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thebucketpail · 1 year

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When You Accidentally Kill a Clown pt.4

Alright bestie you know the drill. Uh, this one's a bit longer than usual though. Enjoy?

Pt.1

To say Danny was having a bad day would be the understatement of the century. Well it wasn’t really a bad ‘day’ more like a terrible series of events that just kept getting worse. Oddly enough, though, this terrible horrible day did not start with killing the Joker, then promptly getting interrogated by a surprisingly cute serial killer/ crime boss/ vigilante. In fact it actually started seven hours earlier at around 4 o’clock in the afternoon. Danny’s roommate had practically kicked him out of the dorm so he could have ‘date night with his girlfriend’ but it was said in a way that made Danny nope out of there real fast.

‘It’s fine, I’ll just use this time to explore Gotham a bit,” he thought to himself. Turns out Gotham, with its incredibly high crime rate and massive amount of curses - seriously? How could one city be this cursed- has a lot of ghosts. Ghosts that seem to be very happy someone can see them. This would have been fine, Danny would have been happy to help, If they hadn’t swarmed him.

Mere moments after he had addressed a shade Danny had found themself in the middle of a mob, shades, imprints, spirits, etc, all vying for attention, help with something here, or just plain attention.

It took them 3 hours to lose the mob.

And it wasn’t even all of them, a few blob ghosts clung to him as he explored the piers, shades following at his heels, weaving in and out of shadows bringing general bad luck because of course, why not.

Danny just wanted a scoop of icecream? Sorry it fell on the floor. Oh look at that his shoes are untied, would be a shame if he- ouch that must have hurt. Just trying to sit on a bench and relax? Aww that's a cute seagull, here have some of Danny’s pretzel. Okay thats enough- ow what the fuck? Ack no stop! stop-!

So yeah, exploring the pier turned out to be not the most safe idea for all the strangest reasons. Danny had to leave before the shades did any real damage like throwing him into the bay, or splitting the boardwalk underneath him.

Danny had just lost yet another pack of attention seeking ghosts when he felt the eyes. It was the uncomfortable prickling that made the hair on his arms and neck stand on end. “Just find a place to get dinner, it’ll be fine," he thought, quickening his pace toward the batburger he had designated on a map he’d found at the pier.

Now what Danny didn’t know, being new to town and all, was that Park Row was not a place you should be walking by yourself, at night, with black hair and blue eyes. That was just asking for trouble, and oh boy trouble they got. Before a single thought could flash through their head, Danny had been pulled into an alley, a large figure pinning their hands behind their back. Danny twisted around, trying to gain purchase and maybe get a look at their attackers face, but stiffened as they spoke, low and gruff.

“Awww what’re you doing in crime alley all alone kiddie?” he crooned, “Don’t you know it's not safe?” Danny’s growing panic reached a peak as another figure melted out of the shadows of the dingy alley, “Boss, what do you think? He could be a Wayne." The ‘Boss’ leaned forward to inspect Illuminated by a nearby streetlight. Danny’s eyes blew wide at the painted white face, impossibly huge smile, puke green hair, and pristine purple suit in front of him.

He hardly heard him berate the goon

“This isn’t a Wayne you imbecile, it's just some random street rat” Hey

“But- he could be, he fits the bill,” the conversation drowned out as Danny stared, stock still. They could feel the ectoplasm in their blood pooling at their fingertips, the tingling sensation sending prickles down their spine.

The last thought that crossed their mind before a flash of green enveloped the alley was; ‘Fuck, I hate clowns.’

When the light died down they were free, the goon a few feet away on the ground, eyes wide in shock or horror, they couldn’t tell. Danny, eyes no doubt still glowing, followed his gaze to the crumpled purple mass at his feet. Oh shit.

“You- you- I’m getting out of here,” the goon shouted, pointing a shaking finger at him as he scrambled away. Danny just stared down at the clown in shock. Sure he’d fought a lot of dead people but ancients he’d never killed someone himself. Taking a deep breath he tried remembering those grounding tricks Jazz had taught him to ward off panic. He focused on his breathing, closing his eyes as the steady rhythm of his too slow heart beat in his ears. After a few moments he exhaled deeply, running a shaking hand through his hair as the other reached for his phone.

And, well, we know this part.

-------

It was almost 1 am by the time Hood got Danny back to their dorm. They had of course protested that they didn’t need the escort and it's all fine- because truly Danny had no intentions of returning to their dorm- but Hood had insisted, continuing the interrogation as they walked.

“Do you have any siblings”

“two”

“Where are you from?”

“illinois”

“What's your favorite color?”

“Green probably”

At the very least the questioning served to calm Danny’s nerves and distract them from the less-than-happy thoughts. There was also something about Hood that made Danny’s core pull in his chest. Aside from very obviously smelling like death- something he had chalked up to being a serial killer/ crime boss/ vigilante - the man kept making his ghost sense go off, but it always caught in his throat rather than escaping. Danny had almost choked the first time and it was starting to get annoying, it reminded him of being around Vlad. It piqued his interest regardless.

So when the noises coming through the door confirmed that; no, Danny should not go try entering his dorm and that he would definitely not be getting what little sleep his body could manage after the night’s events, he decided on some reconnaissance. Because if he wasn’t getting sleep, he would be at least getting answers for that weird feeling. He let invisibility wash over him and retraced his steps back to the building entrance. Hood was long gone but it didn’t matter. Danny soon took to the sky, staying low enough he wasn’t breathing in the dense clouds

of smog but still high enough to scan the streets from above the rooftops.

It felt amazing honestly. He hadn’t been able to fly since before he got to Gotham, and while it the air wasn’t as clean and the sky wasn’t a glowing blanket of stars like it was in Amity, but with the rush of wind, subtle glow of the street lights, and the soft din of night traffic, it still reminded him of home. In a way it was peaceful, if you discounted the ever present police sirens, occasional pop of gunfire, and general filthiness of the city.

As Danny wove through the street and alleys of Gotham he couldn’t help but to think about his hometown. He knew Amity would be protected of course. The GIW hadn’t been a threat since the Meta Human protection acts were passed, even though ghosts weren’t considered metas the investigation had been enough to disband the agency. His parents probably couldn't pose too much of a threat to any ghosts, especially with the portal being closed (he'd made Valerie promise to keep it shut, since she'd decided to stay in Amity), and even if someone from his rogues gallery managed to make it through, Red Huntress was more than capable to handle it.

Jazz had even managed to drill it into their head that Danny wasn’t responsible for the protection of Amity, as much as they thought they were. Being a hero didn’t make them happy, at least not in the way they were. Danny actually loved helping people, and fighting his rouges on occasion. But being Phantom was so stressful, the late nights, the missed school, the barely dodged calls to cps, it was all so much. So Danny had given up Phantom just in time to start senior year. Granted it was a little late to completely turn his academic career around, but he made an effort and now he’s studying Engineering at Gotham University on a near complete scholarship from the Wayne foundation. All of this though and Danny still felt an inkling of worry for his town, even if it was in capable hands. He was working on it though.

He knew back at the start of senior year that he wouldn’t be able to hang up Phantom forever, afterall he was a part of Danny that couldn’t be ignored (it would quite literally be detrimental to his health), that and the fact that he existed on the precipice of life and death meant he would always have some ghost or another vying for his attention. One of his regulars wanting a fight, someone new deciding they want to test his mettle, or just a lower powered ghost wanting some help, and as long as it didn’t affect his schedule too much or get him too high on the Bats radar Danny would be happy to oblige.

So he didn’t mind it much when, after he’d started losing hope in finding Hood - Damn that guy can disappear- he felt his ghost sense go off. The sharp air escaped his lungs in a sudden gasp, never failing to stop his chest for a moment. Danny felt the ice melt in his mouth as he scanned the streets for whomever had set it off. He couldn’t see anything but something- someone- was pulling at his core, beckoning him to a nearby rooftop.

There wasn't anything special about this particular building, just an old beat down 24/7 convenience store. Danny flew around it a few times before landing gently on the roof’s edge. They didn't know what they should be looking for as the area seemed to be entirely empty. But his confusion proved to be short lived when the surrounding shadows seemingly condensed in front of them. The dim and flickering neon sign to their left somehow got dimmer and more flickery, and what little moonlight that had wormed its way through the thick clouds was all but swallowed by the swirling mass of shadow.

The massive shadow was towering almost three feet over Danny by the time it began taking shape. And it wasn’t quite humanoid, but the flowing gown and veil reminded them of a mourning widow. Her eye glowed a flickering grey, and her skin was made of the same shadow as her gown. She was beautiful, Danny’s breath caught in their throat. They didn’t know why, but they dropped to one knee, bowing their head to the shadowy figure.

The woman chuckled, a sweet chirping sound that echoed and reverberated around the rooftop. When she spoke, her voice was just more than a whisper, yet sweet and full, even behind that recognisable Jersey accent, “Rise child.” Danny obeyed. “You are powerful, young one, I can see it in you.” Her eyes flickered to Danny’s chest, hovering just where his core sat. “You are the ghost child from Amity, yes? I’ve heard much about you and your exploits. I must say, not many could go toe to toe with Pariah Dark and come out victorious.”

Danny’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth as he nodded, “It was difficult, but I had help.”

The woman hummed, “Even still. Is it true he still exists? In the forever sleep, you have not yet consumed his core?”

“I- no I have not,” Danny said. This was another of those things Danny had decided to ignore. A few months after they had locked Pariah away the Observants had tracked him down at school, resulting in a panicked request for the bathroom and a whole week of strife. Apparently, according to ghost politics, Danny had become heir to the crown of the ghost king. All that belonged to Pariah was now Danny’s, won in single combat. And if the news that he would become the new King of The Infinite Realms wasn’t enough, he had also been informed that to take the throne he would have to consume Pariah’s core, just as he had done when he won the throne from his predecessor.

This news had overloaded Danny’s brain and he had spent the past three years pointedly ignoring that fact about his half life. He’d get around to it… eventually. Luckily three years wasn’t much time for immortal floating eyeballs so it hadn’t become much of an issue. But he’d run out of time and would have to face the music at some point.

“But it is true that Pariah still exists, in eternal slumber for the time being.” He continued, squirming under the woman’s scrutinous gaze, “Ah, but if you don’t mind me asking, who are you?”

This elicited another set of giggles from the woman, err, girl? She had shrunk to the size of a young girl in a knee length black dress, a feathered beret sitting on a curly bob of dark hair. Her giggles grew, consuming the rooftop in the joyous sound. The laughing ceased as the young girl tilted her head to the side, just a little too far for a human. A grin spread wide across her face and something sparked in her eyes.

“I am Lady Gotham, princling, I thought that was obvious…” She trailed off for a moment then continued with renewed enthusiasm, “ I heard that you are a protector of your hometown, do you intend to assist my knights while you are here?”

Lady Gotham, Danny had heard of her. The supposed amalgamation of everything that made the city what it was. A combination of the pain and suffering as well as the fierce stubbornness and love of those who called the city home. Being a spirit she wasn’t seen often in the Ghost Zone, but those who passed through the veil brought stories of their protectoress. A Lady fierce, vindictive and unforgiving to those she considered an enemy. A being that collected curses like postage stamps. But also one who cared deeply for her city, and even more so for her knights who cared for her just as much.

Danny felt humbled in her presence.

He ducked his head, sheepish as he answered her, “My apologies my Lady, I have long since hung up my cape to pursue the remainder of my life. But should you call for my help I will not hesitate to do all in my power to aid you, or your knights.”

Lady Gotham hummed, pleased, “I appreciate the promise I will keep it in mind. After all, just tonight you have already helped my city so much. I want you to know that no matter how it may weigh on you; what you did was good. By taking his life you saved countless more, accident or no. And for that I thank you.” Stunned, Danny nodded. “I am afraid I must depart now, holding form isn’t difficult but I must say it makes it harder to spread my shadows. I wish you the best princling.” The girl before him smiled then melted -like actually melted- into a pool of shadow at Danny’s feet. As the cloud dissipated, the faint light of the convenience store returned, casting a dim staticky glow.

Danny stood mulling over her words for a few moments before laying down on the roof’s edge. The silence was punctuated only by the faint buzzing of electricity emitted from the neon sign, but it did little to distract him from the thoughts he’s been running from all night.

The thought that he had actually killed someone.

What Lady Gotham hada said was probably true, the Joker's death was a good riddance, he had killed tens-of-thousands, and probably tens-of-thousands more. Taking him out of the equation was a good thing. But that didn’t change the fact that Danny had killed him. Danny had never killed a person before, not directly at least. He wasn’t deaf to the notion that some people may have died during one of his ghost fights, in fact he was painfully aware of each person he had failed to save. But he had never been at direct fault for a murder until now. It shook him to the bones.

