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jiminrings · 3 years

Note

I REQUEST A SOFT BADBOY DRABBLE WITH SHY READER AND HES TEASING HER BUT SOMEONE ELSE JOIMS IN AND THEYRE DOING IT TO BE MEAN BUT HES LIKE STFU BEFORE I PUMCH UR FACE ONLY IM ALLOWED TO BULLY SHY READER GRR 😡😡😡😡 and soft readers like 0.o but *squeals incoherently* 😭😭😭😭

last name, jeon.

drabble week: day two

drabble week masterlist

pairing: badboy!jungkook x shy!reader

wordcount: 3k

glimpse: "can't you tell that i really don't want you to be here?"

notes: a tiny change on the plot!! also: frat boy!jimin from day four makes an appearance :D

feedback + support mean the world to me!!

“do you wanna form-“

... yes

you DO have an alliance with jungkook

it's a very fair trade honestly

he pretends to be your boyfriend!! there's no specific boundaries to it, but he springs into action as soon as you're put into an inconvenience

in exchange, you whore him out to your friends!!! :D

no but literally that's how he called it

the whole reason this came to be in the first place is because you hATE confrontation with a burning passion

especially when it comes to those "i have a crush on you" moments that people spring on you all of a sudden

you don't like them back!!! that's the truth!!! but the problem is that you aLWAYS feel guilty letting people down

you obviously don't have the obligation to like someone back just because you sit next to them in class :// IT'S JUST IN YOUR NATURE TO FEEL THAT WAY

you wouldn't get into a relationship with said confessor to ease your guilt, clearly

do you plan on denying their advances? yes

but hOW????

you always take the passive-aggressive approach

you get jungkook to carry your bag and hold your hand, walk in front of said person and pretend not to see them, jungkook makes sURE to put some snide eye contact in there aaaaand the whole ordeal is finished :D

you've managed to let someone down slowly without having to speak to them in-person!!!

jungkook comes more handy than that too

you take him when you want to eat out because you're too anxious to eat alone

you take him when you want to go somewhere in which lining up is essential and you're also too anxious to stand by yourself

you take him when you want to go shopping when there's a sale but you're almost always intimidated by the barrage of people and salespeople so he asks and answers the questions for you

jungkook, in hindsight, is the perfect fake boyfriend for you <3

ALSO jungkook wants something from you

"whore me out to the girls from the families your family's friends with, and it's a deal :D"

that alliance and exchange is going pretty well so far

you mAY be on the more-reserved side but that doesn't mean you're self-aware!!!

you know that your parents are loaded and your shy nature could be somehow chalked to that since you didn't really have anyone that wasn't as non-superficial as you'd like, since they were the overprotective helicopter two-rotor seven-blade parents :(((

jungkook, however, is the only constant you have in your formula

you've known him since childhood and have been friends ever since

his mom's your mom's personal assistant, and one day when mrs. jeon couldn't find a babysitter for jungkook, your mom didn't hesitate to let four-year old jungkook come with her to work

jungkook's your fIRST actual friend that hates gold spoons with you because of how tacky they look :-) he's your emotional support person basically

your emotional support person who was sO close to running late from picking you up during his free day >:( you were about to break into a sprint if he arrived a second later, because you managed to spot a jock coming to you from the corner of your eye awhile ago

You Do Not Like Him <3

"and i even changed into a short-sleeved shirt to ward off your suitors. how romantic of me, don't you think?"

now that he mentions it, it's only now when you can drink him in in full-display

... wow

his right arm's the only one with his tattoos while his left's completely blank, but something about the balance just makes you !!!!!!!! even more

his arm's not completely covered but it was coming to be, something about the blank spaces of skin that are yet to be inked being a nice touch

"very romantic, kook."

now tHAT'S the answer he wanted to hear

he forcibly on your helmet for you to showcase, your grunts of annoyance being drowned out by whistling

(he's even looking left and right and making eye contact with anyone who has their eyes landing on you!!!!)

your cheeks smushed is a look he'll never be tired being in awe of, but he'll never tell you that, of course

"do you ever wonder if your parents would kill me if i misplace even a single hair on you?" jungkook thinks out loud and you don't even flinch with how sudden his thoughts could be, sitting on his seat first so it'd already be balanced when you do, "you sure you’re okay riding with me?? on a motorcycle????"

he usually uses yOUR family's vehicles (they let him and insisted he just takes one at this point) but when you called him, he was en route to kim kradle (it's a one-stop vehicle shop apparently) to get new rims for his motorcycle, bUT NOT ANYMORE HE GUESSES????

you come first compared to the booking he's waited on for three weeks

"i have insurance, i think."

no that's the wrong answer

why did you even bother.,,.,

jungkook flicks your nose because your forehead's protected by the helmet, his face contorted in half faux frustration

"you were supposed to be mad at me for asking that — not logical!! don't even joke about that."

"... my life insurance? like, in the instance that i-"

oW THAT HURT

he flicked even harder this time!!!

you roll your eyes at him and it doesn't go unnoticed, a hand outstretching instead of his fingers flexing

“wallet, please.”

????

jungkook's surprised that you even look confused, this time rolling his eyes at you

“you rolled your eyes at me. you need to bribe me so i won’t rat you out.”

right

he has a never-ending knack for the you're rich jokes

you also know that he likes the cold and would turn the fan on even if it's too hot for a blanket, just because he wants to feel cocooned

you also know that he picks from the fourth row of drinks from the front because it's always been a habit

("the germs cling on to the first row!!!")

you also know that maybe, just maybe, you can't stand it tonight when he's putting himself out there instead of being your faux boyfriend

you keep on zoning out and hoseok, perhaps the only tolerable fellow rich kid you can tolerate within your circle, finally connects the dots in his head and snickers

he's been talking about finding the vintage sneakers he's always wanted on depop and how he almost got scammed for like tWENTY minutes already

in reality, all your nods and scowls aren't towards his story

it's to jungkook and... who's that? jihye whose dad is so colossally shitty, that this one rapper wrote a diss song for him? oh yeah, that jihye

"you like him. like actually 'lose your virginity to him' love him."

WHAT???

there's no way

"how did you-"

"you blush like one."

alright that answer was too quick

hoseok should've ATLEAST tried to wait for a few seconds before answering

"a-and the love part?"

"babe, jungkook may not be the richest one here and that should say a lot," you peer up at him nervously and he actually chuckles, peering to everyone at this function, "dude's humble — he could also just be dense to not see you love him."

okay very true

hobi's making a dig rn at how jungkook coinicidentaally happens to be blonde and maybe this is your cue to leave

hobi does not realize that his hair is aLSO dyed blonde while talking shit about jungkook and his hari

okay this is it

once again, you are NOT listening to hoseok and he's figured out what you're doing by now

you're psyching yourself up with a couple of shots and your heels are digging on the carpeted ballroom

MAYBE YOU SHOULD TRY TO BE MORE OUTGOING!!

"pretend to wobble. it doesn't help that nothing can sink you."

oh okay makes sense

if you're gonna try and charm jungkook while trying to play it off as just being tipsy playfulness, atleast make it believable

hoseok snickers because this is just A+ content with the things that you choose to do in your way

shy girl with high alcohol tolerance mannn coming of age film writers would LOVE you ://

you're about to cross the distance between you and jungkook, but something knocks you on your shoulder with a gentle force that seemed intentional

is that-

hold on a second

"what a coincidence :O"

jimin?

jimin???

as in, wholesome yet slightly fuckboy-ish frat guy jimin???

he looks dashing and composed, meeting your eyes perfectly and he doesn't let your confusion startle him

"i know that look. what am i doing here?"

he says it eloquently as if he's practiced it

AND HE DID!!!

you must've looked so shocked that you immediately apologized, shaking your head no

"i-i didn’t mean-..."

you're confused, sure, but that doesn't mean you're immediately judging

it's just that you never saw jimin here or any function of the like, but you wouldn't put it past him if he does go to these things!!! he looks like a million dollars anyways

"relax, doll. you’re so far the only other person i know that i've seen in these type of things."

he looks calm and collected, but maybe that's just because he spent the last five minutes waiting for you to stand so he could bump into you

this place is just sO suffocating and a familiar face is gonna be his relief from something so fancy that it became mundane

"have we been in the same event before this?"

"not that i recall, no. i get invited but this is only the first time after awhile that i went."

jimin drinks from his champagne flute, wiggling his eyebrows playfully, "wanna know why i'm here?"

you're curious!!! what can you say!!!!

you never really interacted with jimin at all before this, but a familiar face like his is comforting

because hoseok's already engaged in another conversation and jungkook's,,,, being jungkook and is fawning all over jihye

jimin chuckles at your insistent nodding, leaning closer to whisper to your ear

"my stepdad’s loaded as fuck."

oh so that's why

he tugs you down to sit at the nearest possible empty chairs, all its occupants gone anyways because they're in the dancefloor busting tRULY horrendous moves

maybe it's because jimin feels lonely too like you are, and it's him feeling comfortable because he's pulled you like ten seconds ago and not once asked him anything out of bounds

maybe that's why he fell into conversation with you easily because you're always intently listening

"might love me as a real son too. maybe that’s a bonus? you don’t really expect that shit in the things you see."

this situation is actually pretty cute

you snort because maybe you’re nOT that shy when you drink,, that’s the only thing that changes in you probably

this whole conversation that sprung from boredom was unknowingly the subject of many stares, including jungkook who you were initially supposed to go to

“you’re worthy of love, jimin.”

jimin sPITS his drink because where the fuck did THAT come from???

why did you say that and why does he feel that he needed to hear that

“i-i think — i think you need more,” he raises his own glass to your lips hurriedly, caught in surprise but you still gulp nonetheless

“you’re-“ you keep sputtering as he keeps making you drink, but he rubs circles on your back at the same time and it's when you realize that jimin the frat guy may not be that bad, “what??? don’t think you’re not the only one with daddy issues! shouldn’t we have like, a radar for each other?”

jimin snorts at your counter and his eyes crinkle to the point where he can't see anything, not being able to see how you're still trying to recover with all that fizz down your throat

wow ur really enjoyable to talk to

“you’re insane and i think-“

listen

you're not really big on feeling beyond a sense and all that stuff, but you feel as if the aura around you just got dark all of a sudden

"who are you calling insane?"

jungkook appears at your side in an instant, hands wrapped around your shoulders while you remain seated

you've honestly forgotten that you were supposed to go to jungkook, but you're reminded of that vERY clearly now

"go away, jimin," he mutters through his teeth, looking at him dead in the eye

hold on

wait

THAT'S JIMIN???

okay now he's confused

sometimes jungkook's mouth just moves on its own without loading the thought process

"why are YOU here?"

jimin furrows his brows, shocked that he'd even see jungkook here out of all people

the guy barely even attends classes!!! and that's coming from him!!

"why’s he here?"

he crouches to your ear, eyes still furrowed at the younger guy

"long story."

nO???

jungkook scowls bitterly because jesus fuck

YOU’RE ON WHISPERING TERMS NOW????

he left for one second, and the moment he comes back, that's when this fucking frat guy approaches you?? was he waiting on him to leave??

you and jungkook only act as a couple when the need arises, and even if you don't feel it, hE feels that this is the need!!! this is the need and it is arising!!!

"get back to uh, alpha bravo charlie or something, park. beat it."

why’s he reciting the nato phonetic alphabet???

jungkook sounds half-angry and half-sad at the same time, and you don't know which side should you focus on

“move,” he repeats this time again but more sternly, making jimin much more confused since jungkook's trying to pull him away from his seat

jimin doesn't budge and it makes the frown even more evident in jungkook's face

what is he FEELING

“can’t you tell that i really don’t want you to be here?”

“i’m not here for you, though. i’m here for y/n.”

he answers honestly, shis gut telling him that there's definitely something going on between the two of you

“y/n doesn’t want you here," kook argues back surely, only noticing your bitten lips now that makes him realize that you're not exactly sober; just a happy kind of rush

he sees you raise your hand timidly, an equally cheeky smile on your face that's only directed to jungkook like it's meant for him

"i-i actually don’t mind."

you don't,,,

you don't mind?

HOW'S THAT POSSIBLE

WHAT ARE YOU DOING

why aren't you signaling him to commence the faux boyfriend act!!

"y/n has a boyfriend."

“... i’m not hitting on her.”

alright this is more than the entertainment that jimin wished for lol

“yeah, well she has a boyfriend still so beat it.”

you do??

the last time you checked, jihye's gonna have jungkook as her boyfriend within the night!!

“i don-“

ALRIGHT THEN

jimin decides to indulge jungkook, knocking his knee with yours as he winks slyly, urging you silently to watch on, turning to look at you and ask

“what’s your boyfriend’s name?”

you don't answer.

that gives him all the more reason to do so.

“last name, jeon.”

jungkook looks the most determined you've ever seen him, eyes characteristically angry with his arms across his chest that his suit tightens, “first name, me.”

....

......

the three of you know that’s not the truth

jimin takes it in, sighing when he sense that something else is about to be unfold and he does noT want to be a part of it

not before whispering to your ear again for the last time, of course

“pretty weird name if you ask me,” you laugh automatically, momentarily forgetting that jungkook's standing by you on just your opposite side and could hear you

he leaves and that only leaves you with jungkook, looking up at him as he's too frantic to even sit

“what are you doing?”

“being a social butterfly," you quip just as fast, drinking your water afterwards

jungkook only clenches his jaw by then, being taken-aback when you speak again

“who are you doing?”

://

“i’m busy being mad at- wait a minute, WHO???”

who instead of what??

the short-lived enthusiasm you had with jimin left with him, crashing just as hard when you're reminded of jungkook's presence

“jihye’s a pretty nice girl. you should go home early tonight.”

his brows furrow, trying to get you to look at him but you avoid his gaze insistently, “what? what are you talking about?”

“she’s not my girlfriend though.”

you're not at all satisfied with the answer because it sounds so wrong, knowing that jungkook's a handsome guy and everyone wants to be with him!!!

and he probably wants to be with everyone else besides you.

“then who-...”

“don’t know yourself anymore? jimin must’ve really swept you off your feet, huh?”

jungkook huffs as he qualifies for a rebutt, your internal wallowing being cut short

“he’s not my boyfriend.”

...

....

“well would you look at that,” jungkook snickers, sighing through his nose as your eyes finally meet his, directly stubborn yet soft around the edges

“she’s not my girlfriend, and he’s not your boyfriend. what a coincidence.”

god did he feel so threatened the moment his eyes couldn't find you besides hobi and instead next to jimin, eyes crinkled in laughter without hesitation

have you been chasing after one another this whole time?

jungkook silently grabs you by the hand and you wave no opposition to it

maybe it's your liquor-influenced vision or maybe it's you hyperfixating on such a warm moment, but your eyes immediately lock to see the matching red thread bracelet he wore like yours

you're dressed in next year's spring collection line, and the structured silk black gown that has a train behind it doesn't exactly scream to have a simple red thread bracelet as its accessory according to your mom's designer and everyone else —

but you don't have the heart to take it off

there's no need to take it off

jungkook drives your car and no one says a single thing about anything

his hand’s on your thigh and you don’t question it, eyes locking into the way his hand looks perfect and the way the bracelet looks meant to be wrapped in his wrist in the first place

you're sure this time that it's not the newfound courage you have, but rather the need to do it

you kiss jungkook's cheek on a red light.

it's on a red light that jungkook realizes he could fit the visage of his world within one hand, finally kissing you like he's always wanted to

“yeah. what a coincidence.”

#drabble week #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook oneshot #jungkook oneshots #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook au #jungkook headcanons #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #jungkook angst imagine #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook oneshots

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nona-piccolo · 3 years

Text

A Savior

Pairing(s): Reader x Beelzebub

Pronouns: she/her/hers

Warnings: attempted assault, some harsh language

The underworld, or what they liked to call the ‘Devildom’ was rarely silent. It seemed to be one of the busiest places you’ve ever had the opportunity to live in; the constant rush of demons walking by, sometimes in pairs and sometimes alone, the lights from demon-owned stores and restaurants, the loud talking of conversations. Not only did it feel natural, but it felt welcoming. It felt comfortable.

It was a whole different story at night however.

The demons that would walk by had their hoods up, they had their hands stuffed into their pockets that filled your mind with mystery on what they could be clutching in their hands. And the conversations between them were more hushed. Almost nonexistent. The normally bright and lit city was now dimmed; it seemed almost… alarming.

It was quiet now, and that was something you found unsettling.

You should have felt safe.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you felt alone and shaky. You had never seen the Devildom this way. The chill of the night time breeze making you feel completely naked, despite the layers of clothes you wore over your RAD uniform. Silently you thanked Asmodeus for boisterously wrapping you in a light pink scarf this morning. He insisted that its color would match your rosy cheeks. Unsurprisingly, Asmo’s perfume was still gripped to the scarf like a stain. Its light and warm fabric did wonders to keep you from completely panicking as you clutched to it for dear life.

