t joke about death, grandma,’ I say. ‘Really, you two are costing me years of my life.’ 

As the two of them are bickering and make their way over to the front door, I look over at Hank Voight. ‘Thank you,’ I say once again. ‘I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.’

‘Your grandmother is a nice woman,’ he says, ‘I’m glad I was there to help.’ Hank nods at me, before he looks at his phone. ‘I have to go, I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay. I’ll see you later, mister Voight.’

‘Hank,’ he says. ‘Just call me Hank.’

‘Sorry. Later  Hank.’

He smiles. ‘Later Kazuha.’

I stare at him as he crosses the street and goes back to his house. I feel like I can tell so much about him, just by watching him walk, open the door and the way he held my grandmother. There are contrasts and not gonna lie, I am kinda intrigued.

‘Kazuha!’ I hear my grandmother’s annoyed and impatient voice. ‘You’ve got the keys! Stop eyeing our handsome neighbor and get us inside.’

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

Chicago PD taglist (I operate one chicago pd taglist, so one list for all one shots and multichaptered stories): @acdassenza // @wanniiieeee // @one-sweet-gubler // @sofiebstar // @diegos-butt //

[gregorygerwitz]

Hi. I'd like to hear about the handlers for Mouse? That sounds interesting. I promise you're not shouting into the void. I know that sometimes talking about interests can be terrifying so I don't blame you for not wanting to but you have at least one listener, I promise.

I'm just having a rough morning, mentally. I cried twice before 9am but it's fine. I'm fine. Lots of stressful things going on in my life and I'm still waiting to hear back from an apartment so I know whether we actually have a place to move into next month, and it's just A Lot. Being enthusiastic about AUs is my distraction from that so I don't spiral and it's just kind of felt like, yeah, shouting into the void and having the void sit there silently, for the most part. But it's fine! I'm fine! It's hockey night tonight and my team is playing and that's gonna be my focus later!

And I will happily babble about Mouse's handlers. Them and their roles in the story are absolutely fascinating to me. He's had two: one who doesn't have a name when he was in the army, and one when he came back to Chicago who is not "officially" his handler and just kind of stumbled into the role completely by accident.

warnings: mentions of death, canon typical violence, PTSD

And it will all be under a read more because it got really long oops

The thing about these super soldiers and their handlers... Mouse is the only one whose official handler wasn't someone he knew beforehand. Because of the nature of the super soldiers, they're very fixated on their mission when they get it, and that puts them in the moment to an insane degree. They need a Handler to stop them from going too far or going after the wrong target if they get caught up in the situation - they're trained to seek out threats and eliminate them, but not every threat they perceive is one they can reasonably act on, and they do occasionally need someone to remind them of that.

A Handler has to be someone the soldiers trust more than anything. It has to be someone whose connection with them is strong enough to break through the programming and training and ground them back in reality. The Handlers are a huge risk to the project, because they could completely uproot it if they really wanted to. The Handlers could talk the soldiers out of any mission, so they're just as carefully selected as the soldiers themselves - and most of them were selected in pairs.

Soldiers had units they used to fight with, people they trusted more than anything to watch their backs and keep them safe. They were recruited with friends so that they would have a Handler for missions from the very start. Mouse was actually recruited into the project as a back up when one of the original picks for the project was killed in action and no longer an option.

So, instead of having a ready made handler recruited with him (not that anyone in his new unit was close enough to him for that bond to have been created yet anyway), he was kind of... shoved onto this guy who just lost his best friend. And they got along, it was fine, but it wasn't the kind of bond that everyone else in the project had. So, when a mission started to go sideways and the handler stepped in to try to get Mouse to back down, there wasn't enough trust for Mouse to listen to that. Instead, he only saw it as another threat, so he took it out.

The entire project was disbanded and everyone involved was sent back to civilian life, everything was written off as a medical discharge with the project's doctors signing off on it so that no one would dig too much if they had questions.

The Soldier-Handler pairs who were still alive (all of them but Mouse's handler), went and settled down in the same city, some of them even became roommates or romantic partners. The super soldiers still need handlers to keep them from going off the rails, in certain situations, so they just stayed close, just in case something like that came up. Mouse, on the other hand, was alone when he was sent back to Chicago, and he went back to what was familiar and surrounded himself with people who (hopefully) wouldn't set off his new fear response - he went back to working with Intelligence and seeing Jay every day and being with family as much as he could.

