#when ur brain tries to executive decision your ships for you

[neoninky]

Inky: *typing typing typing writing out fluffy romantic build up finally typing typity type*

Chaos Brain Gremlin: ....what if they get together with each other instead of these two other here- Inky: Brain. Just because Malleus has hella protag love interest energy in-game and just because I've basically replaced the Yuu with my OC, Petra, does NOT mean that they should be together in a romantic way. CBG: Damn. Although...she would be a great wing woman.

Inky: TRU

Jokes aside, I was revisiting Glorious Masquerade content (cuz it's my favorite event and I miss it sobs) and lordy does Malleus really lean into that gigachad main boi energy with Yuu (or whatever you name your insert): Calling us by name, protecting and rescuing us cuz we ain't got no magic, suggesting a totally not romantic cough nighttime stroll??? ....This TWST Poster Boi Goth Fae Prince Tamaki Suoh energy having mofo I swear-SIR.

Malleus, we get it, you're The Guy(TM) jeebus calm down lol.

[dvddggs]

To the Four of Us (Part Twenty Five)

premise: modern AU chronicling the squad as they make their way through college and deal with general life things. words: 2,803 warnings: death mentions, abuse mentions, swearing, i think that’s all but pls lemme know if I forgot something! all chapters: x tags: @heythereitsloey @anitheunicorn @newyorkyoucanbeanew @lafbagxette @justafangirlwithanavy @iamgrayfox @ordinaryornate @schuylerjoon @angelica-peggy-eliza @trashyperson101 @crazydragon15 @but-if-you-had-to-choose @geespilots @marvelous-hamilfan @mynameisalexanderhammyham @panda-powers @lafeyettegunsandships @schokoobananaa @allthegoodurlshavebeentaken @aphboi @hell-yes-puns-and-ships @aham-threw-his-shot-away @hesitantcat @nonstopspook @hamrevolution @writethewayout @alexander-did-you-know @allthegoodurlshavebeentaken @sun-tree @angelizaandpeggy @isis278 @idk-destiel @engulfedinstars @hamiltrashuniverse @ahrupe @just-me-an-asshole @readfizz @skeletonmelodies @gum-and-chips @iminwaytoomanyfandoms @hadleyelizabethuley @fictionalboyfriends a/n: ur all gonna hate me lmfao bye

dedication: @sun-tree and @schokoobananaa for being like,,, art regulars??? I llove u both 

A funeral. Suits and ties and not knowing how to feel. Alexander had never been to one before, but he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to do well. As he buttoned his shirt, he watched John sit down on the hotel bed and aggressively yank on his dress pants.

John had been irritable all morning—snapping at Alexander, Hercules, and Lafayette, and only being minimally polite to George. Everyone treaded lightly; none of them were sure how to approach the situation. Even Alexander didn’t really know how John was feeling. Every time he’d attempted to pull him aside and talk to him, John would brush him off with a scowl. After that, Alexander made the executive decision to give him some space.

He had stayed quiet all day except for his attempts to speak to John. He was still thinking about his mother and how she should have had this. Why didn’t he get to dress in a suit and tie to say goodbye to her? Why didn’t he get to say goodbye at all?

After three unsuccessful attempts at tying his tie, John was left sitting on his bed grumbling swear words and aggressively wiping frustrated tears out of his eyes.

“What the fuck,” he snarled. “Why won’t it fucking tie? It’s not working. I’m so fu—”

“John! John, hey, it’s okay,” Lafayette said gently. “Let me help.”

Alexander watched him wrap the tie around his own neck, tie it, then hand it back off to John. He should have offered to help—John was his boyfriend and he knew how to tie a tie, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. If he did, he wasn’t sure what would come out of his mouth. Scanning the room, he caught Hercules’ eye. He’d been watching Alexander for awhile, wondering what was going on in his head. Normally, Alexander would be the first one to offer calming words and support—but something was clearly wrong.

Hercules cocked his head to the side, indicating to Alexander to follow him out into the hall. No one noticed them leave.

“What’s going on with you?” he asked, spinning around to face Alexander.