The shadows of the large buildings cast imaginary images in your mind. They seemed to claw at the night sky, so that when you looked up, you could barely see the faint light of the stars. Each street lamp seemed dimmer and dimmer the further you walked, grappling you down a path of darkness.

Suddenly, the scurrying of a small creature jumped from the shadows and onto the street, where it ran ballistically in circles before jolting down the road that you were the only one occupying. You had let out an audible screech at the intrusion of silence, feeling your heart race a pounding rate.

“Goddamnit…” you muttered in a hushed tone, watching the little creature squeak back into the darkness. That thing almost gave you a heart attack. You couldn’t see a thing. You couldn’t hear a thing. Were you even going the right way? You thought the path home was simple and easy enough- you had the Devildom roads engraved into your memory from the months you’ve spent here. It was like looking at the back of your hand. So why were you hesitating now?

You walked around the corner, the tippy top of the RAD building was now officially out of your point of view. Maybe by some luck from God, you’d run into Solomon, who decided that this night would be one of the nights he was staying late from school to research more in the library too. Or maybe Simeon would appear from a late night stroll and wisk you back to the House of Lamentation. Maybe if you turned back now Diavolo would still be at the RAD building working on some wretched paperwork he always liked to complain about. Maybe out of the kindness of his heart, he’d walk you home. He’d make sure you’d be safe.

You lightly scoffed. Why the hell would the literal Prince of the Devildom take out the time of his night to help walk some human home?

No, you could do this. One step at a time, each step getting you closer to the building that you had got to call home, filled with the comfort of each brother. A small smile pulled on your face as you recalled the faces of the seven demons. Lucifer, Mammon, Levi, Satan, Asmo, Belphie… and Beel. The thought of them gave you a slight moment to breathe normally again.

Had you been breathing so heavily this entire time?

No, you told yourself, it’ll be okay. You wanted them to know that you could handle yourself out here. That they didn’t have to constantly baby you. That the Devildom wasn’t as bad as it was portrayed in stories and books. Despite the warnings that Lucifer had given you about other demons when you first arrived here, spending time with such wonderful demons such as the brothers, may have brought your guard down. It may have accidentally caused you to see all demons in a good light.

And that naivety allowed for your mind to wander far enough as to not have heard the several footsteps that dragged close behind you.

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

Mammon tapped a finger against the armchair, shifting his sitting position again for the fiftieth time in the last twenty minutes. He must have looked like a madman to the normal person, his head swivelling to the door and to then the hallway and then behind him again and again. He was waiting for something to happen; or to put it more frankly he was waiting for you. Any minute now you would bound through the front door with a big grin on your face, and then Mammon’s ass would be saved from getting into trouble. Lucifer wouldn’t find out that he let you walk home alone and then proceed to hang him from his feet off of the banister for the poor choices he’s made.

Or… that was what he kept telling himself.

Instantly, a shadow of shame fell across the white-haired demon’s face. He couldn’t believe he was more worried about getting into trouble than making sure your life wasn’t in danger. Was he really this selfish? This greedy?

During breakfast time he had pulled you off to the side, begging for you to take his place in searching for the required books on the next project he had due. Mammon had always hated scoping through a barrage of books at the library. It was nauseating and boring; and he had no interest in finding the correct book titles and carding through said books just for a measly literature project.

No. Instead what interested him was the underground gambling ring that he had heard of. The rumors danced through the school for weeks now, and with the many connections Mammon had made over the years, he knew this was a chance for him to make potential easy bank. So the plan was simple; he would get you to do the after school research for him, while he ditched his last classes of school in exchange for going gambling. The difficult part wasn’t the ditching- since Mammon was practically a pro at that- but the fact that he needed to actually persuade you in agreeing to his stupid idea. But even now, you continued to surprise him. Despite knowing how excruciatingly long it could take, and besides the fact that it wasn’t your burden to carry, you still accepted.

Mammon felt like crying.

Despite the hundreds of calls Mammon sent to your phone, you didn’t pick up once.

It’s been hours now and he still hasn’t heard from you.

Lucifer was going to murder him.

Lucifer was going to find out that he made you walk alone at night and he was going to rip his head off of his body and stake it right on the-

“Mammon?”

“EEEEEEEEEEEEK!!” Mammon screamed, throwing his body against the chair with so much force he almost knocked the entire thing over. He didn’t even realize Asmo had made his way into the main room so silently. “I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING I SWEAR!”

Asmodeus raised an eyebrow, his hands sassily thrown on his hips as he stared at Mammon with familiar disinterest. His younger brother was wearing his pink night robe, another reminder to Mammon that it was already so late. “Like I’d believe that, but this isn’t about you. I’m looking for Y/N~ Have you seen her?”

The question was an innocent one, but almost automatically Mammon felt his stomach bubble with poison. He suddenly felt sick and queasy, steadying himself on the arms of the chair. “No….” The muscles in Mammon’s shoulders involuntarily flinched. Mammon should have said more, but it was like his body was rejecting it. Like if he didn’t admit out loud that Y/N hasn’t come home yet, it wouldn’t be a reality.

Now, Asmodeus wasn’t dull. It was his pride and ability to understand feelings and communication that allowed him to read the room like an Olympic, and yet in this instance it wouldn’t take a philosopher to recognize something was very wrong. “Mammon, weren’t you with her?” He questioned lightly, eyebrows twitching in annoyance. “I haven’t seen my darling all day, which is already weird since she was supposed to come to my room tonight and help me apply a new face mask. It’s almost 12:30!!” he huffed, inching closer and closer to Mammon’s face as the latter continuously attempted to sink further back into the seat. Hopefully the chair would swallow Mammon whole and save him from this living nightmare.

Mammon shrugged his shoulders as a wordless I don’t know, which only seemed to agitate Asmo more. Quickly he realized that Asmodeus needed to hear actual words.

“Oh boy… is it hot in here? Because I’m sweating buckets ehehe..” Mammon laughed humorlessly, reaching up to fan the collar of his shirt in order to get air flowing over his sweat ridden neck.

“No, I thouft if wash ashually prettie chillie thoday.”

This time, it wasn’t Asmo’s high pitched and whiny voice to respond.

It was a deep and slow rumbling voice, and way more unclear due to the fact that it seemed like said demon had his mouth full of food. A preoccupied Beelzebub was standing over Asmodeus, his giant shadow casted over the lust demon. His arms were full with a variety of different foods he no doubt snatched from the kitchen on the way back to his room for a midnight snack. He cradled the food in his arms like they were his children, ready for him to gobble up as soon as he probably got back to his room. Actually, Mammon was shocked that there was any food left for Beel to even take back to his room, let alone the fact that the ginger demon was standing here in the main hall trying to butt into their business. Usually Beel was uninterested in idle chat that the rest of his brothers were involved in. Banter and arguments were of no interest to Beelzebub.

And yet for some reason, Beel found interest in the conversation that Mammon and Asmo were having.

“I actually haven’t seen Y/N at all today either. She’s not in her room” Beel muttered, slowly taking another giant bite from a rather large sandwich. His eyes were trained down on the floor, clearly bothered by the conclusion that left his lips.

There it was. That was the reason Beelzebub inserted himself into the conversation.

Because of Y/N.

Mammon felt another train of guilt ram into his chest, and he clutched the area above his heart as if it could stop it from bursting. He knew how much Y/N means to Beel. He knew from the many late night talks Mammon and Beel had; how the ginger would once confess to Mammon that he may have liked her more than normal. That he was confused on why her smiles made him feel lightheaded, and that her laughter made her almost ten times prettier than she already was. Mammon had simply brushed Beel off as a lunatic at that time. Beel was a demon, and Y/N was a human. Beel was simply delusional.

But Mammon had watched the two interact from that moment on. All the baking Y/N had done for Beel, when they were the first two to fall asleep leaning on each other after movie night, how Beel made sure to split his food portions with her, how they both pulled away like lightning shocked them when their hands accidentally touch, how he purposefully requested foods that he knew were her favorites. He realized it wasn’t just a fleeting thing that Beelzebub felt. His closed up and simple-minded younger brother truly and deeply admired Y/N.

Mammon felt like an awful older brother in that moment.

“See?!” Asmodeus gestured to Beel with open arms. “Even Beel hasn’t seen her. What is going on?”

Mammon couldn’t even lift his head to look into the eyes of his worried little brothers. The hurt on their faces would cause him to burst. Mammon concluded he had to be one the unluckiest demon in the world.

Before he could answer, someone yet again spoke up. Another familiar face; and one that Mammon had been dreading.

“I thought I’d find you all here. What is all the ruckus about?”

Nope. He spoke too soon. He was the unluckiest demon in the world.

Mammon swallowed his saliva thickly, his throat clogging up almost instantly, making his whole body freeze as if all his blood was turned into ice. He wasn’t the only one; Asmo and Beel had both tensed up at the mere sound of the voice.

Lucifer stood there, his arms crossed against his chest. He was probably waiting for the situation to be explained. He was probably waiting to hear how Mammon had screwed something up this time. How Mammon had managed to cause them trouble yet again. ‘Mammon this’ and ‘Mammon that’. The guilt was written all over his face. They might as well handcuff him and throw him in a prison cell to rot.

Maybe that’s what he deserves.

Unlike the other two, Mammon raised his head slowly to get a look at Lucifer. There were dark undereye circles formed under his striking red eyes, and it was clear Lucifer needed some sleep from the tireless work he probably had today. His eyes looked different.

They looked exhausted. They looked dead. Perhaps they were.

“Lucifer! We haven’t seen Y/N all day, so we were just asking Mammon where she was! I mean, she’s not in her room, she’s not picking up her phone, she’s not anywhere!” Asmodeus hurriedly explained, brushing out a stray piece of hair that had fallen in front of his perfect face.

Beel nodded in agreement, turning towards Lucifer to give him his full attention.

But even with all their eyes now trained on Lucifer, the demon of pride gave none of them his attention; only Mammon. His eyes were narrowed down and zoned in on the cowering man. All color had left Mammon’s face as he tried to stop himself from shaking at the potential news he needed to share to the rest of his brothers- and for the punishment that would be coming as a result.

“Well? Where is she Mammon?” Lucifer demanded, tapping a finger. “Didn’t she walk home with you today?”

The white-haired demon may not be the brightest tool in the shed; but he knew when to admit guilt. He knew that with every second wasted, Y/N was still out there on the streets of literal hell walking home alone. He couldn’t worry about the punishment he may face because of his stupid mistake; her safety should have come first.

He forced himself to speak. His throat made a strange noise when he swallowed.

“I-I… I don’t know,” he said softly. His shoulders were tensed up and his head was dropped forward. As if he was ashamed. “I didn’t walk home with her today… She stayed late doing research at the academy while I went home.”

Lucifer’s eye twitched involuntarily, and his nails suddenly dug into his own arms harshly. “You WHAT?” he yelled, his expression differing from Asmodeus and Beelzebub’s expression.

Asmo’s eyes widened tenfold, and his mouth hung agape. “She’s walking home alone?! Around Devildom all willy nilly?!” he screeched, panic rushing through his veins at an alarming speed. While Asmo’s panicked expression was just as frightening to Mammon, Lucifer’s anger was far worse. He could see all kinds of emotions in Lucifer's face. The wrinkle of anger across his forehead, the fear, wrath, and disappointment portrayed in his eyes.

“Let me get this straight Mammon, she is still out there at 12:30 am in the middle of the Devildom because you decided that you weren’t going to make sure she’s fine, even though that was the job assigned to you. She could be killed! We haven’t got a hold of her yet, and you are just sitting here WAITING?” Lucifer’s voice was sharp and cold, hitting the nail on every point. Even through his cracked exterior, Mammon could tell Lucifer was panicking.

“When was the last time anyone saw her??” Lucifer demanded, quickly zeroing in on Asmodeus. He probably didn’t want to look at Mammon’s guilt-ridden face anymore. And Mammon couldn’t blame him.

Asmodeus’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t look at me! I haven’t seen her for hours Lucifer!” his light eyes filled to the brim with tears, and his voice on the verge of shaking.

“Lucifer,” Mammon began, his bottom lip trembling. He felt sick. “I- I know I should’ve gone to you straight away but I didn’t mean to-”

“Stop talking Mammon. We will discuss this later,” Lucifer spat, still not looking him in the eye. “Asmodeus, go find Leviathan and tell him to try and track down where Y/N’s phone may be. Wake up Satan and Belphegor. They will be the search party.”

Almost immediately Asmodeus rushed out of the room, leaving Lucifer to deal with the other two.

“Beel, I need you to stay here in case she comes back. If she does we-” Lucifer paused his command, scanning the room at an alarming speed. “Beel?”

The room was empty; all that was left was the remains of leftover food disregarded on the floor of the main hall. They hadn’t seen him leave.

All they heard was the front door slam shut.

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Beel was always more of the quiet type.

His brothers were brash and uncooperative; Mammon would get into trouble, and then Lucifer would begrudgingly step in to fix it, and then Satan or Asmo would poke fun at him, causing him to bite back, all the while Leviathan and Belphegor locked themselves up in their rooms doing their own activities. It’s all in a day of the life. And he really loved them for it.

Despite growing up in an environment with loud and dysfunctional people, it wasn’t a necessity to try and gain attention to himself. In fact, he couldn’t care less. He was content with sitting there watching everyone else interact. Usually the only things on his mind were exercising, spending time with his family, and food.

Ah yes, food.

Both a curse and a blessing.

As the avatar of gluttony, Beelzebub was given an eternal and everlasting greed for food. Like a continuous blackhole, his body disintegrated food as soon as it entered his stomach, leaving him to wish there was more. His stomach could never be satisfied or quenched, nor can his hunger ever be fulfilled.

In its very essence; gluttony.

As much as his stomach has caused problems in the past- like Beel eating the entirety of the kitchen in one sitting, leaving none for his brothers- it also allowed Beel to pass the time and do something. It was like a comfort being able to chew on the foods he found delicious. Especially back when he didn’t have Belphegor to talk to. When he didn’t have Belphegor to spend time with.

He remembers laying in bed at night, staring blankly at his twin’s side of the room, wondering how he was doing or where he was. He hoped Belphegor was happy, he hoped he was safe, but most of all he hoped Belphegor missed him as much as he did. When he was gone, it felt like there were two black holes in Beel’s body; one in his stomach, and one in his heart.

And it really hurt.

The late hours of the nights was what Beelzebub dreaded the most. He knew every night his dreams would sweep him into more pain and anguish- he would dream about Belphegor or Lilith again with a faux sense of happiness, and he couldn’t bear it.

Those were the times he was thankful for his hunger. His stomach would rumble loudly in the dead of night, forcing Beelzebub to snap out of his dreams and get up to the kitchen to half-heartedly try and pursue being full.

Yet now that Belphegor was back home, he no longer felt happy to get up out of bed at night to sneak into the kitchen for another meal. It didn’t make him feel happy anymore, it just continued to bother him. Yet it was practically impossible to ignore it.

Thankfully, Beelzebub had something else to help soothe that ache.

You.

Even if his hunger could never be satisfied, being around you could at least make it bearable. He found himself being reluctant in getting up to go to the kitchen when you had accidentally fallen asleep on his arm. And perhaps that little bit of reluctance was what he needed to get his mind off of food.

Through the multiple months, almost a year and a half now, you had become increasingly important to him. At first he recognised how sweet of a person you were. A part of him was worried you’d be swallowed by the burdens and terror his brothers would put you through, and while there were definitely some ups and downs, they all adored you and your more motherly tendencies. It was something they were all lacking in their lives.

Unbeknownst to him though, his connections with you went further than just enjoying each other’s presence. Perhaps you two weren’t all that different; besides the obvious species you were both categorized into. You would openly laugh at his jokes, cook and bake food for him, never once judged him or gobbling down hordes of food in one sitting, you got along insanely well with Belphegor, you were artistic, kind, and intelligent in your own ways. There was a nagging curiosity that told him he should be spending more time with you. And with that curiosity, he found a plane of comfort and safety around you.

It was so instant. It really caught him off guard.

But now you had made it into the top of his list on people he wanted to keep safe; someone very close to his heart.

And apparently you were out there somewhere on your way home. Yet no one could reach you.

Beelzebub didn’t have the heart to tell Mammon or Lucifer that he had also tried to call your phone several times today. Except, he only came to the surface-level conclusion that you must have been too busy to answer his calls. He had no clue you were alone out here.

If he was Lucifer, there would be multiple scenarios flinging through his mind on where you could be or what could have happened to you. As a natural pessimist, Lucifer might have imagined you already dead in a nearby alleyway by some delinquent demon who was out for human blood. Lucifer could be imagining the grimy hands of multiple demons taking you away- somewhere the brothers would have no way of finding you. Maybe part of Lucifer’s panic came from the fact that this would violate Diavolo’s direct order to keep you safe.

