#sometimes neither of them was the sober one and that’s when shit goes properly off the rails | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

villainsandvictimsalliance · 3 years

Note

Would you please give me headcanons about how shigadabi caught feeling for each other? Loosely sticking to canon if you can🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

That "loosely sticking to canon" is a little tricky for me. Why? Because in the canon I see them as two guys that find comfort in knowing that someone understands them and they are free to do as they please because the other won't stop them.

This is gonna be a long one and I apologize for it, but I love them so much. I can't help it.

Still, here are my headcanons 😈:

In the beginning, Dabi is never around and when he is, he's being mean and annoying in the background. Shigaraki doesn't tolerate him, but he respects him. Since they met, Shigaraki knew that boy wouldn't stop to achive what he wanted, just like himself.

There was a moment between them, the seed of something. Before the summer camp attack, Shigaraki called Dabi apart so he could set the nomu to respond to his voice and his voice only. You can imagine Shigaraki walking up to him, telling him to follow and Dabi being a piece of trash about it.

Shigaraki them tells him why he's needed out loud and turns around, already walking. The rest of the League complains or comments in the background but Dabi leaves them without a word. He's too busy thinking Tomura must be really stupid to trust him when he barely knows him. Or well he could— He could be smart enough to see through him?

With the years, Dabi has learned to be careful of those guys. He doesn't trust people, no exceptions. He prefers to think Tomura is an idiot.

Being honest, that was the minute Dabi decided he would try to read Tomura. He was he new boss, Dabi was only only being careful. Nothing more.

Let's keep the imaging.

Tomura sits and he unceremoniously calls the nomu, gives him some commands and tells Dabi to use his voice to give him the same commands. They do it a couple of times until Shigaraki is satisfied and Dabi is free to go.

For someone else watching, it was cold and professional. For them, it was kinda weird. There was a little tension than neither of them was acknowledging and there was a quietness, a silence Tomura was used to. It was weird because it felt like they were alone, because they were used to being alone, but somehow they were being alone together— with the freaking nomu. It felt like visiting the vet. Dabi didn't like it.

Time goes by. Things happen.

They have a silent agreement that marks Dabi as one of Shigaraki's commander. He's a special one tho, because apparently he can do whatever the he he wants. He says he's gonna recruit? Tomura approves it with a simple nod and that's it.

Since we have only seen Twice's apartment, I'm assuming here that the rest of the League lived in the bar with Kurogiri and Tomura. Which makes sense because they wouldn't have anywhere else to go.

The only times Shigaraki and Dabi are together is when Dabi occasionally return to their base for whatever reasons. It is loud and crowded so they don't get the chance to interact that much. What they can do is observe the other.

None of them is ashamed of doing it. They stare and stare back. The League plays it off because that's probably two idiots trying to assert dominance or some shit.

It's stupid and they only find out about useless things. What they like to drink, how they walk or react to certain things, what throws them off, what makes them happy... Things you'd know about your classmate.

Their interactions change after what happened in Kamino and the night Magne died.

Dabi was taken by surprise when he saw Tomura walking in. He was calm, collected, even more honest than usual. When he took the hand off his face, the whole room held their breath.

His features were delicate, even beneath all the scars and dry skin. He's eyes were gentle, which was scarier than his maniac look. They held blood and the promise of danger, but not to them. Dabi brushed it off later.

Dabi keeps being his sarcastic self. Shigaraki doesn't react that much. Their barriers are tight closed as ever. Except when...

Well, those nights. The ones they don't talk about. The ones when Dabi is drunk and Tomura is way too sleep deprived and they find themselves insulting the other in hushes. They're normally out of the League's hearing range, alone in some abandoned part of their actual base.

Catching feelings for the other is a good expression. It's like they're catching a cold or something viral by accident. You just have to be in the wrong place at the right time to get yourself infected.

Their minds are blurry and their hearts are feeling raw the first time they interact like that. It's like Dabi is nothing but a young man trying to find his way back home from some bar because he was done with his working week. Or maybe Tomura is a tired student who's been dealing with a lot of stress and it's feeling bare and naked with his hair floating around with the wind.

They look at each other like they always do. Like trying to solve a mystery. Like trying to put together a puzzle. Like trying to decipher a code you shouldn't be worried about, but it distracts you from the world so why not.

Tomura is the one who notices Dabi is bleeding. He points it out. Dabi shrugs and then Tomura just shakes his head and starts walking, Dabi following him, recognizing that face from being a silent command.

For the rest of the night, Dabi teaches Shigaraki how to fix his staples and Shigaraki does so, taking the hand away from his face for better care.

They wonder about the other. How can Tomura know so much about fighting when it looked like he always lived alone? Why was Dabi drinking something stronger than usual? Where his scars always there? Had he patched someone else before? Was Dabi used to other people patching him?

They go to sleep. When they wake up, the only think in their heads is this can't happen again. They got distracted. Distraction means getting softer. That's a no no for them.

Except it happens again. And again. Until it starts happening when they're sober and they know they're screwed. They shouldn't be feeling safe enough with each other to don't feel the need to say something. They shouldn't be on the non-verbal stage. They shouldn't be taking turns what the other sleep to keep guard. Shigaraki shouldn't know where Dabi is most of the time, in case he wants to go and visit him in secret. The League doesn't know where they go most of the time, anyway.

If you're looking for a phrase to prove they have caught feelings for the other, you have no luck. They don't trust words, because most words are lies. But they can't lie when they look into each other's eyes

And against all odds, it changes nothing. No one suspects a thing, no one can sees them. Of course, what is there to see? Nothing at all. Just a king and his commander. Or maybe, just two guys sharing what's not there.

Because there's nothing there. If Dabi craves Tomura's fingers on his back, it's only because he's hurt again. If Tomura longs for waking up to the sound of Dabi's smoking by the window, it's because that means he doesn't have to sleep for a least a while now.

Dabi looks at Tomura across the room and thinks It's like catching a cold. It's gonna go away. A cold won't distract him from his revenge. When the time comes, he won't think about Tomura. And he's right. It's just a cold. Tomura is happy is just a cold too.

Ah, there's a problem, one we know but they forgot. It is too easy to catch a cold. They come back with the season, when we're vulnerable and cold. And if you catch enough colds and you don't cure them properly, it can become something worst. More permanent. More deadly.

For what they want, I hope they're being careful. Sure, they're fine right now, healthy, they talk and laugh and plan and murder. Do they sleep well at night? When they're hearts are freezing and they are too drunk or too sleep deprived, do they still go to each other? When their brains won't stop working, would the miss those nights? Would they wonder? Would they wish? We see only the surface, but beyond their walls...

Are they badly sick? Oh. Are they... Maybe.... No, of course not, but... When no one sees them, when no one talks, when they don't have to be something else, when they can just exists... When the remember their voices echoing in that room, that time, first time alone, just a nomu and their stares...

And sometimes, they'd look into each other's eyes just to make sure they still know how to do it. And they go crazy, becuase they must be doing somethinf wrong.

It is not an I won't see you die under my watch, so don't die until I'm back and it is not an I'll be taking care of myself too, so don't complain and it is not an prove it, come back safe and sound, come back to me.

That's not what they say. That's not what it means.

And still.

Red eyes.

Blue eyes.

And silence.

57 notes · View notes

captainkirkk · 4 years

Note

1/8 extended family anon: okay with one question about five you've made me flesh out this world. He's a kid. So they do have powers and Reginald raises them as per canon, five jumps to the apocalypse BUT there's no time cops in this au. Instead after a few years of slowly practising his time jumps he makes his way back to Reginald's funeral. It takes him forever to get the hang of it bc he's not exactly eating and resting well + trauma but he gets there bc he has to get back and warn his family!

Under the cut because it got it bit long. I fucking love this AU though.

2/? So he crashes the funeral but he's like 15-16 and a very unhealthy child due to the apocalypse being not a great place to grow up. Without the commission making things more difficult the siblings (eventually) figure out what's going on. There's a tense stand-off w Vanya but it goes better bc they do it earlier w/out the interference and in the end the whole apocalypse becomes a non-issue. after finding out about her powers and her ex-boyfriend's shiftiness (she's probably not

3/? the one to kill him bc i feel like that way doomsday lies. Five does it instead bc he's just as feral even without being a trained assassin) Vanya goes on a road trip to find herself. On this road trip she meets Sissy and Harlan. Meanwhile five is legally a child and all of his siblings want to make sure he's being properly looked after. Five who survived 2-3 years by himself in the apocalypse disagrees about the need for a guardian. Alison who actually has a child is doing what she can

4/? but between travelling regularly across country to visit Claire (she probably meets Ray while travelling) and the chaos of the sibling dynamic it isn’t ideal. Grace isn't doing great at parenting either bc while they're working to fix her programming it's not fully fixed yet. Pogo is also there being Pogo. Diego's around a lot bc of Grace (plus his siblings but he's not going to say that) but is not parenting. Neither is Luther bc five doesn't respect him as an authority figure.

5/? Klaus is also not doing parenting but is somewhat? around bc family and bc he wants support while he tries to get sober. (he still ends up in Vietnam at some point but through a natural or five made time portal bc no commission. When he gets back he makes five (who has some control of time travel and hasn't been taught not to fuck w the timeline) go back to rescue Dave). Ben is probably still ghosting around unless he did what he did for Vanya in s2 in this s1. Patch didn't die

6/? bc no time cops and maybe they meet Lila organically since she's their super power sibling. They both end up as vaguely part of the family. Vanya gets back from her lesbian road trip months after she left to find the Great Five Should Go to Therapy Debate in full swing. She tries to deescalate by offering to go if he does. Bc he's a vindictive asshole he says he'll only go if everyone goes, and as soon as anyone stops, he does too. This is how they all get professional help bc I demand it.

7/? The end result is thanksgivings look like 5 adopted adult siblings, 1 terrifying teenage adopted sibling, (maybe a ghost,) 1 robot mother, 1 talking monkey, 2 spouses from the present, and 1 from the 60s, 2 children/stepchildren, 1 extra sibling who didn't get adopted but found later, and 1 detective who nobody knows why she's here but they're all thrilled she is

.8/8 Also Hazel is a regular office drone or a CIA agent or something who met Agnes, fell in love, and quit his job. Sometimes they also show up. The final important detail is Sissy and Grace are good friends.

9/8 extended family anon, the other final important point is thinking about five in his late teens dealing with this very large family and his nice and nephew especially

Five spent years in the apocalypse totally alone, and now he has the biggest family ever. He not-so-secretly loves it.

About Hazel: he’s the CIA agent (or something alone those lines) that got assigned to investigate all the weird shit the Hargreeves stirred up, like maybe energy disturbances with Five/Vanya’s powers. Five spends a lot of time at Griddy’s, so maybe he even kind of helps him and Agnes get together. Either way, when Five kills Leonard, Hazel is able to make it look like self-defence so it doesn’t go to trial (which it sort of is, but Five is still kind of... vicious about the whole thing and loses himself). He sends a Christmas card every year reminding Five not to get into any more trouble. Not that Five would listen.