Did this make him a murderer?

He stewed in these thoughts for hours, only being pulled from them by an inkling of sunlight breaking through the towering buildings hitting his eyes. Groaning, he sat up, painfully aware of how tired he was. “Probably not getting any sleep though” He could feel the bags under his eyes growing with the lack of sleep. However he did manage to get off the roof and transform back into his living form, ‘need coffee’ He thought blearily as he began making his way down the street, maybe he’d find a shop or something.

What he did not expect was to be pulled into an alley for the second time that night (Morning? Oh what does it matter he’s getting mugged).

Their assailant, no more than two inches shorter than Danny with an unkempt beard and suspiciously stained shirt, had them pinned to the wall, a knife at their throat.

“Empty your pockets!” he shouted, digging the knife further against their skin. Danny suppressed a yawn, they really did not have enough energy to deal with this. Luckily they didn’t have to. The rumbling of a motorcycle filled the air as a blur of red and black turned into the alley. The mugger barely had time to shout “Hey!” before Red Hood decked him in the face.

“Twice in eight hours?” He asked, the grin almost audible in his voice as Hood tied up the man, “I know you’re not from here, but that’s still gotta be some kind of record,” Honestly Danny would have been more upset if he wasn’t so tired, but even so;

“Wee it’s not like I’m Trying to get attacked. I just wanted some fucking coffee,” he ground out.

“At four in the morning?”

“It’s almost six,” Danny muttered after sneaking a quick glimpse at his watch - a black digital one with little blob ghosts on it, a gift from Dani. “Besides it’s not like I was planning on sleeping anytime soon,” he continued. That same weird feeling from earlier tugged at his core during the silence that followed. Of there being a ghost nearby, but his cold gasp getting caught in his throat before escaping. Danny could almost feel the thrum of another core, but there was something muffling it. It made Danny wrinkle his nose.

Despite his wish to investigate the fact of Hood’s weird probably-a-core, Danny also really wanted to get out of this awkward situation. But hey it seemed like Hood was stalking him anyway so this probably wouldn’t be his only chance.

“I should probably be going now,” they said, moving to exist the grimy alley, stepping over the unconscious form of his would-be-mugger-#2. “Don’t worry, I’ll be a bit more careful this time,” They threw over their shoulder with a grin before leaving.

A weight settled on their shoulder as they walked away. Ancients this night was eventful. Hopefully their roommate was finally finished with ‘date night’ enough to allow Danny a couple hours of sleep. But first; coffee.

+++++

Humans I am so sorry for this chapter (because yes it's a chapter). I was just going to write another little installment from Danny’s Pov and then ended up with over 3k words which is like adding up the word counts of all three other chapters. But i think it turned out good so win some lose some. Anyway, all the exposition is out of the way so we’ll be going back to silly goofy fun times now. Also sorry about the kind-of angst, I didn’t mean to, it just appeared.

What were your thoughts on Lady Gotham? I’m fairly happy with how I wrote her, she will definitely be returning

No I will not add you to the tag list, I don't mean to be mean but I just down have the brain power for that <3

Subscrib to the Ao3

Pt 5

#When You Accidentally Kill a Clown #bucket writes things #danny phantom #dp x dc #danny fenton #dc #dp x dc crossover #jason todd #Obligatory Lady Gotham Cameo #exposition woAH #Man Danny's just ahd a bad day huh #like losing his icecream? getting attacked by a seagull? poor guy #threw out the GiW befoe rhe plot cause thats just angst in the making and im trying not to wnable bad habits #dead on main

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oomisluvr · 1 year

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DO YOU THINK OF ME? (IN THE WAY I THINK OF YOU)

SYNOPSIS: falling in love after falling out of it. he’s still your kiyoomi after all this time.

WARNINGS: ex-boyfriend!sakusa, lame!sakusa, awkward!sakusa, light swearing, references to sex but nothing super graphic, a little sad ngl but the ending is happy (or is it??), 4k words, MINORS, YOU KNOW THE DRILL

You’re not sure what started the break-up. The beginning of the end. You only know that it’s been eight months since you’ve last seen your ex, and the sight of him now feels like looking at a ghost.

Kiyoomi was obsessed with perfection. Still is, probably. Constantly drove himself to the brink just to achieve it, then wore his suffering as if it were a prize. It was all part of his look, the illusion of being put-together.

In a lot of ways, he treated your relationship like that. Part of an illusion; a specific look. Like you were an accessory to his image. Yet another thing for people to covet about his life.

You, however, are not perfect. No one is. Hell, no relationship is perfect. You know that. Everybody knows that.

Kiyoomi hated it. Some days it felt like he hated you.

Life felt so good when all you did was dress up for galas and fall into bed with one another. When all you had to do was look pretty and smile for the media.

It made it easy to avoid your problems, until it wasn’t. Until so much resentment built up that you wanted to hit him with a car. Kiyoomi preferred to avoid your problems, while you faced the situation head on. He loved you, sure, but it felt like he always had one foot out the door. Ready to run when things inevitably went up in flames.

It exhausted you – trying to reach a person who didn’t want to be touched. You wanted more, and Kiyoomi was scared of what you might see if you got too close. Did you ever really know him? Maybe it was easier to cut things off. Maybe you could have worked it out.

The last few months of your relationship had been a blur. Fuzzy memories that feel so distant you can’t tell if you made them up or not. You can recall his general fear towards life, despite how hard he tried to overcome it. You remember how… tired he was. All the time. About everything. Including you.

How do you help someone who doesn't want to be helped? You can't. You can only love them, but Kiyoomi didn't let you do that either.

Months later, you still don’t know what happened. Who pushed who away?

You blink, remembering where you are.

He’s with his friend now, the rowdy one with the bleached hair. He gives you a once-over and visibly recoils, clapping your ex on the back with a mumble you can’t hear. You haven’t moved. Neither of you have. What is there to say?

He’s still got that same piercing stare, studying you like one of his opponents from the court. Your heart thrums, remembering the nights he used to look at you like you were the only woman in the world. The memory burns, but you can’t seem to look away.

He looks good, but he always looks good so that’s not really saying much. It’s the smaller details in his appearance that give him away. The dark circles under his eyes are more noticeable, now a deeper shade of purple in contrast to his sickly-pale skin. His face is a little slimmer too, clothes that are usually well-fitted are now draping loosely over his frame. It’s a small enough difference that any other person in his life probably wouldn’t notice.

But you aren’t any other person, are you?

He’s hurting. Bad. The irony makes your gut wrench, fills your bones with lead then tells you to take a dive off a pier. You ignore the voice in your head that whispers that you caused this; you did this to him. You broke him.

“Hey,” he clears his throat, clearly rattled by your presence, “It’s… been a while. You look well. Nice to see you.”

“Yeah, uh, you too.” you chuckle, mindlessly scratching an itch on your elbow just to give your hands something to do, “How have you been?”

“The usual, y’know,” He’s strikingly good at evading even the most direct questions. “You look like you’ve been doing well.”

“You…” You suppress a grin, poking fun to make light of the situation, “Already said that.”

“Right, sorry.” Your sentiments fly right over his head. Kiyoomi looks… distressed to say the least. This is painful to watch. From your peripheral, you see his friend gag.

“I was actually wondering if we could catch up.” He forces the words out, the words clumsy when they leave his mouth, “Maybe do dinner or something. Catch a movie whenever. Bowling? Only if you want to, though. Whatever’s best for you.” The words are clipped and short, trying much too hard to be casual.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” You mumble, because it’s true. It’s 100% not a good idea to spend time alone with your ex-boyfriend. That damn itch on your elbow is back again, “New job has been hounding me all hours of the day.”

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” He looks crushed, the light in his eyes from initially seeing you now gone entirely. “I didn’t mean to make you… uncomfortable or anything. I just–yeah, sorry. Congrats on the new job, though. I told you that you could do it.”

You nod in agreement at his praise. You remember the night he told you those exact words, after comforting you over a bad day at your previous job. You remember how he took it upon himself to make your resume, sending it out to every employer in the city. It was invasive and honestly a little weird, but that’s just how he shows his love.

Overprotective. Overbearing. It used to be so sweet before it felt suffocating. Like flowers that were nice in the vase on the windowsill. Until their pollen started closing your throat. Like a swim in the ocean on a Summer afternoon. Fun, until you're miles out from shore with no way home, saltwater clouding your vision and burning your lungs.

You feel the waves wash over you. You clear your throat, like you can feel some pollen, too.

“Actually,” you can’t stop the words from coming, you’ve lost sight of the shore already, “I think I have some time Thursday night. Maybe we could do something together then.”

“Yeah, sure.” He amends, eyes brightening slightly, “That works. I’ll, uh, text you?”

“I got a new number recently,” You don’t know why you lie to him, “You can just DM me on Instagram. If we decide to do something.”

(You didn’t get a new number, but iMessage feels too personal. Social media feels like the perfect amount of distance.)

“For sure. I’ll text you. So we can do something.”

“Sounds good,” you offer a tight-lipped smile, “See you around, Sakusa.”

You can see something die in him when he hears his surname on your tongue. You used to call him Kiyoomi. Ki. Omi. Kiyo. Baby, but only sometimes. You used to call him sweetheart, when you really wanted something. Fuck, you used to call him yours. He blinks wildly, like you just struck him across the face. He stumbles a bit when he comes back to reality, rushing to get the door for you and holding it open, “See you around.”

He watches you the whole way, still standing at the door as you drive off, his figure disappearing in the rearview mirror.

He texts you immediately.

@s.kiyoomi [7:47PM]: It was great to see you again. Are we still down for Thursday??

You suppose that’s why it’s so easy to fall into bed with him, the familiarity of it all. Your body remembers his touches, had missed it. You writhe and moan and claw at his back before you’re both reaching your peaks, honey-slow and all-encompassing. It echoes to the furthest corners of your body and you feel it everywhere. He kisses your forehead after you both come down, even mumbles a breathless thank you against the skin there. It’s good, the familiarity. Good, good, good.

He leaves after that, when you don’t ask him to stay. He takes the hint. Good.

He comes back a few days later, though. Somehow he forgot his gloves. You guys fuck then, too. It’s good.

The next time he comes back to your apartment, it’s you who calls him. Not good.

You hadn’t meant to lurk. To make a burner account to follow all the Jackals for signs of Kiyoomi. You hadn’t meant to tap on Atsumu’s Instagram story. Hadn’t meant to keep tapping through it.

It’s a group picture with Atsumu and three other people including Kiyoomi. The one with the orange hair has a makeshift crown scribbled over his head, with a tag to his account and a sweet happy birthday message. The one with the gray hair is there, too, captured mid-sentence with a Heinekin in his hand. You had met him a few times. You remember he was sweet. Loud, but sweet. You smile at the photo, studying all the faces. Kiyoomi looks especially good, a small smirk on his face as he stares at the camera. Everyone is dressed handsomely. Good for them.

The next story is taken with the flash on, a short video of a packed club, sweaty bodies pressed on each other as they bump and grind to the music. There’s a figure that looks an awful lot like Sakusa, occupying a dark corner and talking to a smaller, thinner figure. Good for him. If that even is him. Good, good, good.

It’s the next story that has something ugly swelling in the pit of your stomach. It's a bigger group picture, with maybe 15 people. Everybody looks a little gone, probably wasted from so many complimentary shots and discounted birthday beers, so nobody is paying much attention to the camera, their minds elsewhere. Including Sakusa. Well, that, and the fact that he’s got an arm around that same girl from the previous story, captured mid-laugh as they whisper about whatever the hell they’re whispering about.

It shouldn't bother you. It does. It has you sifting through your contacts to find his number.

“Hello, Kiyoomi?” It’s loud when he picks up the phone, wherever he is at this point in the night.

“Hey,” He sounds concerned and a little surprised, the commotion in the background slowly drowning out until you hear a door slam and it’s silent. The audio quality changes to staticky echoes. He must be in a bathroom, “Sorry, it was a little loud back there. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” You don’t know where this surge of embarrassment came from. Or why you’re reacting this way. “I was just calling if you wanted to watch the new season of You with me tonight. If you’re busy, don’t worry about it, I just thought—“

“Yes,” It sounds like a prayer, like something worthy of celebration, “Of course I do. I’m just a few blocks away. I could be there in fifteen minutes. Eight, if I run.”

“Oh,” Part of you knew he would react like this, that he’d come running to your every beck and call. Part of you knows it's why you even called in the first place. You don’t know what that says about your character. You don’t care to know. “You don't have to rush over, we could always–”

There’s a banging on his side of the line, with a muffled demand to hurry the hell up, “Sorry,” he apologizes, though you aren’t sure to who, “I’ll head right over.”