But Beelzebub was not Lucifer. Beel did not have a clear head, or a strategic way of thinking through problems.

No, he was all action and instinct, which is probably why he was still running around the Devildom like a lost cause. Half of Beel’s conscience told him it would be worth the risk to wreck multiple buildings until he somehow would run into you. But he needed to stop the itch of destruction that threatened to climb out of him. Lucifer would only be more angry.

In the back of Beel’s mind he made a reminder to apologize to Lucifer for barging out of the house in the way that he did. But he couldn’t waste any more time when you still weren’t home. Especially since Beelzebub was the most adept physically and capably to track and find you.

Sniff, sniff.

Beelzebub paused in the middle of a random city square, sniffing the air like a bloodhound dog. On a normal day this should be easy for him, but the drizzling rain made it more difficult to pinpoint your scent. A familiar scent of dough and bread made its way into his nostrils. The bakery is about two miles north, and the cafe that we went to a few days ago is a few feet away. Oh God, he couldn’t smell people though, were you already taken?? Who would take you? Who would hurt you? Beel could feel the blood pounding in his heart, and he forced himself not to panic.

Beelzebub took another deep breath, sniffing the air rather loudly, trying to pinpoint exact locations. He could smell sweets, a diner filled with dishes of steak and chicken, and some booze.

His stomach grumbled loudly, mixing with the noises of distant thunder. He couldn’t get angry. He needed to calm down.

Sniff, sniff.

He perked up, head shooting towards a pathway swallowed by complete darkness. That smelled like Asmodeus’s perfume...

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Raindrops flecked at your face, dotting the surface of your eyes.

Of course tonight of all nights, the Devildom would decide to sprinkle a little bit of rain just to make your night a little better.

Everlasting darkness was a permanent feature that came along with the Devildom, and although it took some getting used to, you really didn’t seem to mind it anymore. The sunshine was a wonderful thing; and something that you yearned and missed from back in the human world. But it was something you could live without.

In your opinion, rain was something you could live without too.

You huffed, swiping the light rain from your eyelashes with the palm of your hand in order to try and see the road ahead of you. You were already so tired as it is. The need for your warm and cozy bed where you can fall asleep and get ready for tomorrow was what kept you moving forward. How long did it fucking take to get home??

Tsk, tsk.

A nagging feeling in your guts caused you to look over your shoulder, staring desperately into the shadows lined across buildings and alleyways. After a minute of silence, you turned back around to continue your way to the House of Lamentation. It was probably nothing anyways… you’ve been hearing sounds this entire time and never once had you run into another demon.

Another glance at your dead phone told you that you needed to hurry back.

You cursed yourself for forgetting to charge your phone before heading to bed last night. That’s what some late night gaming with Leviathan will do to you… And yet you could only blame yourself for being unable to reach 5 cm to plug your phone into the charger before knocking out.

Somewhere in the distance, lightning forked across the sky, followed by thunder loud enough to make your ears ring.

Another glance over your shoulder told you that no one was following you.

You kept on walking, looking up into the street name that you were passing onto now. A small grin on your face as you recognized the dark and washed out street sign. Ha! You were going in the right direction.

For a moment you could hear the hushed whispers of people… and something else.

Breathing.

You had no time to react. Like the lightning above, you felt yourself getting yanked into the alleyway you were just about to pass. You let out a shriek, your heart practically jumping out of your throat as you were thrown against a nearby wall of the alleyway. From the miracle of some vision you had left through the darkness, you were able to make out three figures that occupied the space in front of you, blocking your means of escape. Their heads were decorated with individually different horns, and you knew instantly that they were demons.

Fuck.

You weren’t sure you could even survive a fight with one of these guys, let alone three of them.

The buildings that sandwiched you and the three demons acted like a barrier, shielding you and them from the rest of the world.

“See? I told ya she was a human!”

One of the demons had whispered to the other ones, particularly the middle one, who had his eyes trained on you. He must have been the one to pull you into the alleyway, away from prying eyes.

“Yeah dipshit, we already knew…”

Sweat trickled down the back of your neck and your hands suddenly felt slick, despite how chilly it was outside.

The demon in the middle ignored the banter between the other two, instead choosing to lean in a little closer to you. “Hey little lady, what are you doing out here all alone?” he had a sickeningly sweet tone to his voice, seemingly studying your face. You had no clue if he could even see you clearly from the dark. His constant movements closer to your face made you feel nauseous as you attempted to move back as far as you could with a damn wall behind you.

Your mouth felt too dry for speaking. What did they want? Money? Directions?

You almost laughed at the ridiculous humor of demons needing directions from a human in their own town. Would they really take out the time of their day to yank you off the street for directions?

“I… I-I um was just.. On my way home..” you had attempted to speak with confidence, but it seemed your body had other ideas in showing that. Your voice cracked multiple times, and judging by their waiting faces, you weren’t even sure they heard you.

“On your way home?? Do humans even live here?” the one in the back snickered, trying to lean on the one in the middle to also try and get a better look at you as well. All three of them seemed captivated by the fact that you were a human girl. As if they’d never seen one before. It made you feel small and sick to your stomach. Even though they were simply asking questions right now, people don’t normally pull you into an alleyway just to talk. So what the hell did they want??

“Treta shut the fuck up,” the one in the middle hissed again, elbowing his partner to get him off of his shoulder. You could hear the demon huff as if he had been struck in the stomach.

You swallowed, hearing the blood from your heart pump in your ears. “W-Well uh it’s nice to meet you all, but I should really be getting on my way… My friends are waiting for me,” you mustered up the courage to speak, your eyes nervously flitting back and forth between them.

The demons didn’t seem to want to back off though, as much as you wanted to sprint out of there. “Do ya want us to walk you home sweetheart?” the middle demon spoke up once again. He seemed to be the one most in control regarding their little group.

He also had a pungent smell in his breath, one that you couldn’t put a finger on… It could have been cigarettes.

“Um no.. I’m really sorry… I think I’ll be okay though,” you gave them a shaky smile, praying that it’ll be enough to convince them to leave you alone. You must have been naive to think it was though, because they made no sudden movements to give you some space.

“I don’t think it’ll be okay at all. I want to spend more time with you,” he replied, making you want to yell in frustration. Why couldn’t they take a hint??

You opened your mouth to protest, but the demon had beat you to it. “Not to worry, we can make this conversation quick. Or maybe we can head back to our place,” he gripped your upper arm, leaving you to try and jolt out of his much stronger grip. The other two acted like this was normal, practically standing around you in a ring formation. You were trapped. This situation was already uncomfortable as it is, but you felt more restricted with this stranger gripping your arm in a vice-like hold.

“E-Excuse me!” you spoke up, trying to keep a clear head, your other hand reaching over to attempt to pull the demon’s hand off of you. The attempts were futile however, and you were left there looking pathetic in trying to move something that won’t budge. “I’m trying not to be rude right now, b-but I’m very uncomfortable. I seriously don’t have time for this, please just leave me alone…”

The guy in the middle inched closer to your face, your noses practically touching as you stared up at him. Your eyebrows creased in fear and frustration. As much as you wished he could understand how frightened you were right now, his morals still appeared to be low in the dirt as he simply narrowed his eyes at you. “Why are bitches so sensitive? We’re not asking you to fuck us, we’re just trying to talk with you.”

One of the other demons off to the side decided to butt in aggressively. “What the fuck is the problem? We’re just standing here, shit.”

You really didn’t know what to say in response. You tried to give yourself space, you tried being nice to them, you tried telling them to leave you alone. From the sounds of your breathing, you could tell you were inhaling and exhaling heavily. No matter how much you moved your arm, you couldn’t get it out of his grip. And based on the fact that they were demons, there was no way you could possibly overpower one physically. You couldn’t even move enough to try and grab the pepper spray you kept in your coat pocket.

Something inside you shrank at the sight of them.

They just looked so… hostile.

“You know, you’re really cute for a human. And this is a cute skirt,” the other one chuckled, running his fingers up and down your leg dangerously close to your thigh. Your jaw tensed up, and you cringed physically, too afraid to breathe or move. Any gestures you made weren’t taken well, and as soon as you tried to swat his hand off of your leg, his hand just clamped onto your upper leg tighter forcing your skirt up higher than it should be.

Okay now was a good time to panic. Your heart rate hasn’t managed to slow down at all yet, giving you time to think that you might die from a heart attack before these demons would be able to get you. As dark as it is, you could still see the road on your right, lit up by a dim streetlamp. Maybe if you pushed with your full body force, you could make a run for it. Or maybe… if you screamed loud enough someone out there would hear you.

“P-Please stop,” you croaked out, anchoring your face away from the two on the left to try and desperately look for an exit.

Again, your statement fell on deaf ears. You couldn’t tell who did it, but one of them suddenly tore off the scarf Asmodeus had given to you this morning. It’s beautiful pink color was thrown against the dirty floor of the alleyway. “Just relax,” he drawled. “You’re wearing too much right now, let’s remove some layers.”

“Stop it!! I told you I-” you squirmed even more now, not caring if his grip was tight enough to bruise your arm. You just wanted their grimy hands to stop touching you. A hand slammed down on your mouth, keeping any noise from escaping your lips; the force of it knocking your head back against the brick of the building.

“Shhhhh! Keep quiet or we’ll fucking kill you.”

You couldn’t believe this. The one time you had to walk alone, and this happens. You knew you should have waited for someone to pick you up. You knew you should have turned back to find Diavolo or something. You knew you should have asked someone to stay after school with you; someone like Beelzebub who would never say no to helping you when you needed it. Maybe if he were here with you, you could be enjoying your walk home this late at night.

Hot tears bubbled up in your eyes, and you could feel the contrast of the cold night air against the warm tears sliding down your face. You almost couldn’t breathe anymore.

“Now let’s-” the demon in the middle was cut off as a giant hand reached from the shadows to wrap it’s digits around the demon’s throat.

All four of you had flinched, not realizing that someone else had been in the alley with you this entire time. And now that you could see it, you felt blind for not having noticed the giant man standing behind the demons. He was kind of difficult to not notice.

Whoever he was, he was huge, towering over you and the three delinquent demons despite the fact that he looked to be hunched over.

He wasn’t just huge, he looked solid and muscular, and probably all of you realized that there would be no chance wrestling away from this guy.

The middle demon made a gurgling noise, most likely due to the fact that his entire body was being hoisted off of the ground by just his neck. All the air compressed in your chest was lifted like a curse as the demon chose to let go of your arm to instead trade its place to claw at the hand wrapped around his neck. He was desperate for air, scratching at the stranger’s hand.

He didn’t budge.

Whoever the hell this was, his grip on the middle demon was tight. So tight that you could see the veins and muscles popping out of the struggling demon’s neck.

The demon’s face was turning red.

He was scrambling to breathe.

His chest looked like it was palpitating.

For some reason you still couldn’t move, watching with wide eyes as the life began draining from the demon’s face.

“Hey!! What the fuck?!”

You think it may have been the demon on your left, but he had finally snapped out of whatever daze he may have been in, dashing forward to try and aim a well pivoted punch towards the unknown savior.

Like a reflex, the shadow dropped the choking demon, who was left hacking and coughing on the cold pavement. He was greedily swallowing the air now. And in return, the shadow gripped the fist of the demon who threw the punch. In an instant, he caught the punch midair, proceeding to crush the demon’s fist as if it was plastic.

The demon let out a strangled cry, and you could hear the bones in his hands breaking with a sickening crunch. You covered your mouth to prevent yourself from gasping, gnawing on your tongue as you watched the two demons struggle with their new injuries.

Perhaps the third demon was the smartest, as he made no sudden moves to try and attack the much larger figure.

“Leave.”

You blinked suddenly, eyebrows shooting up as you instantly recognized the voice.

Without another word, the uninjured demon rushed down to pick up his friend. He leaned over to pull his buddy up to his feet, making a run out of the alleyway with the third demon on their tails as if their lives depended on it.

Now… you were left standing here alone with the man who had saved you.

Apparently it was still raining… Apparently you had stopped noticing.

Quickly you wiped the tears from your face with the fronts of your palms.

He was breathing heavily- probably just as heavily as you were- as you both stared at each other in silence for a moment. By the ragged breaths he was taking, it seemed like he had run all the way out here.

And when he stepped closer, close enough that you could see his face, you felt your pulse quicken.

That familiar tuft of red hair, the familiar voice, those familiar purple eyes you were so used to seeing.

“Beel!!” you exclaimed, pushing yourself off of the wall to throw yourself on the demon. Words could not even begin to describe how happy you were to see him again, how glad that he had stepped in when he did. The thought alone that he came out here to look for you made you want to cry.

Unlike the expression he had just a few moments ago, Beel’s face instantly relaxed as he had opened his arms enough to encase your body. You honestly didn’t care that he had to crouch a little more to reach your height. Instead, you chose to bury your head in his neck for some sense of comfort.

Even with all the rain and the heavy winds beginning to pick up, Beelzebub was still a radiator of warmth as you clung onto him, body shaking with little sobs.

And he let you.

Despite you being the one to grapple onto Beel for dear life, his reciprocated grip was just as tight around you, making you wonder in the back of your mind that he might have missed you just as much as you had missed him.

There was a moment or two of complete silence, and once you felt like you got all of your sadness out of your system, you pulled away just enough to look him in the eye. “How did you find me here?!”

Beelzebub sheepishly shrugged, giving you another one of his little smiles to aid in your body calming down.

The worst was over now… You were going to be fine.

“I sort of just… followed a scent,” he finally replied shortly, pulling away to let you go pick up the pink scarf that was sitting on the ground. Its fabric was wet and dirty, the rain allowing for the med and grime to stick to the once beautifully clean scarf.

You grumbled to yourself, saddened by the fact that the scarf Asmodeus had so graciously given you to keep warm was all ruined.

Those jerks.

But even then… you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain. Instead, you glanced over at Beel who was preoccupied on a phone call with someone who appeared to be yelling at him.

“Y-Yes, I found her…. We’re on our way home right now…”

Beelzebub’s shoulders were tensed up and a look of guilt crossed his face in a pout as he was getting yelled at over the phone. He looked like a completely different person now; his serious exterior was replaced with a cowaring expression as he was scolded. You assumed the man over the phone was Lucifer…

There was still a light-hearted part of you that wanted to laugh at the sight of someone as frightening and strong as Beelzebub being reprimanded- but your exhaustion prevented it. Honestly, all you could think about was curling up in bed and going to sleep.

And perhaps you wouldn’t have been able to if Beel hadn’t found you.

You paused for a moment, studying the redhead with a light smile. A tugging feeling was replaced in your chest, as you had the sudden urge to do something a little bold. Making your way over to him, you stood up on your tiptoes to give him a light kiss on the cheek. It snapped him out of his conversation with Lucifer, causing him to look down at you with wide, confused eyes.

“Thank you by the way,” you mumbled, nervously picking at your fingernails, hoping the gesture could prove how thankful you were.

You watched him swallow thickly before putting on a smile and speaking to you once again. “You’re welcome… now, I think we should go home.”

And you couldn’t agree more.

#obey me x reader #obey me x mc #obey me #obeyme #beelzebub x reader #beelzebub x mc #lucifer #mammon #asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me asmodeus

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jortsaaaaaaart · 3 years

Text

Three Hearts- Tendou x Reader x Ushijima

Soulmate AU- updates will be posted to https://archiveofourown.org/works/32830702/chapters/81464533

You remembered Sendai as being cold, so, so cold. The summers were short but they were also filled with many days spent exploring. You were part of a binational family. Your mother was from the United States, your father from Japan. Most of your early childhood was spent bouncing between the two countries before, finally, it was decided that the schools in Japan were much (much) better. It wasn’t too much of a culture shock. But the freedom Sendai offered was intoxicating. In Japanese culture it was perfectly acceptable to send your child out on errands, or let them visit the local park, on their own.

It was on one of these after school excursions that you ran into your future best friend.

A humid June evening had you trailing along the bank of the local river. Cicadas and the current drowned out almost all other noise. You were debating turning back or taking a wade in the water when you saw a shock of red. There was another kid sitting by the river. One with a pretty vibrant bowl cut. However, when you got closer you realised his hair wasn't the only thing that was red.

"Uh, hey." You murmured, feeling more than a little awkward. "Are you okay?" He almost jumped out of his skin. Wide red eyes snapped towards you before hiding away.

The redhead hastily wiped at his eyes. "Y-Yeah."

"That didn't sound all that convincing." With a sigh you plopped down next to him, watching as he curled in on himself. You'd never been one to mind your own business, not even as a child. Seeing someone crying by themselves was an instant invitation for you to barge in and try to help.

"I'm fine."

"You're crying."

"No I'm not!"

"Hmm. . ." You leaned back, looking over the river. "So what's your name then? If you don't tell me I'll just have to call you cry baby."

“. . . It’s Tendou Satori.” He muttered. Tendou was eyeing you warily, like a stray dog afraid to take a treat from a stranger.