Also I need to see Sissy, Patch, Dave and Ray meeting everyone in this AU, good lord. Klaus might not really know what to do, parenting wise, but I bet Dave would try his best, even if he’s wayyy out of his depths. Same with Sissy and Ray. Thankfully, Five has more patience with his in-laws than his siblings, simply because he knows he has to be semi-polite to them to avoid chasing them off.

#ask #anon #tua spoilers #tua headcanons #tua

126 notes · View notes

planetsxend · 4 years

Text

“Moist”

@sweettifalockhart issued the writing challenge: moist. I posted a snippet so I’d stay on track, and hell did I stay on track. Probably OOC in places, but that hasn’t stopped me writing before :P Reno/Tifa below the cut, set very loosely in the tie between OG/Remake & AC

1 year, 4 months, 2 weeks, 3 days after The Plate

“- and then she threw me out the bar! Literally threw me. How is that even possible?”

“... It’s Tifa,” Rude says, as if that explains everything from gravity’s pull to the magic show of pigs suddenly sprouting wings and taking to the sky (although that wouldn’t be magic so much as fucking freaky who has the alien head this time?). “Would’ve paid for a video,” his partner’s quiet addition, the bare bones of a smirk flirting with his mouth and Reno well - he can’t let that one go unchallenged. The bastard doesn’t even startle when the elastic band pings off his shades. Hmmph.

He grumbles some more, under his breath, and he’s well-versed in the feeling of eyes on him, knows Rude’s picked up on the fact he’s legitimately out of sorts with this recent development. Knows that behind those shades, Rude’s staring at him, measuring the weight of each word on his tongue before lending voice to it.

“Either start talking or start writing. This paperwork isn’t going to finish itself.”

“There’re memories in that bar,” Reno replies, the last he’ll say on the matter simply because it covers the entirety of his discomfiture.

~ ~ ~

7 months, 3 days after The Plate

It’s the first he’s properly laid eyes on her since... since The Plate and he slinks in like a cat on the scavenge, well aware there’s a dispute in his very near future the further in he goes, vividly aware he’s out of his depth. He’s still got a sharp smart in his ribs to prove just how hard she punches on a bad day. But here, now, on her turf? Where every territorial instinct she has will be on red alert the second she clocks him? Where every protective instinct will kick into high gear the second she recognises a threat? He’s gonna wind up with his face smashed in and a couple teeth knocked loose and he’ll probably roll over and thank her for it after.

Better than the guilt gnawing him open from the inside out, right?

Sure enough, he’s not even singled out the quietest corner when she spots him, and because he keeps bouncing between where to sit and where’s the danger, he sees it. The smile for her patrons vanishes so fast he might as well have smacked it off her, face settling into an expression carved from stone. Empty. Blank. Carefully so, but she can’t do shit about her eyes. They burn, even as her spine snaps straight and her chin lifts just so.

A challenge he doesn’t meet. A challenge he can’t back down from, either. His own issued when he approaches her directly, well and truly in the lion’s den.

“What do you want?” She spits, and if words were acid he’d be stripped to the bone in seconds. A lesser man would flinch, and a smarter man would leave, but neither man is him and so he slaps on a smirk and replies cool as Shiva’s kiss - he’d like a drink, if you please. He sure as shit doesn’t imagine the creak of leather around her fists, but she’s a gracious host, and everyone’s welcome in Seventh Heaven, she can’t go around denying customers willy nilly without consequences.

He’s actually surprised when he survives that first drink, never mind the entire goddamn night.

7 months, 2 weeks, 5 days after The Plate

It’s almost a game between them a few weeks later, this animosity. Every night he intrudes on her space and every night she’ll hiss at him like she’s ready to claw his face off. Sometimes he’ll get blackout drunk and someone has the decency to phone Rude to cart his ass back home, sometimes he doesn’t and he’ll nurse one drink the entire night, every second under the same roof as her an agony. When will she do it, he wonders. When will she snap? When will that practised calm give out in favour of confronting him? Just what the fuck is it gonna take?

He’s not drunk tonight, just on the wrong side of tipsy, weaving one way on his stool then jerking centre and weaving the other. Loose-lipped, too, if anyone thought to talk to him, but the suit keeps most folk at a respectable distance. She comes at him when most of the regulars clear out and over the blast of the jukebox he thinks fuckin’ finally.

‘Cept she slams a glass of water down in front of him, sloshes some of it over his hand for good measure. And while he swears and trips over his own tongue and waves his hand around and wipes it down with the stupid fuckin’ square Tseng always insists on cramming into his breast pocket, she parks her ass down opposite him, and jams both elbows down on the table. There’s no warning creak this time, because her hands are bare of their usual gloves, and the fire in her eyes isn’t quite so bright tonight.

The hell?

“Why do you keep coming here, Reno?” She asks, and if anything should catch him off guard maybe it should be that she remembers his name. Instead, it’s her tone, the tired quality to it curling ‘round the words and robbing them of the caustic bite she usually keeps in reserve all for him. Like she’s as weary to the bone as he is. Like she’s beaten down and wrung out and barely hanging on by the tips of her fingers.

Like maybe - just maybe - she’s in the same boat as him.

You got snarlin’ little beasties crawling around in your head, too?

But he doesn’t ask that, it’s early days yet, right? She’s more liable to smash the glass on his head and jab him in the eye with one of the resulting pointy bits, right? So he looks at her instead, fighter-turned-bartender, damaged soul under all that easy charm, and lets his own trademark smirk fall just a little. Just enough to clue her in on his little secret - I know the taste of regret, and it sure is bitter.

“To drink. To forget.”

~ ~ ~

It doesn’t make things right between them, not by a long shot. But the water’s her white flag, and his truth an apology. It’s a step in some direction, maybe not the right one.

9 months, 1 week after The Plate

She asks him about it eventually, just like he knew she would. She’s a blunt woman, Tifa, when it comes down to the nitty gritty details. Her patience has its limits and beating around the bush as they are, tolerating one another as they are... something has to give somewhere. So she asks him. About it. About The Plate.

Such a simple question, really. Do you regret it?

Does he have an answer for it? Oh sure, he has an answer alright. Yes. Yes he regrets it, every damn time he thinks about it his stomach curdles and his skin goes clammy. So many questions circling his head ‘til he’s dizzy: was it necessary? Was it worth it? How many died? How many people suffered - trapped under crushing weight, their last moments ones of terror and darkness and indescribable pain? How many begged for help on their last breath? How many stretched out broken hands in the hope someone beyond the rubble would grab on and help them free? How many people ripped apart? How many families struck from the census records in one fell swoop? What were their names? Their ages? How many kids died that night?

“Yeah,” he says instead, voice wavering under all that strain locked up inside his skull, queasy and not from the food he’d ordered (still not poisoned, she’s out of her goddamn mind). He doesn’t know what he looks like in that moment - can’t stand to look in mirrors much these days except to scrape the scruff off his chops in the morning - but she does. Tifa looks at him then and sees whatever he can’t smother, standard Turk mask of indifference be damned, and a switch flips between them. Animosity to understanding.

There should be surprise when she closes the bar early, promising discounts for the inconvenience, when she sets a bottle of hard liquor by his plate... and two glasses. Instead he musters up the ghost of a smile and leans back - almost makes an ass of himself toppling right over, but hey, the reflexes have saved him from worse (like Strife’s sword) - daring to drag his eyes from her face to her waist and back up again. “Come to confess to the big bad wolf, doll?”

“Eat a dick, Turk,” she snaps back and twists the cap open, sealing their fate.

~ ~ ~

“We, I, killed people, too... when we... blew up the Reactors. Maybe not... maybe not every life lost was immediate but... the riots, the robberies, the people dying at home because their heating went out and never came back on again. I don’t know how many deaths can be traced back to my hands.”

“That’s not the same as-”

“Does the how really matter, Reno? People died. By our actions. By our choices. That is the burden we bear.”

~ ~ ~

He comes awake the following morning to the unforgiving thump of a combat boot in the ribs, and bright sunlight stabbing a thousand daggers into his eyeballs, and a behemoth using his head as a chew toy. It’s Strife above him, hands on the table he’s shoved aside to get to him, baby blues gone dark and thunderous and hell if that ain’t a safe wake-up call. From his left somewhere a pitiful moan as Tifa rouses, and Murder Face turns his attention elsewhere, moves in her direction, giving Reno just enough space to try and get his legs under him. Where are his legs again? His - where the fuck’s his shoe?

“What did you do this time?” Rude asks the second the call connects as he trips his way out the bar, and all Reno can manage without upsetting his entire lack of balance is a raspy laugh and cradling his head in his free hand.

“Made a mess, prob’ly.”

11 months, 1 week, 4 days after The Plate

“Are you asking me out?” Really, she doesn’t need to look so suspicious. What’s he gonna do, chuck her in a chopper and fly her across the continent? Avalanche’d kill him deader than dead in two seconds flat. Still, she’s not exactly wrong, which. Yeah, okay, this isn’t one of his better ideas by far but. Hm.

“No? Figured it’d be a better bonding experience if we had a chat while stone cold sober, is all. You like coffee?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Tseng.”

Call him crazy, but her laugh sounds less hollow than he’s ever heard it.

~ ~ ~

Marlene nails him in the back of the hand with a fork and Denzel gets melon juice all down his shirt. Accidental his ass.

At least Strife is upfront with his threats of bodily harm if he breaks Tifa’s heart.

1 year, 2 months, 3 weeks after The Plate

The next time they wind up under what he’s dubbed their table, alcohol has absolutely nothing to do with it... Well. Except for the sticky residue he can taste on her fingers.

He has enough common sense to make sure they drag their asses upstairs and to her bedroom before dawn. Enhanced senses must suck balls, though, because when Strife drops by the following afternoon he doesn’t even bat an eye at Reno’s perch at the bar (munching away at the remnants of a fruit salad the brats didn’t take to school), but he does when he gets closer and breathes. His nose scrunches up as he sniffs in Reno’s direction like a dog - or that snarling wolf emblem he’s so fond of slapping on anything he can get his hands on - and darts those baby blues between his shit-eating grin and Tifa raised brow. Try me, that look says, complete with the casual gathering of her hair into a high ponytail, the flex of her fingers after it. Do they smell of each other, then? How cute.

“... I don’t even wanna know,” Strife eventually says, and Reno laughs.

1 year, 4 months, 2 weeks, 3 days after The Plate

The punch she lands smack on his left pectoral is a love tap compared to what she’s capable of, and instead of the fire he’s half-expecting there’s... mischief in her gaze.

“Tifa -”

“Never say that word in my bar again, Reno, or I’ll ban you permanently.”

“Yes Ma’am, lesson learned.”

“I might even ban Rufus, too. Make sure the lesson really sticks.”

“Aw naw, c’mon! That’s hitting below the belt!”

“Please. We both know you’d be sobbing on the floor if I did that.”

He pouts (she does have a point). Tifa laughs. It’s fast becoming his most favourite sound in the world.

#sweettifalockhart #stories for your ears only writing #can this even be called a drabble? What word count qualifies as that iahufhesuhffhrhg

2 notes · View notes

theshipsfirstmate · 5 years

Text

ODAAT Fic: Feel I’m on the Verge of Some Great Truth

Some missing bits from 3x12 -- Penelope deals with Schneider’s relapse, and the aftermath.