He has so much new PTSD on top of all the things he was already trying to manage and work through, and he's mostly blocked out the incident where he killed his handler. But he still has nightmares that he brushes of as fears with is new abilities, what ifs that he doesn't actually have to deal with. It just feels so real, and he can't talk to anyone about it without sharing the details of what he went through, and why would he want to drag anyone else into it? Why would he want to doom anyone else to the fear that he has to live with every single day?

When Jay gets taken, that secret that he lives with gets out, for obvious reasons. Mouse is absolutely still terrified that he's going to snap and hurt someone he cares about if they get too close, but like... it's the team? They don't care about the risks, they'll do anything for each other.

It means Jay is throwing himself into research, trying to figure out anything he can about the super soldier project and how to help with it. He's setting off alarms looking at government files, but he doesn't care, because his friend needs help, and he's going to provide it.

And that's the start of how he, completely accidentally, becomes Mouse's new handler.

It's not like the first handler he had. They aren't thrown together and told to do their best - they already trust each other and have leaned on each other for years. So, if and when Jay tells him to stand down, Mouse knows to trust that order and where it's coming from. It the bond that he was supposed to have but never experienced when he was actively part of the super soldier project. It's a whole mountain of trust that everyone else got that he didn't - and that trust not being there is what got someone killed when they didn't need to be. But he trusts Jay, and knows that he isn't a threat and never will be, and that is exactly what a handler is supposed to be.

And maybe, in some back hallway in a government facility when they start getting answers, Mouse admits that he's scared. He admits that he's terrified that he's going to lose control again and kill someone else, that this time it's not going to be someone who was basically just a coworker to him, but his best friend, or someone else on the team, another member of his family. He's so scared that he's going to have so much more blood on his hands because he's already done it once, what's stopping him from doing it again?

Except... Jay has him literally backed into a corner so they can have a private conversation. He's trapped, vulnerable, a situation that's programmed into him to trigger fear and that violent response. He's supposed to be lashing out and fighting to get into a safer position to fight against a threat. He's supposed to be killing whoever is in his way and taking control back in that kind of position. But he's not scared at all.

Because a Handler isn't a threat.

[ohblackdiamond]

black and gold (kiss/endgame crossover, part 19 of ?)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16 | part 17 | part 18

Prequel to “the end of the world tour.” Four ex-bandmates and even-more-ex-superheroes reunite in the aftermath of Thanos’ snap, and attempt to adjust.

In this chapter: "There’s shit I gotta get over. That’s what she’s telling me. I gotta do better. Be better. But I keep fucking up, you know? I keep fucking up."

After all their travels, Paul and Gene finally make it to Peter's house.

“FEMA Beneficiaries: Refugees and Rockers”

Associated Press, Chicago, Illinois

Celebrities have been the last thing on anyone’s mind lately. 

Some are tweeting-- apocalypse claims, government conspiracy theories. Some are donating, most especially Tony Stark of Stark Industries. But most have stayed silent, and stayed put.

Most. The road warriors of rock and roll, Gene Simmons and Paul Stanley of KISS, in what may be the most telling sign of the times yet, were seen in a FEMA breadline, both bearded and almost entirely unrecognizable. 

They paid for the food, before you ask. They’re traveling, they say, to Connecticut. Their path has been as fraught as any ordinary American’s; their tragedy is the world’s. Simmons and Stanley aren’t returning to their families. They have no families to return to.

Simmons is talkative enough, though Stanley is more aloof as they settle in to take a bite beneath a FEMA tent. Neither is dressed for the below-freezing weather, the seven-inch heels have taken a backseat to worn-out athletic shoes. Simmons notices my glance down.

“You like them? I was going to throw these to the crowd on the cruise,” he says. “They’re serving me better on my feet right now.”

Cruises may never happen again for years. The me-generation, franchise-heaving seventies excess that KISS once represented has never been more blatantly out of reach. Two weeks ago, I might have asked about album plans and tour stops, about Simmons’ recentish marriage and Stanley’s painting escapades. That’s irrelevant now.

I feel like just by spotting them beneath the tent, I’ve pulled the mask off the Lone Ranger. KISS exposed is just another reflection of the brave new world we’ve been saddled with, half a population struggling to survive. And yet, I’m craving. Maybe I want something to believe in among the ashes. A lunchbox superhero to greet me at the last days. Plastic-wrapped and pre-packaged. They can’t oblige-- their last crimefighting stint was in 1980-- but I’d like to see some vestiges. I’d like a little comfort.

Simmons scolds me, gently. The real heroes, in his opinion, are the FEMA workers, the healthcare workers, the law enforcement-- anyone, and everyone, who’s stepped up in the wake of the devastation. Not KISS. “We’re very ordinary, ultimately.”