The call ends.

You bite your cheek in anticipation, watching Atsumu’s instagram story again and again.

He comes running, breathless as he pounds on your door.

Eight minutes pass. Have you been watching his story all this time?

“Hey,” You greet him warmly, opening the door to fully let him in, “You look nice.”

“Thank you,” he tries not to let the compliment get to his head, but he’s already dizzy from seeing you, “It was Hinata's birthday yesterday, so we all went out to celebrate with him for the weekend.”

“I saw,” you comment, “Atsumu is very active on social media.”

“I took some pictures, come look.”

It’s alarming how casual the two of you are, laughing on your sofa like old friends.You never gave it much thought, but there’s bits of him strewn around your apartment. His old highschool sweatshirt he never picked up. Throw blankets he brought over one night and never got back. There's a faded popcorn stain on the couch from when the two of you would binge movies together, the blemish etched into the fabric like a memory.

The grin he’s wearing tonight mimics the one from months ago, when you were choosing between centerpieces for a wedding reception. Your ribs ache.

“I thought the nightlife wasn’t really your thing?” You tease, a little bit of truth behind your words. You used to fight about this, too. Why couldn’t he be one of those “normal” boyfriends that go out with their partners? Couldn’t he do this one thing for you? Your fights were so petty – throwing tantrums just to get the other person’s attention. In hindsight, the issue hardly feels like an issue at all.

“It wasn’t. Still isn’t, if I’m being honest.” His eyes find yours like he wants you to hear this. He’s different, somehow. He’s trying. “But I'm, uh, learning to try new things. Getting outside of my comfort zone and all that. It’s been fun, for the most part.”

As he swipes through his camera roll, you see that girl again. She’s terribly pretty, soft cheeks and even softer lips. Big, doe eyes and high cheekbones; something in you withers, then rots and dies.

“This is a good photo,” You can’t help the smile on your face at the sight of Kiyoomi and the blonde, throwing up the signature Jackals paw and grinning drunkenly at the camera. You tell the truth despite the words burning on your tongue, “She seems really sweet.”

“She is,” He confirms, oblivious as ever, “Talks a lot, but she means well.”

“You two look good together.” Somehow it hurts more to say aloud. Makes it real, somehow. “You guys seem really close.”

“Yaichi? I mean, yeah, she’s a friend from college. She’s new to the team and I’m the only one she really knows. She tends to follow me around since we’ve known each other the longest.”

You hum, as he continues swiping. The thick atmosphere feels all too familiar to Kiyoomi, and suddenly he’s rushing forward with an explanation.

“She’s just,” nervousness bubbles out of him, “Our team manager, or something. She’s been shadowing that guy you think has weird hair.”

“Kuroo?” you laugh, remembering. You’re glad the conversation has shifted. “I never said he had weird hair!”

“You definitely did. On several occasions, actually.” He prods, “It’s alright – everyone thinks he has weird hair.”

Kuroo always looked out for you. Got you free tickets, never made you pay for merch, let Kiyoomi sneak you into the beautiful foreign countries they played in – that sort of thing.

You feel your grin fade. That connection was severed after the breakup, “How is he, by the way?”

There’s a lot to catch up on – characters in Kiyoomi’s life that you are no longer a part of. It’s a bittersweet feeling, but you’re glad everyone is doing well even if you aren’t around to see it. The conversation spans late into the night, branching off on wild tangents about nothing in particular. You’re almost sad when you feel yourself getting sleepy. You don’t want it to end.

You truly have missed him. His company. His friendship. He’s still you’re Kiyoomi after all this time.

“Sorry for keeping you up,” He apologizes after seeing a yawn slip past your lips, checking his watch with a chuckle. It’s black. Sleek. Probably a Rolex. Very Sakusa, “I should head home and let you get to bed.”

“Okay,” You rub your eyes, too tired to protest, “Let me walk to the door.”

Kiyoomi is silent as he helps you clean up the space, folding your throw blankets and fluffing the decor pillows. He lets you get his coat for him.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” His keys are loud as they dangle in his hand. He lingers in your doorway.

“Goodnight, Kiyo.” You sigh.

Neither of you move. Time seems to slow. It still ticks by too fast. You open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to it.

“I, uh, really missed this.” He swallows, “I really missed you.”

“Yeah,” You’re tired of fighting. Physically, mentally. You want him, still. He’s still your Kiyoomi, after everything, despite everything, “Me too.”

He chuckles, “You called me and I just. Ran over.”

“Yeah,” You find the energy to smirk at that, “Why did you do that?”

“Because you asked me to.” he breathes, and you read between the lines. I’d do anything you asked me to.

You’re suddenly flustered at his proximity, looming in your doorway like a ghost. You almost can’t believe he’s here. Ditched his teammates – his friends – to come spend time with you. Ran several blocks at midnight because you wanted to see him. You, his ex-girlfriend. You, who broke his heart. He must be some kind of a masochist.

(He must be in love. The thought scares you, so you stop thinking it).

“Can I–?” His voice raptures you from your thoughts, his sharp gaze flicking between your lips and your eyes. You can feel it radiating off him – the longing. He wants this just as bad as you do.

“Yeah.” You breathe, reaching up to kiss him.

The kiss is gentle. Unsure. It’s more like two lips pushed together than an actual kiss, but the sentiment is still there. He kisses you like it’s the first time, like it might be the last. You don’t want it to end. It does.

There’s so many raw emotions, so much hurt shared between the two of you. Looking in his eyes, you don’t allow yourself to think, to feel, before you’re pulling him in by his collar and slamming your lips against his for the second time. He reacts instantly, deepening the kiss with a and a supportive hand to the back of your head. He walks you backwards and lies you back on the couch like you’re made of glass, and fucks you like he means it. Like it really might be the last time, because neither of you know what the hell you’re doing. He goes slower. Deeper. Savors it just a little longer. Makes your toes curl and your voice twist up in pretty cries of his name. You shower together after. He sleeps beside you.

(It’s been months since he slept in your bed. You ignore how it’s the best sleep you’ve gotten in a long while.)

You wake up the next morning to empty sheets.

It doesn’t surprise you. It does hurt though, but you aren't sure why. You distance yourself from the feeling entirely. You start a load of laundry instead.

Twenty minutes pass and there’s a commotion at your front door, the sound of crumpled paper bags and the soft jingle of keys alerting you of another presence.

“Oh, you’re awake.” He shyly smiles, bags in hand, “I wanted to have something ready for you before you woke up. I took your keys, if that’s alright. Hungry?”

You hum sleepily, a faint smile on your lips, “I could eat.”

“Perfect,” he mumbles under his breath, rushing to your small dining table to lay out his goods, “I wasn’t sure what to get, so I kind of got everything.”

It’s french bread from the bakery down the street, and a few pastries because Kiyoomi has a sweet tooth. There’s still steam rising from them – they must’ve just been made. There’s fresh cheese from the deli, too, and whatever fruits he could find. You grab one of the tangerines and start peeling.

Kiyoomi’s occupied himself with making the two of you coffee. You watch as he navigates himself through your kitchen in a domestic rhythm. He’s probably spent more time in it than you have.

He hums quietly to himself as he puts just the right combination of creamer and sugar in your mug, swirling the contents softly as he makes his way over to your small dining table.

You take the mug from his hands and take a sip. It’s perfect because of course it is.

“Good?” He asks, but the tilt of his head tells you he knows the answer. You roll your eyes. He offers a satisfied grin in return. “Muscle memory.”

The two of you dig in, eating quietly in each other’s presence.

“I thought you left.” You surprise yourself at your forwardness.

He stops chewing, politely wiping his mouth with a napkin before answering, “Why would I ever do that?” You blink.

“You used to be so rigid. Afraid, maybe? I don’t know.” You shrug, not really knowing what your own words mean, “But it’s nice to see you like this. You seem lighter. Happier. More comfortable with yourself.”

“Yeah. I, uh,” he averts his gaze, suddenly entertained with the buttery flakes of his croissant, “I realized some things after our break-up. You were right. About everything, really. I didn’t allow myself to be vulnerable with you. All you wanted was to love me, and I refused to let you in. You didn’t deserve that.“

“You didn’t deserve that either–” his honesty blindsides you, “–To feel like you couldn’t be vulnerable. I know I didn’t create the safest environment for communication. I caused a lot of petty fights just to get a reaction out of you. I should have been more honest with how I was feeling.”

“Is that…” He swallows, looking pained, “Is that why you pushed me away?”

“I…pushed you away?” You frown, heart breaking from hearing his side of things, “I wasn’t trying to push you anywhere. I missed you, is all. I just wanted us to get back to where we were.”

He smiles solemnly, eyes empty, “I’m sorry, Y/N. Truely, I am.”

You nod your head softly, “I’m sorry, too.”

Silence fills the air, but there’s nothing awkward about it. It’s light. Forgiving. With all cards on the table, there’s nothing to hide. The two of you continue eating. Breakfast nearly finished, you take another clementine, peeling away the tough rind and chewing softly. “Do you, uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, “Do you think we can try again? Try us again?”

You hum, peeling off another segment.

You offer him a slice, hand outstretched.

get this out of my sight

#sakusa #kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi sakusa #msby #msby sakusa #msby sakusa kiyoomu #haikyu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyu angst #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader

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loveyouanyway · 1 month

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fuck it friday!

tagged by @tizniz @theotherbuckley @wikiangela @loserdiaz @hippolotamus @smilingbuckley 💖

hi beloved weewooers. this idea has been in my mind for months so i said fuck it and started writing

tw mention of suicide and self harm

It’s the last 15 minutes of Eddie’s shift when he gets a code red call meaning the caller is having active suicidal or self harmful thoughts.

He takes a deep breath and picks up the phone.

"Hey, I’m Eddie," he answers softy. "Can you tell me your name?"

The person on the other side sniffles. "Um I'm Evan."

"Hi Evan. I have to ask where are you right now, have you taken anything and have you hurt yourself?"

"I know the drill, Eddie.” Evan laughs sadly and it breaks Eddie's heart.

He continues, "I’m on the ledge by the Santa Monica pier. I’m not going to jump. I just like to imagine it. And I do have a razor and I was tempted to use it so I called. God, I just need to feel something."

"I understand–"

Evan interrupts him. "Do you though? Fuck, sorry I shouldn’t–"

"No. It’s okay. I have. I've struggled with suicidal and self harmful thoughts and two years ago, I called this helpline. This lovely woman named Maddie answered and pretty much saved my life."

no pressure tags: @steadfastsaturnsrings @monsterrae1 @epicbuddieficrecs @spotsandsocks @dangerpronebuddie @diazsdimples @actualalligator @father-salmon @elvensorceress and as always, an open tag 💕

let me know if you want to be added or removed

#nolan writes #mental health helpline fic #buddie wip #buddie fic #buddie #911 abc #911 wip #911 fic #911 au #evan buckley #buck x eddie #eddie diaz #tw sui talk #tw self harm

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savagewildnerness · 9 days

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Interesting (you’ll be the judge of that!) , the song: about a soldier out for war, relentlessly driving onwards with a wild (surely misplaced!!) enthusiasm, no matter what! Remind you of anyone?! 😉

“Paddy Mack drove a hack Up and down Broadway, Pat had one expression and he’d use it ev’ry day; Anytime he’d grab a fare, to take them for a ride, Paddy jumped upon the seat, cracked his whip and cried:

 “Where do we go from here, boys, Where do we go from here? Anywhere from Harlem to a Jersey city pier;” When Pat would spy a pretty girl, he’d whisper in her ear, “Oh joy, Oh boy, Where do we go from here?” here?”

 One fine day, on Broadway, Pat was driving fast, When the street was blown to pieces By a subway blast; Down the hole poor Paddy went, a thinkin’ of his past, Then he says, says he, I think these words will be my last:

 “Where do we go from here, boys, Where do we go from here? Paddy’s neck was in the wreck, but still he had no fear; He saw a dead man next to him and whispered in his ear, “Oh joy, Oh boy, Where do we go from here?”

 First of all, at the call, When the war began, Pat enlisted in the army as a fighting man; When the drills began, they’d walk a hundred miles a day, Tho’ the rest got tired, Paddy always used to say:

 “Where do we go from here, boys, Where do we go from here? Slip a pill to Kaiser Bill and make him shed a tear; And when we see the enemy we’ll shoot them in the rear, He saw a dead man next to him and whispered in his ear, “Oh joy, Oh boy, Where do we go from here?”