A/N: My first Alvareider fic! Holy moly, these two brought the feels almost as soon as I started watching -- which was tragically right before Netflix dropped the axe. I’m still holding out hope for a season 4 pickup, because I need more of the Alvarez fam in general and these two in particular. In the meantime, here, have some of whatever this is.

Title from “Wait” by Alexi Murdoch.

Feel I’m on the Verge of Some Great Truth (AO3 - wc: 3201)

“You don’t have to do that alone.”

She says those words to him, fingers combing through the soft hair at the back of his neck, and for a moment, she forgets who they are to each other. She watches his eyes close in anguish, and she remembers, not for the first time, that she’s done this before.

It was Alex who first brought it up, after Penelope found them sitting next to each other on the laundry room floor. Four sad eyes stared up at her, two rimmed red with liquor and remorse.

“Pen, shit, I’m sorry,” Schneider had mumbled as Alex stood and the two of them helped him to his feet. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt him…”

She had stopped cold at that half-confession, able for a moment to see only bright red in front of her eyes.

“Mami, it’s fine.” Her son's voice cut through the instinctive response and he gave her a pointed look and a nod from the other side of Schneider’s chest, like he knew exactly where her mind had gone. His tone was almost bossy -- if she could have felt anything through the panic, it might have been annoyance -- but he was calm and he didn’t look hurt, only worried. “I’m okay, it was nothing. Let’s just get him upstairs.”

They didn’t say it out loud -- not that she could hear much over the ringing in her ears -- but Penelope’s pretty sure neither of them even considered taking Schneider to his own apartment. Still, he was nearly dead weight, and once they had maneuvered him inside their doorway, they only got as far as Mami’s room before they had to set him down on the pull-out couch.

“If you throw up in here…” Penelope started to warn, but Schneider groaned an interruption before she could think of a suitable punishment.

“I’ll buy you a whole new living room set,” he promised, though he still looked a little green for her liking.

She hustled back to her room then, passing Elena who was sitting at the kitchen table, homework abandoned, eyes wide like they used to go when Victor would wake them up as he crashed around the living room after a long night.

“Elena, come help me in the kitchen.” Penelope heard her Mami call for her daughter as she rounded the hallway, and she put a note on her mental list to say a prayer of thanks later that night for the viejita and her quick thinking. There were only so many things she could worry about at once. “Vámonos, mija.”

In her room, she knew exactly where to look -- the third dresser drawer down, where a pair of Schneider's sweats and a soft, grey henley were neatly folded next to her own pajamas. They had gotten mixed in with her laundry one day, months ago now, and she kept meaning to give them back. But she hadn’t -- a curiosity there just wasn’t any time for tonight. Stepping back into the hallway to chuck them in Schneider’s direction, Penelope wondered, in a brief moment of panic as she closed the curtain behind her, if things would ever be the same again.

It's the second time in two years that she's missed the signs completely, and the memories of another soured night in her Mami’s room didn’t do anything to help ease her anxiety. So she tried to do it herself, taking a few deep breaths before stepping through Alex’s open door, where her son sat at the foot of his bed, considering the stain on his shirt with a quiet pensiveness that made her heart ache.

“Papito? Can I come in?”

“Wow, this must be serious,” her boy answered, with a wry smile that didn’t meet his eyes, and Penelope took a split-second to hate that he’d mastered the art of deflection at such a young age. “You never bother to ask.”

“That's right, ‘cause I pay the rent, so technically it’s my room,” she joked back, despite the fresh tears stinging at the back of her throat. “I just want to make sure you’re really okay.”

“I mean, I'm worried about Schneider,” he admitted, sounding every bit the man she wasn’t ready for him to be just yet, and she immediately folded herself next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“But I'm fine.” Alex indulged the hug for longer than she expected, and Penelope couldn’t help but press her forehead to his neck, bemoaning the fact that he was already too big for her to cradle properly. “It really was nothing, he just shoved me a little when I went to call you.”

“That’s not exactly nothing.” The room went a little crimson again and suddenly she was back on her feet, hands flexing into fists. “We’re gonna talk more once we get him settled, okay?”

“Okay.” He nodded and she moved to make her way back to the mess waiting for her in the living room, but stopped short, bracing a hand on the doorframe when she heard his voice go small and soft. “But, Mami?”

Alex was looking at the ground, fidgeting his feet when she turned back, and Penelope’s lower lip pressed almost painfully against the top to keep a sob from slipping out. “I know you have to do your thing, or whatever, talk to him, but don’t be too hard on him, okay? He’s not Papi.”

She tried not to gasp aloud, but the question came out breathy all the same. “Baby, what do you mean?”

He sighed. “I know you think I was too little, but I remember how Papi used to get.” Her tears started coming then, there wasn’t any sense in trying to swipe at them before they could fall. “But Schneider, it wasn’t like that. He wasn’t angry, I think he was just scared. And sad. He didn’t mean to--”

“But he did,” she interrupted. “That’s an addict thing. And that’s something that he, and I, are gonna have to deal with.”

Alex nodded, but she could tell there was more on his mind. “He really doesn’t want you to hate him,” he explained, and there were about a hundred threads to pull on in that admission, and the soft, uncertain way he let her in on it. “Just don’t--”

His attempted warning, however, was cut off by the sound of the curtain sliding open from the other room, and they both paused, putting the moment on hold for the time being -- though Penelope still felt the adrenaline bumping her heart at an unnatural rhythm as she turned to face whatever was coming next.

“You did the right thing by calling us,” she assured her son softly, as Elena and Mami made their way out of the kitchen, supplies in hand -- “That's what our family does, right?” -- and the small smile Alex gave in return eased her nerves just enough to carry on.

Schneider sobers up quicker than she expects, given what was left in the bottle she tossed in the laundry room trash can, and after his heartfelt thanks -- and a stuttered apology to Alex that makes her swallow hard -- Penelope clears the rest of the family out of the apartment with almost too much ease. Then, it’s just the two of them.

At first, she’s ready to fight. It’s not a foreign instinct, or even a surprising one. Hypervigilance, Pam sometimes calls it, a product of her PTS -- both from the military and life with an abusive alcoholic. Another look into Schneider’s eyes, though, and as the tears well again in her own, she realizes that this is a different kind of battle.

They’ve all spoken different languages, the men in her life. Max is a healer, like her, Mateo a solver. Victor is a warrior, though and through. Even now, with his manicured beard and fancy second wife, she can still see the fire and fight in her ex’s eyes. He’s a soldier, and their life together was a war. Even when they were both back stateside, she never stopped feeling like she was in the trenches.

Schneider, though, he’s a refuge. He’s the door she knocks on when the family is driving her crazy, or she can’t sleep, or it’s three in the morning and she doesn’t have it in her to go another round with the demons that have their own curtain-enclosed living space in her brain. He’s where she looks when she needs strength that feels like it’ll never come, and when she has questions that feel impossible to answer. And now she needs to be those things for him. She has to. Because he’s hurting. Because Alex asked her to. And because...

Penelope’s not entirely sure where that sentence ends. Or maybe she is. Her world’s been upside down since her mother pulled a near-empty bottle of whiskey out of an obnoxiously personalized yoga mat. She doesn’t feel like she’s taken a real breath since the moment she turned to see Schneider finally coming clean, sure that her broken heart was written all over her face, but unable -- and maybe unwilling -- to hide it.

And tonight, the anger goes out of her almost as quickly, replaced by something darker and gnawing -- something she hasn't had the courage to look too closely at until now.

When she learned of Victor’s relapse, that night in her mother’s bed, she hadn’t wasted any time kicking him out. She needed him gone, as quickly as possible, needed to spare herself and her kids and the fragile idea of a family she was just barely holding together with the strength of her own hands and her Mami’s prayers.

She needed to minimize damage. Call it military instinct. Unbidden, the acronym paints itself in neon on the backs of her eyelids: FUBAR.

But Alex is right, this isn’t the same as it ever was with her ex. She doesn’t want to kick Schneider out, and her gut is telling her that she doesn’t need to. If anything, she's preparing to hold on tighter. She wants to keep him in her sights, feels, in the deepest part of her, a compulsion to keep him safe.

It only gets stronger when he admits to her the actual moment when he gave in and had his first drink in eight years. Penelope can see so clearly in her memory the way Schneider’s face had dropped that day when she told him that he was his father’s son. She remembers how he had looked like a stranger in his suit and slicked-back hair, remembers the way he said her name as she kicked him out of her apartment.

“I had one drink, and I actually managed to stand up to him,” he confesses. Then she remembers something else.

“Family’s everything.” Those words, the way she could see Schneider’s devotion to her and the people she loves through his thick-rimmed glasses and teary eyes, had been one of the most profound moments in her life so far. It had made her feel something she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to access again -- a stutter step in her heart she’d thought was lost to someone younger and more naive -- and the way it's tainted now, with the realization that he was under the influence, burns like a betrayal.

This night, this conversation, his relapse, these things aren’t about her, but it's like they were designed to make her confront the feelings she’s been stuffing down only semi-successfully over the last few months, ever since she split from Max. (Maybe even before then, if she’s honest.) She hasn’t been ready to admit to herself that she feels something when Schneider wraps her up in his arms -- which happens more often than it probably should if they’re sticking to the whole “just friends” mantra. She feels something when their eyes linger on each other across the room. It’s foreign and familiar at the same time, comforting and terrifying in equal measure.

She feels safe with him, even when her anxiety has her pinned to the mat -- even when it screams that that kind of safety, especially when found in another person, could be the most dangerous of all.

And tonight isn’t the first time Penelope has learned that lesson. She's done this before, looking into someone’s eyes and pleading with the only person who can save them. But still, it doesn’t feel the same.

Was it harder then, because she knew how she loved Victor? Or is it harder now, because the way she loves Schneider has become increasingly more complicated?

“You’re never gonna trust me again.”

He says it, and her first thought is relief, so strong she almost sighs it out audibly. For once, she doesn’t have to be the one to speak it out loud. For once, she doesn’t have to dole out threats and warnings like grenades, wincing when she looks back to see if they’ve hit their mark. He put his hands on her son, and he knows as well as she does that she's cut people out of her life for far less.

You’re never gonna trust me again. Her second thought is, that he's wrong. Somehow, he's wrong. She trusts him still -- and maybe she shouldn’t. Maybe it will be a mistake. Schneider the Addict is basically a stranger to her, and she knows enough about dependency to understand how situations like these can go from Jekyll to Hyde in the time it takes to blink.

But he’s standing here in front of her, talking about taking her son to his baseball games like it’s the most precious thing she could possibly take away from him, and the truth of the matter is that Penelope can't imagine a world where she doesn't trust him.

He's family, he has been for so long that she didn't even realize it was happening. They're his and he's theirs, and she didn't need to see his eight-year chip on the wall next to her daughter's report card to know how he belongs.

“You’re the only one who’s ever trusted me, Pen. All that goes away now.” They’re similar words, but they don’t feel the same the second time. There's no relief in his resignation, no solace in the way he looks at her like he's drowning, and she's the only lifeguard left on the beach.