“Nothing,” Alexander replied quickly, tucking in his shirt.

“Alex,” Hercules deadpanned. “Don’t lie to me. What’s the matter?”

What was he supposed to say? How could he tell Hercules that he was—what was he?—mad at John? Resentful? Jealous? Was he jealous of a funeral?

“Listen, Herc,” Alexander breathed, afraid of speaking too loud. Afraid that speaking too loud would make it real. “I’m just…I’m thinking about my mom a lot. It’s really selfish and I don’t want John to think that I’m not being supportive, so I’m staying quiet. Okay?”

Alexander wasn’t going to go into more detail than that, but it was enough to make Hercules’ expression soften a bit. He pulled his friend in for a hug that surprised Alexander.

“I’m sorry, Alex. I didn’t even think of that. I’m sure John understands.”

Understands that Alexander almost resented him at the moment? He hated to even think it—it made him feel sick that he felt this way, but he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t fair. Hercules smiled sympathetically and went back into the hotel room, leaving Alexander feeling, somehow, worse than he did before.  

A funeral. Distant relatives and sympathetic smiles. Meeting strangers and talking about the dead. An old room with happy photos. Family.

When they got to the funeral home, John left Alexander, George, Hercules, and Lafayette to seek out his brother, who was graciously accepting condolences from people he had not spoken to in years. Alexander scanned the photos around the room. Smiles, laughter, and good times that all hid the scars and bruises on John’s body. Lies.

Alexander thought about it. He would have displayed his mother’s note to him. He would have wanted everyone to know how much she loved him. How kind she was. How she deserved anything but what she got. He felt a hand on his shoulder. His father. Did he know what Alexander was thinking?

He watched as John hugged his brother tightly and joined the line of sympathy reception. With a deep sigh, Alexander took a seat on the floor in the corner of the room, waiting to be called in for the funeral to start.

Hercules strode across the room and joined him.

“Hey,” he sighed. “How are you doing?”

Alexander shrugged. “It’s not about me.”

“Alex,” Hercules replied. “It’s completely fair that you’re thinking about your mom. I mean, this must be reminding you of her fu—”

“She didn’t have one,” Alexander interrupted, louder than he intended.

“What—?”

“She didn’t get one,” he repeated, voice calculated and quieter this time. “Think about it, Herc. I was seven years old and barely knew any of my relatives. I had no money, and I came to America almost immediately after she died. I don’t even know what—what happened to her…after.”

Hercules didn’t reply—what would he have said? Alexander stood up and crossed the room, leaving him sitting alone on the old carpet.

A funeral. Full pews and empty words. Speeches. More lies.

John and his brother didn’t speak, but most of their relatives did. They talked about how Henry Laurens was a wonderful friend, brother, uncle, and was taken too soon from his poor family.

Alexander watched from the back of the room with his father, Hercules, and Lafayette. At the front, it was clear that John was crying. His shoulders were shaking, as they normally did when he cried. Alexander tried to be sympathetic and present, but he could not stop himself from overthinking.

If his mom had a funeral, it would be him in the front row. He would be alone, probably, but that would be alright. He would have made a speech, and he would have been the one crying. George would have been there—they had been friends. None of the speeches would be lies. His angel nurses would have probably been there, as well as his mother’s doctor. It would have been small. But it would have been authentic.

By the time John’s great aunt—or something—left the stage, Alexander felt like he wanted to throw up. The whole thing was so staged and fake. Could no one else see that? In a room full of people celebrating the life of an abusive alcoholic, was Alexander the only one who could see that it was bullshit? Even John—who had said that part of him wasn’t upset—was caught up in the event. He and his brother clung to each other and held their heads bowed in—respect? Mourning? Sadness?

Alexander had visions of himself standing up and just screaming in frustration. He felt absolutely trapped. Suddenly, he became very hot. His back started sweating and he was overcome with a wave of dizziness. The heat in his face seemed to show, because Lafayette leaned in to ask if he was alright.

Nodding vaguely, Alexander took a deep breath and tried to focus his eyes on something. John. He squinted ahead, praying for the dizziness to pass as he studied the outline of the back of John’s head.