Where Do We Go From Here? is a classic World War I song written in 1917 by lyricist Howard Johnson and ragtime composer Percy Wenrich. Johnson served in the Navy during World War I, and then he moved to New York and immediately found himself working in Tin Pan Alley. Amongst his many hits, mostly with particularly long song titles, was the popular novelty song I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream For Ice Cream.

#interview with the vampire #anne rice #lestat de lioncourt #the vampire lestat #iwtv lestat #amc interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #iwtv amc

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lindsay00000008 · 1 month

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Fantasy whump…. My whump must be aesthetic.

Whumper keeps their pet crocodile chained along the riverbank, lazing between reeds until it gets peckish. Whumpee is not fond of the beast. In the shade of the columns of the alabaster pier, Whumpee gets their punishment — the sand is thick and the water cool. Their clothes are wet and stick to their skin with sweat and river water, making them shiver. The weather is hot, but overall it would seem a comfortable way to spend the afternoon, were it not for the watchful eyes of Whumper, the thick chain and collar tugging at their throat, and the crocodile bathing in the reeds nearby.

The collar has been their constant companion these years, and whumpee is familiar with the chafing, weighed down by different chains over the years — some lighter, some heavier. Some tarnished, some pretty. This one is not very pretty.

A pole has been placed in the river, several yards from the bank. It’s drilled firmly into the earth below the water and held down by a massive stone. A loop of bronze peaks out above the water, with two lengths of chain attached — one for each of Whumper’s pets. The crocodile’s chain is long. It can enjoy a wide circle of freedom, up to the bank and into the deeper water. The bank below the pier is its territory. A place where only the unluckiest servants go, tossing goat legs and cow heads before they sprint away to safety. And now Whumpee, with the same length of chain, crouched by the same reeds on that same bank, glancing up at Whumper as if to say, don’t leave me.

It’s a wonderful punishment, Whumper thinks. A remedy for Whumpee’s distracted mood all day. There is nothing to focus on but the pull of the current, and the ripple of a knobby head moving slowly on the bank. And Whumper of course, who has eyes only for Whumpee, despite that large, pale, grey-green tail that swipes aside mud and silt.

Whumper has a bow. They sit cross-legged on a mat with fresh fruit and thin bread before them. They would never let Whumpee get injured, of course. At least, they themselves know that. However what they’ve told Whumpee is less comforting.

“Should the crocodile seek to devour you, I should like to ease your suffering. For all that you deserve your punishment today, I should hate to hear you cry at the punishing mouth of another.”

#fantasy whump #loving whumper #intimate whumper #whumpee #whumper #captive whumpee #whumpspiration #whumpblr #whump writing

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chickenfics · 1 year

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the way I love the ocean

Relationship: Robin Buckley x Female!Reader

Summary: It was the summer of ‘87. Nothing in your life had prepared you for Robin, but somehow everything had begun falling into place. It all started with a movie and a pair of ocean-blue eyes, and suddenly you were dancing to a Jukebox in a long-closed diner, or racing down the length of a pier, swimming in the moon-dipped lake and walking her home down yellow-lit streets, talking about the way The Smiths sound like indigo and the best time of the summer is when the fireflies start to come out.

It was the summer of ‘87, and you were falling in love.

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: Red Alert: we've reached adorable nickname territory, this is not a drill. Also, I highly recommend listening to 'Brown Eyed Girl' after reading this. For some reason, in my head, it's Robin's Song and it always makes me feel so warm and fuzzy listening to it and imagining this story. Anyway, happy reading.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for future chapters!

Fic Playlist! Also on Ao3

Previous Chapter Next Chapter Masterlist

Chapter 4: Brown Eyed Girl

"So, do you ever think you'll leave Hawkins?"

You and Robin were walking under the yellow pooling glow of streetlamps, their little cylindrical spaces like checkpoints you passed by, one after the next. You were pushing your bike, and the tape Robin had given you felt warm in your pocket. Robin was still wearing the flower crown; the flowers looked pale -- the white ones, at least, and the others looked dark, almost inky in the rich blue-gray light of the summer night. Like The Smiths, you thought, and you smiled silently to yourself before remembering that she'd asked you a question.

"I don't know," your voice sounded impossibly loud in the empty street. You were almost afraid that the houses would hear you and turn on their porch lights, sullying the perfect balance of light, dark, light, dark that the street was providing. "Maybe. I feel like I'll have to," you looked at her. "Can't stay here forever, right?"

"I dunno… sometimes I just feel like I'm never gonna get out of here," she kicked a stone beneath her feet. "Like I'm -- cursed, or something. I think we all kind of feel that way, my friends and I. We've… we've seen some shit, gone through just as much, and it's all so connected to Hawkins that… I don't know," she shrugged. "Eddie says that Hawkins, like, knows our blood now, or something, so it won't let go of us. But he's also, like, kind of a weirdo, so…"

Your laughter rang softly into the night and Robin smiled, her skin wrinkling, painting lines into that delicate skin around her eyes. She looked like an unfinished painting, beautiful in its imperfections -- in its potential beyond its existing beauty.

"I get that, feeling like you'll never get away. Sometimes I have to remind myself that there's life outside of Hawkins. Like, this isn't the only place in the world," you snorted.

Robin grinned. "Yeah. For being so small, this town really feels big sometimes."

"Have you ever thought about college?" you hesitantly asked. That was how most kids your age got out of a place like this.

"Nah. I mean, I have, but… I’ve come to the conclusion that it's not really my thing. Steve's the same way. We kind of just plan on hopping from one job to the next and hoping we survive somehow."

She watched her feet for a moment, then suddenly glanced up.

"Oh, turn here," she said, and you followed. "What about you?"

"Same -- not really my thing. Like you said," you smiled. “Just hoping I survive somehow. Which makes my parents real happy…"

Robin laughed at your sarcasm, then raised her eyebrows.

"Yup, I know the feeling. Which, it’s like… both my parents work, like, minimum wage jobs, and my dad went to college but my mom didn't, so you'd think that would prove it doesn't really matter either way, but no, I just have to further my education or I'll be a disgrace to my family lineage.”

"Right?! Then again, maybe our parents want us to get out of Hawkins as much as we do. I guess college seems like the most realistic ride out of here."

"Who's going to tell them you can just, like, take a Greyhound?"

You laughed, nearly tripping over your bike -- and then definitely tripping over a jutted corner of the sidewalk. You gasped, and Robin's hand reached out to grab your bicep.

"Woah there--"

"Sorry!"

"Oh, please," she waved. She was still holding onto you, but her grip had loosened now that you weren't actively falling over. "I'm, like, the clumsiest person I know."

"Thanks for…" you nodded towards your arm. As if she’d just realized her hand was still there, she pulled it back into her own space. You couldn't be sure, in the dim light, but you thought she might be blushing.

"You're welcome. Yeah, of course. No problem-o…"

Your arm burned warm from where her fingers had been just moments ago, and the tape in your pocket seemed to have only gotten hotter. You wondered if you were going to spontaneously combust or something. Wouldn't that make the news… ‘Local girl bursts into flame, more at five.’

"Oh, uhm. This is me," Robin stopped in front of a small house, grey beneath the cloudy moonlight. "Thanks again for walking me home."

"Of course. Thanks again for the tape."

"I'm just glad you liked it," she replied in that softly eager way, the way that made you think maybe she was holding back a little for fear of coming across as 'too much.' She kicked at the pavement, then glanced up at you.

"Are you gonna be okay getting home? It's pretty dark…"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," you tried to sound reassuring. "My place isn't that far, anyway. Swear I won't get axe murdered, or kidnapped, or abducted by aliens or anything."

"Promise?" she asked with the ghost of a smirk, and she held out her pinky. Your breath failed you in the moment that it took to register what she was doing.

Then you reached forward and hooked your pinky around hers. She grinned.

"Promise," you murmured. "I could… call you tomorrow after my shift?"

"Sure. That way I'll know the aliens haven't gotten you."

"But," you tilted your head. "What if they, like, take over my mind and then put me back on Earth as their spy, or something?"

"Then… I'll ask you how you liked the fireflies and the crickets, and if you talk about The Smiths I'll know it's really you."

"Okay," you replied, eyes going starry at everything that Robin was. You weren't even sure how she was real.

When she released your pinky, you missed the warmth of her skin in an instant.

"Talk to you tomorrow," you whispered.

"Night, Earthling," she replied with a little two-finger salute. You watched until she made it through her front door, waving when she turned around one final time.

Then you were swinging onto your bike and pedaling home, keeping on the lookout for any flying saucers.

You set The Smiths album next to Tango in the Night, which had found a home on your nightstand. Two was technically a collection, and although Robin hadn’t technically given you ‘Tango in the Night,’ both of them still felt connected to her. Whenever you looked at the tapes, you thought of movie nights and quiet evenings in the woods, and Robin with her rosy smile and her bright eyes. You couldn’t have known that, when her parents went to sleep that night, Robin folded the flower crown you’d given her into wax paper, hiding it between the pages of the heaviest book she owned -- one corner peeking out so she wouldn’t forget it was there.

It seemed that you had both started keeping pieces of each other, along with your indigo skies and your crickets, your dreams and pet peeves, and a pinky promise with a secret code just in case either of you got abducted by aliens.

_______________________________________________________________

You and Robin talked as often as you could over the next few weeks. You were both busy with work, and besides that, it seemed like, at any given point, Robin’s life was more chaotic than your average person's. She and Steve hung out with a group of kids quite often. Steve called it ‘babysitting,’ Robin insisted that the 'babies' were almost adults by now, so it technically wasn’t. Steve had argued that they were the only actual adults in the group, which meant that they were responsible for whatever shit went down, which meant that technically they were babysitting. Robin had ignored him and insisted that one of these days she’d introduce you to them. Your anxiety at the idea must have been clear on your face because she quickly assured you that they were really good kids. Well, most of them.

“Mike is kind of going through a phase right now, but he knows to be polite to strangers or Steve will get started on one of his rants about good manners.”

Steve had interrupted her assurances with a very loud, very dramatic scoff, which Robin also ignored.

“Anyway, besides that, they’re good kids. Dustin’s a little twerp, but he’s the best. Lucas is, like, the sweetest boy I’ve ever met, and his sister Erica’s awesome -- when she likes you, that is. That girl is tiny but mighty.”

“Very scary,” Steve confirmed.

“But she’ll probably be glad to have another girl to hang around. I think she sometimes gets tired of being surrounded by a bunch of immature teenage boys.”

“And immature Robins,” Steve butted back in. They were like two halves of the same court jester.

“How dare you? I am not nearly as bad as those little dinguses -- and besides, Erica does like me. I think.”

“‘You think,’” he mocked, and she launched a VHS at his head; an action she’d never hear the end of because “You can’t break the fucking merchandise, Robin. Keith will have our asses.”

And so your days went, visiting the two at Family Video whenever you could, bringing them leftover pastries, fries, or coffee from the diner. That was how you learned Robin was not a coffee drinker.

“I had one sip of caffeine by accident and my heart nearly exploded right out of my chest. Never again, thank you very much. I think if I drank a whole cup I’d actually go into cardiac arrest.”

“More for me,” Steve had said with a shrug, accepting the cups gratefully.

Robin and Steve sometimes visited you at the diner, too. You’d told them, somewhat regretfully, that you wouldn’t be able to give them any free food -- even if they were friends of an employee -- but they’d just waved away your concerns and planted themselves in a booth. They ordered food, then sat and waited for your shift to be over. They even helped you close up a couple of times.

One night, Steve must have been in a particularly good mood. He and Robin had just finished splitting a basket of fries and you had just ushered the last customer out the door -- a woman everyone knew as old lady Daniels, who was a recurring offender when it came to staying long past closing time. She also had a running tab that you suspected wasn’t going to be paid before she kicked the bucket, but Tiffany was lenient on account of them being old friends. Or so the lore went.

When the three of you were finally alone, Steve hopped up and carried their tray right back to the kitchen, insisting that he clean it himself. You’d tried to tell him -- many times -- that he absolutely did not have to, that you didn’t mind taking care of it, and that it was probably against the rules for him to be back there cleaning stuff off anyway, but he wouldn’t listen. You trusted him, so you let him do his thing.

By the time he returned, announcing that he’d “just gone ahead and washed the rest of the dishes” because there were “only a few,” you and Robin were wiping off tables. Again, you’d tried to tell her that she didn’t need to help you, you were more than happy just to have her company while you worked, but like her friend she was relentless. Their kindness made you feel unbearably warm.