"I'm (L/N) (F/N). If you want me to leave I can, but you just looked so sad sitting here alone." You gave him the warmest smile you could before returning your attention to the water. Satori's red eyes stayed locked on you but he didn't ask you to leave. A few moments passed in silent solidarity before he spoke up.

"I'm usually alone."

"I know how you feel." You sighed.

"You do?"

"Well, yeah. I moved around so much before grade school that I don't know anyone here." You paused. "But, hey, now I know you, right?" Your smile made Tendou forget all about the tears. His cheeks flushed pink under the setting sun.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Asked Satori, who desperately wanted to believe you were being genuine. But years of abuse had a hold on his heart.

You blinked. "Why wouldn't I be nice?"

". . . 'Cause I. . . Everyone says I'm a-"

"Ah! Look guys, it's the monster!" A group of children walked up behind the two of you. They were pointing at Satori with mocking grins. "You shouldn't get so close to him, he'll gobble you up!"

"Monster?" You glanced over at him but he was purposefully avoiding your eyes. If possible he would've liked to completely melt into the grass. Away from everything and everybody. But you weren't sinking into the ground, you were rising up. The bullies took a step back as you stomped up the embankment. "What gives you the right to call him that, huh?"

"W-What?" The ringleader stammered. "You've seen him, he's a freak! He shouldn't be allowed near us normal huma-"

He fell to the ground, clutching his cheek. Everyone's eyes were wide and glued to you.

"Y- You just punched me!?"

"And I'll do it again!" You stared down the boy while his friends helped him to his feet. Before you could say anything else, or fight a 1 v 4, someone grabbed your hand. Tendou dragged you away while you stuck your tongue out at the still stunned bullies.

Neither of you would ever forget that day. It was the start of a lifelong friendship, and eventually, something more.

On your first year of middle school you officially learned what soulmates were. It was assumed most parents would give you the talk before then, but the school board wanted youths to be prepared.

"They taught us about soulmates today in class." You were both lounging around in his room reading the newest Shonen Jump. You sat next to him on the bed, trying to keep up with his reading speed.

"Yeah?" You hummed.

"When you turn 18 your soulmate's name appears on your wrist. . . But, if you're older than them you have to wait for their birthday so the marks can appear at the same time. . . And then some people don't even get a soulmate." He wasn't paying attention to the manga anymore. His eyes were fixed to the floor while his brain waged war against itself. Tendou had been sure you were his soulmate since that first night. The butterflies in his stomach still hadn't gone away and every time he looked at you he felt like a pile of mush.

But, still, the 'I think you're my soulmate.' died on his tongue replaced with something much more depreciating. "I'm probably one of those people. Monsters don't get soulmates after all." His grin was shaky at best and you saw right through it.

"Don't call yourself that." You chided. "And of course you have a soulmate, Tori. Someone out there doesn't know how lucky they are. Soulmates with the best volleyball ball player ever. And the greatest friend ever, too."

You flopped down, holding your wrist in front of you. "I don't know if I'm excited or nervous."

"Well, it's a good thing, isn't it? Having a soulmate? You'll have someone who belongs with you and will love you no matter what." You pouted at him and he smiled, continuing with his speech. "I can't wait till we turn eighteen. And I know you can't wait either. Even if you're being a baby now."

Tendou had your eighteenth birthday planned out for years. Step one, he'd take you to the river where you met. Step two, shower you with presents and affection. And step three, wait for your soulmate's name, his name, to appear. Step four (profit), live happily ever after. However, like many things in life, it didn't go quite as planned.

On March 21st, right after the end of your final year of junior high, your mother died. It wasn't a shock, she had been sick for months, but the pain was still unbearable. Your mother's side of the family wanted to bury her in the family plot. An old tradition from an old, rural, part of America. Your father gladly handed the responsibility off to them.

Tendou remembered begging his parents to let him see you off at the airport. He remembered how red and puffy your eyes were, the sad smile on your face when you promised him you'd be back soon.

But you weren't.

Your father was in no shape to take care of you. Burying himself in his work to try and forget his loss. February came around and you had your 16th birthday in America. The first year of highschool had started without you. Tendou sent you pictures from Shiratorizawa every day, making you promise to try and get back as soon as possible.

Another February came and went. Your father was getting better and you were slowly but surely convincing him Japan was the right place for you to be. Tendou texted you every day, talking to you about his volleyball matches, his friend Ushijima, how much he missed you.

It was your third year of highschool and finally, finally, you were heading home. You told Tendou the news as soon as you knew. He seemed even more excited than you. You knew why, even if you didn't say it. Tendou had always been the one you thought of when you imagined your soulmate. But. . . There was something else you couldn't quite put your finger on. The whole thing made you nervous, so you kept your feelings to yourself.

Tendou stayed up all night on your birthday, hoping, praying. His eyes never left his wrist for a second and finally at 2:45 a.m. , something happened. Your name, in your sloppy, too quick, handwriting, appeared. The relief of ten years of wondering washed over him. He laughed, breathless and giddy. He immediately messaged you, sending you a picture of his wrist before a barrage of messages, most of them legible.

A minute passed by, then ten, then twenty. . .

You had to see it too, right? So why hadn't you said anything? You hadn't called, texted, or, hell, even emailed him. Tendou started to feel his heart sink with each passing moment.

What if you were disappointed?

Tendou's breath caught in his throat and he could feel his face burn. His phone clattered to the ground as he sank down into his bed. He tried to calm himself down, he didn't know what time it was where you were. Maybe you were out celebrating your birthday or sleeping? He just needed to sleep it off and give you time to respond.

Chest tight, Tendou waited. He waited till hours turned to days and suddenly it was March and his heart was broken. He wasn't sure what was going on at this point. You two had almost never gone a day without talking. But you hadn't read any of his texts or snaps. Eventually he stopped messaging you all together.

But he hadn't given up. He knew you were flying back to Japan soon and he was determined to ask you what the hell was going on.

By mid March you had moved back into your old home. Your father had graciously gotten a moving company for you and your meager belongings. Somehow he failed to show up himself though. You didn't blame him though, he was busy and you haven't been the best company recently. Before leaving America your grandma had begun calling you the walking dead. You were barely sleeping, your eyes were puffy with designer bags hanging heavily underneath. She understood why you were feeling so down and she was empathetic, but the rest of your small town wasn't.

You thought about the timing of it all as you began to unpack. The first box, full of books and notes, was barely empty before the doorbell rang.

Tendou was standing on your doorstep. Your soulmate was standing before you, and your first thought was to shrink back and pretend you weren't home.

He rang the bell again. "(Y/N)! I know you're home! I just. . . I just want to talk okay? . . . Please?"

Tendou stepped back as the door swung open. You were holding your wrist close to your chest, looking anywhere but at him. He could see how red your eyes were, though, and thought they matched his completely.

"Why?" He muttered. One pitiful idiot to another. "Was it so fucking awful? Having my name on your wrist?"

"It wasn't. . ." You started. "Tendou, it wasn't just your name."

#soulmate #soulmates #ushijima x reader #ushijima fluff #ushijima x you #ushijima wakatoshi #tendou fic #tendou x reader #tendou satori #fanfic #x reader #reader insert #haikyū!!#haikyuu!!#haikyuu

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bat-losers-inc · 3 years

Text

Song of Cassandra: Chapter 2

Warnings: Family Drama, Family Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Baggage, and Child Neglect

Summary: What is Batman without a Robin? Everyone in the family makes jokes about the ‘dead robins club’, but Dick and Jason really do have measures set in place for the day Bruce loses sight of what’s really important. They won’t let Bruce sacrifice another Robin for the cause, even if that means separating Robin from Batman for good.

Pairings: Barbara Gordon/Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown/Tim Drake, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Bruce Wayne, and Dick Grayson & Jason Todd

_____________________________________

Half a year later saw them performing a feat of brotherly bonding he’d never imagined possible: robbing Penguin together.

They’d left the Tricorner district behind in a streak of burnt rubber and a barrage of gunfire and ditched the getaway van in Chinatown at the first available 24-hour parking facility on the other side of the bridge. It was slower going on foot, but Chinatown’s busy night scene, combined with the heavy triad presence in this district, would make Penguin’s men hesitate before going in guns blazing. That was all the time they needed to slip away unseen.

Now, as they emerged from the darkness of the parking deck, Dick yanked the balaclava off his head. He grunted something unintelligible as he shouldered his way through the cluster of pedestrians that crowded the sidewalk.

“What?” asked Jason, pulling his own half-mask down from around his neck and jogging to catch up.

“I said, you’re a real bastard. You promised me this was would be easy!”

Jason glanced at him. He wanted to be sympathetic but he just couldn’t when Dick was glaring at him with that staticky mop of hair. He couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice when he replied, “You’re the one who said we shouldn’t leave a paper trail! This is about as easy as stealing from Penguin’s bagman gets.”

In truth, he thought they were complaining just for the sake of complaining. After six months they both knew that pulling off this heist was less a matter of choice and more a matter of necessity. Failure meant returning to the storage locker Dick had procured outside of Port Adams and staring down their measly little bat-trust-fund: six safehouses, fifteen rolls of Kevlar fabric, a small arsenal, twenty-seven contacts typed into a Word document, and $5,025 split five ways. But what use would kevlar suits be if their siblings couldn’t afford to keep a roof over their heads? No, without the cash it was worth fuck-all.

Dick looked like he wanted to argue the point further but at that moment a convoy of police vehicles shot past them, sirens wailing and horns blaring loud enough to deafen a person. No doubt by now Penguin’s men had informed their boss about the botched exchange and pinned the blame on their nearest rivals, the Ghost Dragons. If that was the case, then Chinatown was a powder keg ready to explode into a minor gang war at any moment.

A flash of light reflected off the windows of a nearby apartment building. Jason stepped in between two parked cars to get a better look and found himself staring up at the cloud-heavy night sky illuminated in the glow of the bat signal.

He gripped the heavy duffel bag full of stolen cash closer to his chest like he expected Gotham’s dark knight to swoop down at any moment and tear it from his shoulder.

“Hey,” Dick tugged at his arm. “time to go.”

Batman was on the way and like the best of Gotham’s criminals, Jason and Dick made themselves scarce.

It took nearly forty minutes and three subway lines to make their way back to the self-storage facility. By then a pale glow had crept up from the horizon and spread across the water. Around them, the street lights began to shut off one after another. In the distance, Jason could just make out a tugboat as it pushed a barge out towards the open ocean.

By the time Dick pulled the storage locker door down behind them, they were tired-eyed and footsore.

Jason threw the duffel bag onto a table and propped himself against it as he fished one-handed under his t-shirt to undo the straps of his protective vest. He sighed in relief as the weight lifted off his shoulders. “How the hell did you stand wearing these things when you were on the force? Even with the undershirt, the chaffing is god-awful.”

“You get used to it,” Dick replied, making quick work of removing his own gear.

Jason doubted it but he was too tired to argue his point further. Instead, he found the six-pack that he’d stashed under the table earlier that day and snapped off a can.

“Heads up,” he called, as he pitched a can underhand to Dick who caught it against his chest.

Dick held it up for inspection. “Warm beer. What I’ve always wanted.”

“Oh shut up and celebrate with me, you asshole.”

He extended his arm across the table. Dick knocked beer cans with him and completely failed at hiding the shy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, though god bless him he tried. “Cheers.”

Jason watched him crack open the top and chuckled as he hurriedly slurped at the foam that erupted over the rim. He knew that this morally gray lifestyle didn’t come easy to Dick but he couldn’t deny that he was happy he had stuck around with him for this long. He didn’t dare to say it out loud, but they actually made good partners.

He took a long drink from his own beer can before putting it aside. “Ok, come on. The faster we count this cash the sooner we can go to bed.”

Jason upturned the duffel bags, sending stacks of cash sliding out onto the metal tabletop while Dick pulled the banknote counter from the corner and lugged the machine up next to the pile. Together they started slipping the currency bands loose and feeding the stacks of cash into the machine, watching eagerly as the sum continued to tick upwards.

“Soo…” Jason drummed his thumbs on the table as the numbers continued to flash on the small screen, “How are things going with you and Babs?”

“What?” Dick’s eyebrows drew together. “Why?”

Jason shrugged. “I don’t know, I’m a little curious about what she thinks you do when you’re out late all the time… also, I’m bored.”

“You’re weird, is what you are.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Seriously? We’ve only spent the past six months together moonlighting as vigilante survivalists and I can’t ask one time how your love life is going.”

“No, no. Sorry, you’re right.” Dick held up a hand. “I told her I’ve been helping you out with an undercover case for a couple of months now. Said I owed you a favor.”

Jason grinned at him. “Well, that’s not a lie. Quite a few actually, but who’s counting.”

Dick punched him in the shoulder. “Actually, I should call her. Reassure her you didn’t get me killed before she calls in a search party.”

Jason chuckled and went back to the task of feeding bills into the machine as Dick rummaged through the backpack and fished out his phone.

“Hey, uhh...”

Jason glanced up and took in Dick’s furrowed expression as he stared down at his phone. He put down the stack of cash he was holding. “What’s the matter?”

“Something happened while we were out. I — shit I don’t know how to explain it but I’ve got like 15 missed messages from Barbara and Alfred. Did you bring your phone with you?”

Jason grabbed his backpack where his own phone was stashed and opened it to find a similar mass of missed calls and incoherently excited messages cluttering the screen. Some of the numbers he recognized, Steph, Barbara, and Alfred were all saved in his phone, but a few were from unknown senders. If he had to venture some guesses he’d say Cass, Duke… maybe Harper? Fuck, he never realized this many bat brats had his number. “I don’t get it… something about Tim? What about hell?”

“I’m calling Babs.”

Jason was aware of how uncomfortably loud their breathing sounded in the small storage locker as they stood around the table waiting for Dick’s call to connect.

“Dick?” Barbara’s voice asked loudly through the speaker. “Thank God! Where have you been? I’ve been calling and calling you.”

“Sorry, undercover mission, remember? What’s the big emergency? I didn’t get anything from Bruce.”

“You need to get back to the manor. Bruce found Tim!”

That didn’t make any sense. “What? You mean Bruce found Tim’s remains?”

Jason smacked his arm. “His remains? Are you fucking serious? What remains could Bruce possibly find after a death like that?”

“I don’t know, bone fragments—”

Dick’s argument sounded flimsy the moment it left his mouth and they both knew it. Jason just really hated to be the one who had to say it.

“If the heat from that explosion didn’t finish him off entirely then the pounding impact of like a hundred thousand missiles definitely did in whatever remains might have been left.”

“Guys—” called Babs.

“Oh, so you’re a forensic scientist now? You don’t know that—“

“Yes, I do!” He slammed a hand down on the table, his anger flaring. He really couldn’t do this backslide back into denial with Dick again. “There’s a reason we buried an empty box. Tim is literally dust in the wind.”

“Jesus Christ!” Barbara’s voice erupted loudly through the speakerphone. “Kill it with the broody back and forth already and actually listen to me, would you? I’m not talking about bone fragments or anything like that. I’m saying Bruce found Tim. Tim! He’s alive.”

Jason met Dick’s eyes over the phone, confusion written as starkly across Dick’s face as it must have been on his own. “What? I— What?”

“I really don’t understand it all myself. But Tim said he’s been held captive by Mr. Oz in another dimension for this whole time. Can you believe it? All this time we thought he was dead and...”

Jason didn’t catch that last bit. He was too busy bent over the table as all the blood rushed to his head.

He was gonna hurl. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

They’d all given up on the hope of Tim miraculously surviving a long time ago and this sudden news felt like he was experiencing emotional whiplash. This had to be some kind of sick joke or a trick... a doppelganger sent by the newest enemy on the rise against Batman.

Dick’s thoughts were apparently spiraling in the same direction as his own for he ran a hand roughly across his mouth and asked, “You saw him yourself? You’re sure it’s him, our Tim?”

But it wasn’t a big cosmic joke. As much as Jason couldn’t believe it, it wasn’t and that was made clear with every new piece of information Babs gave them.

“Yes, he was standing right in front of me only an hour ago — crying and hugging everyone.”

Dick turned to look at Jason, but he was already rounding the table and yanking Dick into a bruising hug.

“He’s alive,” Dick cried into the shoulder of his t-shirt. His voice overflowed with the most contagiously hysterical mixture of joy. Jason laughed through his own tears. “You bet your ass he is!”

He couldn’t explain what had come over him. He and Dick had never really been close — and they definitely weren’t huggers — but the last few months had been so full of this gnawing air of anxiety — their family continuing to fracture, the resources running dry — that the full realization was starting to hit them that this plan might have been formed too late to do any real good. They could feel the clock running out and they were both expecting the other shoe to drop any day now but then out of the blue… this.

Dick pushed away from him suddenly and wiped at his eyes.

“Uh…” he tried to clear his throat. “We, uh, we should get back to the cave and go see him for ourselves. Babs, he still there, right?”