It wasn’t working.

Alexander’s breathing grew shallow and he blinked a few times, hoping that something—anything—would make this feeling pass. He was overcome with emotion—anger, sadness, jealousy, helplessness—and nothing could stop the thoughts swirling in his head, screaming at him.

Why are you here? He does not deserve this. You know who did deserve this? Mom. Where is her goodbye? Why was she left to die alone in a hospital without so much as a proper goodbye? She deserved so much more than what she got. She deserved so much more than what you gave her…

Without knowing what he was doing, Alexander jumped to his feet and all but ran out of the room. In his peripheral vision he saw John turn around but he did not catch his eye. His subconscious carried him to the bathroom where he collapsed to his knees and threw up into the toilet.

The violent retching made his eyes water and before he even knew why, he was full-on sobbing.  Between whimpers, he heard the bathroom door creak open and a gentle voice call his name. His father.

George knocked on the door of the stall and Alexander groaned in response.

“Open up, Lex,” he said quietly.

Alexander drew a rattling breath and stood up, wiping his eyes on his jacket sleeve.

“I t-told you I couldn’t do this,” he gasped. As soon as he opened the door, his father pulled him into a tight hug, resting his chin on the top of Alexander’s head.

“You knew this wouldn’t be easy,” George said gently. He stroked Alexander’s hair and held him close.

“I didn’t know it would be this hard,” Alexander whispered.

“I know, kiddo…I get it—I understand.”

Alexander took a step back, a sudden anger flashing through him.

“Do you though?” he asked, tears still falling down his cheeks. “How can you possibly understand this, Dad? Wanna know something? Right now, about fifty percent of my brain is screaming at me to leave, to never talk to John again. But here I am, throwing up in the bathroom of a funeral home because I’m supposed to be supportive. Right? I’ve never felt so conflicted in my entire life. How am I supposed to support John when he’s crying over someone who actively tried to hurt him? And did hurt him. Why does this—this asshole get a tearful goodbye filled with friends and family when my mom got—what?—a hospital morgue and her son leaving her days after she died? God, that’s so fucked up. This entire thing is so fucked up. And what am I supposed to say? What am I—what can I say?”

He broke down before he could finish his thought. He knew he was being selfish. He knew that he was acting unfair, especially to John. He knew that his father didn’t want to hear it. He knew he was wrong. And yet…

“Alexander.”  

He looked up.

“I’m so sorry,” George said simply.

At his words, Alexander collapsed into his arms, unsure of anything except that he needed to cry.

“I miss her,” he sobbed into his father’s chest.

A funeral. Tearful goodbyes.

Not long after Alexander and his father returned from the bathroom, the service ended and they filed out into another room for the reception. Before long, John caught up with everyone, waving as he teetered a plate full of sandwiches on his palm.

“Hey,” Lafayette said. “How are you?”

John shrugged and offered up the plate of sandwiches. “Kinda ignoring my feelings,” he said casually.

“Wish I could have one,” Alexander scowled, bitter about the wires that still bound his teeth.

“Only one more week,” Hercules said sympathetically.

Alexander shrugged and crossed the room, looking for something that he’d be able to eat. As he walked away, he heard John murmur, “Is he okay?”

Scanning the table for something to eat—or drink—Alexander felt a tap on his shoulder. Expecting his father to be behind him, telling him to lighten up, he whipped around frustratedly.

It was John.

Right away, John noticed that something was wrong. Alexander’s eyes were red and puffy, and the circles beneath them were darker than usual. Had he been crying? When? Was that why he’d left in the middle of the service?

“Are you—?”

“I’m fine,” Alexander snapped.

He knew that he was being short with John but for some reason he couldn’t help it. Just the sight of his face up close made Alexander unjustifiably angry.

“Are you sure?” John pressed. “You’ve barely said two words to me all day��like, not even a ‘how are you.’”

Alexander almost visibly rolled his eyes.

“I said I’m fine, John.”

John sighed, reaching for Alexander’s hand. “Funerals are pretty shitty, huh?”