She realizes that she’s been silent for a long time then, longer than she ever imagined herself being in a conversation like this one. Her throat aches with unshed tears and plenty more are falling to brush salt across her pursed lips. But it's time to speak now. It's time to make sure he knows.

“It doesn’t go away,” she tells him, and when her voice goes shaky, it occurs to her how much she truly means it. It’d be like missing a limb, life without Schneider. He fills a missing piece for them, and not a just a crack in the drywall or a spot at the dinner table.

“I’m not giving up on you. None of us are.”

Penelope watches as he turns that over in his brain, watches years of conditioning kick in and try to convince him that it's a lie. She saw his father walk out on him with ease, just weeks ago, knows that Avery did the same not long after. Someone needs to fight for him this time. Her hands are already clenching to fists.

They're seated on the couch now, and it's like the willpower has drained out of him. She knows she needs to move them towards the next step -- needs to get him to a meeting -- and so she plays her trump card.

“You want to be a good role model for the kids, right?”

She tried never to use Elena and Alex as bargaining chips when it came to Victor’s sobriety. It wasn’t fair, she had repeated to herself, and besides, it never had the intended result. A mention of their family was like pouring gasoline on a fire, it only made him rage about ultimatums and equity and the things that were his.

But this too, is different with Schneider. His eyes close, almost peacefully, on a sigh, and something in her chest sparks anew at the fact that, out of everything, this is what will push him to try again. Her kids. Their family. “This is your chance.”

In the last hour alone, she's seen her daughter tell this man that she loves him -- anyone who didn't know Elena well would have thought those words came easy for her -- and watched her Mami hand over sopa de pollo like she knows something Penelope doesn’t. Alex forgave him without a thought, and while she knows there will be more to unpack between them, there isn't a bone in her body that doesn’t believe the two of them will come out the other side even stronger.

But still, all Schneider seems to have are doubts. So she quotes his own words back to himself -- “Don’t quit before the miracle happens” -- and watches him smile for the first time in what feels like far too long. Penelope’s always fancied herself too practical for miracles, but maybe there's a time and place for everything.

This is his time. They can be his place.

“You don’t have to do that alone.”

He finally looks back at her then, and she realizes she's been waiting for it, longing to meet his eyes again and see the spark of the man she knows so well underneath all that hurt and embarrassment.

She's struck suddenly, with the urge to press her lips to his cheek or his forehead, remembers him waxing poetic once about nontraditional kisses. It would be too much tonight, she tells herself, with everything so close to the surface. So she suppresses the urge without looking too closely at where it came from, and settles instead for drawing his head to rest on her shoulder -- a mirror image of the way he’s comforted her so many times before. They exhale a heavy breath at the same time, and for some reason it's then that's she's certain they’re going to be okay.

Later, they'll return to this same spot -- a new chip in his pocket, his first name on the tip of her tongue. He'll apologize again, and she'll shake her head and offer to let him sleep on the couch so he doesn't have to face day two alone. He’ll nod in grateful acceptance and smile in a way that makes her forget her earlier conviction and drop a kiss to his hairline that lingers on her lips as she heads to bed.

Maybe there’s a miracle coming, after all.

#alvareider #alvareider fic #penelope x schneider #penelope alvarez #pat schneider #schneider #odaat fic #odaat #one day at a time #one day at a time fic #penelope alvarez fic

94 notes · View notes

sloumate · 5 years

Photo

Hello my friends! Here I am, once again, with a recap of the fics that warmed my heart during 2018. It was a bit of a weird year for me, not gonna lie, the first half was very good (I graduated from uni, so there was that, yay), but the second half was a bit meh :\ i lost myself in the absolute uncertainty of the future and anxiety has been eating away at my soul. Both the fandom and fics have always been a safe place for me, but towards the end of the year i started feeling slightly detached from everything so it was a bit of a slow one, even fic-wise.

Angst aside, good fics have always been and still are the best way to lure me right back in, and for that, I have to thank all the authors mentioned under the cut: you’re all legends and I genuinely hope you feel as loved as you made us feel with your words.

A big thank you also goes to a group of people that kept me updated on all fronts, shared with me some of these gems and definitely made my year much brighter: @imlt-archive, @pinklucozade (who also made the banner above, so thank you very much bee ♥), @moonloueh, @louistomlinsonsz, @mattbelloumy & @nouies ✨

But let’s get to business: here are my favorite fics of the year. They’re listed in chronological order and the ones that are marked with a ♡ hold an extra special place in my heart. Hope you’ve read most of these during the year, but if you haven’t, well, here’s a treat for 2019:

{ 2016 / 2017 / more fics here }

As We Were, As We Are by jaerie / @jaerie / 51k / ♡

Alex is a British soldier who has been injured in battle, Louis is a RAF pilot with amnesia. Somehow they put each other back together even if they get separated along the way.

Now In A Minute by thealmightyavocado / @avocadolouie / 150k

13 feels like yesterday for many people, but for Louis it actually was. / Or the 13 going on 30 au that should have been done years ago.

Try to not remember (rather than forget) by hereforlou / @hereforlou / 59k

Harry hadn’t left, not really. He had been right there the entire time. And that’s what had made it worse, knowing that his body was within touching distance but his mind, everything that made Harry Harry, was lost somewhere Louis wasn’t able to reach. He hadn’t left, but that’s what it had felt like most of the time. Just as if one day Harry had up and left him. / Or, the one where Harry wakes up.

A Study in Love by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings / 24k / ♡

Louis knows everything about everyone which has put him at a great and weird advantage over nearly all of them since the very beginning. He can solve any puzzle before most people know where to begin. He is rarely perplexed, mistaken, or wrong, and obviously, Louis is never ever surprised. And yet, his new flatmate after a very long string of failed ones has Louis questioning how he ever did any of it without him. [part 2 / part 3]

Chased the High by crimsontheory / @ireallysawanangel / 12k

Working as a fireman is a tough job. Being in love with your best friend and fellow fireman is also a tough job. / Or the one where Louis and Harry are both fireman and Louis doesn't know how much longer he can go on harboring his feelings for Harry.

When We Find Love by angelichl / @angelichl /38k

The famous/not-famous AU in which Louis lives in a house by the lake and doesn't know Harry is famous.

Take my hand and make the stars collide by tolvsmol / @rosesau / 15k / ♡

It all started with a few too many shots and ended with Louis drunkenly betting Harry to marry him – apparently “You won’t” is enough incentive for both of them, because now they’re at a rundown motel with a 24 hour chapel, and they’re giggling and kissing in the pews as they wait their turn. Except Louis sort of lost his buzz an hour or so ago, but he’s too afraid to say anything. Where does ‘marrying your best friend under false pretenses’ fall in terms of moral ambiguity? (Louis almost calls it off right then and there, until Harry admits he’s also dead sober, but… why not go home with one hell of a story anyway?) / or the one where what happens in vegas doesn't always stay in vegas.

Make Your Words A Weapon by HelloAmHere / @helloamhere / 36k / ♡

Louis is a music critic, Harry is a rockstar, soulmates are destiny but no one ever said destiny was easy, music is everything.

Simply Irresistible by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings / 12k

Louis only comes to town to start up a successful restaurant, but finds he can't quite leave once the job is done. Though, that might have more to do with him falling for his quirky neighbor than anything else.

Smoke & Mirrors by sincewewereeighteen / 59k

"What are we drinking then?” He asks Harry, claiming his place sitting on the stool by his side. “Tequila.” Harry replies. “Is this a good idea?” “Neither is sleeping with you, probably, but I’m going to do it anyways, so…” He hands Louis a glass. “Bottoms up!” / Or: the one in which Harry hates Louis, but doesn't know him. And then... He does.

Gonna dream of how you (tasted) by hereforlou / @hereforlou / 21k

The one where Harry needs a handyman and it turns out they have a bit of a history.

Loving You, It's Explosive by missyoubabycakes / 12k

Harry is obsessed with organization and Louis makes way too many jokes. Somehow, they're made for each other. / or Louis can't properly work because he's so in love and Harry just wants him to admit that.

Don't Let the Tide Come and Take Me by kiwikero / @icanhazzalou / 28k

The aquarium in the lobby has been there as long as Louis can remember, and so has the merman inside. That is, until the day Louis loses his job and decides to set the creature free. They set off on a road trip to the sea, learning to communicate more and more each day. Their destination is LA, but the closer they get and the more Louis gets to know the merman, the more he dreads having to say goodbye. / Or, the one where Louis decides to set a merman free and ends up finding his own freedom along the way.

Into The Midnight Sun by summerwine / @smrwine / 63k / ♡

It's 1983, Harry embarks on his first world tour and Louis is a budding actor in LA. Life spent apart isn't easily adjustable, but somehow they make it work.

Sun Means The Sky'll Be Blue by PearlyDewdrops / @curlsandlashes / 91k / ♡

As the only singleton under thirty attending his cousin's five-day wedding, Harry is desperate to find a date, or at least a reason to get people's questions about his love life off his back. So when Louis, Harry's old uni roommate and fellow wedding attendee waltzes back into his life, Harry seizes the opportunity, pretending Louis is his ex-boyfriend and that it's a sore subject not to be mentioned. If it's a little bit closer to the truth than Harry would like, well, he's a master at living in denial. So cue a mess of trudged-up feelings, past misunderstandings, a rekindled summer romance and a whole lot of sexually-charged bickering.

Keep this love in a photograph by suspendrs / @suspendrs / 48k / ♡

“I could never forget a damn thing about you, Harry Styles, not even if I wanted to,” Louis says. His hair falls into his face when he glances over at Harry, the moonlight reflecting off of it and making it glow golden, like maybe Louis himself is the sun. Harry thinks of how dark and cold his life got once Louis went away, how Harry got a taste of the sweetest sunshine imaginable and then was plunged into the longest winter of his life. He feels like he’s been buried under mounds of snow for months, years, and he’s finally made it to spring, finally getting another taste of how wonderful life can be. / Or, it’s 1919, and Harry’s been falling in love with his best friend for his entire life.

Wild Love by purpledaisy / 130k / ♡

Two best friends try to date each other for forty days. It's supposed to be fun until emotions make it complicated.

Ain't That A Kick In The Head! by lesbianharrie, wreckingtomlinson / 22k

In which Harry’s a disaster gay who doesn’t know shit about soccer, Liam drinks too many blue raspberry Coolattas, Niall knows everyone, Zayn looks dead, and Louis is Not Happy about sharing his breakout moment with “Drunk Hawaiian Guy.”

A Taste of Desire by casuallyhl / 104k

A Victorian ABO where Harry is the owner of the most successful cotton mill in Manchester, and Louis is an opinionated social activist about to disrupt Harry’s world.

Tissue-thin lies by HelloAmHere / @helloamhere / 5k

Louis has a cold but he's FINE.

This Melody Was Meant For You by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings / 32k

The Marie Henry Conservatory of Music has been around for ages, and not once has it ever admitted anybody besides the traditional, classical music student. Or at least they hadn’t until a few select outsiders are let in to mix things up and to give someone like Louis a chance.