“Yeah, Bruce is debriefing him.”

And just like that, Jason’s joy seized painfully in his chest. It hurt the way a seatbelt does in a car crash, knocking the air out of your lungs and bringing you up short. He watched Dick rush around him, grabbing up his belongings in a disorganized fashion.

“Dick, I can’t come with you.”

“What?” Dick asked, breathless. He turned back from the door. “Yes, you can. C’mon, get your stuff, the money can wait till tomorrow.”

Jason shook his head. Fuck, how the hell was he supposed to explain this to him without looking like the one asshole member of this family who didn’t want to visit his little brother recently brought back from the dead.

Dick paused, his hand dropping from the door handle. “What? Because of what happened between you and Bruce?”

I was a fool for ever believing in you. Even now Bruce’s words lingered at the back of his head. An invisible brand that still held its heat.

“Jason, I know what went down between you and Bruce was… heavy, to say the least, but you’re still family. You do know that, right? You’re still my family and if you want to see Tim, Bruce can do fuck-all to stop it. I’ll make sure of it.”

Jason could only huff a sad laugh at that because God did he want to believe that too, but he knew it wasn’t that simple. Tim would always be his family, but Bruce… he’d crossed a point of no return with Bruce on the night that the fortress was destroyed. The violence of his assault had done more than break a few bones— it had finally shattered that last shred of trust he’d stupidly harbored in him that when push came to shove Bruce would value the son over the soldier. I broke his rules for the last time and now he sees me as nothing more than an unredeemable criminal that escaped Batman’s justice. One of his little soldiers gone AWOL.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just… I can’t face him yet— I—” he trailed off. He’d been laying low since his return to Gotham, but even still Jason thought the only reason he’d survived this long was because Bruce was too consumed with Tim’s death to spend a spare thought on him. He wasn’t ready to walk into that cave tonight and find out what would happen now that Tim was back in the picture and Bruce’s anger focused back on him.

It felt like a horrible selfish thing to think about saving his own skin when his little brother had come back from the dead, but as his eyes lingered at the collection of items piled around the storage locker he was reminded that no one was going to do it for him. After all, that was how this plan had all started right? Someone had to be the one to craft the safety net for the next Robin to fall of Batman’s mighty pedestal.

“You should go. Tell Tim I’m glad he inherited my cockroach-like ability to not stay dead.”

“Jason…” Dick twisted the jacket he held in his hands.

“Go.” It came out sharper than he’d intended, despite his best efforts to push his emotions down. He was quick to try to smooth it over with a tight smile that he knew fooled neither of them. “I’ll stop by his apartment tomorrow once all the hype has died down. Besides, someone needs to finish up here.”

He nodded at the banknote counter.

The one thing he’d always valued about Dick, more than his caring nature, was that he knew when to stop pushing an issue.

“Alright,” Dick shifted his grip on his jacket again. His phone was chiming once more in the back pocket of his jeans. No doubt another family member asking where he was. “I’ll call you tomorrow to check in.”

“Sure.”

After the door to the storage locker fell shut, Jason let his gaze travel around the room again. So Tim was back, alive and well as far as any of them were concerned. A nagging part of Jason’s mind wondered worriedly if gaining him back would slowly undo all the plans they had made together. Would Dick continue to worry about the next crisis to befall their little family or would Tim’s return renew his neverending faith in the impossible until he eventually forgot what it was that drove him to his breaking point?

Jason picked up another stack of banknotes and slid it into the machine. As the numbers continued to rise once more he did his best to prepare himself for the idea that he would be alone in this mission once more. Another bitter pill to swallow but he couldn’t do it. It lodged itself raw and unpleasant at the back of his throat.

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spiltscribbles · 3 years

Note

Prompt #37 for you, dear: Things you said with the tv on mute 😌📺🤫

Notes: Okay angel, you have an official IOU from me for a one shot that’s total fluff!!! I love you!!!! Thank you to the gorgeous bitch that is Bethany for making this better than it ever could’ve been <3 <3

A Reblog is worth a thousand Stars

Things you said with the TV was muted | Send Me A Prompt

Sirius’s never been much for silence. He was brought up in the heart of London in a household always filled to the brim with guests that his parents deemed worthy enough to intermingle with the ever so illustrious Black name, and then in Hogwarts there was always the chatter of other students or the mysterious sounds ringing from the forbidden forest. Sirius’s always needed that extra layer, that muffled background noise to help ground himself, to help not get lost in his own thoughts of inadequacy or regrets over his vast array of stupid decisions that he’d make in a thoughtless spur of passion.

If he’s really forced to think about it, the only time Sirius’s ever been comfortable blanketed in quiet was during the few times he spent his school hols in the Welsh countryside. But Sirius tries not to, think about that he means. Because then he’s back in bed, curved against Remus, one of his arms stuck underneath him while the other traced elaborate designs against his sun dappled skin. And it’s hard to reminisce on those sorts of memories, the ones that remind him about burnt toast mornings in their Camden flat and the taste of blackberries on Remus’s lips and the way they had always found solace in folding into one another after a long day out on patrols or raids of a Death Eater hideout. Well, found solace until they had suddenly, abruptly not. Before Remus had begun spending his full moons away, out on covert missions given by Dumbledore and never repeated about to Sirius. Before a thick, uncomfortable tension had clogged between them on the breakfast table that they used to stretch across to interlace their hands with one another’s. Before secrets infested every nook and crevice of their relationship, burrowing through it like deadly, invasive pests— rotting away at the one thing Sirius held with reverence and an aching sort of love that he’s only ever felt towards Remus.

The night Remus left was only surprising in how long it took their bending to turn to a break that couldn’t stitch back up with heady kisses, and ardent declarations and tender caresses that always were that bit lighter for how afraid they’ve always been to hurt the other. It was early June and it was like every ounce of Sirius was being rinsed of resolve, like the moonlight itself was bleeding out with the desperation and yearning and pain painted so evidently on each of their faces and what measured their movements when in relation with the other. It was in the midst of an argument, because of course it was— because that had become their only form of communication in those final fleeting weeks in-between the fucking and the cautious glances volleyed around like they were back in sixth year and first beginning to tend this tentative, little flame between them, a flame that became a supernova that swallowed Sirius whole without his permission. Remus had made a crack about Sirius needing to get him a leash if he was so convinced that he wasn’t being forthcoming about his whereabouts, and Sirius had snapped back saying that at this point he wished Remus was actually just sneaking around to shag Dearborn, and then Remus had just slumped over, lying against the wall as if it was the only thing keeping him up anymore.

He had circles as dark as the velvet night sky beneath his bright eyes, and he had such a rigid sort of posture once finally standing back up that it makes Sirius wince even remembering it, and just looking at him in such a state felt like the deepest betrayal. All Sirius knew, all he’s ever known and all he will know for the rest of his days is that he never wants to be the one to make Remus look that defeated or exhausted or just plain sad ever again. Remus had packed his few belongings in the old luggage he’s had since first year in a matter of minutes, and marched out the door without ever looking back, and Sirius hadn’t seen him until after the dust had finally settled in the wake of the end of the war. Remus is the one thing Sirius has always known he never deserved, and now— six weeks removed from the defeat of Voldemort by the hands of a still recuperating Dumbledore, Sirius knows that truth is as inherent as ever.

It was Lily who stayed up with Sirius on nights he couldn’t go back to bed in fear of being met with Remus in his dreams— her missing him in a different but just as painful way. It was Lily who told Sirius about the borderline sadistic recruitment efforts Dumbledore had Remus operating— making him relive his worst nightmare every full moon with the man who had turned him when he was no more than four years old. And it was Lily who called him and James a pair of “bloody prats,” because she had never doubted Remus for even a moment. So it only made sense when it was Lily who tipped her chin in that imperious way of hers two weeks before, and proclaimed that they’d be having a Christmas together as a family. Which meant that Sirius has just spent the last three— Merlin forsaken— days awkwardly avoiding Remus in the most stilted and uncomfortable manners every time they ran into one another in the Potter cottage, and it meant that Frank, Alice and Neville took one of the guest rooms, while Sirius readily offered the only other one to Remus, and now he’s slumped downstairs, staring at the strange Muggle box that Lily had bought and what James, Sirius, and— and well the rat, had spent an entire afternoon toying around with— pure blooded to the core. Lily and Remus had only left them to it while going off for tea and scones at the cafe down the way, laughing at them all the while.

God does Sirius wish that golden splendor had never faded.

At the moment, the Muggle box is playing a barrage of clips of an incredibly pretty lady, one with dark hair and violet eyes. She looks like she could be a Black, honestly— it’s disarming. He’s sure he’s seen her before. Sirius furrows his brows that bit more, surprised just how familiar she actually looks, and is shaken when he hears a soft, rasp of a voice— the most resplendent voice he’s ever heard— speaking from behind him. “Liz Taylor.”

Sirius turns around, frantic, as he takes in the sight of him, up close after so long, and Sirius stares, wide eyed and greedy, like he always is when around Remus. “Pardon?”

“The woman on the telly, that’s Liz Taylor. My mum was positively obsessed with her.” Remus’s arms are crossed leisurely against his chest as he lies against the doorway, clad in a white T-shirt and a pair of fading, plaid pajama bottoms. His bottom lip is worn dry and his hair is disheveled and sticking out on impossible angles, and he’s the most gorgeous thing Sirius has ever seen. Even now, even after so many months apart and even while he’s obviously lost in thought about his miraculous mother who had passed away from a Muggle disease their seventh year, taking a part of Remus’s heart right along with her. Even amidst all of it, Remus Lupin is the most startlingly beautiful thing Sirius has ever witnessed.

Sirius can’t stop his gawking, it’s like a warped image of that night over five months ago now, and it fills Sirius with a sort of dread he’s become far too accustomed with feeling when around Remus. “Oh, right,” Sirius says, more because he feels like it was his turn to say something, even if it is stuttering and dumb.

“You remember Christmas break of seventh year? When she made us watch her favorite film? That starred Liz Taylor.”

Sirius’s throat feels dry, can’t believe that Remus is speaking with him at all, wonders how he’ll actually be able to string two words together in any sort of coherency. “Yeah,” he clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah. The one about the bloke who wanted to marry her but got that other bird pregnant.”

Remus’s answering grin is small and mild and a bit threadbare, but it’s a Moony smile, so Sirius will devour the vision of it with hungry piety.

“I think the critics might have an issue with your distilling one of the greatest critiques of American capitalism into a tawdry love affair, but that’s the one,” Remus says as he picks up the clicker and mutes the box, perched on the other end of the couch’s armrest. And it’s so far removed, but the closest Remus has been able to stand being around Sirius in too long and it pumps him with a sort of staggering, hesitant hope that he has no right in indulging himself with— to feel the levitating, helium like sense of it pulsing in his chest and coursing through his veins.

“You know me Moons, just wanna get to the dirty bits.” He tries for broke and casts him a half smile, feels it like a punch in the gut when that doesn’t affect the detached way Remus stares at him from his perch. “But the bloke was fit at least— I recall saying that he looked a bit like you.” That, for some mad reason, makes Remus toss back his tawny head— silver in the moonlight— and laugh hysterically. “I’ve finally done it, made you go barmy.” Sirius marvels, goading but also partially meaning it.

“Of course you’d think Monty Cliff looks like me Sirius, he’s only the most tragic git in cinema history.”

“Since when are you the dramatic one Moons?”

Remus stills for a second— probably over the use of the familiar pet name, but he doesn’t say anything of it, just gives him a one armed, what can you do shrug. “’S true, he got in a nasty accident with Liz in the car when they were out drinking one night.”

“Oh— That’s rotten luck.” Sirius says, still feels a bit delirious with the fact that Remus is even speaking to him at all.

“Quite.”

“Did he die?”

“No, not fully. They were able to stitch back up his face, but he never actually recovered, was haunted by it really. I guess folks used to say that there was the beautiful before, and then the monstrous after, scars and all. So he spent the next decade drinking himself to death.”

Sirius’s insides go cold, flashes of Remus’s own habits bubbling to the forefront of his mind, but he sweeps it away and only nods, thinks he understands the shifty way Remus is behaving now, considering the obvious parallel to his own accident as a lad and how the Wizarding world has regarded him ever since.

“That’s shit Remus.”

He hums, noncommittal as he studies a point over Sirius’s shoulder. “They still call it Hollywood’s longest suicide.”

Sirius suddenly feels sick to his stomach, knows that if this was even just half a year ago, he’d be gathering Remus in his arms now and kissing away the lines melting into his face, and telling him in a gargled repetition that he loves him and he loves him and he’s always loved him. He’d tell Remus how damn beautiful he is and how bright and brilliant and remarkable of a person he is. And Sirius would fall asleep with Remus’s head resting on his chest and the blanket pooling around their hips and it would feel splendid just for that slice of eternity.

But this isn’t half a year ago. This is now, and now is composed of them broken up and awkward and left them unable to even hold each others gazes for longer than a few seconds at a time, lest the hurt becomes unbearable.

“He sounds like someone I’d get a pint with If I’m being honest.”

That miraculously seems like the right thing to have said because Remus smiles softly as he stands up. “Sure you two would’ve had a marvelous time, his boyfriends called’m a miraculous lay.”

Sirius laughs, loud and abrupt and a bit like a bark. “Come off it.”

“Poor Liz, she was mad over the shirt lifter.” Remus pulls a face and sticks his tongue out, cheeky in a way Sirius has missed beyond words. “But never mind the history lesson, I just came down for a glass of water, don’t let me disturb your telly watching.”

“You didn’t!” Sirius says hurriedly, forcing himself not to actually leap up and corner him. “I mean—“ he coughs, tries evening out his heartbeat. “You’re never a bother Remus, you know that. You know I’d rather talk to you than just about anything else,” the silent, save for fucking you, doesn’t have to be said, but Sirius reckons Remus caught the implication if the slight flush to his ears is anything to go by.

“Right, well I should still get back to bed. Tomorrow’s actual Christmas Eve and Lily’s practically branded the damn schedule onto my hand.” Remus turns to the kitchen, and it’s all too much like before, but Sirius won’t let him— can’t let him— go off and leave him behind. If there is one inarguable truth in Sirius’s life, it’s that he loves Remus John Lupin more than all the stars in all the damned galaxies combined, and losing faith in that has only ever caused him the worst sort of pain. So he doesn’t let him go, flings himself forwards and encircles one of Remus’s bony wrists with a loose hand, can practically hear his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Wh— Sirius—“

“Are we ever going to be alright again,” Sirius asks outright, probably the stupidest thing he’s ever done but he doesn’t care, is sick of feeling so damn lost and wrong footed and lonesome without him.

Remus slowly pivots back around, lips set in a firm frown and brows beginning to knit. “What do you mean.”

“Don’t Remus, please, just don’t. If it’s no then please just put me out my misery. I can’t do this sodding in-between shite, this purgatory of nothing and everything. I just can’t.”

The silence that drapes over them seizes with a tension Sirius hadn’t felt since the night Remus had left, and it probably doesn’t bode well, but Sirius doesn’t care, wants an answer damn it.

Remus only stares at him, measured and noncommittal and with an almost aloofness that Sirius had successfully penetrated by the end of their first term in Hogwarts. It’s really something awful being on the other side once more. “You thought I was the spy.” He says in a deadpan, void of any warmth, and cleared of even the Welsh lilt to his words that always shone through when he was relaxed, and wasn’t afraid of being cast off as just some country boy. He sounds methodical, by rote. He sounds like he doesn’t dare allow any emotions to bleed through because he’s afraid what Sirius would do with them, and that realization, above anything else, is what punches him right in the gut.

“I thought everyone was the spy,” he tells him, isn’t above from graveling at this point. “Hell I thought I was the bloody spy for a moment there! Under the imperius curse, or was obliviated or—“

“That’s different Sirius,” Remus interrupts, seething, and tearing his wrist away from Sirius’s light grasp. “Think about why you would presume me to be working for the dark side over Peter!”

Sirius flushes, is getting angry now, hating that Remus wouldn’t even hear him out. “Because you were in the top of the class, and that fucking rat barely knew how to transfigure a throw pillow to a damn porcupine!”

Remus’s face— a face Sirius knows better than the back of his own hand— twists up in derision, lips curled and nose wrinkled and pinning Sirius with a one eyed squint. It’s completely inappropriate timing, but Sirius wishes he could show Remus just how thoroughly he pays reverence to him and that face. “Well lucky him he was born a pure blood.”

And that, that snide remark is what makes Sirius jolt back, as if he’s been slapped open handed right across the face. Like the one and only time his mother had done so when she caught him and Regulus dressing up in her heels and jewels and lipsticks when he was seven years old. This, this insinuation by Remus is just as striking and probably ten times as painful. “Don’t. Don’t bring blood politics into this Remus. You know I don’t give a buggering fuck about any of that trite.”