“Like everyone else, we’re just trying to go home.” Stanley looks a bit surprised at his own words, then, quietly, elaborates. “We’re going to see our old bandmates.”

And what then? For once, even Simmons doesn’t have an answer. I can speculate-- Simmons in particular is known for charitable donations-- but I don’t know. At the end of the world, maybe going home is the best that they, or any of us, can do.

-- 

The road went on. Paul would drive for five hours at a time, then an hour of rest, then another five hours, then they’d sleep in parking lots or FEMA campsites or national parks. Once, they were able to wash their clothes, and twice they got to shower. 

They had run out of cash before they’d hit New England, but that didn’t matter much now that their cards were working again. They’d been eating mostly peanut butter sandwiches and whatever else they could pay for over the last several days. Gene was feeling himself falter, in odd, funny ways. Sometimes, with the lull of the motor, he could almost make himself pretend they were just on tour for a few foolish seconds, before he’d see a campsite or a pile of abandoned cars or a burnt-out building and remember. Pure escapism. 

“Gene?”

Paul reached out, patting his thigh. It was midmorning, and he was driving again. Gene stirred.

“We’re about three hours from Peter’s place, if the traffic doesn’t get any worse.”

“We better call him.” 

“Yeah. You… you go ahead and call.”

“Put it on speaker?” 

Paul inclined his head.

“Hey.” Ace’s voice was tinny.

“Hey. We should be here in about three more hours.”

“Good. Good. Lemme get Peter.” Ace didn’t cover the phone, though Gene hadn’t expected him to, and he could hear Ace yelling Peter’s name. Could practically feel Paul stiffen up as Peter’s voice came through the speaker. 

“Three hours?”

“Yeah. Hopefully.” Gene felt his lips start to raise in a battered attempt at a smile. “Don’t roll out the red carpet.”

“I won’t. Ace told me about the fucking truck.”

Paul mumbled a curse barely below his breath. 

“Do you need anything?” It felt a little stupid to ask. “We weren’t sure how much you’d been able to get out.”

“We ain’t been out at all, Gene.” 

God. Gene glanced sidelong at Paul, who didn’t glance his way. They both had to be going completely stir-crazy. They both used to get so antsy on tour when KISS had been stuck, really stuck, in their hotel rooms. Even Paul had succumbed once or twice to the standard rockstar antics, throwing all his furniture out the window in a fit of pique (and, Gene suspected, drunkenness).

“Is it really that bad out there?”

“You’d know better than us. Wouldn’t you?”

“Petey…” Ace again.

“Ace just won’t leave me here alone. I didn’t figure he’d be playing fucking nursemaid out here.”

“’M just trying to help.”

“Trying to–”

“We’ve got some loaf bread and canned goods, but we don’t have very much else. We’ll be bringing those. If there’s anything you need, we can try to get it.” Gene didn’t elaborate on how difficult it was to really get even basic staples, between the rioting and looting. The help from FEMA had been sluggish at best.

“We don’t need any–”

“Oranges,” Ace said.

“Oranges?” Paul, incredulous. “Are you kidding?”

“You don’t gotta go out of your way for ’em–”

“What do you want with oranges?”

“Well, I wanna eat ’em, Paul. Open my mouth and chew and swallow.” Ace’s tone was unusually dry. Not even the hint of a laugh in his voice. “They’re healthy.”

“You don’t ever  fucking quit, do you?” Peter snapped out.

“Peter, I didn’t mean–”

“We’ll try to get some oranges,” Gene said quickly. “We’ll see you soon.”

–

Paul was quiet from then on. It took longer than the three hours he’d been vying for. For whatever reason, Paul had gotten hellbent on those oranges, stopping in five different areas before he was able to garner a plastic bag full of them. 

“What’d you pay for those?” Gene asked, once they’d gotten back in the truck. Paul just winced and started up the motor.

“You don’t wanna know.”

“Why did you care that much about getting them?”

“You don’t wanna know that, either.”

“Try me.”

“She said there was a call for me if I wanted it.”

Gene started to ask who she was. Then he realized he probably knew. Paul must be in bad shape again, thinking of her, thinking he’d heard from her.

“I was trying so hard to figure it out. I was always figuring with her. She was like that.” Paul’s eyes were on the road. “But it’s obvious, isn’t it? The only calls I’m ever going to get now are from them. There’s shit I gotta get over. That’s what she’s telling me. I gotta do better. Be better. But I keep fucking up, you know? I keep fucking up.”