“Hey… now would you look at that,” Steve muttered to himself, and you and Robin had barely dragged your eyes away from one another in enough time to see him drop some change into the old jukebox in the corner. With one hip jutted out and his arms folded against his body in a contemplative pose, he pursued the song options. You knew they were all oldies, and guessed he was probably trying to figure out which one would be the least insufferable. You didn’t much care what he picked -- you’d heard them all and you liked most of them. Still, it had been a long time since anyone had touched that jukebox; it had probably only been played a dozen times since you'd been employed at the diner. You wondered if it still even worked.

You got your answer as the machine let out a whirr, dropping the record of choice into place with a scratch of the needle. A warble filled the air as the vinyl began to spin, and then an upbeat, strumming tune began, joined by a rhythmic tambourine. Steve turned around to grin at you and Robin and, as the lyrics began, both your eyes widened gleefully at the same time.

‘Hey where did we go?

Days when the rains came

Down in the hollow

Playing a new game’

‘Brown Eyed Girl’ by Van Morrison filled the diner like a ray of warm sunshine. You and Robin grinned at each other, eagerly glancing back over at Steve, who grabbed a broom from where it was leaning against the counter and began to dance with it, shaking his hips. You burst out laughing and Robin looked like she was ready to explode with joy -- her smile big and her face scrunched in fond amusement.

Steve did a little flourish, pretending the broomstick was a guitar for a moment before dropping it and grabbing Robin’s hands, shimmying them as he pulled her into the aisle. He sang along as Robin laughed brightly, too happy to grumble at him -- and eventually, he got her singing, too. Then suddenly he gave her a spin that sent her straight into you.

Your hands shot out, catching her as she laughed breathlessly and grinned.

“Oof, sorry,” she giggled, grabbing onto your forearms. Then, leaning back and throwing her head almost upside down, “Steeeeeve!”

“Sorry Robs,” he replied, dancing between the chairs with the broom again. “This fine lady here’s my partner now. You gotta find your own. I think there’s a nice lookin’ mop in the back…”

Robin was rolling her eyes before he even got the sentence out, and then they landed on you. They were shining, somehow a brighter shade of blue than usual.

“Dance with me?”

“Oh, I-I don’t know,” you held up your hands, but Robin used your protest as an opportunity to place her curled fingers under yours, waving them gently through the air as she began to sing, her expression opening into eager pleading, grinning like she already knew you’d say yes.

‘Standin’ in the sunlight laughin’

Hidin’ behind a rainbows wall

Slippin’ and a-slidin’

All along the waterfall with you

My brown eyed girl’

Her smile was so charming, her face flushed with excitement and her nest of her hair sticking up in a beautiful messy spray. She was like a siren and there wasn't a chance on Earth you’d say no. Or any other planet, for that matter.

You grabbed her hands. Her smile grew wider and she closed her eyes blissfully as she stepped back and began dancing you towards her, her low, raspy voice joining the crackle of the record.

‘You my brown eyed girl

Do you remember when

We used to sing

Sha la la, la la, la la, la la l-la te da

Just like that’

She gave you a wink and you just about died. You thought maybe you had when she laid a hand on your waist in a mock-ballroom dance. Soon you found yourself holding onto her, too, and it felt so good. She hopped around, leading you in a messy but charming dance as the cheery music played loudly -- the liveliness of it juxtaposing with the dark and still atmosphere just outside the windows. But inside the diner, everything was warm and breathing and beautifully alive. You followed Robin’s lead, catching her whenever she tripped over her own feet, laughing when she shook her hair out in front of her face, her own laughter sounding like a melody singing along with the jukebox.

Steve danced back into view, hooking his arms around your necks and leaning between you, blowing a puff of air into Robin’s ear. He ducked away as she tried to ruffle his hair, arms flying up defensively to guard his perfect hairdo. You giggled, and Robin turned her smile back onto you, her wrists finding your waist again to rest there casually. You both swayed as the chorus began to fade and the song scratched to an end.

“God. 'M feeling pretty lonely over here,” Steve drawled, hopping onto a barstool and leaning an elbow on the broom handle. “‘S just me and this strange lady I’ve only just met. Maybe I need better standards or something.”

Robin scoffed loudly, stepping beside you to rest an arm on your shoulder -- much like Steve was doing with the broom. You laid a hand on the small of her back, knowing that the flutter in your heart and the breathlessness in your chest wasn’t just because of all the dancing you’d done.

“Hold on,” you alluringly began, an idea coming to mind. “I think I might have just the thing to cheer you up.”

Pulling out of Robin’s grasp, you headed around the counter and into the kitchen. You heard the clunk of another coin, the first chords of another song. You smiled.

“Here we go,” you announced, reappearing with an armful -- three bottles of beer.

“Oh shit,” Steve's face lit up adorably, lips curling into an excited smirk. “Nothing like drowning the sorrow of being single and alone in booze.”

“You’re not alone,” Robin chipperly replied. “You have us.”

She accepted a bottle from you with thanks, and you gave Steve a grin to match the one Robin was wearing. He glanced between the two of you like you’d actually lost your minds.

“Okay, but that’s, like, not the same thing.”

“You mean you want a hot babe to dote on you,” Robin replied, lips peeling back into a devilish grin as she took a swig of beer.

“Wow, Robin. Way to shit on Y/N. And after she just bought us drinks, too.”

“Wha -- I didn’t,” she dropped the bottle from her mouth and glanced over at you. “I didn’t mean that you’re not hot -- I mean, you’re hot, for sure -- like, super hot… I… I mean…” She was nearly as red as the L.E.D. lights advertising Tiffany’s Diner just outside.

You waved your hands in reassurance, trying not to completely freak out yourself.

“I mean… thanks," you managed, your words half-lost beneath her hasty explanations.

She'd just called you hot. ‘Super hot.’

Holy shit.

“Y-Yeah. You're… welcome.”

The combined heat between the two of you must have been enough to start a fire. Steve stared past you with a smug grin, then drank half his bottle in one go.

“Woah, slow down there Harrington, you still have to drive us home.”

“‘Us?’” Steve demanded. “I swear to God, Buckley, I’m gonna open a goddamn shuttling service and make you pay me for all the shit you make me do.”

“Oh my god, you are actually so dramatic. Remind me why I’m friends with you?”

“Must be my car, because that’s all you use me for.”

Robin coughed up an indignant scoff.

“So what is it this time, huh?” he continued, glancing between the two of you. You sipped at your beer, more than used to their bantering by now. “Don’t tell me it’s the ax murderers again.”

“Aliens,” Robin replied, eyebrows raised. Steve stared at her, then turned his stare to you.

“Aliens,” he repeated, and you both nodded. “Yeah, definitely gonna start charging you…”

You and Robin burst into giggles, which had Steve looking like more of a disappointed parent than he already did. He couldn’t keep up the act for long, though, and soon enough the three of you were sprawled out in various seats throughout the diner talking about Steve’s love life -- or lack thereof -- and why Robin wished Steve would stop talking about his love life -- or lack thereof.

“I swear, she was, like, super nice, but…” he groaned, leaning back against the countertop. “And then she’s planning on going to college in the fall -- like literally everyone else my age, of course -- and so I’m like, what’s the point, you know? Long-distance relationships never work. I literally have one with my parents and they don’t know even half the shit that’s gone on in my life. I’d be surprised if they even know I’ve graduated.”

“Uh, which one is this again?” Robin asked, raising a hand. “J… Jessica?”

“Jenna!” Steve insisted. “Her name is Jenna, Robin.

“Sorry!” Robin insisted right back, raising her hands defensively before throwing an arm onto the table. The two of you were lounging back in a booth, your empty bottles discarded on the table. “It’s not my fault the girl of your dreams changes every week like phases of the moon.”

Steve scrunched his face up at her and she stuck her tongue out at him, which he ignored by taking a final swig of his beer. He clanked it back onto the table and sighed.

“So, what about you?” he asked, jerking his chin towards where you were leaning against the windowpane, your legs propped up on the booth seat. “You got a special someone?”

“M-Me?” you pointed at your chest.

“Steve,” Robin hissed, one of the few times you’d heard her sound genuinely upset with him.

“What? I’m just asking! We’re friends -- friends can ask other friends that sort of stuff, right?”

“I’m… not dating anyone, if that’s what you mean,” you hesitantly offered, glancing over at Robin. She was looking at you.

What could you say that wouldn’t have been an outright lie? You couldn’t tell him the truth, that was for sure; couldn’t just come out and say that you had a massive crush on his best friend who very possibly didn’t like you like that and might want to end your friendship, which was one of the best things that had ever happened to you, if she knew how you felt about her. How you really felt. And you were pretty sure there was no way you could survive Robin hating you, or her and Steve suddenly disappearing from your life.

It wasn’t that you thought Robin would care -- she didn’t seem like the kind of person who would -- you were just scared. Because you liked Robin, and she seemed to like you; the problem was you liked her more than just a friend, and if you pushed that boundary but she didn’t like you back…

You weren’t sure she’d still want to be friends with you. And being friends with Robin felt like something you couldn’t live without.

“Cool,” Steve casually replied, and you only then noticed that he’d been watching you carefully. Despite what you feared, there was a lack of judgment in his eyes, and he seemed almost… curious; like he could tell there was something more going on but he wasn't going to push.

You took a deep breath.

“It’s all good,” Robin suddenly spoke up, glancing hesitantly over at you. “I’m not dating anyone, either. Steve makes single life sound like it’s the end of the world, but that’s just because he’s actually the most dramatic person I’ve ever met, and also a hopeless romantic so everything he experiences is, like, ten times more painful than it actually needs to be,” she shrugged.

And then, before you had a chance to wonder if there was an ulterior motive to her telling you that she was single besides just making you feel better, the moment was over and the conversation had moved on -- mostly on Steve’s part, who did nearly all of the talking. That was fine. You were too busy trying to ward off the overwhelming weight of just how fucking difficult it was to not know if Robin somehow felt the same way about you that you probably couldn’t have followed the conversation even if it was interesting -- no offense to Steve.

“And that’s when I said… are you two even listening?” he demanded, and both you and Robin jumped.

“A…Apparently not,” she weakly offered, sending you a quiet look.

“Sorry, Steve,” you offered. “Was it… something about Jessica? Jemma…” you furrowed your brow. “J--”

“Jenna! Christ on a fucking bike, why does no one listen to me?”

“Probably because all you do is talk,” Robin shot back. “Like, it is literally constant. You’re probably contributing a vast majority of the sound pollution across the entire state of Indiana.”

“Oh my god,” he said, looking to you for help. All you could do was shrug and do a piss-poor job of hiding your laughter behind your hand.

“You guys are awful friends,” he snobbily insisted. Robin rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, then got up with a smirk and planted herself on Steve’s lap, grabbing his shoulders and giving him an obnoxious kiss on the cheek.

“I’m sorry, dingus,” she sang. “Please don’t be mad.”

He made a dramatic show of wincing and wiping his cheek before he gave a little scoff and hugged her around the waist. You were lost trying to come up with a reason to be mad at Robin so she’d do that to you. But your mind came up blank. She was just too perfect, too sweet and kind and wonderful; you couldn’t fault her for a single thing. All you could do was try not to stare as she hopped off of Steve's lap and plopped back into the booth as if nothing had happened; as casually as if she hadn’t just made your lungs drop straight through your chest. You were pretty sure you’d have to scrape them up off the floor during your next shift.

“Hey,” Robin suddenly said, nudging you with her elbow, and it wasn’t a kiss on the cheek but it was something. You’d take anything. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you quickly shook your head, smiling in a way that you hoped looked relatively normal. “I’m good. Just tired.”

Robin’s brow furrowed sympathetically, and she let her forearm brush against yours on the table as she tapped her fingers. Why? You felt like you were wailing it to the sky. Why did she do things like that -- the lingering touches and hidden smiles and longing glances? She had to know she was driving you crazy. You would have died to know what all of it meant.

If you were braver, you would have asked.

“Are we all good here? Like, for closing and stuff?” Steve asked as if all three of you worked at Tiffany’s instead of just you. Some of your internal turmoil was momentarily set aside as fondness replaced it. Even if you were confused, you were still pretty lucky.

“Yeah, all good.”

“Great,” Steve announced, jumping up to collect the empty bottles. “Let’s get you ladies home, then.”

Robin didn’t say anything this time about Steve calling you ‘ladies,’ but she did bump her side into yours as you headed for the door, smirking like you shared a secret. You felt like maybe you did -- if only you knew what that secret was. You smiled up at her anyway and let the touch of your hips linger, wishing that it could have turned into more; wishing that it could have gone on longer and never stopped.

As had become a habit, Steve carried your bike to his car -- and not long after, Robin helped you get it out. You could tell, though, that something was different tonight. You could almost feel the energy in the air, the unbroken potential hovering around Robin like a cloud.