Loyal Knight and True by rainbowninja167 / @rainbowninja / 51k / ♡

In contemporary Oxford, Harry Styles and Niall Horan run a magical bookshop, unbowed by an entire academic establishment that insists magic doesn't even exist. Sometimes, Harry finds, it's much easier to have faith in magic than in himself. Louis Tomlinson is a classically trained poet who needs something to believe in, and Liam Payne longs to be a part of something magical. But when the lines between reality and fiction - poetry and magic - start to blur, can they trust each other to keep track of what's true?

You'll Always Find Your Way Back Home by styleandsin / 43k / ♡

Louis needs a break from everything, from acting and the constant pressure of life in LA. He decides to move back home for a bit, some time with his family is exactly what can lift his spirits. What he doesn't expect is to fall in love. Both with the town he hated so much so that he couldn't wait to leave it years ago and with a curly haired florist that was the complete opposite of the guys he'd often meet in LA.

When the city shines (like the sun at night) by fondleeds / 37k / ♡

Love, Simon AU.

Oh, We're In Love, Aren't We? by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings / 30k / ♡

After sixteen wonderful years of friendship, it's hard to imagine any grand (and usually dumb) plans they haven't had or some type of mischief they haven't gotten into together. But, when Harry suddenly finds himself without a fiance and Louis just wants to help him feel okay again, they realize falling in love is one thing they haven't done, and that's about to change.

You came into my life by disgruntledkittenface / @disgruntledkittenface / 57k

When the Queer Eye cast and crew sweep into Louis’ small town and fire station to make over his best friend and coworker Liam, Louis’ carefully constructed walls start to fall down and he has to face his fears – and the only guy he’s ever been able to see a future with.

The Second Hand Unwinds by FullOnLarrie / @fullonlarrie / 51k / ♡

Louis Tomlinson is one of the first members of NASA's top secret Chrono Exploration Program. When things go wrong and he's sent further back in time than planned, he has no other option than to show up on his ex-boyfriend's doorstep.

The Lonely Planet Guide to Second Chances by 1Diamondinthesun / 102k

When Harry and Louis broke up, the last thing on Harry's mind was the non-refundable surprise trip he had booked for them across Europe. Harry was supposed to be moving on, not sightseeing with his ex. In hindsight, touring the continent with Louis was probably a bad idea. So naturally, that's exactly what Harry did. / Or, the breakup travel fic featuring romantic sunsets, awkward bed sharing, and second chances against a backdrop of some of Europe's most iconic cities

Truth, justice, and the gay way by hattalove / @hattalove / 2k

Liam needs a costume. Louis needs a best best friend award, a holiday, and to get a grip. (Harry's just in the right place at the right time.)

I believe him when he tells of loving me by bitterlee / 28k / ♡

Louis doesn't remember Harry. Harry takes him home.

When the Sun Won't Let You Sleep by allwaswell16 / @allwaswell16 / 30k

Four years ago, Louis Tomlinson left the UK to live on an Antarctic research station for reasons best left in the past. He’s carved out a life for himself on the ice and has dedicated himself to his research, his friends, and especially the Halley VI research station. He’s less than thrilled when he learns that Harry Styles, a glaciologist from another base who once broke his heart, will be coming to Halley, and he’s definitely unprepared for the upheaval Harry brings with him.

Take It To The Limit by taggiecb / 35k

Louis Tomlinson enjoys the simple life. He has his house, his family, and his friends all in the tiny town of Petty Harbour, Newfoundland. When he isn’t spending the winters plowing out the residents and keeping Liam and Niall company at Payne’s pub, he’s out on the open water doing the one thing that he loves the most, fishing. Harry Styles is a traveler. He lands in the tiny town to try to find himself. What he finds instead is a beautiful blue eyed man who seems to have everything figured out. But even a brick house can be damaged by a storm if it’s big enough. Can Louis’ perfect life and their relationship survive the tumult that’s coming?

What Our Souls Were Meant To Do by Rearviewdreamer / @all-these-larrythings / 34k / ♡

All Harry’s father wants is for his son to marry as soon as possible and give their family another heir. All Harry wants to do is fall in love.

Where your lips land by BriaMaria / 12k / ♡

A love story told through Louis' tattoos. / or the Tyler Knott Gregson-inspired AU where Louis is a poet who lives in Montana and Harry is a photographer passing through.

Just call me inspiration by hereforlou / @hereforlou / 51k

The truth is Louis knows he’s going to hell, if there is such a thing, but it isn’t because he writes erotic fiction for a living. If anything, it’s because his muse, the reason he’s inspired to write about people shagging in increasingly creative ways everyday, is the sweetest, loveliest, most genuine (and completely oblivious) future children-book illustrator in the world. / Or, the one where Louis is a writer, Harry is an art student, and they inspire each other in very different ways.

Love Me Please by angelichl / @angelichl / 23k / ♡

Louis hates Harry, which is fine because he would really rather prefer to avoid him at all costs. The only problem? They're soulmates.

O' Christmas Tree by Justalittlelouislove / @justalittlelouislove / 15k / ♡

Louis has a busy schedule to keep and a daughter to raise. He definitely isn't looking for a relationship. Enter Harry Styles, a local Christmas tree farmer that seems just a little too good to be true.

For As Long As I Can Remember (It's Been December) by green_feelings / 128k / ♡

After recovering from a severe accident that causes Harry to lose his memory of three years, he moves to London to start his life over as a star chef. Little does he know that when he falls in love with Louis at first sight, it’s not the first time they meet. Featuring an unintentional game of hot and cold, Harry chasing memories that won’t come back, Louis burying himself in work to try and forget what he can’t forget, Liam being torn between two of his best friends, Zayn as a moral compass and Niall saving the day with good music and brutal honesty.

#2018 fic rec #hl fics #fan fiction #rec list #larry #larry ff #larry fics #ao3 #fic masterpost #fic rec #mine #ls fics #hl #fics

231 notes · View notes

weirdomoa · 5 years

Text

I don’t want to go insane but I’m too old to get a new start

If I hadn’t tried to kill myself again is in big part thanks to Will Toledo. And that’s a strong thing to say so it’s perfect to begin the highly hyped (for me because nobody else reads these) Car Seat Headrest post.

I think that I could write this one just by quoting lyrics from their songs and he would speak for me better than I would ever imagine how to do it.

I have never known how to express myself. My feelings, my thoughts, my needs. I’ve always lived live in the automatic pilot, surviving somehow, without noticing my surroundings. That way I would I become numb to the pain and nothing would have affected me. Oh boy I was wrong. The day I stopped the autopilot I didn’t realize that I had never learnt how to drive and I crashed. I never let myself learn how to be functional. Incapable of being human, of being inhuman, living uncontrollably… gosh, I love Beach Life-in-Death.

Since last year or so, you could say that my life has been stable. My mom has been clean for almost four years now and we have money enough to be unworried again. Everything is fine now at home, except for me. Since the last year or so I’ve never been worst.

Once things started going right I started to wreck myself into pieces. I have never lived in a timeline were everything was fine. I have never learnt how to act in a supposed normal life. I was used to chaos, to always been waiting for things to collapse. And suddenly I found myself waiting for nothing, because nothing seems to be turning wrong. Not even once my mom has fell back onto drugs since she got clean. Not even once I’ve had to worry about coming back crying and devastated from seeing my father due to his psychological abuse on me. That’s because I don’t know how the hell but I was brave enough two years ago to broke my relationship with him once for all. I have friends, I have had good love relationships and I even ended in good terms with my ex’s; one of them is actually one of my closest friends right now.

So what the hell is wrong with me? Why I can enjoy it? Why everyone seems to get their shit together except for me?

As I said, if you stop the autopilot in your car you’ll have to star driving yourself. If you don’t know how to drive as soon as you turn off the automatic you will crash.

I collapsed and I wasn’t able to live properly. I didn’t know how a human person works every day and how I was supposed to interact with the world. I wasn’t given the option of learning in the right schedule. And the only thing that I knew was that if you don’t know how to live then you die. So I tried to choke myself on pills hoping not to wake up anymore. But after more than 24 hours sleeping I did wake up and I puked everything. My body was doing what I had done all my life, it had the autopilot turned on and it did what it knew, survive somehow. You would think that that was my revelation and everything turned great and blablabla. Nah. The worst was just beginning and it came after that. Realizing you know nothing and that you have to learn things that you were supposed to learn at your childhood but now as an adult. One of the most frustrating things that I have experienced and a very painful one. You have to learn everything again because you got it all wrong. Who you are, what you do and want, and how. Somehow you are born again and I don’t mean it in any good way. I was an 18 years old girl and a fucking baby was more functional than me.

In these two years I’ve been learning, and I’m still. It’s a really long process. I’m still not fine. I still have depression, anxiety and the suicidal thoughts don’t entirely disappear all of a sudden. But I’m way better than I used to be.

That’s a way in which CSH has helped me. I’ve been able to put words to my feelings. You know, it’s dangerous to say things like “this band cured my depression” because those statements are totally false. It’s an illness and its cure it’s through a medical therapy. But there are a few things that help you through the way. CSH was one of them for me. In order to get better and for the therapy to work, when I’m at the doctor I have to be able to tell her what is going on, and before CSH I was really lost on that topic.

Will Toledo has put words on me to the feeling of nothingness that comes with depression the lack of emotion. Words on how I feel depersonalized and unstable. He takes away the stigma of depression meaning just sadness. He explains it as it really is, not as the presence of sadness but the emptiness and lack of joy or any feeling whatsoever.

He has written also about how we use humour as a way of express in a subtle way what we really suffer but we are too afraid to say seriously. He then goes from “Remember when we made jokes? / Now we’re too poor for laughter/ No, fuck it, we’re too poor to be serious / So make me laugh again” to “Remember when I made jokes? / The joke’s on you, fucker / I never made any jokes / I meant every single word”.

Every day I make jokes about killing myself, about how just my own reflection brought on heaving, and about the fucking mess I am and the pain that goes with it. And yes, I am joking. But not that deep down I mean every single word and I joke about it as some stupid cry for help, that, even if it comes, I won’t take.

In Nervous Young Man there’s one time where he says “But I’m too old to get a new start”. I’ve been thinking that for the last years. If I think it in a rational way I know that’s far from true but I can help from feeling otherwise. I feel like I wasted my life in wanting to die.

In contrast to that at least I have the thoughts expressed in Sober to Death: “Good stories are bad lives and good lives make bad stories”. That way of explaining the past has helped me through my days. My life is a roundup of fucked up phases but I’ve learned a lot from them. More than having a shitty life you could say that I had a pretty entertaining one. At least it wasn’t boring. I wouldn’t be who I am today without all the pain and suffering. A good story needs conflict, fear, pain, sadness and suffering. And from that you’ll get the joy, the hope and the learning of overcoming all of them. From that is where you learn and gain your strength.

From Sober to Death you can see too how he talks about love. He neither talks in the “idealized and super good and romantic” way or in the “possessive unrealistic and toxic” one. He speaks from being in love when you’re yourself struggling with mental diseases such as depression. About how you feel like you need love to cure yourself. How you in a conflicting way with your mind you both seek for a saviour and to be the saviour yourself. Loving when you don’t know how to, without not even being able to love yourself. It’s a really intense feeling but also not a really healthy one for neither of the ones involved.