“Then what?” Remus almost yells now, face reddening and stepping close enough to Sirius that he has to tilt his head back just so, just enough so that they’re eyes are boring into one another properly once more. “Was it the fact I’m a fucking werewolf? Huh?” He grabs for Sirius’s front, hands knotted in the material of his shirt, and careful not to touch him. It’s a familiar action when Sirius thinks back to the final couple months of their relationship, Remus had always just grabbed onto Sirius’s clothes— wrinkling his jackets and Henleys whenever they kissed goodbye. Sirius had ultimately thought it was because of the guilt eating up inside for his turncoating ways, but now recognizes it for what it was and what it is. He sees that it’s Remus trying to grapple for something, anything. It’s Remus trying to ground himself by touch, and by Sirius, to feel still amidst all the chaos.

Sirius puts his larger hands against Remus’s wrists once more, doesn’t let him drop his gaze. “Fuck you Remus.”

“Is that it? You got sick of fucking a halfbreed? Figured that if I was just like the lot who actually were enthralled by Grayback that it’d be fine if you could end it.”

“Shut the fuck up!“

“Just say it! Say you didn’t trust me because I’m a werewolf and you believe that propaganda that we’re some sorta inherently dark creatures. Tell me you gave up on me because of that. Just give me an answer Sirius!”

And it’s like Sirius can’t breathe, doesn’t know where to begin his rant. Whether he should shout at Remus for being a self loathing prat, or shout at Remus for thinking so low of him, or maybe shout at Remus for trying to pretend as if he wasn’t the one who gave up on them first. In the end, he does none of that.

It’s pure instinct when Sirius plunges forwards and crashes his lips against Remus’s own, trying to infuse the love and adoration and acceptance he knows Remus has never allowed himself to truly feel, and is relieved when his lead-like insides lighten just a fraction when Remus opens his mouth and grabs for Sirius’s face, and kisses him that much deeper. His tongue plunging into Sirius’s open mouth and the familiar slide is so achingly welcome Sirius swears he could fall over in gratitude, frantically palms up and down Remus’s lightly muscled back for purchase, and ultimately just gives up and drags him to the sofa, doesn’t let their lips separate for more than a breath at a time.

“I love you, I never stopped loving you Moons,” Sirius tells him as he practically rips Remus’s shirt as he pulls it off and Remus collapses over him, now straddling Sirius’s lap and kissing a path across his jaw. “Don’t ever think otherwise.”

Remus pulls away, only for a moment, but it’s enough to see the watery gleam to his eyes and the doubt that passes across his face. Though Remus doesn’t let him look for too long, plunges back forwards to kiss him in a cacophony of lips, and teeth, and spit. His cold hands glide against Sirius’s abs beneath his own t-shirt, and Sirius is practically arching up with wanton intent. God he’s missed this, missed Remus and the way they fall against one another, and missed the way they’ve always just fit so innately.

“I—I still love you too Pads,” he says against Sirius’s neck, practically shaking but it’s enough to clear Sirius of all his worries and all his doubt. If there’s anything that couldn’t erode, its the foundation they built with one another and that’s enough, maybe that’s all they need to begin healing once more. Sirius knows that there’s countless conversations and apologies and that they’ll need to take this one step at a time, but here, now. This gives him hope that Remus is just as willing to work on it as he is, and that’s all Sirius needs to know.

He slides a hand up Remus’s thigh and dips a thumb into his waistband, asking for permission, and almost laughing at how eager Remus is to the question, eyes fluttering shut prettily as Sirius slips a hand into his front, cheeks blazing when he realizes Remus wasn’t even wearing any pants.

“Moony,” he moans, tossing his dark head against the sofa and praying for strength from fucking Merlin himself.

Remus actually does laugh, kisses the juncture of Sirius’s neck and shoulder before he starts rocking back and forth, against Sirius’s rapidly hardening cock, and Sirius is already so pent up and hungry for this that he knows he’s not going to last long.

“Bloody slag.”

“Pot calling the kettle black—“ Remus’s eyes go blown suddenly, absolutely going mental at the pun and Sirius can’t believe the love of his life is such a damn wanker.

“Oy, I’ll show you what this kettle can do,” Sirius snaps, playful as he flips their positions so that Remus is lying beneath him, canting forwards when Sirius unceremoniously grabs his cock and begins a slow, and steady stroke, absolutely fucking beaming at the small, cut off gasps and muffled whimpers Remus lets out. They should probably worry over someone walking downstairs for a midnight snack or smoke or something, but Sirius can’t be fucked to care, not with the gloriously golden sight of Remus Lupin flat out beneath him and panting and how Sirius knows precisely how to get him to whimper out in that particularly stunning way.

“Sadistic— Hah— Sadistic bastard,” Remus groans as Sirius begins to thumb at the tip and uses the pre-come to slide faster up and down his shaft, his own hips rocking faster against Remus’s leg to catch at the sensation.

“No arguments here,” Sirius whispers, dipping back down to kiss him as he speeds up the stroking, and gets some of his own friction as he rubs against Remus’s thigh in quick and graceless thrusts and it’s only a moment more before Remus is groaning out with his orgasm and another few thrusts of Sirius’s own hips after that when Sirius joins him, practically collapsing over his body once he does.

“Oof, get off me you prick.”

“Too tired Moons.”

“You’re heavy.”

“Are you calling me fat?”

Remus laughs and Sirius wishes he could be wrapped up in the sound for the next eon to come. For now, he only licks off the come still sticking to his hand, and Remus wrinkles his nose in acute disapproval, but then he kisses him deep and thorough. So Sirius doesn’t take it to heart.

Eventually they adjust themselves so that they’re each lying on their sides and peering at one another, gentle but with more stability than they’ve felt for nearly a year now. It feels like they’ve come to some sorta equilibrium about where they go from here, and it’s so bloody miraculous. It’s like their lives have finally been unpaused from the war and they have a thousand, glimmering memories waiting to be had. A future painted with a house of their own, and visiting James and Lily and the Sprog every night for supper, and maybe even having one of their own. A future Sirius lost hope in while they were apart but is now suddenly and painfully the brightest spot in Sirius’s world.

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders #the harry potterr series #harry potter series #mlim8 #I LOVE you sweetheart #SPILT INK

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

Text

Title: That Old Thing Back {One Shot} ***

Charlie Hunnam x Ex-Wife Reader

Warning: Cursing, Angst, POV Changes, LOTS OF WORDS, NSFW, Mentions of miscarriage

Words: 8,888k

Note: Okay, this is a first for Charlie. I am not familiar with his mannerisms at all, so I hope this hits well. If not, anon, I am sorry. As always, thank you all for reading! Also, y’all see 8888 words. 8888 must mean something right.

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

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

When you meet someone, within minutes, you know what you want from them. After the first conversation, you know what capacity you want them in your life. After a week, you know just how you feel about them. Charlie could attest to this. When he first saw you, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. He was mesmerized by you and just sat and marveled as you danced around the great lawn of the park he happened to be in that afternoon. You looked carefree and so full of life. Nine other women were dancing with you, but he could only see you.

That led him to stalk you for the remainder of the afternoon. Once the class was finished, he followed behind you and listened to your conversation as you walked through the streets and fell deeper under your spell. Your voice was like a finely tuned melody that sounded better than any song he’d ever heard. He sat in the same restaurant you did and just watched you as you spoke and laughed. Every story you told was so animated he felt like he’d been right there when it happened. You were the most captivating creature he’d ever seen.

By the time he knew what had happened, he’d pushed his entire day to the side and had followed you, and he didn’t regret one thing. When he least expected it, you confronted him and called him out on his stalker antics, and that only made him want to know you more. It was the perfect imperfect meet. From that day, the two of you had been inseparable. You spent all your free time together. When he told you his aspiration to be an actor, you didn’t laugh or tell him to forget it and be more practical. You were his biggest supporter, and he fell harder for you.

A whirlwind, passion-filled eight-month romance led to him proposing and begging you to spend your life with him. When you excitedly screamed yes and leaped on him in the middle of the restaurant, everyone around you elated and showered you with applause and well wishes. The two of you didn’t bother waiting. A month later, you were married and more in love than ever. Neither of you were prepared when CJ came around, but it made your love deeper, your marriage stronger.

You were by his side as he struggled through audition after audition, waiting for his big break. You were there rejection after rejection, always having his back and pushing him never to give up. You were his backbone, and when that role came, you were right there for him. The rolls came in one after the other, which meant he was gradually becoming busier and busier. Before you knew it, he was always on a movie set, and you were always home with CJ.

No one prepared him for the struggles of marriage, a baby, and his budding career. He was warned about it by his agent early on, but he swore the two of you had what it took to withstand any and all struggles. He hadn’t factored himself in as a struggle. Thanks to his rapid rise to fame, everyone wanted a piece of him, and when they took their piece, there was none left for you. The arguments increased, and the miscommunication and unsaid words took a toll. The space that formed between you was wide enough to classify them as chasms.

It seemed like he couldn’t do anything right. Everything he said was wrong. When he took a weekend off of work, it was wrong because you found it clear he would rather be working. When he tried to get close to you for any affection, you were always tired from your day with CJ, and every time you tried, he was too busy. He got lost in the Hollywood lifestyle, the parties, the socializing, the life that was bullshit, and had nothing on you or CJ. He turned into the monster in the fairytale, the monster that mothers warned their daughters about.

He’d lost track of how many times he’d heard you crying, lost track of how many times he’d struggled with what to do, how to be. It wasn’t that he wanted to hurt you, he just didn’t know how to be who you wanted, how you needed him to be. The last straw was him missing your birthday to remain at the Cannes Film Festival, the festival he got pictured in a compromising position. One he was entirely at fault for, but one where absolutely nothing happened. The last thing you said to him was, “Your priorities are all fucked up, if you don’t want us fine I’ll solve the problem.”

He came home to divorce papers and an empty house and not too long after you were in the hospital suffering from a miscarriage. A miscarriage the doctors blamed on stress, a miscarriage you blamed on him, a miscarriage he blamed himself for. After that, you made it clear you were done with him. He had the thought to contest and fight for you, but he knew the same problems would still be there. He had to face the facts that you’d probably grown too far apart, and that he would only cause you pain. He had to let you go. So, let you go he did.

Groaning, he rubbed his face trying to keep the sleep at bay. The sound of the waves at his Malibu home was the soothing back noise he needed. It was the same noise that propelled him deep into his state of depression. It was a sate he’d been fighting for the last year. He’d been mostly successful, but tonight was hard. Tonight, was the anniversary of what would have been your seventh wedding anniversary.

The whole night he’d been haunted by memories, haunted by feelings, and haunted by every regret he’d held on to for the last near two years. He thought of scenarios where he should have said something when he hadn’t said anything. He thought about the times he didn’t do something when he should have dome something—anything. He regretted everything that led to this point, the point where he had no wife and a son he was missing that was growing up without seeing him every day.

“Fuck!” His shout was loud, and though the beach was vast, it still somehow echoed around him. There was no escaping you. He’d tried like hell every day, especially when you moved said the most hurtful words you’d ever said to him.

-Fourteen Months Earlier-

“Leave Charlie; you’re good at that.”

“That’s not fair, Y/N, and you know it!”

You spun around with pure vitriol radiating from you. “Fair! Do you know what’s not fair? It’s not fair that I’ve been by your side through everything, supporting you and loving you fiercer than a mother lion to her cubs, birthed your son, held you down through everything, the struggle, the good times only to have you do this!”

“You’re the one who left me, Y/N!”

He knew he shouldn’t have thrown that at you. He knew it was a bad idea.

“Let’s be real. You left me long before I left you! Plus, what was there to stay for, a man who turned out to be my biggest mistake?”

-Present Day-

With his phone in hand, he pulled up your contact. It was one that he stared at so often—too often, he opened up his messages and did the only thing his head told him to.

MSG My Wife: It’s insane today would have been our 7th anniversary. Seven years. The day I said those vows to you were the happiest day of my life until the day you told me about CJ. I thought seven would be just the beginning for us. I fully expected seventeen, twenty-seven, thirty-seven, seventy. I probably shouldn’t be sending this, but there was no way I could fight it. God, Y/N, this has always been my favorite day. Now it’s one of the most painful.

He tossed his phone on the side table and dropped his head back, praying he could forget and move on. It was clear you’d already done it.

As if that wasn’t enough, to add insult to injury, four days later he was staring down at the date your divorce was finalized. It was irony at its best and a just punishment for him. He’d been suffering the last year, so much, so pain felt like his best friend. He just wallowed in everything he’d lost, wallowed in it with no intention to pull himself out. It was that same pain that had him on this interstate driving out of LA to the place he shouldn’t be going anywhere near.