“Paul–”

“You know it’s true. I can’t help myself. Here I am about to stay at Peter’s house and I haven’t even talked to him one on one. What the hell is wrong with me? I know that guy. I-I know him. I fucking lived on the road with him for over ten years. God, I–”

“Paul–”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do when I see him.”

“You’re overthinking it. Stop.” Maybe it was too much of a brush off, but he thought, in his way, Paul might have appreciated it. He didn’t stiffen up the way he normally did when offended, at least, and after a bit, Paul reached over, touching Gene’s knee.

The road went on. The pavement’s endless stretch. Highways and interstates, on and on, in the hopes of something eternal. The road took Gene back, too, back to thinking about Peter, less abstractly now that the journey was ending.

Peter had always had the best taste. Which was funny, looking back-- the high school dropout of the group, who’d grown up the oldest of about half a dozen kids in the middle of Brooklyn, able to pick out the hippest outfits, the best designs. The best-looking women, arguably. The best-looking houses. His mansion in Greenwich, easily dwarfed though it was in comparison to Gene or Paul’s places, or even Ace’s old home in Wilton, had a class that nobody else’s place could even hope to have. It looked like it came out of a storybook, tucked within four acres of Connecticut forest. In the winter it looked like Currier and Ives; in the summer, it-- in the summer, it looked just as radiant. 

At least, that was how it used to be. 

The first thing Peter had done once the Reunion tour had started was buy that place back. That was Peter for you. Sentimentality incarnate. Everything like it was before. Paul had joked once, cruelly, that he’d been surprised Peter hadn’t done the whole damn house back up in wood paneling and shag carpets once it was his again. Even at the time, Gene had thought it was a hell of a thing for Paul to say while painting himself up in the makeup from twenty years prior.

Paul had turned off the GPS maybe fifteen minutes before they’d pulled into his driveway, evidently knowing the route far better than Gene would’ve ever anticipated. Peter’s place was on a private drive, though that had ceased to matter over the last few weeks. Looking at the house’s exterior now, it wasn’t dilapidated or even unkempt. Just older. The styling was giving its age away.

“You ready?”

Paul had already parked, but he hadn’t moved to even unbuckle himself. He had pulled down the vanity mirror, was staring at himself in silence. 

“We look like shit,” he said. 

“Ace and Peter aren’t gonna look any better.”

“We should’ve tried to get razors after shiva was over.” Paul ran his fingers over the heavy, coarse facial hair on his jawline, the gray streaks surprisingly far outnumbered by black, even now. “They’ve never seen me look this bad.”

“Paul, they aren’t gonna give a fuck right now.” 

“I do.”

“You are absolutely the vainest man I’ve ever met in my life.”

“It’s not just that. Gene, Ace hasn’t even left the house yet because of Peter. If Peter sees me looking like this, if he thinks I can’t hold it together, then– then maybe I can’t, maybe I won’t be able to–”

“You don’t have to. All you have to do is get out of the truck.”

Paul bit his lip and unbuckled his seatbelt, getting out of the truck in silence. Gene helped him take their luggage out of the back.

He’d thought it would feel so much more definite. Like all those moments where his life had turned on the tiniest hinge. The sight of Bill Aucoin in his smart suit, offering them a record contract inside of two weeks. The sight of his firstborn in the hospital, that head full of dark hair, those bright eyes.

The sight of four talismans in a velvet box. 

Paul was behind him, luggage handle in one hand, bag of oranges in the other. He was dragging the luggage carelessly up the brick front porch stairs, the wheels rattling against them in protest.  Gene hadn’t so much as reached for the door knocker before the door swung open. 

Ace. 

Ace, in jeans and a t-shirt and socks. His goatee was somewhat unkempt. No sunglasses– not that he expected him in them, but it had been years and years since Gene had seen him without them. No makeup, either. Ace’s skin was as bad as ever, sallow and scarred, a couple of pimples right on the side of one cheek. The poor alien bastard still had acne at sixty-three. 

Gene hugged him. Fully. It was the first time in years he had, without there being a show or a ceremony or a pile of fans with their phones trying to record the moment. Just shoved himself against him, arms wrapping tight around him. Ace buckled a bit, thrown off-balance as always, but he hugged him back in turn, face pressing briefly against his shirt, then pulling away. Gene felt Ace clasp a hand briefly against his back just before he let go. 

“Hey, Gene,” he said. “Hey, Paul. C’min.”