I think I’ve never been in love (romantically speaking). But I’ve been lucky with my past relationships. Sadly, it could be said that I was a whore to them. I don’t let myself attach to anyone. I’ve never known if it’s due to fear or ignorance of how a good relationship works.

Nevertheless I had my heart been broken by someone else. It is right now when I’m accepting it and I’m learning how to put it back together again. I loved my dad, so deeply. Now I hate him but just because I hate the fact that I still love him and perhaps I’ll always do. He abandoned me, formed another family and had another daughter who he actually took care of. But he still reached out for me from time to time. Just to let me in pieces. To tell me I wasn’t enough. Enough feminine, enough skinny, enough loving and caring, enough talkative. I only saw him a couple times a year and I always ended up crying when I turned home. He make me believe it was my fault for him to not love me and see me more. He made me think that I wasn’t a good daughter and that he was the good one. I mean he was good father to my half-sister how can he be possibly be bad? Instead I putted the fault on me in not being the good one. I always putted him instead of me; his needs were always before my own needs for me.

He and his family psychologically abused of me for years. Making me feel the bad one when I wasn’t even 10. I wasn’t a good niece, a good granddaughter… I ended up having eating disorders that lead me to anxiety to just try somehow to be enough for them. That led me to depression and body dysmorphia and that eventually leaded to the suicide attempt.

He was the one that was supposed to teach me how to love and he just ended breaking my heart. I just kept on idealizing him and I was constantly looking for his attention. So yes, I’ve got freaking daddy issues. I’ve told already a million times that I’m a bloody cliché, haven’t I?

So let’s get back to Car Seat Headrest in a way to end this for now. About his vision of love and idealization. In Mirror to Mirror (Twin Fantasy 2011) I was fascinated by the concept of Galvanism, given that, wherever I met someone new that I like I pretend to know more about them than I actually do and I end up always liking more my idealized version of them more than the real one. I’m always afraid of the real one.

Repeatedly in his records it can be heard sometimes “The Ocean washed over your grave”. It represents that nobody is able to keep their feelings for someone (good or bad) buried, as they will keep resurfacing long after you thought they were gone.

A post about a band I love was stolen from the limelight by the only person I hate.

#car seat headrest #monomania #twin fantasy #nervous young man #galvanism #teens of denial #teens of style #will toledo

7 notes · View notes

shanlorel · 6 years

Note

"You’ve been like this for how long?"

Shilohsprawled drunkenly across Rook’s couch and tried to pretend it hadn’tbecome a common occurrence.

“Istarted at eleven, this time.”

“You’rea mess,” he muttered from somewhere near the kitchen.

Hisapartment was spacious enough that he actually had a half-wallseparating the kitchen and living area, and real stone for the countertops. Hers was acheap piece of shit with a bottle-laden breakfast bar the only thingthat separated the two, the laminate peeling inplaces from prior residents. Maybe that was why Shiloh found her wayback to Rook’s place whenever she found herself muddled andstumbling…or maybe it was just that Rook lived near the onlyhalfway decent bar that ran students’ nights on Mondays, when shecould afford the liquor and not worry about stumbling to ROTC,hungover, the next day.

Itcertainly wasn’t the company, after all.

“Doyou mind getting me a glass of water? The room is still spinning,”Shiloh muttered into the armrest of Rook’s sofa. She didn’t exactlyspeak clearly even without the fabric muffling her mouth, but thatwas part of the price a pitcher of Bud Light exacted. Her armsdraped over the side, and her legs were almost long enough to touchthe other end of it—she had always been far too tall for a woman,and far too much of that was leg.

“Yes. Get it yourself. I’m not enabling this,” Rook returned. She knewhe was casting her a disparaging glance, because Rook always seemedto either sneer or smirk at her, but for the moment, she remainedblissfully blind to it with her face buried.

“Ithink you could stand to be less of an asshole, all thingsconsidered.” It wasn’t much of a comeback, but it was the best herfoggy brain could come up with.

“Ithink you could stand to be less of an alcoholic, but we can’t allget what we want.”

Shilohlifted her head enough to glare at him over the back of the couch,but Rook didn’t even bother to look back at her, busying himself withorganizing his cabinets, or whatever the hell frustrating men did atthree in the morning that made such a damn clatter.

“Donot joke. I am not an alcoholic, and you know that as well as I do,”Shiloh insisted. Her words were almost belied by the flipping of herstomach, but she kept herself settled enough.

“Thentell me why you do this to me once a fortnight or so,” he replied.

Shilohalmost teased him for saying “fortnight,” but she let it slide,for once. Rook had a few strange quirks from his childhood abroad,though he didn’t talk about it much. He was Eastern European,though, or at least she thought he was. It came through in theoccasional odd turn of phrase or when he would curse under his breathin a language Shiloh thought was Russian, but might’ve been from anyof the Slavic countries just as easily.

Sheasked once if that was why he was named Rook, but he didn’t give areal answer. Rook rarely gave real answers to personal questions.

“…Becausewe are in college, and it rather goes with the territory,” shereplied, keeping her tone every bit as dry as his. Or at least sheintended to. Shiloh knew she slurred her words, and the longer shestayed draped over the armrest of his couch, the more she becameconvinced that she would never leave.

Still,his words rang a little bit true. Rook didn’t drink like she did. He never had, in the near-year that she’d known him; Rook drank aglass of scotch for pleasure sometimes, and a second for an excuse topeople-watch at the bar, but always slowly, clinically. It was amatter of control, he’d said to her once, both of himself and ofretaining the ability to exert it on others.

Shilohdrank like it was a fight with herself, and like she didn’t knowwhether she wanted to win or lose. She knew damn well every time sheheaded out to the bar, she’d come out staggering and trying toreorient herself, but she did it anyway. She used to go with herfriends, but she went by herself, now, ending up there likeclockwork. It made for something of a terrible ritual to fall into,but it bled the stress out of her in a way nothing else quite managedto, and if crashing on Rook’s couch meant she no longer picked fightswith strangers, it was a trade-off she could live with.

“Don’tbe stupid. College students are more susceptible to alcoholism, notless. Give me a real answer.”

Shedidn’t. Instead, the woman replied, “Did you learn that in one ofyour psychology books?”

Rookmoved surprisingly quietly when he wanted to, despite his height. Unlike her, his had a powerful build to go with it, making him easilya third again her weight without looking clumsy for it. She onlyknew he’d come alongside her when he reached to tip up her chin,forcing her to look him in the eyes.

Shilohswore and tried to pull back, but her position didn’t give her muchleverage. She glared, feeling anger burn in her gut. He knew damnwell that she didn’t like being touched, let alone manhandled. Rookstared for a long moment, his blue eyes boring back into hers, beforehe let her go.

“Whatthe hell was that for?” she demanded.

“Iwas checking to make sure your eyes focused properly. I’m notdealing with alcohol poisoning at three AM. You really are a mess.”

Shilohintended to growl back a response, but her stomach turned again. Maybe it wasn’t so much anger as it was nausea. She made a face,tried to sit up, fell back over, tried again, and managed to stayupright.

Herface must have turned faintly green, because Rook ordered, “Bathroom. Now.” His tone brooked no disagreement, but Shiloh wasn’tprecisely inclined to argue, anyway. Not about that. She pitchedforward as she got up, but she only hurried towards the bathroom.

Itwasn’t the first time she’d vomited in Rook’s toilet, either, but itwas the worst. Shiloh’s stomach kept heaving long after she’d thrownup everything she had, leaving her muscles aching from the effort. Drool ran down her chin. She was reasonably certain she’d managed toget vomit on both her shirt and in her hair.

She’dhad better days.

Rookmore slammed down than set down the glass of water next to her. Thefight had entirely gone out of Shiloh, though, so instead of sayinganything bellicose, she just murmured a “thank you” and drank it. It washed some of the taste of bile out of her mouth, though sheremained worried she’d simply throw it back up again. Rook, for hispart, wrinkled his nose, though whether at the smell or at the sightof her, she couldn’t tell. With a curl of his lip, he walked off,leaving her to rest her cheek on the toilet seat, shut her eyes, andtry to clear her head.

Shefelt better for throwing up—she usually always did—but her headstill spun. Stupid. She felt stupid for coming here and dealingwith Rook’s attitude, and stupider for liking him not just despiteit, but because of it. Not romantically (though he did patronizinglykiss her on the forehead on New Year’s), but for his dependabilityand wit. He, in turn, despite his protests, seemed to always havesome excuse or another for why he dropped by to get coffee or studyin the library. Never mind that he didn’t regularly drink morningcoffee, nor did he share any classes with her. It simply formed someof the framework for their odd, antagonistic sort of friendship.

Itdidn’t mean he wouldn’t come through for her, anyway; Rook dropped aclean towel and one of his spare shirts on the floor next to her.

“Youneed to clean yourself up. You’re not getting your mess on my couchor my sheets.”

Shilohgroaned an unintelligible reply. That was it. That was what passedfor kindness from Rook. As long as his instructions synched up withher own wishes, though, she’d continue to follow them.

Ashort shower and a change of clothes later, Shiloh found herself backon Rook’s couch, though she stayed upright this time. Her feetrested on the opposite armrest, as Rook expressly forbade her fromputting them up on his coffee table. She was tall enough that hisshirt didn’t drape to her knees, but her skinny frame did little tofill it out, leaving her looking more like she wore a bedsheet than ashirt. The hem hung just low enough to cover her underwear—she’dlet Rook throw her jeans in the wash with the rest of her clothes. Neither one of them held much modesty on that front.

Rookpoked at scrambled eggs with a spatula, as if already resigned to hisrole. That, or he didn’t trust her with cooking anything on her own. She assumed the latter, but appreciated it regardless. Rook didn’tusually make her food when she stumbled to his doorstep. Hell, heusually cracked the door, asked if she had any idea what hour it was(never mind that no matter what the answer, Rook still wore his dayclothes and had every appearance of having been wide awake), andpointed her to the couch. She assumed between that and the vomiting,he’d expect more than usual in exchange for his assistance.

Healways asked a price, after all.

“Wouldyou like your information now, or when I am sober?” she asked,tilting her head back to look upside-down at him.

“Later. You’re insufferable when you’re drunk.”

“Ibelieve you have also said that I am insufferable when I’m sober, aswell.”

“Yes. But it’s in a different way,” he replied, a hint of amusementunderscoring his words like the faintest of shadows.

“Amore-sufferable insufferability, then?”

Hemade a face back at her, but she could see the smile curl his lipsbefore he turned away. Shiloh took exceptional pleasure in using hissneering mockery as the basis for fostering actual endearment. Itpresented a challenge, and while she didn’t play games like he did,she did enjoy wordplay. More than that, she enjoyed the camaraderieit fostered between them, blending his games and her words,antagonism and affection.

“Whatdo you want on these?” Rook asked.

“Whateveryou are having on yours. Ketchup or salt and pepper or hot sauce, Ido not really care.”