“Hey, so,” she finally broke the silence, lowering your bike onto the pavement as the atmosphere cleared. “I hope Steve didn’t put you on the spot or anything while he was prying into your love life. You don’t have to, like… tell us personal things, even if we are friends. Which… I mean, we are… right?”

“Yes. Of course,” you insisted. Then, a bit more shyly, “I mean -- I’d like to be.”

“Me too!” she replied, waving her hands before clasping them in front of her, nervously playing with her fingers. “I just… I want you to be comfortable, you know? And, I mean, sometimes I kind of talk without a filter -- a-and Steve’s filter is a little unconventional when you compare it to everyone else's, haha…”

“Robin,” you waited for her to look at you, and when she did, it was like she was trying to hide through her eyelashes. “It’s okay -- really. I really like you guys. But… if it makes you feel better, I swear I’ll tell you if you ever make me uncomfortable or cross a line or anything.” You raised your eyebrows imploringly, and Robin visibly relaxed before beaming at you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, for sure.” In a moment of confidence, you stuck out your pinky. Robin’s grin softened, giving you a look of eager surprise. She hooked her pinky around yours.

“But hey, you too, alright?”

“Yeah -- of course. Me too,” she nodded, giving your pinky a firm shake. “Alright, well,” she smiled sadly. “I guess I’d better go. My parents are probably gonna freak at me for getting home so late. They’ve gotten kind of uber-sensitive about my curfew since last summer when I… well… it’s a long story with way too many moving parts. Anyway… night.” she ducked her head, rosy cheeks shining warm beneath the streetlights and the crescent moon.

“Night,” you replied, finally letting go of her hand. “Keep an eye out for aliens.”

Robin’s lips curled into a grin as she walked back towards the passenger side door.

“Sure thing, Earthling,” she winked.

Your feet were stuck to the pavement even as Steve pulled away with a wave that you physically couldn’t return.

From inside Steve’s BMW, the two best friends were having a similar issue.

“Holy shit.”

“Steve,” Robin groaned, hands planted over her face, covering her eyes and hoping that maybe Steve wouldn’t notice how red she was.

“You just winked at her. Robs, you just winked at her.”

“Steven, I swear to God--”

“Ha! Haha!” Steve reached over to grab her shoulder, shaking it so hard that her teeth knocked together. “Jesus, Robin! I mean damn, you pulled out the moves and everything. Did you see her, by the way? I think we should circle back to make sure she actually got inside ‘cause it looked like she was about to fall over.”

“Would you stop--”

“I’m being completely serious, Robin. Holy shit,” he glanced away, blowing a raspberry and raking a hand through his hair. “So what kinds of flowers do you think you guys’ll want for the wedding? Also, what’s her favorite color because we’ll have to pick, like, napkins and tablecloths and all that stuff.”

“Why do you know so much about wedding planning?” she furrowed her brow, and Steve glanced over at her before shrugging.

“So?” he persisted, eyes widening as he waited. Robin leaned against the window and smirked.

“Indigo. Something, like… dark indigo.”

Steve fell quiet for a moment, taking in Robin’s starry-eyed expression. It was like she was looking somewhere else, far away from his little car or the street in front of them, or even all of Hawkins. He smiled.

“That’s… poetic,” he couldn’t help but comment.

“Shut up, dingus,” Robin fondly replied.

______________________________________________________________

You and Robin didn’t see each other for a little while after that night. You talked on the phone as frequently as you could, but between working evening rush hour shifts at the diner and Keith cracking down on how often employees could use the phone -- he must have figured out they were using it for non-work-related purposes -- yours and Robin’s paths didn’t get the opportunity to cross.

It felt like forever since you’d seen her even though it had likely only been a few weeks. Even so, it seemed that you weren’t the only dramatic one.

“Steve’s been asking about you, like, constantly,” Robin said over the phone one evening. “No offense, but I think he just misses all the snacks you usually bring us.”

You snorted, smiling fondly at the thought.

“I know -- work’s just been so busy lately. But tell him I’ll be around with more soggy fries and half-melted milkshakes soon.”

You wished you could see Robin’s smile as her laughter came through the receiver, the crackling and long distance doing nothing to change the way it sounded like spring. The way it sounded perfect. You wished you could see that dimple in the corner of her mouth, a little wrinkle that always appeared when she smiled wide enough, the crease swallowing up a few of her freckles. You just wished you could see her.

“No worries, we totally understand,” Robin was saying. “But, uh… Steve’s not the only one who misses you…”

Your end of the line was silent.

“I mean, it’s been, like, weeks since I’ve had a strawberry milkshake--”

You laughed, leaning your head onto your hand, scratching lightly at your temple as you felt your face grow hot. “The next chance I get, I’m taking you out for one.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. We can go back to that spot in the woods again. I’ll bring The Smiths.”

“Sounds like a pretty good way to spend an evening,” she said, voice a raspy purr. It made you crazy.

“Hopefully soon.”

“Yeah… hey, my mom’s calling. Actually, she has been for, like, five minutes now but I’ve kind of been ignoring her. I’m surprised you haven’t heard her on the other end,” she scoffed. You laughed into your hand.

“Alright. Talk to you soon, yeah?”

“I’d offer you my pinky, but I’m afraid technology hasn’t reached those capabilities yet.”

God, she was unreal. And here she was, talking to you over the phone. You felt like the luckiest person on planet earth.

“Night Earthling,” she said, as if on cue.

“Night Robin. Say ‘hi’ to Steve for me.”

“Will do.”

You heard the lingering echoes of her smile and then it was cut off with the click of the receiver. Your head was spinning somewhere out in the woods near Lover’s Lake -- somewhere where the crickets were loud and couldn't be silenced by the hanging up of a phone. As much as you would have liked living there forever, real life had a tendency of moving on, even when your daydreams were so much better.

It wasn’t until a few days later that you spoke to Robin again. She called you Friday at the diner two hours before your shift ended.

“Honey,” Tiffany waved you down as you were bringing an order back to the kitchen, phone in her hand and the chord stretched around the corner. “You’ve got a call,” she held up the phone.

You’d been expecting one of your parents. Who else would have called you at work? You really should have known.

“Hey there, Earth girl,” Robin grinned.

“Oh, it’s ‘Earth girl’ now?” you arched an eyebrow despite the heat that instantly spread down your neck, you tucked yourself back into the small hallway of employee lockers and leaned onto the wall next to the phone hook.

“Trying new things. Anyway -- are you free tonight? Please say you’re free tonight.”

You’d planned on going home, taking the longest shower of your life, then dropping into bed to watch reruns on TV, but technically…

“Yeah. I don’t have anything going on.”

Robin let out something between a groan and a sigh.

“Ahgh, yes! Okay, so Steve and I got invited to this party--”

“I got invited to this party,” Steve interjected, his voice distant but clear enough. “Robin’s just my plus one.”

“Oh my god, whatever,” she grumbled, clearly exasperated. They’d obviously had this argument beforehand, and of course they hadn’t come to a resolution and neither of them had caved. You wouldn’t have expected less. “But, uh, I was wondering if you’d be my plus one. Or… plus two, technically speaking. Plus one squared?”

You heard Steve muttering “You’re such a nerd,” seconds before the sound of her elbow connecting with his ribs.

“So… will you come? It’s at Mandy’s house -- do you know Mandy? She was in Mr. Richard’s Calculus class. Kind of a priss, but whatever. Steve insists that I go along with him for emotional support, and I could really use your emotional support.”

“Yeah, sure,” you agreed before you had enough time to regret the decision, let alone even think about it. The cheer Robin let out was a million times worth it. “What’s the address?”

Robin told you and you wrote it onto your order pad.

“That’s actually not too far from my house. I can bike, meet you guys there.”

It took Robin some convincing from both you and Steve for her to agree, but finally, you settled on leaving your house around eight, which would get you to Mandy’s around eight-fifteen. Robin assured you that they’d already be there by then and would find you.

“Thanks for this, you’re a lifesaver.”

“No problem. It’ll be fun!” At least, you hoped it would.

Parties definitely were not your thing, but… Robin had asked you. And, if it meant getting to spend the evening with your two best friends, then maybe it would be fun. The promise of alcohol definitely didn’t hurt.

Robin and you agreed to use each other as alibis, telling your parents you’d be spending the night at your friend’s house. Steve’s parents were away on business, so he didn’t have to worry about it, and said that you could all three crash at his place for the night. You felt a bit of excitement flutter around the pit of anticipation in your stomach.

“And remember, don’t get abducted. We have a deal, Earthling. ‘M not ready to give you to the aliens quite yet.”

Yeah… maybe it would be a fun night after all.

_______________________________________________________________

Taglist: @alonezz, @gaysludge, @gray-cheese, @rare-breed-of-human, @vea-vea-vea, @lady-silkwing, @im-a-milf, @yourmanifestingbigsister

#robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x you #robin buckley x female reader #robin buckley x y/n #robin x reader #robin buckley fanfic #robin buckley #st #st fanfic #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #steve and robin #ao3 link #ao3 fanfic #fanfictions

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grits-galraisedinthesouth · 2 years

Text

Question: When did you 1st know that Meghan Markle and Harry Markle were FRAUDS?

Answer: I was listening to my American talk radio station when I heard a report about an American actress (I didn't recognize the name) dating Prince Harry. I literally laughed outloud. I vividly remember thinking, "oh please! Harry would never seriously date an American actress, this is just another fling. Later came that train wreck engagement interview. I was stunned by their obvious lies. I recall writing a comment on a YouTube channel that was created to question their interview. I wrote, "this is a fraud," and the content creator replied, "yes it is, we just don't know why."

Today I firmly believe that radio spot was PR, purchased by Meghan, to quickly make the relationship go public & appear to be serious.

I've gone through several theories over the past 5 years, and the only theory that makes sense is they agreed to become BUSINESS partners who live in an OPEN sexually fluid marriage.

When they lived in London, someone with inside information wrote, "they don't have a traditional marriage." After relocation to the US, that same contact answered me, "bc they don't have a traditional marriage... they live in separate wings." I just couldn't grasp the meaning of a "non-traditional" BRF marriage.

Watching their robotic performance at the UN settled it for me. It was identical to their robotic hand holding at the royal theatre.

Their robotic love is simply the fruit of a fraudulent marriage. They live separate lives in a scripted marriage.

Meghan's name is on a list of Hollywood celesbians, as a "serial beard" & escort for gay men. BTW Serena's name is on this same list. The popular American couples that Harry admires & desires to emulate are also in open marriages.

Obviously I don't know these people, but Harry and Meghan have NEVER once appeared to be in love with one another, not even during the wedding ceremony. Meghan doesn't seem to like Harry let alone love him. More often than not, she appears to be annoyed and resentful of Harry.

Meghan's first loves are Meghan, fame, and money. Harry loves drugs, sex and alcohol. Meghan will do absolutely anything for money, and she grew up fantasizing about becoming a Princess, like Harry's mother Diana.

Markus and the Mulroneys drilled a hole for Meghan into the locked door to elite associates and global fame. She peeked through the hole and laid a trap for Harry.

Markus ensured that she had access to Harry at the private Soho House Istanbul Grand Opening in April of 2015. Both were in Turkey, along with many of Harry’s Eton friends and UK celebrities. Meghan documented this life changing moment on her Instagram:

"48 Hours in Istanbul may be the best 48 hours of your life."

She pre-planned to reconnect with Harry during his 2 night visit to Toronto in the May of 2016 by taking her first PR trip in March to Rwanda for photographs and a (final) vacation with Cory in April.

Harry began to grow out a beard and Jason Knauf traveled to Toronto with Harry as his minder. Was Jason aware of Harry's whereabouts for both nights?

Whatever occurred during those 2 nights seems to be the beginning of their affair.

Meghan planned to travel all summer and fall. She broke up with Chef Cory, and fled Toronto perhaps giving Cory time and space to relocate. During that time, Meghan traveled internationally with friends (Greece, London, NYC) and then used Gina, Violet, Serena & Piers to help stage a public alibi for a FAKE start date to their affair: July 4th, 2016. (In August Meghan wrote on Cory's IG). On her birthday, August 4th, Meghan notified her followers that she planned to go off the grid and travel. The rest is history.

Meghan scripted everything about their "secret affair" for public consumption: the blue bracelets, H & M necklace, spooning bananas, the come & get it photos outside of Soho Farm House, Scooby-Doo online job w/US Weekly, tips to paparazzi Jesal Parshotam, and Meghan's endless merching.

After only 3.5 months, Meghan rushed to publicize and promote a long distance relationship still in the infancy stage. What was the rush? Was it to generate interest in her marketing campaign, or simply to deepen their trauma bond by feeding Harry's "security" paranoia?