At those words, Alexander felt his jaw clench. He took a deep breath and shifted his gaze so he was looking John dead in the eye.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he said simply.

John took a step back, confused by the sudden aggressiveness.

“You are kidding, right? I mean, this has to be some form of sick joke. Right?”


“Lex, what are you—”

“Oh, come on, John,” Alexander continued, lowering his voice. “You can’t be serious! Are you actually this oblivious? Of course I’m not okay! All I can think about is how your shitty father doesn’t deserve any of this and how you seem to be completely ignoring that! And, no, I wouldn’t know how ‘shitty’ funerals can be, because my mother—the only person I know who’s died—didn’t fucking get one!”

“Alex—”

For every word Alexander spoke, there were a thousand different voices in his head telling him to stop. He watched John’s expression turn from confusion to sadness to anger to defeat as he began to cry, but Alexander couldn’t stop. Each sentence was an assault on John, but he couldn’t fucking stop.

“And—you know what else?—I’m pretty fucking pissed off about this. I mean—fuck—okay, I’m sorry that your dad died or whatever, but guess what, John? I know what it feels like! And unlike you, I didn't lose an abusive father who treated me like shit! And then mourn him! Do you know what that’s like to watch? How—how unfair it is? I mean—”

“—Alex, please,” John whimpered. “Please stop.”

At some point, Alexander had started crying again, silent tears that dripped off his chin as he spoke. He knew exactly what he was saying, and the impact his words had—and that was probably the worst part.

“Alexander.”

Lafayette had hurried over when he saw John start to cry. Alexander’s back had been to him so he didn't know exactly what was going on, but as he drew closer he’d heard enough.

“Shut the fuck up, will you!?” he hissed, putting an arm around John’s shoulders. “What the hell is your problem?”

Alexander breathed heavily, unable to find the words to respond. He looked between Lafayette and John—who was visibly shaken; he was crying freely and had his face buried in Lafayette’s neck.

“What’s going on?” Hercules asked, approaching the group.

No one responded.

Alexander wiped a tear off his face and folded his arms over his chest, sniffling. He studied the floor and avoided eye contact with his friends. He knew that he had possibly just fucked up his entire life, but what could he possibly say to reconcile?

“John—” he whispered, cut off by Lafayette, who glared daggers in Alexander’s direction as he turned around and led John outside.

“C’mon, Herc,” Lafayette said over his shoulder.

With a glance in Alexander’s direction, Hercules sighed and followed.

Alexander stood in place for a few minutes, replaying everything in his head. It had all happened so fast; one minute he was trying to joke about his injury then before he knew it, he had exploded all over the person he cared most about in the world.

Without thinking, he floated outside in a daze.

John was sitting on the curb between Hercules and Lafayette. His shoulders were hunched over and his friends had their arms wrapped around him.

“John—” Alexander repeated.

“Alex, you need to go,” Hercules said without taking his eyes off of John.

“John—”

“Alexander!” Lafayette all but screamed.

“You’re—an a-asshole,” John cried. “How the fuck could you say those things to me? I thought you cared.”

“I d-do—”

“No, you obviously fucking don’t, Alexander,” John said, climbing to his feet. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself. If that happens to overlap with someone else’s best interests, then great, but ultimately, you don’t give a shit. Remember when you kissed me for the first time? It wasn’t because you loved me, it was because you were bored as fuck with Thomas! And how about when you actually left Thomas for me? Because you were done with him! You wanted more! He wouldn’t have sex, so why stay with him, right? Why not find someone else that will? Am I wrong?”

“John—”

“Shut up. Shut up! Do you even realize the things you just said to me? And here you are about to beg for forgiveness because now you feel bad. Because it doesn’t feel good for poor Alexander. This isn’t even about me! You are here for your own sake—and don’t you fucking dare try to tell me otherwise, because I’m not stupid.”

“Jo—”

“Stop saying my fucking name.”

“But—”

“I’m done.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“I mean exactly what I just said. I’m done.”

“John—?”

“We’re done.”

A funeral. An end.