Rookmuttered something to himself that sounded like an incredulous “hotsauce,” but he didn’t put up a real fuss over it. Shilohdropped her feet from the armrest and struggled to sit up so thatRook would have a spot, himself. The few times he sat up with herlonger after she stumbled through his front door, he usually took aseat on the armchair to the other side of the room, but it never hurtto be polite.

Heset her plate on the coffee table and took up his customary spot inthe armchair, crossing his legs as he did. Rook’s own plate had verylittle on it—it was just a late-night snack, Shiloh remindedherself—but hers had enough for a real breakfast. He’d drizzledthem with ketchup, but declined on the hot sauce. She set on hersravenously, not quite realizing how hungry she’d gotten until he’dpresented her with food.

“Whatare you going to tell that little bookworm of yours this time?” heasked, tipping his head to look down his nose at her.

“Ido not have to tell Dan anything,” Shiloh replied around a mouthfulof eggs. Her eyes narrowed. “You said you preferred to wait untiltomorrow to speak.”

“Yes,for that. This is just casual conversation.”

Sheexhaled sharply through her nose and shook her head.

“Danknows what I get up to on Monday nights. He’s my best friend; I donot keep secrets from him,” she clarified, gesturing with her fork.

“Interesting. Have you ever thought about bringing him with you instead of relyingon my good graces to clean up after your mistakes?”

Shilohwanted to protest, but the thumping sound of the washing machine onspin cycle more than spoke to the truth of his words.

“Itis complicated. Dan and I…” She took a moment to chew her foodand give herself time to think. “You know how I feel about him. Ialready have no chance, but I cannot help but think that I haveslightly more by not having him see this, even if he already knowswhat I am doing.”

“Whileyou have no shame in regards to me,” Rook filled in, looking coollyover his plate.

“Youare my friend. Dan is…Dan. The exception to all my rules, my mostfaithful adviser, my truest and best of friends…He means the worldto me,” Shiloh knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t quite stopherself, the liquor still fogging her head enough to keep her mouthrunning. “But you already knew all of that before even asking.”

Rooknodded, but unlike Shiloh, he didn’t speak with his mouth full. Thesilence yawned between them, even if it only lasted a few seconds.

“Yes,I did. I wanted to hear you say it, though.,” Rook said.

“…ThatI have feelings for Dan? I have said it before,” she returned,scowling.

“No,that you have the sense to be embarrassed by your actions.”

Shilohlooked away as Rook smirked. He made her want to cut his neck like achicken sometimes, but that was part of the price she paid inexchange for his assistance. She should have known he was playinganother of his stupid games. The only way to win was to figure outwhat he meant before he got there, and that presented enough of achallenge when she was sober.

“Iought to lie down,” Shiloh said. “My head still hurts. I amafraid I will have to postpone your lectures until tomorrow.”

Heblew air out his nose, but acquiesced.

“Fine. You know where the linen closet is. Try not to make a mess ofthings.”

Hegathered her plate and his and headed to the sink, as if that wasthat. She hadn’t expected him to agree so readily, but maybe he,too, realized the futility of the matter.

Shilohdidn’t bother getting up. She flopped back on her side, content tosleep in her clothes (or Rook’s clothes, as it were). He kept itwarm enough in his apartment that she wouldn’t have to worry aboutfreezing during the night, and besides, she felt muddled enough fromthe beer that she probably could have slept through that, anyway. Itwouldn’t be the first time.

Inthe morning, she’d have to deal with another of Rook’s cuttinglectures about responsibility and dignity and all the other things hewas far too uptight about for a twenty-one year old college kid. She’d apologize more than she necessarily meant, and she’d answer hisprobing questions about classes and home and all the other things hetook an intense degree of interest in knowing, more like a tacticianhoarding valuable information than a friend checking up on her. She’d skirt around the edges of her drinking, and still never tellhim about how she used to brawl with people who pissed her off beforeall this, how she’d stumble home with a split lip and bruised ribs,how she’d patch herself up alone, because nothing else kept her headfrom tearing open at the seams. She’d avoid mentioning that shestill wasn’t quite sure how much of their twice-monthly meetings hadto do with the drinking or the ritual of visiting him like she did.

Fornow, though, she’d sleep.

Part Two can be found here.

#prompt #short story #au #college au #Shanlorel #rook

4 notes · View notes

alleyesonthehindenburg · 7 years

Text

The Two-Person Pride Parade

(or, in honour of Pride Month, the West Wing fic I’m too lazy to properly write)

Okay this got wayyyyy longer than I meant it to be, but here it is, my not-quite-a-fic fic. I may write more if I feel like it? Warnings for allusions to period-typical homophobia (late 1990s-early 2000s)

From the minute Toby brings CJ onto the campaign, she and Josh are dancing around each other.

There’s just something sitting at the back of her mind. It’s not until she overhears Josh talking to his assistant Donna that she recognises it – it’s the same thing that drew her to Joanna Leed in ninth grade, the best friend who became the girlfriend; it’s the same thing that led her to a group of nerds at UC Berkeley, the nerds who became the first community she ever knew. She figures it out because Josh is talking about a date, and he never uses a single pronoun. She figures it out because she’s been doing it since she was sixteen.

At some point, gay rights come up in Governor Bartlet’s debate prep, and there’s a split second where she catches Josh’s eye. They exchange a look, and it’s all they need. CJ knows that, for however long this lasts, he’s the only person who can know, and the only person who needs to know.

They don’t actually speak about it until Governor Bartlet has become President-Elect Bartlet. It’s ten to midnight, the first of what CJ assumes will be many, many late nights in the West Wing. They’ve been unpacking their offices all day, and CJ has invited the four younger members of the senior staff - herself, Josh, Toby and Sam - for a beer on her brand new couch. Toby’s wrapping something up with Leo, and Sam’s been sent to get the booze, which leaves CJ and Josh alone.

“So, we’re in the White House,” Josh says. It’s still early days; that sense of awe hasn’t worn itself out yet. CJ’s not sure it ever will.

“We’re in the White House,” she agrees. “Holy shit. We’re in the White House.”

That sends them into a fit of slightly hysterical laughter, and CJ thinks vaguely that she should try to get more than four hours of sleep tonight.

Eventually Josh sobers, and CJ can tell by the pensive look on his face just what he’s thinking about. “So, if the press catches wind of, you know, me…”

“Just don’t let them,” she says firmly, like it’s that simple.

“Uh-huh.” He nods, and looks down at his hands. “We’ve really given up any chance at a private life here, haven’t we?”

“We all have.”

“Yeah, but.”

She sighs, and leans back against the couch, closing her eyes. Lets herself think about it for the first time. No community clubs or bars, that’s for sure. No public dates, or at least not ones that look like dates. No plus ones at galas or weddings or speeches. “Yeah, Josh. We’ve really given it up.”

He’s quiet for long enough that she opens her eyes to check if he’s fallen asleep. After a minute he turns to face her head on, and says, “CJ, I’m bisexual, and you’re probably the only person I’ll tell that to for the duration of this administration.”

She sits up, because now that he’s said it, she realises this might be the last time she can speak the word for a long time. “Josh, I’m a lesbian.”

They shake hands, because it feels like the right thing to do, and Josh smiles. “I think we’ve just started a two-person pride parade.”

CJ laughs, and Sam arrives with the beer.

They knew working at the White House was never going to be easy, but neither of them expected how it would feel like such a kick in the teeth sometimes. After Lowell Lydell is beaten to death, CJ finds Josh at her doorstep with a six pack of beer. They have to run out for more before the night is up, but it helps, and it becomes something of a tradition.

They’re at the hospital, waiting for news on Josh, when CJ meets Cristina Feltsman.

Cristina is a nurse who usually works the daytime shift; she volunteered to come in when she heard the president was shot. CJ spends a whole forty-five minutes talking to her, and she doesn’t even realise it until Toby comes looking for her. Six days later, CJ’s visiting Josh when the on-duty nurse comes in to check his vitals. They talk, Cristina scribbles out her number on the unused napkin from Josh’s lunch. Josh spends the rest of CJ’s visit grinning and waggling his eyebrows at her.

Dating is a goddamn ordeal. First CJ has to work up the nerve to actually call, then she has to flirt (Josh is in the room for one of those calls and she kicks him out because he’s howling with laughter), then she sets up the date - dinner at her place, followed by a movie in a suitably darkened theatre. The first date goes well. So does the second, and at the end of the third, CJ decides it’s time to have The Talk.

The Talk is really, really not fun. Explaining that she can’t be out, and she probably can’t even be seen hanging around someone who’s out, just in case. She can’t go to gay clubs, or gay bars, or gay anything. The job has to come first, the president has to come first, and I know this sounds shitty but do you still want to date me?

And somehow, miraculously, Cristina says yes.

Josh doesn’t consider himself very observant. He goes to the synagogue on the high holidays, and he goes to appease his mother whenever she’s visiting, but for the most part he’s not very religious.

But when your entire world is collapsing around you because it turns out the president may have committed a massive fraud against the American public and has drawn you into what’s basically a coverup, well. Josh stops by Toby’s office on Friday night, and the next morning he finds himself sitting in a synagogue.

It’s only after the service that the man who was sitting to his left introduces himself. Anthony Cohen, it turns out, is an adjunct professor of political science at Georgetown University, and he asks if there are any updates on the president’s secret plan to fight inflation.

For the first time since that whole gaffe happened, Josh finds the question funny instead of annoying.

Still, he’s mindful of Toby nearby, so he keeps it professional. Too professional, actually, because for a second it looks like Anthony’s going to end the conversation, and Josh panics and asks him to get a coffee some time. “To talk about, you know, political science,” he clarifies.

Political science turns into economics turns into the neighbourhoods they grew up in turns into anything and everything. Josh kind of gets now why CJ never shuts up about Cristina.

They’re in the Oval Office when it falls apart.

Everyone is in the Oval Office, in fact – Leo, Toby, Sam, even the President. They’re discussing the results of the Republican primaries and Josh is on a roll, he’s on fire, nothing can bring him down –

Except CJ walking in with a look on her face, and he says, not too worried, “What’s up?”

“I just got off the phone with Cristina,” she says, slowly. “There’s been a shooting at Georgetown.”

The smile freezes on Josh’s face. Distantly he hears Leo getting on the phone behind him, demanding information, but Josh can’t take his eyes off CJ. “So,” and his voice cracks, and he has to clear his throat before he can try again, “so, did – is, is Anthony…?”

“Maybe we should step into my office,” she says, and great, now Sam and Toby are giving them weird looks.

Josh shakes his head, the distance between the Oval Office and CJ’s suddenly insurmountable. “CJ.”

“Anthony’s in critical condition. They’re doing everything they can.”

“Okay,” he says. His brain is stalled but he’s moving on autopilot, heading for the door before CJ puts a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “What are you doing? I have to go.”

“Josh,” and he can see tears in her eyes, why is she crying, “they won’t let you in to see him.”

Oh.

His knees finally give out at that and he can’t breathe. Distantly he sees CJ’s face in front of his, feels someone’s hands - Sam’s? - bracing his shoulders, but his vision is getting blurry with tears and all he can think is Anthony’s parents don’t know.