When he pulled up inside the yard, he sat in his mustang for much longer than he should have. He looked around at somewhere he was familiar with but only loosely. He looked at the toys scattered on the lawn and smiled before it slipped and was replaced with sorrow. After taking a deep breath, he got out and walked to the door. He hesitated before his knuckles rapped on the door, then he waited.

~~~~~~~~~

-Y/N-

“CJ, please put this hoverboard away before I break my neck!”

You wiped your hands on the dishtowel as you made your way to the front door. Your son was single-handedly working overtime to break every bone in his body. You’d heard that raising a boy would be difficult, but you were not prepared. He was a handful and a half, especially since he was the carbon copy of his father. Not only did he look just like him down to his blond hair, but he also had the same interests—skating, hoverboarding, biking, and soccer. Those were just the beginning of their similarities. With your head lost in thought, you didn’t see the fist-size fire truck that was lying in wait for you just in front of the door. You hopped and did your best football scrimmage to avoid the tragedy you foresaw.

“Jesus Christ! Charles Matthew Hunnam, Junior!”

You could hear the barrage of footsteps as he came running. He knew when you used his entire name; he was in trouble. As sure as the sky was blue, he came bounding around the corner with his blond curls bouncing and honey-chocolate sun kissed complexion on his way to you.

“I’m sorry, mommy,” he sheepishly breeched as he bent to the floor to gather the death traps he’d left for you.

“How many times have I told you to pick your toys up when you’re finished?”

“I’m sorry, I forgot.” He looked so sad now and gave you those blue specked hazel eyes that were such an interesting mix of yours and Charlie’s that you were always a sucker for.

Groaning, you shook your head affectionally. “Try to remember, honey,” you softly reminded. CJ nodded and threw his arms around your midsection. These were the things that made your day. The doorbell rang then, reminding you someone was there. “Take them up, please.”

“Okay, mommy.” You turned from him and continued your walk to the door. When you swung it open, you were shocked half to death to see Charlie standing on the other side.

“Charlie,” you gasped out. Once CJ heard his name, you heard the clatter of the toys he must have just had heaped in his hands.

“Daddy!” You heard him running, and in seconds, he bound into Charlie’s waiting arms.

“Ah! Hey, buddy!” Charlie stood and held onto CJ like he was his most favorite thing in the world; it was the same way CJ held onto him.

You stood there and watched them half warmed by the sight of father and son and their evident love for each other and half seething that Charlie was there in the first place. He knew better than to show up unannounced. The only way this worked was if you had time to prepare yourself to see him. This was unexpected.

“I missed you, daddy.”

“I missed you too, CJ. Gosh, you look like you’re growing like a weed,” Charlie surmised, placing CJ back onto the ground.

“I am, mommy says I’m half her height.”

“Oh, is that right? So half her height means you’re still a ways behind me. I guess I better go back to eating my veggies,” Charlie joked. CJ found it funny, even if you didn’t.

Clearing your throat, you brought the attention of your ex-husband to you. his smile faltered. “What’re you doing here, Charlie?”

“I uh—I wanted to see CJ.”

You dropped your head and sighed. This was going to turn into an argument.

“I wanted to see you too, daddy. Can we do something? Can I show you my new bike? Then can we go down to the lake, and I can show you my new trick?”

“Hold on there, bud. We gotta ask mommy,” Charlie said on a chuckle.

“Can we mommy, please, please, please, please!” CJ was pouring on all the emotions and sweetness. You didn’t have the heart to say no.

“Go ahead, have fun. Please, no broken bones!”

“Thank you, mommy.” His hug was quick before he was grabbing hold of Charlie’s hand to yank him away. As he did, Charlie looked back to you with a melancholic smile, one you refused to read into.

When you walked back inside, you were the one to pick up the toys you’d just told your son to pick up. You didn’t mind this time; you needed something to keep yourself busy. Picking up CJ’s toys turned into rearranging some of the things in the living room, and that turned into sweeping, then vacuuming and finally mopping. You could hear the jolly screams and laughs from inside the yard, and though it made you happy to hear how happy CJ was, it also filled you with a hint of sadness, one you’d worked hard to ignore.

Every so often, you found yourself drifting to the windows to watch on as the two of them played. Every time you looked out, they were doing something different. Once it was tricks on BMX bikes, another time it was weird acrobatics like handstands and flips, and when you looked out once and saw them actually building mud monsters, you nearly lost your shit at how adorable they were together. That was when you stepped up the cleaning and began cleaning the kitchen.

Once the cleaning was finished, you moved on to starting dinner. An hour passed then two, and you were in the thick of things. You’d only intended on cooking lasagna, but that turned into lasagna with sautéed broccoli, and garlic bread and dessert. It was apparent to you that you were anxiety cooking. Before you finished, though in they bounded downright filthy but over the moon.

“Mommy, look!” CJ ran to you completely covered in a mixture of dried and wet mud with grass stains. He looked ready to throw his arms around you before you scurried behind the kitchen island.

“Charles Matthew Hunnam, don’t you dare get me dirty.” His laughter was loud.

“Fine, but look what we brought you.” He held out a bouquet of handpicked flowers of all varieties. A smile stretched across your face. You knew it was going to happen before it did.

“You picked me flowers?”

“Yup, it was daddy’s idea, then we had a competition who could pick the most. I won,” CJ happily boasted. The tears welling in your eyes could not be stopped from spilling.

“Thank you, CJ, they are gorgeous. I love them almost as much as I love you.” CJ’s smile was just as wide, and your heart melted.

“If you weren’t as filthy as a lost boy, I would hug you and kiss you, so if you want that hug and kiss, you better get showered.”

“Okay, mommy.” CJ began to run away but stopped and came back to stand before Charlie. “Are you going to leave now?” His tone was low, and he looked like he was about to cry.

“Uh—well, I hadn’t planned on staying this long.”

“No! No, no, stay please, please, please. Mommy said she was going to make lasagna. It’s my favorite,” CJ rattled on.

“Mine too,” Charlie admitted. You knew it.

“Mommy, daddy loves your lasagna too; can he stay for dinner with us? Please, please, pleeeeeeease!”

“CJ, I’m sure that your dad has things he has to do.”

“No, he doesn’t, I asked outside he said he has nothing to do. Please, mommy, for meeeeee.” His whine was becoming incessant, sighing you accepted defeat.

“Okay, only because I’d do anything for you.” CJ smiled widely again then hugged Charlie before he ran off, leaving the two of you standing there.

“Uh—I can take shower duty, or have you transitioned him to alone ones?”

“He’s all yours.” Charlie nodded and walked up the stairs where CJ just disappeared from.

Once alone, you looked at the flowers in your hands and ignored the flutter in your belly and the sight of one of your favorite wildflowers, dab smack in the middle of the bouquet, the one only Charlie knew about —poppies.

Nearly forty minutes later, dinner was underway, and it felt like old times, the times during your marriage before things went to shit. CJ talked about everything under the sun. He told Charlie all about his soccer schedule and who his friends were in school this month, he even told him all the gossip in his class. It was like he was making up for the last three weeks he hadn’t seen him. That made you sad, but you knew it was just how life was. Charlie was now a full-fledged movie star, and though his star rose years ago, it was still rising. Thanks to his insanely successful show, Sons of Anarchy, his name was a household one, and it came with thousands of thirsty groupies.

Charlie laughed loudly as he threw his head back, clearly amused by one of CJ’s stories. He truly looked to be enjoying himself to the fullest. You’d long known that CJ was the best thing that had ever happened to Charlie. You’d spent long nights talking about just how much he loved that little boy and everything in you loved to hear him talk about how enamored he was with him. You knew that would never change, no matter what happened between the two of you.

A little more than halfway through dinner Charlie’s eyes met yours, and it felt like forever ago that you’d looked into them. They looked different, sadder, more detached, and full of something that looked like pain. He looked different to you now than he had months ago. Maybe he was different, you thought.

“Mommy, can I have dessert?”

Snapping out of it, you smiled and nodded to your son. “Absolutely, a slice of pineapple upside-down cake coming right up.” You stood and walked into the kitchen to fix three plates of the dessert. When you came back, the two of them were doing thumb wars. Shaking your head, you put the plates down and tried not to think about how much different things could have been.

The three of you ate your sweet treat and continued to emulate the perfect family. Once dessert was finished, Charlie was the one to initiate doing the dishes something you remembered he promised on your wedding day to do when he loved you the most to show you he cared and appreciated you. There was no way that was the reason now. While he did the dishes with CJ, you busied yourself with finding yet another thing to clean. It was a habit at this point.

After the tidying was completed, you sat in front of the TV to watch an episode of CJ’s favorite cartoon, The Last Airbender. Through the entire episode, he and Charlie whispered and chatted about the episode then pretended to be from warning nations while they did their bending. It was then you faced how much you missed nights like this. It had been close to two years since the three of you spent time together like this. It was done on purpose. You didn’t think you could handle it. You had no idea how you were now.

Before you knew it, the time had run away, and it was now almost ten. After telling CJ to get into bed, hit the bottle of your go-to liquor, hoping to find some form of strength to hold you up. Having Charlie there playing doting dad and husband as if he was no longer a part of your life hurt, it hurt a hell of a lot. You still had some animosity about the way things ended.

When you made it upstairs, Charlie was sitting at the foot of CJ’s bed looking as if he were about to read him his bedtime story. “Oh, it’s cool. You guys go ahead,” you began.

“Mommy, can you both read to me, like how you used to,” CJ pleaded. That was like a knife to the gut. You’d made CJ your top priority your whole like, and when you and Charlie began to have problems, his happiness was the only thing the two of you agreed on. You didn’t want him to feel as if he were missing anything, but right now, you saw he felt the void.

“Of course, baby.” Walking around the bed to CJ’s pillow, you settled in your usual place and lifted your bare legs into the bed to cuddle beside your son. CJ dropped his head on your chest, where he knew he could listen to your heart. It was an action he’d always done ever since he was a little boy.

You kissed the top of his head before you began. “Ready?” CJ nodded. Charlie held out the book to you, but you shook your head. “I’ve got it memorized. You keep it.”

You took another breath, then began. “A mother bird sat on her egg. The egg jumped. Oh, oh! said the mother bird. “My baby will be here! He will want to eat. I must get something for my baby bird to eat! She said. I will be back! So away, she went.” CJ burrowed deeper into your side, making you smile. When you looked up, Charlie’s eyes were glued on the two of you. Nodding, you signaled for him to take over.

Charlie cleared his throat and took a breath. “The egg jumped. It jumped and jumped and jumped! Out came the baby bird. Where is my mother, he said? He looked for her. He looked up; he did not see her. He looked down; he did not see her. I will go and look for her. So away, he went.” He read it without looking at the book. He just stared at CJ.

With your turn, you read the next few pages, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off Charlie. He watched you as you watched him, and it was the most perfect thing. For the next ten or so minutes, you read the book to your son together. When he spoke, he never once looked down at the pages, never once broke the eye contact between you. The only time he glanced from your eyes was to look into his son’s. There were so many instances you had to stifle the flutter of your heart, and countless times, you found yourself looking over his hands and forearms. Even when he caught you, you didn’t seem to care. His voice coupled with how enamored he looked with CJ and vice versa and how rugged he looked, was wreaking havoc on you, especially when you remembered the miscarriage. Once you remembered that, a bitter taste filled your mouth, which brought you back to your reality.

“All right, prince charming, that’s it,” you gently informed. CJ was still wide awake.

“Aww. Does that mean you’re leaving now, daddy?” Charlie sighed, and it brought your attention to him. He looked equally as distraught as CJ did. The pit of your stomach knotted. This was never the fun part.

“I’m afraid so, buddy.”

“No. Stay, please. I don’t want you to go. I won’t see you for weeks. I miss you. Don’t you miss me? It’s like you don’t like being here with me or with us,” CJ rushed out. You could hear the pain in his voice, and it broke you in two. Looking at Charlie, you could see it was the same for him.

“Of course, I miss you, buddy. I miss you more than I have the words to say. I always want to be with you, to be here, but you know that’s not our life anymore,” Charlie carefully explained.

“Baby, it’s all right. Your dad loves you more than anything in this world,” you assured, hoping to smooth things over. It didn’t look like he believed one word you said.

“Bud, I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.”

“I don’t believe you!” With that, the silence in the room was heavy. Charlie looked at his wit’s end with how to console him, and you knew what to do, but you didn’t think you had the strength. You could feel CJ’s tears, and that was the last straw.

“Look at me, CJ.” Slowly he rose his head to you. you wiped his cheeks and kissed his forehead. “He’ll be here when you wake up.” It was a whisper because that was all you could muster.

“What?” Charlie’s shock was evident. You looked at him and sighed.

“You should stay. He needs this—he needs you.”

Charlie searched your eyes before he spoke again. “Are you sure?”

No, you weren’t sure. This was probably a bad idea for you, but for CJ, it was the best solution. Nodding your response, you looked back to CJ.

“He can stay, mommy?” His smile was right back where it should be.

“He can stay love, but you have to go to sleep.”

Yayy!” CJ threw his arms around you to show his gratitude and excitement. You kissed him once more then stood.

“Bed.” CJ kissed your jaw, then dropped back onto his bed and snuggled in his covers.

“I’m going to stay; it’s been a while since I’ve watched him sleep,” Charlie whispered. Nodding, you walked out the door, leaving it slightly ajar.

Again, you busied yourself preparing the guestroom, hoping the movement would distract you from not only thinking but worrying about the ramifications of your decision. This would be the first time in almost two years you’d slept under the same roof. Divorced meant over and done with. Of course, divorced with a child didn’t give a shit about over and done. He’d forever be in your life.

The message you’d received from him a few days ago reminded you of just that. It was the most unexpected thing, the most heartbreaking message you’d gotten from him in a long time. It was so heartbreaking you had to lock yourself in the bathroom with the faucet and shower running to hide the sounds of your bawling from CJ. You ended up hiding in there for close to an hour, and even when you reemerged, you were emotionally unstable for the remainder of the evening. You were so emotionally unstable; there was no way you trusted yourself to respond, so you left it on read. What the fuck were you supposed to say to it anyway?

After changing the sheets and straightening up a few things, you retreated to your bedroom for some quiet time, quiet time you desperately needed. You didn’t know how to get through the next twenty-four hours. You were struggling. Staring in the mirror, you objectively looked at yourself. You saw the truth, you always had. You just couldn’t afford to let that truth slip to the surface.

The knock at the door had you leaping to your feet. When you opened it, there was Charlie, and your stomach liked what it saw.

“Fast asleep?” He nodded and looked down at the floor.

“I don’t have to stay in the house. I can sleep in my car,” Charlie suggested.

“I’d do anything for you—for CJ.” The way he said it had your heart racing.

“It’s fine. I have space. Come on.” You walked out of your bedroom and down the hall leading him to the guestroom you’d just prepped. When he walked into the room, you watched as he looked around.

“I just changed the sheets; they’d been on for weeks. It should be all good.”

He turned to you, nodding his head. “Thank you, love dove.”

The name hit you like a mack truck. You audibly “oofed” as you wrapped your arms around your midsection, instantly feeling the effect and the loneliness it brought on. He used to always call you that name, a day would never go by without him whispering it in your ear, against your neck, or your lips. You were brought back to happier times where you’d be locked in your room in bed, just ravaging each other, and he’d whisper it the entire time.

Charlie must have been going through the same thing you were because he looked regretful before he spoke. “Sorry. Old habits.”

Again, your stares lingered, and the air in the room was heavy and hot. It was like the last year or so didn’t happen, like he hadn’t broken your heart. He still had an effect.

“Good night.” It was quickly said, and your exit was just as quick. You spent the next forty or so minutes in the shower. You hoped it would help to calm you down, but it didn't do that, it just gave you more anxiety.

When you got out, you began to wonder if you’d placed towels in the room. When you saw them in your closet, you realized you’d brought them here mistakenly. Once you wrapped in your robe, you made your way to his room to drop them off. You knocked once, then twice, but neither knocks were answered. Deciding you could chance sneaking in to put the towels down, you opened the door. The sound of the shower running gave you your answer as to why he didn’t answer. Quickly you walked to the bed and put the stack of grey towels on the bed. As you neared it, out came Charlie in all his wet glory. In your shock, the towels fell to the floor and had your eyes snapping shut.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude. I forgot to leave some towels. I knocked; you didn’t answer.”

The room was silent; he didn’t speak. You wondered what he was doing. Was he trying to cover himself? Using your hands as your eyes, you felt for the towels you’d dropped. In seconds frustration filled you when you couldn’t find them. Opening your eyes for a second, you saw the towels, but when you looked only a centimeter up, there was his junk right in front of you. He hadn’t budged from his spot and hadn’t even made an attempt to cover himself.

You meant to look away immediately, but that didn’t happen. He was maybe half a foot from you, close enough to touch. Charlie had always been the most attractive man that you’d seen. He’d always done it for you. With you on your knees before him, you realized that hadn’t changed. A son, a miscarriage, a messy ending to your marriage, and a divorce had done nothing to temper how much you always seemed to want him or be attracted to him.

You were kneeling there in wide-eyed amazement. It had been years since you’d seen him like this. The deterioration of your marriage meant you spent lots of nights lonely and unloved. Before you gave him divorce papers, it had been seven whole months since you’d been intimate. When you added on the four months it took for the divorce to finalize and the year of being a divorcee, you hadn’t gotten laid in over two years. It was shameful because right now you knew why only he had an impact, only he would do.

“It’s okay,” Charlie whispered. His voice was shaking, and he sounded hopelessly breathless. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before in great detail.”

Again, you remembered all the things you’d done to him in great detail over the six years of your marriage. Jumping to your feet, you tried your hardest to look away from his inviting appendage. You held out the stack of towels to him with your head turned to the side and waited for him to take them. When his hands grasped the items, they brushed yours and sent thousands of electric sparks through your hand and directly into your heart.

Your eyes met again, and they lingered on each other. You hoped he couldn’t hear your heart, hoped he couldn’t tell what a fraud you were.

“I should go,” you whispered.

“You don’t have to.” His response awoke a need in you that you thought you’d buried. You knew what he was suggesting. Everything in you wanted to take the gentle suggestion and cross the room to him, but then what.

Groaning, you peeled your eyes from his and turned. “Yes, I have to. Good night Charlie.” Those were the last words before you made your rapid exit.

The following morning you awoke to the scent of food being prepared. When you looked at the clock, it was almost ten. Usually, you’d be up by eight. You’d slept in. Quickly you brushed your teeth and pulled on a pair of leggings then went downstairs. As you neared the kitchen, you could smell the evidence of what promised to be a delicious breakfast. You turned, and there was Charlie standing over the store in his tank cooking away. Good lord help you he’d buffed up even more, you thought. Times like these you wished things had been different. You missed mornings like this. Charlie looked up and smiled when he saw you. As you approached, his eyes roamed your body before his eyebrows knitted together.