They stepped inside. Gene made room for Paul, who put an arm around Ace for a brief, quiet moment, and then pushed the bag of oranges into his hands. Ace’s expression changed a little then, became almost searching, before it faltered. 

“Where’s Peter?”

“He… he’s in the kitchen. Paul, he’s not–”

“I know.” Paul strode past them both, going past the entranceway and the dining room, heading straight for the kitchen. Ace followed a bit behind, then Gene, a weird quiver somewhere in the tips of his fingers, and in his throat. Peter’s place was still too familiar, even with some newer decor. Enough remnants of the past remained. A set of raku tea bowls Lydia’d bought him on tour in Japan was still in the armoire in the dining room. A faded photo of Peter from his First Communion was on a buffet table. And there behind the sink, next to the windowsill, was a tarnished silver ring dish in the shape of a cat, one paw up, its tail covered in an assortment of rings. Peter had had that since their third tour, a memento, though Gene couldn’t remember where he’d received it. His eyes were darting everywhere– the clean stovetop and microwave, the print of The Last Supper on the wall, the dirty plates on the table– everywhere except for at Peter. 

Peter, who was sitting down against the fridge, wrapped up in a blanket. He had shaved, but badly, white stubble peeking out in patches across his chin. He only barely lifted his head when they walked in.

“Pete,” Gene started. Peter shifted, putting out a hand against the floor, like he was about to brace himself and get up. But Paul got there first. Gene could barely believe it as he watched Paul crouch down, squat at first, before getting on his knees and putting an arm around him, there on the floor. 

Peter was crying. Gene had seen it a hundred times at least, but never like this. Not a shudder, barely a sound, just the tears. Paul held him there, rubbing his shoulder, without a murmur. Gene glanced at Ace, realizing suddenly that this was what Ace had been dealing with all this time, why Ace didn’t want to leave him alone. He was afraid for him, terribly so.

Paul let go once the tears seemed to stop, standing up a bit awkwardly. After a moment or two, Peter stood, too, after unraveling from the blanket. The effort of getting up made him grunt a bit, rubbing his back. He was in a t-shirt and pajamas. Gene hadn’t seen Peter in anything quite that casual in more than ten years. 

“You made it.”

“We made it.”

“You… Gene, you…”

Then Gene was holding him. Peter had never felt fragile to him before now. He was thin, those drummers’ arms all but gone when he grasped Gene’s waist. Gene could feel those shuddering breaths against him, but as Ace had done with Paul, Peter let go abruptly. 

(you’re feeling it)

(aren’t you?)

Gene didn’t know. All he knew was a peace and security that he thought he’d lost forever. All he knew was that he was sure he could make it now. Sure this was what they all needed. They had scraped together before. They could do it again. They would do it again. A few days together, maybe even a week or two, to… to get settled, to start to… reckon with themselves, with the world, to maybe… to maybe start to heal. Warmth melded with exhaustion in his bones as he pulled up a chair, sinking down into the seat. 

“Y-you can tell us the whole trip later,” said Peter quietly. “But you gotta shower first. Both of you stink.” 

“It’s Road Warrior,” Gene said, feeling the wobbling remnants of a smile skirt the edges of his face. “Very unique aroma, for the discerning traveler.”

“It’s B.O.,” Ace said, laughing harder than the statement merited, that old cackle, reaching over to clasp a hand on Gene’s back. “Ain’t got an excuse now, Geno. Get washed up. We’ll, we’ll make you some sandwiches or something, we…” 

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” As quickly as he’d come into the kitchen, Paul was darting out again, already headed for where Gene vaguely remembered the master bed and bath being. But he turned, calling over his shoulder, voice wobbling slightly. “You’re okay with us, right? You’ll let us–”

Ace shook his head.

“Christ, after all that, you want an invite, Paul? You were let in forty years ago.”

[flight-of-fantasy]

Omg dude! The American Girl books made me love reading too! I went from struggling to get through half an hour silent reading time to tearing through entire American Girl series in a few weeks

Ahhhhh yes!!! I'm glad I'm not the only one! Aren't they so amazing? My mom told me she was nervously speaking to a friend of hers who teaches kindergarten about how I wasn't reading and how she was worried I never would get into it. The teacher was basically like maybe she hasn't found something she liked yet? So my mom told me how RELIEVED she was when I came down for dinner with a Samantha book in hand, unable to put it down!

Did you have any of the dolls? I went to the American Girl store in Chicago not to long ago just to walk around and reminisce. The current stuff isn't quite what it was, but it's such a good initiative and I hope those OG books have lived on because they were perfect for the age group