Ready or not, over the next 12 months Harry grew a full beard and officially proposed marriage to Meghan.

Today we see Harry PERFORM by wearing a gold wedding band & by holding hands & arms for the cameras, but they even fail to coordinate their attire for important photographs (George's Christening), and they stumble over one another.

The cost of Meghan's clothing is obscene, while her appearance is consistently unseemly. Many husband's look better after marriage, Harry looks far worse. His appearance is sloppy and unkempt. Real husbands and wives care about the appearance of their spouse. All marriages have problems, but these 2 try too hard to sell a relationship that looks empty and devoid of anything substantial. It looks like a requirement in their contract. Real married couples don't need an American wedding band or hand holding to convince the public of their love. They can confidently sit next to one another without PDA because they aren't starving for affection, they don't have anything to prove to the public, and they aren't trying to draw attention to themselves.

We've never seen their children, ever. Just a few strange photos and video footage of a brief, scripted meeting in S Africa where each one holds a cute baby who didn't know any of the adults. Then we saw a sweet brown haired baby boy with a full diaper seated on Meghan's lap for the reading of a complex & inappropriate story. Nothing is ever simple or straightforward with the Harkle family. Everything is smoke & mirrors, an illusion, a lie, a contract with RULES.

They are partners in the business of making money off Harry’s family connections, and providing for the welfare of 2 children who are invisible to the world. Does Harry actually believe he's being guided by his dead mother? Does he think his mother's spirit is in Meghan?

I wish Harry would "come out of the closet," and be honest about himself. There is no reason to pretend. Unfortunately he seems invested in living out this lie with Meghan. Their plan was to "change the world" by working part-time for the BRF (whenever they felt like working), but with full-time benefits. They planned to launch a royal brand and an American royal court. They forgot to consider the worse case scenario: The Queen said "no."

Today, they are also partners in offense and in revenge. Harry's living out this contractual farce with a beard on his face and on his arm.

Q-Do you think Meghan and Harry are FRAUDS? If so, when did you recognize it and what do you think is at the root of their dishonesty?

#meghan markle #prince harry #breadcrumbs #bring on bower #bringonbower #megxit #revenge #frauds #spare us #like a spare

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little-birdseeker · 2 days

Text

Growing Wings - Ch.1 - An encounter

A gentle breeze blew over the ocean, as R’namo made her way down to the pier. It was a pleasant change of pace after the stormy days before, but the harbour city was more than used to that. In fact, it was slowly rising back to the former glory after the 7th calamity had struck the world.

Scars remained - her heart ached as she looked at the remains of one of the housing pillars that had been struck by a flaming ball that day. But besides that, the city was flourishing again, slowly rising back up to the former self. Time heals all wounds, after all.

Down at the pier, there was not much to see. What did she expect, after all? The fishermen were either busy selling their stuff or out on the ocean. Just good old Forwin had remained here, as she noticed from afar.

“What’s the matter, Forwin? Already back from your tour?”, R’namo shouted in his direction, which made the Hyur look up from the net in his hands. She she could see his deep sigh, way before she reached him. “Can’t tell me you did not notice the storm last night.” The good old grumpy voice - she had missed it a bit, even though R’namo would never let him know of it.

“Was it really that bad?”

“Well, honestly… I have seen worse. Was just a bit late back from the trip, and after the last days were already stormy enough… you know the drill, better safe than sorry.”

“So the usual maintenance?”

The fisher nodded in response.

“Did not know you have a child though”, R’namo stated, as she noticed the little person nearby that was very much occupied with the sails of the fishermen's boat.

“Oh, that? You should know better, Namo, I have no childs. That’s Isabelle. From the Birdseekers. You know?” He looked over to the little girl and shouted. “Isa! We have a visitor, so say hello!”

The ears of the little girl sprang up before she turned around quickly. “Oh, heeelloooo!”, she waved with one hand at the sail, the other one equipped with a little needle.

“Oh? A Birdseeker? Those sailmakers?”, R’namo asked while waving back to the little girl whos beaming smile was probably competing to shine as much as the sun. It has been a while since she had seen such a happy face, and she had to admit that it was kind of soothing. Yes, the world was certainly healing.

“Yes yes, those guys. Make some darn good sails, if you ask me.”

“And what is she doing here?”

“Helping me out? See the needle there? She takes care of the sails.” “So, you make her work for you? Do her parents know?”

“Namo”, Forwin sighed. “You know me. I pay her.”

“How so? With sweets?”, R’namo laughed.

“Well, sometimes. No, for real. It’s helping with her allowance, I buy her some sweets, I teach her stuff, give some fish for her and the family… Don’t look at me like that, it’s fair and square. Nothing fishy about it.”

“Says the fisherman.” “You- urgh, fine. The only fishy things here are the fish, okay? By the gods…”

“Well, fine by me. And yeah, I know, you mean it well. But still… Her parents know?”

“They should. Ask Isa”, Forwin shruged.

With a sigh, R’namo walked over to the girl that was very busy with the sail, as it seemed. As of now, she mended a tear in the sail, or at least it looked like that to R’namo. “Isa?”, R’namo asked as she squatted beside her.

“Hmmm? Yeees?”, Isabelle asked and turned her head, so her two big eyes looked directly at the Miqo’te.

“You are alright? Forwin makes you not work too hard? And you parents know you are here?”

“Uuuhm… Of cooourse I told my parents i am here! Aaand I am fine! Look! Aaall patched up!” Proudly, she practically shoved the sail directly into R’namos face.

“Oh? Yeah, that’s uhm… looks good!” R’namo did not know much about sewing and stuff. It looked quite the same to her, honestly. Although… this stitching looked kind of different to what she knew? Huh. Weird.

“So, what did you tell your parents?”

“Uhm… that Fooorwin teaches me about fish!”

“So they know not about you working here?”

“They know!”, Forwin shouted from behind. “She brings home some goodies, after all.” “Aaand he teaches me about fish!” “Later, yes.”

R’namo sighed deeply. Both of them were so… But it seemed alright, after all.

She gave Isabelle a pat on her head, and stroked over her red hair before returning to Forwin.

“She is a sweet girl”, she said while sitting down on some nearby ropes.

“Oh, she is”, Forwin agreed without looking up from the net in his hands. “A real ray of sunshine.”

“Say, it looks a bit weird what she is doing there. Is she-”

“You sound just like her parents. Yes, it's fine, and I always check with her if it’s done well.” “Like… her parents?” R’namo looked at the fisher in confusion. “What exactly…?”

“Oh it’s… you see… uhm… it’s…” “Difficult?” “Yeah, you could say that.” “Why though? What does her parents say?”

Forwin sighed again. “They see her in a different way than me.” “Please don’t say that.” “Oh please, don’t get it wrong. No it’s… everytime they speak about her, they mention how clumsy she is. About her mistakes, that she does not learn, and so on. You know?” “And? They are wrong?”

“Well… that’s the thing. Kinda, yes, but also no. Just… in a different way you would expect. You see, she is a clever girl. She knows what she is- well, she knows what she wants to do.” “That. Doesn’t sound good at all.” “You know what I mean!” “And you know what I mean!”

“The first time I asked for help they said she could not do it. Makes mistakes, it won’t hold, you know.” “And? They were wrong?”

“Of course not. She never had the chance to learn it properly, or test her skills. But she has gotten better, but for other reasons you would expect.” “So there is a story behind it, that’s what you want to tell me, right?”

“You could say so, yeah. Uhm… how to put it. Isabelle is… kinda special, in her own way. You see, since she started to help me out, she got a lot better with the mending. At first, it was a mess. Really, it took ages and even at the end, it was mended rather badly. But she had her parents help at that time. Though with time, it got better, especially as I had her work by herself. In no time, the seams were way sturdier than before, and she was so quick with it.” “What? How so? Shouldn’t it be better with help?”

“That’s the thing. Look, I always take a look at the work. Together with her. Talk about mistakes and the likes, what she missed, what was done badly, I make suggestions… And she took that by heart? Maybe? Well, as long as I let her do and keep an eye out, just in case, it got better. She even went to the market and looked for better yarn. Imagine that! And now? I can be sure that my sail is in perfect form afterwards, even though the seams and her work look kind of different to what you know. And… you know what I think? I think you just let her do it by herself and give tips, and not force her to do it the ‘right’ way. Just ruins a perfectly fine girl, if you ask me. And besides… I think she is kind of my lucky fairy, of some sorts? Everytime she mended my sail, the winds felt to be in my favor, for a few days.” He shrugged and looked at the girl with his sail. “Or maybe I am just a bit superstitious.”

“Huh…” In thoughts, R’namo took a look at Isabelle, who was currently taking a good look over the sail, searching for another damaged spot. “And her parents don’t know any of that?”

“Tried to talk to them, but they are not listening. But you know, she’ll find a way.” “You think so?”

“Yeah. Maybe with some help, who knows. She’ll manage. And I tell you, I firmly believe she will go places someday.”

“Finiiished!”, Isabelle shouted from behind them before coming over to the two adults, with some very proud steps. “Already? You have been fast.” “Eeeven faster than laaast time?!”

“Mhm”, Forwin responded. “We’ll check it together once I am done here, okay?”

“Oookay!”, Isabelle said with another beaming smile. “Buuut! What did yooou talk about! I heeeared something!”

“Oh, uhm…”, Forwin started, but was quickly interrupted by R’namo.

“He told me about how much you have grown.”

“Ohhh? Haaave I? Forwin aaalways says I am sooo small!”

“Well, you are. For a 14 summers old one, after all.”

“14?!” R’namo looked a bit shocked at the tiny girl in front of her. She looked like… well, 11? Maybe 12? Far too small for someone of 14 summers, in the end.

“You wiiill see! I will grow sooo big! Sooo big!!” Isabelle stretched upwards, her arms as far above her as she could. Which was, well. Not much taller than R’namo was, but hey. Nothing the small girl could change without growing more.

“Yeah yeah. The biggest girl around, I know I know”, Forwin laughed.

“Mhm!! Biiigger than mom aaand Iana!”

“We’ll see about that”, Forwin kept teasing her.

“You wiiill see! And you wiiill be sorry then!”

“Of course, of course!”, Forwin answered, still laughing. And R’namo couldn’t keep it to herself and had to chuckle herself as well, making Isabelle pout even more.

“Right right, Isabelle. You will show us all, right? I am eager to see, one day.” With that, R’namo patted the little girl once again, who greatly appreciated the act. “I wiiill show you! Juuust you wait!!”

“Yeah! But for now… oh, it’s getting late, I have things to do! Forwin, thanks for the talk. And you too, Isabelle. Bye bye!”, R’namo said before she started to leave.

“Thanks for your time, was nice seeing you again”, Forwin said and waved her goodbye.

“Bye bye, friendly woman!”, Isabelle shouted to the leaving R’namo, waving with both arms. Such a beaming smile… she had needed that, really. Would she meet her again? Probably. The girl was hard to oversee, with her red hair. But Limsa was big, after all, so who knew? For know, she had to focus on her job. Some pirates made some trouble again, she just knew it!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Thanks for reading <3 I hope you enjoyed it! More will be added the coming days and willbe linked here and on Isabelles story page!)

[Chapter 2: Thieving Thief! ->]

#Isabelle Birdseeker #Writing #My Writing #Growing Wings #about her~#final fantasy xiv #ff 14 #long post

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yinyangbuns · 1 year

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Refuge

Short fic

Wei Wuxian was a troublemaker.

He was loud, and unrestrained, and he liked to goof off. He was always teasing and playing pranks. He was reckless.

But he was not irresponsible, no matter what the rumors said.

He was smart, and he made sure things got done. The Jiang disciples loved their shixiong; they respected him, even as they laughed with him.

But just because he made their work enjoyable, did not mean that he didn’t make them work.

His drills were framed lightly, and if they were truly struggling he did not hesitate to step in and help, but they were rigorous.

No one who watched Wei Wuxian’s training drills could claim that they were lacking - with the exception, as always, of one Madam Yu.

But the boring truth could not stand up to the enormity of the rumors.

Wei Wuxian was trouble. This was one thing that everybody seemed to agree on.

(He let it roll like so much water off his back. Sometimes, he thought he could almost feel it bead there, like water droplets on the beaten wood of the old boats, refusing to leave him, sticking to his skin like a cold sweat.)

He may be trouble. He may bring chaos and destruction wherever he roams. He has heard such things so often that somewhere in the back of his mind, he has already accepted them as irrefutable truth.

But he has never been able to sit idly while he could be doing something, anything at all to help.

Madam Yu is a fighter; to surrender is unthinkable. She would - and will - fight to her death when the Wen come and bring the sect down with her.

She is the type of person to go down with her ship, cursing the skies even as the water closes over her head.