They won’t let Josh in, because they don’t know, and even if they did it wouldn’t matter because they have no fucking rights to each other -

The next few minutes are bit fuzzy in Josh’s memory, but eventually he finds himself on the couch with his head between his knees and Leo’s steady voice telling him to breathe, Josh, breathe.

Because he just had a meltdown in the Oval Office.

Again.

“Oh my god,” he says. The worry for Anthony is still a tight, horrible knot at the pit of his stomach, but for now he focuses on the fact that he might have just outed himself to the President of the United States. “Oh my god.”

“Relax, Josh,” comes CJ’s voice, and he spares a second to think thank fuck for lesbians before he sits up.

Leo and Sam are on the couch across from him, twin looks of concern on their faces, and CJ’s sat next to him, rubbing circles on his back. “Uh. Where’s the President? And Toby?”

It’s Leo who answers. “The President’s taking calls in my office right now. Toby’s gone to abuse government power and find out how Anthony’s doing.”

“Toby guessed it was the Anthony from his synagogue,” CJ says, preempting the question. In other words: I haven’t told them.

They sit in silence for a solid ten minutes, Josh focusing on his breathing, CJ’s hand firm on his shoulder. Eventually the door flies open and the president marches in, Toby a step behind him. Everyone’s on their feet, Josh included, and Jed’s barely at his desk before Josh says, “Mr. President I am so sorry, I should have -”

“Josh.”

“Yes, Mr. President?” His voice feels scratchy.

“That wasn’t concern for a friend just there.”

For a second Josh thinks he’s about to start hyperventilating again, but he works past it. “No, Mr. President.”

Jed nods, and looks over to CJ. “Who is Cristina?”

There’s not even the tiniest hesitation in CJ’s voice as she answers. “My girlfriend, Mr. President.”

“And Anthony?”

And, well, if CJ’s going to make the jump Josh isn’t about to let her fall alone. “My boyfriend, Mr. President.”

The silence at that stretches out long enough to be uncomfortable, until Leo clears his throat. “Is Zoey alright?”

“She’s fine. A bit shaken up, but they’re bringing her here.” Jed still hasn’t looked away from Josh and CJ, but the contemplation in his gaze seems to be directed inwards. “I have to ask, have I ever done anything to suggest that being gay would negatively affect your careers in this White House?”

“Of course not,” Josh breathes, as CJ gives a vehement no. “It’s not about that.”

“The public isn’t ready for this,” CJ says. “Every single LGBT issue we’ve ever handled would be called into question.”

“No one would think we could be objective.”

“You could fire a nuke at London and the press corps would be more interested in the fact that I’m a lesbian.”

“It wouldn’t be too good for Anthony or Cristina’s careers either.”

“No, probably not,” the president says, but they have to have said something right, because he sits down.

“You still could have told us,” Sam says sullenly, but Josh is already turning to Toby.

Toby nods, expression indecipherable. “He’s in surgery now, but they think he’s going to make it.”

Josh has to close his eyes against the overwhelming relief for a moment. “Okay. That’s good.” Now that the initial panic has subsided, everything just feels surreal. Anthony got shot, and Josh just told the president that he’s queer. It’s like a goddamn soap opera.

“Leo,” Jed says.

“Yep?”

“Don’t you think it would look good for the president and some of his senior staffers to visit the victims of a shooting?”

Leo grins, and it’s infectious, like a weight’s lifted from everyone’s shoulders. “Yes, Mr. President, I think that would be pretty good.”

#the west wing #pride month #cj cregg #josh lyman #lgbtq characters #the not-quite-a-fic fic in which josh is bi and cj is a lesbian #raylen's got a pen

145 notes · View notes

lysitheaioandeuropa · 7 years

Text

1. You woke up naked next to the last person you texted, what would you say? “where are we going for breakfast?”

3. If your boyfriend or girlfriend was into drugs, would you care? not at all tbh

4. Is your last name longer than six letters? mhmmm

5. Was your last kiss drunk or sober? sober

6. Have you ever wanted to have someone but you messed it up? i think thats part of learning life lessons and shit

7. What does your last received text say? “we like trying fancy waters”

8. How many times have you kissed the last person you kissed? countless

10. When is the last time you saw your sister? pheeewwww lmfao like over a year ago.

11. What do you drink in the morning? water, iced tea, and coffee, all in that order

12. Where did you sleep last night? my comfortable ass bed

13. Do you think relationships are hard? yes man. even more so with BPD bc that “you go through 8 breakups a day and the other person doesn’t even know” post is dumb accurate. sometimes i’m level-headed and I trust my feelings and want to act on them, other times I don’t know if trusting them is wise, but I still FEEL things that i’m not sure what to do about.

14. If you could go back and change something in the past 5 months, would you? HMMM YES YES YES. WOW. YES. I DON’T THINK I HAVE EVER YES’D SO HARD AT SOMETHING.

15. You’re locked in a room with the last person you kissed, any problems? not at all.

16. Would you rather it be sunny or rainy? rainy. I’m a hombody anyway, at least rainy I can enjoy it

17. Do you know anyone with the same middle name as you? who doesn’t?

18. Are you wearing jeans,sweatpants,or pajama pants? Black jeans

19. Do you think you will be in a relationship 3 years from now? I would like to hope so

20. Does anyone like you? mhm, little more than that

21. Have you ever kissed someone with a name that starts with an S? Idk, probably have

23. Is there a person you CANNOT stand? A few people from work come to mind lol

24. Have you ever considered getting a tattoo? I have three

25. In the past week have you cried? better question is in the past week have i NOT cried?

26. What breed was the last dog you saw? red nose pitbull mix

27. Do you dry off in the shower or out of the shower? out of the shower. half and half kinda

28. Have you ever kissed a football player? no

29. Do you think you’re old? existential crisis over my age on a daily basis

30. Do you like text messaging? yeah, its not as “personal,” but i like having the time to think about what i want to say. I am a better writer than i am an eloquent speaker

31. What type of day are you having? I’m not sure. I think I’m having a good one for now.

32. Have you ever thought about getting your nose pierced? I have pierced it, multiple times. have a ring in it now

33. Do you prefer warm or cold weather? 60 degrees and sunny and cloudless is THE perfect weather.

34. Is there a person of the opposite sex who means a lot to you? mhm

35. Would you prefer a relationship or a fling? bruh I can’t properly answer this i do not fucking know. I hate flings but relationships are energy i do not have bc hardly have any for myself

36. Are you a simple or complicated person? simple in some regards, complicated in others. more simple though, definitely. the complicated comes from being “picky,” or just aka, knowing exactly what i want and what i will or won’t put up with and so on and so forth.

37. What song are you listening to? settle down (young ruffian remix). I have been listening to the 1975, getting in my feels and shit.

38. When you say you’re sorry do you mean it? 98% of the time i genuinely really really do. I never intentionally hurt people. But I’ve also previously owned up to the fact that i know i am super selfish and lack the proper empathy to deal w certain situations and thats where that other 2% goes to. 39. Is there a girl that knows everything or almost everything about you? yes 41. When did you last receive a text message? right now (7:33PM) 42. What is wrong with you right now? What isn’t wrong w me omg lmao. I’m having trouble answering these as candidly as I used to 43. How well do you know the last female you texted? girl*, woman*, lady*, anything other than female jfc. and probably the girl i know the best atm 44. Does anyone disgust you? honestly, i’d probably get chewed out for this but most men. not on some “all men suck” bullshit, but more so “still dealing w some trauma and don’t know where i stand rn” 45. Would you date someone right now if they asked? no? 46. Are you in a good mood right now? haven’t decided, but I am pretty nonchalant atm which is better than crying in despair every five seconds 47. Who was the last person you talked to in person? Michelle + co. 48. What color shirt are you wearing? my black work polo

49. Has someone recently told you something you didn’t want to hear? hmm.. yes 50. Anyone you’re giving up on? considering giving up on a few people lol 51. Do you hate the person you fell hardest for? not at all

52. Have you ever thought about giving up on someone but couldn’t? mhm, goes back to that life lessons thing 53. Do you like rain? love that shit 54. Do you care if your boyfriend/girlfriend drinks? not really 55. Have you ever liked somebody and never told them? mhm 56. Do you like to cuddle? mhm! 57. Are you shy? it doesn’t seem like it bc i have learned how to fake being a people person, but i rly am 58. Do you get along with girls? no, not usually 59. Have you dated the person you texted last? mhm 60. What do you carry with you at all times? my phone, and even then i dont always have it 61. If you were paid 1 million dollars to spend the night in a supposed haunted house, would you? hell yeah i would 62. Do you think you can last in a relationship for five months? mhm 63. Think back to October, were you in a relationship? mhm 64. The person you like kisses you on the forehead, do you find this cute? of course 65. Did anything “cute” happen in the last week? hmm.. i’m sure something has. Michelle brought me butterfingers to work, and i brought her m&ms. my friend brought me tacos for lunch at work today.

67. Would you rather pay to get your nails done or do them yourself? i’ll pay for my toes but do my hands myself 68. Which do you like better- Zebra print or leopard print? neither 69. Do you have any stickers on your car? nah 70. Would you rather listen to Luke Bryan or Lil Wayne? nah canceled at boff lmao 71. Blackberry, Anroid, or iPhone? iPhone 72. When’s the last time you had pizza from Pizza Hut? i don’t recall really 73. Do you like diet soda? i don’t like any soda at all 74. What color are the walls in your room? off-white and dust rose 75. Are you 16 or older? yes 76. Do you watch Pretty Little Liars? only to season 4 77. Do you have a job? i have two 78. What are your initials? CMG 79. Did you ever have braces? nah, i didn’t even go to the dentist for the first time until i was 20yo 80. Are you from the south? mhm technically, FL

81. What does your last status on facebook say? I haven’t made one 82. Do you still talk to the first person you ever kissed? no i don’t unfortunately 83. Are you closer to your mom or your dad? mom, but bc she’s forced our relationship on me 84. Have you ever done cheerleading or gymnastics? cheerleading but i wish i had done gymnastics 85. What’s the last movie you saw in theaters? fantastic beasts and where to find them i believe 86. Do you smoke? mhm 87. Would you rather wear heels or flip flops? like to go out? heels 88. Is your phone touch screen? mhm 89. Do you normally wear your hair straight or curly? curly 90. Have you ever snuck out of your house? mhm lmao 91. Would you rather swim in a river, lake, or pool? springs 92. Have you ever made out in a car? i have 93. …Had sex in a car? i also have 94. Are you single or in a relationship? relationship 95. What were you doing last night at midnight? hanging out at home 96. When’s the last time you saw fireworks? new years eve 97. Do you like the camera on your phone? fuckkkk yeah that 7+ 98. Have you ever had a friend with benefits? yeah that didnt work, not my thing 99. Have you ever passed out from drinking? lmfao oh man yes ): 100. Are you friends with people on facebook that you actually hate? no 101. Have you ever had a pregnancy scare? once 102. Name your favorite Kesha song: we r who we r and die young i think. cannibal and blow are really good too. 103. Do you have any tan lines right now? yes, not cute but i also just bought a new bathing suit that i hope i will tan better in 104. Would you ever wear cowboy boots with shorts? nahhh

#personal #?#i finished this a couple weeks ago

0 notes