Wei Wuxian, however, has always known the value of a strategic retreat, has known it since he was on the streets, throwing his only food to the side so the dogs would chase it and not him, relying again and again on the half-and-half chances that he wouldn’t earn a new wound in the mold of sharp teeth by the end of the day. The chances that they would find whatever morsel he had picked up more tantalizing than himself, easy pickings and barely able to run away on legs shaky with exhaustion.

What this means is that when the Wen come to destroy Lotus Pier, they will not destroy the Jiang.

What this means, is that Wei Wuxian has a plan.

(He spends days scribbling furiously in his sickbed. He is not strong enough to walk more than ten paces, in those early days, but he can write, and his brain works just fine, and all he can think about is the fate of the Lan, and the boon that is Yunmeng’s river, and the threat of war looming ever-closer. The Wen will come; Wei Wuxian swears to himself that they will not stay.)

Madam Yu may be first lady of Lotus Pier, but Wei Wuxian is head disciple.

He will not allow the disciples who rely on him to die like cattle under his watch.

As soon as he is cleared to walk, he calls the youngest of the disciples to him. He takes them out, plays games with them, shows them sneaky ways to hide themselves and emphasizes the importance of staying together. He shows them how to swim quietly under the boards of the decks of Lotus Pier; shows them the quickest ways to leave without drawing attention. He prepares them in the best way he knows how to without scaring them. He plays games with ulterior motives and gives them tight hugs and prays to whatever gods will listen that they remain safe.

He sends the littlest ones home with lotus seeds in their pockets and whatever excuses he can think up in the moment, and hopes that someday there will be a sect for them to return to.

The older disciples meet a much different version of their Shixiong than they are used to. He is serious, and his eyes are calculating, and his hands are white-knuckled around his writing brush. The Wei Wuxian they meet is tight-lipped and stoic.

The Wei Wuxian they meet is preparing for war.

The Wei Wuxian they meet has sketches of Lotus Pier spread out in front of him, exit routes marked clearly and distinctly, with arrays scribbled erratically in the margins with arrows pointing to different areas of the compound. Arrays for confusion, for cloaking. Arrays for escape.

The Wei Wuxian they meet discusses with them in a quiet but confident voice the evacuation plan for the servants and disciples of Lotus Pier, and sends out scouts to watch for the advance of Wen that the main Jiang family refuse to believe in the possibility of.

The Wei Wuxian they meet shoves talismans and checklists in their hands as he talks about fire on a mountain, and a sect leader dead, and a sect heir silent with a broken leg, forced to walk day after day.

Wei Wuxian is their head disciple.

He is achingly, painfully young.

And he is bound and determined to protect them against an army.

(The disciples decide, then and there, that they are going to protect him as well.)

#my writing #mdzs canon divergence #mdzs #mxtx #danmei #wei wuxian #mo dao zu shi #wwx #the untamed #mdzs fanfic #i have other ideas #i have a ghost!wwx au #and a letter!au where wei wuxian writes letters before his death bc demonic cultivation is slowly killing him and he has so much left to say #and one where he has memories that he thinks are nightmares until he meets lwj #i have a lot of ideas #this isn’t super jiang friendly #like obviously it isn’t madam yu friendly #but it is debatably not jiang friendly at all #i might continue this #i may not #guess it depends on reception #the disciples in the last bit #would be mostly disciples older than wei wuxian #probably senior discples #and they are just. seeing this. what fifteen? 16? year old boy #creating literal war plans to keep them safe #even as he is belittled #his efforts demeaned #even as he is punished barely out of his sickbed #and immediately they are like. you are ours now. no takebacks. you watch out for us; we will watch out for you

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bortbytingen · 5 months

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❝ Unlike other immortal residences, Lotus Pier was not far removed from the secular world. Ordinary folk were barred from even setting foot on the grand estates of other cultivation clans, but outside Lotus Pier’s main entrance were often a variety of small vendors doing roaring business in lotus pods, water chestnuts, and all sorts of pastries. Local children with snotty noses also sneaked into the drilling grounds to secretly spy on the disciples’ sword training. Even when they were inevitably discovered, they weren’t reprimanded—in fact, they were sometimes allowed to play with the Jiang Sect’s disciples. ❞

~ MDZS Vol. 3, Ch. 11 - Part 1

#quotes #mdzs #yunmeng jiang #lotus pier

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deadmotelsusa · 1 year

Photo

The Grand View Ship Hotel on the Lincoln Highway in Juniata Township, Pennsylvania, pictured in 1953, 1963, 1977, 1982, 1999 and 2021.

Construction began in 1927. Building the hotel proved difficult as it required 63 tons of steel, 18 piers drilled down 32 feet to find rock, numerous carloads of lumber and 22 junked car frames, which were used to cover the hotel's exterior.

The Grand View became known for having "one of the most significant scenic views on the North American continent," and boasted that you could see Pennsylvania, West Virginia and Maryland from the hotel's 'deck'. The hotel stayed busy until the 1970s when business declined and owner Herbet Paulson died. At that time, it was sold, rebranded into "Noah's Ark" and eventually closed. The hotel was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1997, but after burning down in 2001, it was delisted in 2002.

#grand view ship hotel #bedford #pennsylvania #lincoln highway #deadmotelsusa

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thesunshinecourts · 21 days

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countdown to tsc: apr 8., 2024, 23:51 pdt

63. indigo skies just before dawn // jeremy knox, in the early morning light

“Why are you – Jesus, Cat, would you turn that off?” Jeremy says, holding a hand over his eyes.

“Whoops, my b,” Catalina says, flicking off her torch. She gives Jeremy a smile, one that doesn’t shift off her face even when Laila snorts and Catalina drives an elbow into her side.

“Ow! Bitch,” Laila mutters, no heat.

“Why are we out here?” Jeremy asks before they can start up again. He loves them dearly, down to his bones, but they’re like a runaway train sometimes, and he’d really like to get an answer for why they’re up and huddled on the roof access at fuck o’clock in the morning.

Laila points. Jeremy’s gaze follows her finger, over the air vents and powerboards and whatever the fuck else is encased in metal boxes on the roof (Jeremy wouldn’t know, but his sister might), all the way through to a solitary figure sitting on the edge of the roof, one knee pulled up and tucked beneath his chin, the other leg dangling over the side.

Ah.

“Your room literally has a TV,” Jeremy says to Catalina, even as he slides past them on the roof access stairs to head properly towards Jean. She scoffs.

“This is way more entertaining,” she says, then turns to her girlfriend. “Babe, we should have brought popcorn.”

“What happened to your meal plan with Xavier?” Laila asks, snorting.

Jeremy can’t hear Cat’s response, only that the tone is vaguely indignant, because he’s halfway across the roof now. The wind isn’t very strong, but the light breeze snatches her words away, carrying them out towards the ocean.

They’re some thirteen miles from the beach right now. Jeremy wishes he were closer. Historically, the only thing he gets up this early for—unless one of the coaches is calling for an especially early practice for drills—is to catch the best waves before the rest of the city wakes up.

Jean Moreau isn’t so bad, though, as far as new habits go.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jeremy says, stepping onto the raised edge next to Jean.

Jean, predictably, ignores this, just tilting his head back to look at Jeremy. “They’re not very subtle,” he says dryly.

“No,” Jeremy agrees, folding his legs in a complicated single movement to end up sitting beside Jean. “They’re not known for that.”

With a hum and a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it glance at Jeremy’s bare knees, Jean returns his gaze to the horizon. This high up, they can see the blue of the ocean, but only just. It’s not enough for Jeremy, who immediately misses it. He wishes they were at the pier, or the beach, or in the backseat of Cat’s van down the I-5, with her stubborn manual wind down windows and the salt air in their face as they approach San Diego.

Jean’s eyes are on the sky, the deep purples and blues of a world before the sun decides to show her face. Sometimes, when they sit here like this, Jeremy wonders what Jean thinks about. If he’s still angry to be here, if he thinks about Riko, about Kevin, about Renee. If he misses his family, or if they even count as that to him anymore. Sometimes Jeremy thinks maybe he’s thinking about Exy. He’s never been able to decide if that’s a sad or happy thought; on almost anyone, Jeremy would think Exy could be a good thought in moderation, but sad when it’s all you can think about. Jean is something different.

Sometimes Jeremy thinks it would be sad, if that were what Jean was thinking about so intently as he stared out into a sky full of possibility, because there should be something that matters more than a sport Jeremy isn’t sure he even likes. Sometimes Jeremy thinks it would be a relief; he’s known Jean for several years now, though only really since he came to USC, and even the last few months has been enough for Jeremy to know, bone-deep, that there have been many other things Jean has lived through that would be worse to think about.

Exy, for Jeremy, is a sport. It’s a game. He loves it, and he’s good at it, and he leads a team for it, but at the end of the day, it’s a game and he gets to choose to get up and play it.

He’s not sure Jean has ever really had that choice, but he doesn’t know how to ask. He’s not sure if he should, even.

The last time he spoke to Kevin, he’d started, a little hesitantly, “So, Jean doesn’t really l—” and Kevin’s face had shut down so fast—eyes big and green and mournful, jaw tight, lips drawn closed, like he didn’t know what would emerge if they didn’t—that Jeremy had immediately shut up, shaken his head, and said, “You know what, never mind. Hey, where’s the nearest vending machine? I need gummy worms.” That had drawn Kevin out of his head enough to pull out his phone and text Aaron—get fucked, came the reply, but Kevin just kept texting until Jeremy assumes Aaron gave up just to make him stop, because nine minutes later there was stomping outside and then, in quick succession, a scowling blond emerging in the doorway and a small plastic packet whizzing at Kevin’s head; Jeremy thinks that the one thing everyone in the world must agree Kevin Day possesses, other than the best hands in the game and the most handsome smile on the planet, is more tenacity than anyone else would know what to do with—whilst simultaneously lecturing Jeremy about his body being a temple.

(Jeremy’s heard the unabridged version of that lecture, where Kevin gets increasingly irate with Nicky, Andrew and Aaron as they one-by-one pull things out of the kitchen pantry that make him prone to cardiac arrest; he gets off pretty lucky. Maybe Nicky has a point about Trojans privilege.)

“I’m surprised they got you up,” Jean says, and Jeremy smiles ruefully.

“I think it would be worse if they didn’t,” he says. “It’s weirder if they’re just watching you by themselves.”

Jean shoots him a look, mostly blank, but something wry and amused flickering in his eyes. “And with you here instead, we’ll, what, give them a show?”

Jeremy chokes on saliva, his own tongue, and approximately any shred of dignity he’s managed to repossess since he was seventeen and he was trying to unzip his neighbour’s bra under her guidance and he accidentally got it stuck half-undone.

There’s a smirk on Jean’s face when he turns back to the sky, but his tone is impressively neutral when he says, “Yes, this must be endlessly entertaining for them. A much better decision than sleeping in, I’m sure.”

Jeremy forcibly pushes the flirting—was it flirting? He thinks so. He hopes so, maybe, but that’s a whole other can of worms to deal with later in the privacy of the shower—aside to clear his throat and say, “Hey, if it works for you…”

There’s a beat. Two. Then Jean says, a little quieter, even though he was already quiet to begin with, “At the Nest, we never got to see the sunrise.”

Well, now Jeremy feels like a dick.

“Not that anyone would have seen it with me,” Jean adds. “Kevin is terrible at waking up, Riko was terrible at being away from Kevin unless it suited his whims to be, and my roommate—” He breaks off. It sounds like a pause, but Jeremy waits, and no more comes.

“Would you have wanted company?” Jeremy asks. He’s aware it’s a loaded question, given he is company right now, but it’s a real one. He hopes Jean knows that.

Jean furrows his brow. “It wouldn’t have mattered,” he says. He looks at his hands, then Jeremy’s knees again, then the sky once more. “My wants did not enter into equations. It never occurred to me to think about that.”

It’s maybe the saddest thing Jean has ever said. Jeremy has this thought at least a dozen times per month.

“Well,” Jeremy says, injecting a little more brightness into his voice than he actually feels, “now you can think about it. You’ve got company. How does it feel?”

Jean glances back from the sky, eyes roving over Jeremy’s legs, then his knees, staying there for a beat longer than Jeremy knows what to do with, then all the way up to Jeremy’s face.

“It’s not so bad,” Jean says, and Jeremy smiles.

#jerejean #jeremy knox #jean moreau #countdown to tsc #tsc countdown 3 #countdown to the sunshine court #aftg #usc trojans #laila dermott #catalina alvarez #tsccd #i forgot about the kevin section in the middle lmao #this is what we get when we speedrun bc of working overtime lmao

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