“What?”

“Is that my hoodie?” You looked over yourself and realized your error. It was normal for you to sleep in his clothes, but you didn’t realize you still worse it.

“Nope.” It was a lie but one he couldn’t fully prove.

Charlie scoffed but didn’t speak again for a long time. You took the opportunity to bring up his impromptu visit.

“You can’t just show up unannounced Charlie. That is not okay. You can see CJ whenever you want I have never kept the two of you apart but just showing up here—you can’t.”

Charlie nodded and but kept his eyes down. “I know, I’m sorry. I just—I really missed CJ, and I had to see him, so see you. I couldn’t stay away. I wanted to talk.”

What the hell were you supposed to say to that, you thought. Sensing your speechlessness, Charlie spoke. “I’m sorry about last night. I was out of line.”

“Let’s not talk about it, CJ will be down any minute.”

“I have to talk about it. I’m losing my mind. I’ve been losing it for the last near two years, and—I’m struggling,” Charlie admitted. His candor shook you. Half of you wanted to know more, but the other half was too scared.

“Charlie, it’s fine. Let’s move on.”

“I can’t. I can’t be like you. You have everything so put together. You’ve pieced this life together without me, and I can’t seem to piece any life together without you—without CJ.”

It was then CJ came running down. It should have been sooner because you were absolutely ruined now. You and Charlie stared at each other. He was daring you to speak, to acknowledge what he’d just dropped on you.

“Daddy!” CJ jumped onto Charlie bringing his attention to your son. You took the reprieve to dip into the half bath to pull yourself together.

You tried to wrap your head around what he’s said, tried to make sense of it. After five minutes, you still couldn’t come to terms with it, so you did the next best thing, pushed it aside. When you walked back out, CJ was sitting at the dining table, as was Charlie.

“Ready to eat, mommy?”

“Absolutely.” You sat at the table and dove into the food, all the while avoiding Charlie’s eyes. Through breakfast, he and CJ talked and joked with each other. It was a welcomed chatter because it took the attention off you.

Once breakfast was finished, you cleaned the dishes while CJ got himself dressed for a playdate he’d been looking forward to the whole week. Now that Charlie was there, he refused to go. It wasn’t until Charlie promised he’d still be there when he got back did CJ agree. When the two of them came down, CJ was dressed and ready just in time for him to be picked up. You thanked Claudia for setting it up the playdate and waved goodbye to CJ from the front door.

When you turned around, Charlie was leaning on the steps watching. You hesitated closing the door to enclose yourself in a confined space that had plenty of surfaces for him to bend you over. When you did, you quickly walked back to the kitchen.

“We have to talk, Y/N.”

“No, we don’t. There is nothing to talk about.”

“Bullshit. After yesterday, last night, even in the kitchen this morning. We have plenty to talk about,” Charlie responded, following you through the house.

“Charlie, don’t.”

“I have to. Are you happy? Like really happy? It’s been a year. Are you happy? Is this what you wanted? Did you want our son feeling like a consolation in our relationship?”

“Are you happy? You’ve gotten what you wanted.”

“Me?! Y/N, you gave me divorce papers. You left our house and never came back,” Charlie shouted through clenched jaws.

“Oh right, I’m the big bad wolf. You know how to fight for a role, but you have no clue how to fight for your marriage, your son. Classic.” You slammed the kitchen fridge unsure why you’d opened it in the first place.

“Don’t pull that. I fought, I came to you over and over, begging you not to do it, pleading with you. You refused to listen.”

“What did you come to me for Charlie? What the hell did you prove to me? What did you show me? What was I going back for? The same bullshit? The same treatment?! In all the times you came begging and pleading, you never once showed me how things would change. You just didn’t want a divorce under your belt. You didn’t want the press to get wind of it.”

“That’s bullshit! I wanted my wife; I wanted my son! You didn’t want me. When did you stop loving me, Y/N?”

You looked at him incredulously. He had to be fucking kidding, you thought. Your anger was rising by leaps and bounds, and you knew the next words out your mouth were going to be venom. “Is the weight of it all too heavy now, Charlie? A year later, a year after you switched up and changed? A year after you showed me time and time and again what was important, who was important. You showed me I didn’t mean shit; CJ didn’t mean shit. I was not going to stay and turn into those Hollywood couples who hated each other and only remained for the spotlight. No!”

“You gave up on me,” Charlie whispered.

“Fuck you! You gave up. You gave up on me and us long before I left you those divorce papers. You did.” You walked away because you could feel your tears spilling over, but you turned around back to him, tired of hiding the fallout of his actions. “You know what makes all of this so much worse? My friends told me this would happen. They told me before we got married, told me to slow down, be careful with you, and I defended you. I defended you till kingdom come. Look where we are, Charlie! Living in a perfect lie!”

“I don’t want to live this lie. I miss you, Y/N. I miss CJ. I miss our life; I miss our family. I’m miserable,” Charlie dropped.

His tears ran down his cheeks, and you flared your nose. This was always your weakness. Charlie had always been in touch with his emotions, but his emotions had to be overwhelming for him to cry.

“Good. You sowed this Charlie. You brought all of this on. My baby--,” you began, but the pain was too much. Charlie sobbed and dropped his head back.

“I’m sorry,” he said as he approached you. You steadily backed away from him, not wanting him to touch you.

“Y/N,” Charlie began as you shook your head.

“No. I’m not doing this with you. I refuse.”

Charlie quickly caught you before you turned and kept you facing him. “You can’t run from this Y/N. Face it with me, please.”

You kept a straight face, refusing to cry any more. You refused to allow him any closer than he already was. You wouldn’t survive it this time. Charlie grunted out in frustration when he realized you were hell-bent on keeping him at bay.

“Y/N!”

“What do you want from me, Charlie?” You shot death rays right at him.

“I want you to say anything! Scream! Yell at me! Just something to show you fucking care.”

“Why should I care? Why the hell should I give one flying fuck?”

“Because I’m still in love with you!”

The words felt like a slap in the face. You’d imagined how they’d sound coming from him during the whole divorce process, during the whole year after the divorce. You were convinced he didn’t love you anymore for him to have treated you the way he did, for him to have done what he did in Cannes. The stress of it brought on your miscarriage.

Though you’d wanted to hear them, you hadn’t prepared to hear them.

“I love you. God, I can't keep pretending like I'm okay with any of this. I can’t pretend that it doesn’t kill me to be away from you, to be away from CJ. I can’t act like I’m thriving or happy. I’m not. I’m miserable. I wish I could press rewind and go back and better, do better. I wish I knew better then, as I know now. I fucked up, and I regret it more than I’ve ever regretted anything in my life. If I had been a better man, none of this would have happened. If I’d only been the man you deserved our baby—our princess would be here right now. I will have to live with that for the rest of my life, the pain that I caused your miscarriage, the pain that I broke our vows, that I broke your heart, I broke us.”

Charlie dropped his forehead to your collar, and his tears dropped across your chest. They felt like acid peeling away every barrier you’d built between him and your heart. He was saying everything you want him to, everything. He wasn’t holding anything back. They were words you’d desperately wanted to hear.

“I’m sorry, love dove. I never wanted to give up on you--on us. I loved you so much. You were my world until CJ. Then you became my universe. I lost myself. I lost sight of you and me. I lost sight of the man I was and wanted to be. For that, I will always be sorry. Losing you and CJ, it broke me. I stand here a broken man. I had to find me again. It’s been hard, but the root of me is you and my son. My family. You have always been what mattered, and I regret I ever lost that, that I ever made you feel like you weren’t my everything.”

One lone tear rolled down your cheek, and that was just the beginning. When Charlie swiped it away with the pad of his thumb, the flood gates opened. You bawled uncontrollably, all your emotions finally catching up to you. Charlie wept with you, and that was how the two of you stayed for countless minutes.

When you opened your eyes and realized how close he was, you sniffled. Slowly the two of you inched to one another. Before your lips touched, both of you hesitated. “Fall back in love with me, love dove.” He whispered.

He really thought you’d ever fallen out of love with him. “You’re an idiot if you think I’ve ever fallen out of love with you.” The hope you saw in Charlie’s eyes set your belly fluttering. It was overwhelming. Charlie claimed your lips in a soft but passionate kiss that took your breath away. It was so intense you felt as if you’d been possessed by sheer desire. The kiss began timid and soft, but in seconds, it had turned into a lustful and sensual soul transference. Charlie’s hands gripped your hips and pulled you flush against him before he lifted you in his arms.

Wrapping your legs around him, you kissed him back with as much heat as you kissed you. Soon the two of you were walking through the house blindly looking for anywhere. Charlie plopped you onto something, and the backs of your knees said it was the kitchen island. Quickly both of you stripped each other. He pulled off his hoodie from your body as you peel his shirt off. Charlie cupped your breasts when he realized you weren’t wearing a bra then dipped his mouth to your mounds. Instantly you moaned and hugged his head to your flesh.

Charlie nipped and hypnotizingly sucked your skin, bringing you more and more ecstasy. It had been so long since you’d felt like this; you didn’t want to think about anything else but the sensations. Charlie pushed you back onto the island and brought his lips down your stomach to your hip. Once there, he pulled off your leggings in one fluid motion. His beard tickled your skin and had you wriggling underneath him. Charlie’s groan was loud when he realized you wore nothing under those leggings.

In seconds he’d draped your legs over his shoulder and reclaimed claimed ownership of the most intimate part of you. He moaned as he lapped at your wetness and teased and pleased your body. You bucked your hips against his lips, feeling your orgasm barrel toward you. Everything in you said it was going to be a catastrophic one. You panted and gasped his name as your body wildly thrashed, unable to control it any longer.

“Aah, yes, right there. Yes, Charlie, yes, yes!”

Your scream was loud, and the tightness of your legs around his head was enough to suffocate. Charlie didn’t panic. Instead, he lifted your lower half into the air and continued his feast, not caring if you were overstimulated or not. Your screech echoed off the walls of the kitchen, and you tried to pry him away from your sex. He refused to budge even when you’d unwrapped your legs the best you could. Yet another orgasm ripped through you, sending a gush of moisture all over his mouth and beard. Charlie groaned, gripped your breasts, and squeezed hard enough for you to know just how tightly wound he was.

When he pried your legs from around him, you felt the renewed fire and quickly slid off the island to drop before him. You hurriedly stripped him eager to have him. Once he was free, his heavy cock bobbed in front of you. Wasting no more time, you slid him into your mouth, ignoring your gag and took every inch he was blessed with. Charlie shouted and hugged your head to his cock, keeping him lodged tightly in your throat. Sensing the low levels of your air supply, he pulled back enough to give you a brief reprieve. It was all you needed and more than you wanted.

Slamming him back into your mouth, you lodged him in your throat again, all the while moaning enthusiastically. Charlie’s hands never left your head just as his mouth never closed. Moan after moan fell from him as you sucked and slurped his length. In no time at all, Charlie was thrusting into your mouth hell-bent on finding his long-overdue release. Just as you were finding a groove, Charlie pulled from your mouth with a loud “pop” before he pulled you up and pushed you onto the island.

With you bent over the island and your ass poked out for him, Charlie rubbed his cock across your soaking folds sending shivers through you. He bent to your ear and kissed you.

“I love you, only you. Endlessly for eternity.” It was the same thing he’d said the night of your wedding before he joined you for the first time as husband and wife. When you peeped behind you and locked eyes with him, you knew the two of you had an understanding. Charlie kissed your back then snapped his hips forward, harshly, and completely filling you to the hilt. You shouted and gripped the island. Your knees bucked from the sheer pleasure of just this. When you clenched around him, Charlie, have you just what you wanted—a rough tryst.

Every slam into your core had you clenching around him. Each thrust was more bruising than the last, and each one brought tears to your eyes. They weren’t hurt tears; they were a mixture of relief and complete joy. You shouted his name over and over, not caring how needy or desperate you sounded. You could feel how on edge he was; his body shook every time he filled you, and every time you said his name, he shouted yours.

When Charlie began jackhammering into you clearly lost in his pleasure, you left planet Earth. Only he could have you like this. Only he could fuck you into outer space. You knew he was close, and the second he whimpered behind you, you pressed back into him, throwing your ass back onto him. Charlie sucked in a breath, and his whimpers intensified. The slap to your ass was the last thing you needed to be pushed over the edge, an edge you dragged him over. Charlie grunted and groaned as he filled you with every ounce of his love.

It took several long moments for the two of you to come down from your sultry sex bubble. After having you across the island, you rode him until his toes curled, and he saw stars on the kitchen floor leaned against the same island. By the time you’d both stopped, hours had passed. Neither of you were fully satiated. As Charlie hugged you to him still buried deep within you, he tipped your chin so you were looming at him.

“Marry me again.” Shocked, you searched his face for his meaning.

“You’re not serious.”

“I am. Will you be my wife again?” the gleam of silver caught your eye, and you looked down to see him wearing your engagement and wedding ring on a chain around his neck. Your world shattered. He’d worn them this entire time. Locking eyes with him again, you knew he could tell you realized what he was wearing.

“All this time?” Charlie held up his hand to show you the silver wedding band he still wore.

“I promised forever; I wasn’t done with it.” Your tears fell, and so many emotions filled you; you had no idea which one to go with.

“I have to do whatever it takes to stop my heart from being broken, Charlie,” you whispered.

“I’ll never break your heart again. I know how it ends. I know what it means. I can’t risk my life without you or CJ anymore. I can’t.” His tears welled, and you believed him.

“Surrender to me, love dove. Surrender to me as I can only surrender to you.” His voice was pleading with you. Closing your eyes, you listened to your soul, the place where no fear lived. When you looked at him, you trailed your thumb across his bottom lip.

“Give them back.” Charlie looked confused for a few seconds before he got it. Quickly he yanked the chain from around his neck and slid the rings off to hover them over your finger before he locked eyes with you.

“Never again will we be here. Never again will I lose us,” Charlie forcefully vowed.

“Never again will I walk away,” you responded. He looked overwhelmingly emotional then, but you could see him holding as much of it back as possible. When he slid the rings onto your finger, both of you sighed as if you both felt instant relief.

You knew this was a new beginning for the two of you but also for CJ. You knew that neither of you would ever again make the same mistakes.

“I surrender,” you both whispered together.

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

#that old thing back one shot #Charlie Hunnam #charlie hunnam fanfiction #charlie hunnam x reader #Charlie Hunnam x you #Charlie hunnan x black reader #black fanfiction #angst fanfic #charlie hunnam smut

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dustedmagazine · 3 years

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Dust Volume 7, Number 4

Axel Ruley x Verbo Flow

A little bit of optimism is creeping into the air as Dusted writers start to get their shots. We’re all starting to think about live music, maybe outside, maybe this summer. But as the spate of freak snow storms demonstrates, summer’s not here yet, and in the meantime, piles of records and gigs of MP3s beckon. This early spring version of Dust covers the map, literally, with artists representing Pakistan, Australia, Canada, Sweden, the UK and the USA, and stylistically with jazz, rock, punk, rap, improv and many other genres in play. Contributors include Jennifer Kelly, Justin Cober-Lake, Bill Meyer, Ray Garraty, Patrick Masterson, Tim Clarke and Bryon Hayes.

Arooj Aftab — Vulture Prince (New Amsterdam)

Vulture Prince by Arooj Aftab

Arooj Aftab is a classical composer originally from Pakistan but now living in Brooklyn. Vulture Prince, her third full-length album, blends the bright clarity of new age music with the fluid, non-Western vocal tones of her Central Asian roots. “Last Night,” from an old Rumi poem but sung mostly in English, lilts in dub-scented syncopation, the thump and pop of stand-up bass underlining its bittersweet melody. An interlude in some other language shifts the song entirely, pitting vintage reggae reverberation against an exotic melisma. “Mohabbat” (which is apparently Urdu for sex) soothes in the pristine instrumentals, lucid guitars, a horn, scattered drumbeats, but smolders and beckons in the vocals. None of these tracks feel wholly traditional or wholly Western and modern day, but sit somewhere in a well-lit, idealized space. Timeless and placeless, Vulture Prince is nonetheless very beautiful.

Jennifer Kelly

Assertion — Intermission (Spartan)

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Intermission comes from an alternate timeline. Founding drummer William Goldsmith started his musical career in Sunny Day Real Estate and had a notable stint with Foo Fighters. To cut the biography short, Goldsmith took a decade off from the music industry. He's returned now with Assertion, joined by guitarist/vocalist Justin Tamminga and bassist Bryan Gorder (both of Blind Guides, among other acts). This band picks up in the late 1990s, imagining a new path for post-hardcore/post-grunge music. The trio's name suits, as the songs' energy and the lyrical assertiveness develops the intensity of the release. The group works carefully with dynamics, neither parroting the loud-quiet tradition nor simply pushing their emo leanings toward 11.

“The Lamb to the Slaughter Pulls a Knife” epitomizes the album. The track sounds like Foo Fighters decided to get dirtier rather than more arena-friendly, while the lyrics mix violence with emotional persistence. First single “Supervised Suffering” finds triumph in endurance, turning the aggressive chorus into something of a victory. “Set Fire” closes the album with something more delicate, but it's just the gauze over a seething anger. Goldsmith's time off seems to have served him well, as does collaborating with some new partners. Assertion makes its case clearly and effectively, and if the intermission's over for Goldsmith, the second half sounds promising.

Justin Cober-Lake

Michael Beach — Dream Violence (Goner/Poison City)

Dream Violence by Michael Beach

“De Facto Blues,” from Michael Beach’s fourth solo album, is a barn-burner of a song, rough and messy and passionate, the kind of song that makes you want to take a stand on something, who cares what as long as it matters to you. It snarls like Radio Birdman, slashes like the Wipers and follows its muse through chaos to righteousness like an off-cut from Crazy Horse, just back from rockin’ the free world. It’s got Matt Ford and Inez Tulloch from Thigh Master on guitar and bass, respectively, Utrillo Kushner from Colossal Yes (and Comets on Fire) on drums, and Kelley Stoltz at the boards, and it’s a killer. The rest of the album is varied and, honestly, not uniformly astounding, but there’s a nice Summer of Love-style psych dream in “Metaphysical Dice,” a slow-burning post-rocker in the title track and a driving, pounding punk anthem in the opener “Irregardless.” Beach has been splitting his time between San Francisco and Melbourne, Australia, and lately settled on Melbourne, where he will fit like a native into their thriving punk-garage scene.

Jennifer Kelly

Bloop — Proof (Lumo)

Proof by BLOOP (Lina Allemano / Mike Smith)

The trumpet is already a catalog of sound effects waiting to happen, and Lina Allemano knows the table of contents by heart. So, to shake things up, she has paired up with electronic musician Mike Smith, who contributes live processing and effects to Allemano’s improvisations. A blind listen to Proof might leave you with the impression that you’re hearing a horn player jamming with some outer space cats, and we’re not talking about hip, lingo-slinging jazz dudes. In fact, everything on these eight tracks happened in real time. Smith’s a strategic intervener, aware that too much sauce can spoil the stew, so he mixes up precise layering and pitch-shifting with more disorienting transformations. It’s hard to say how much Allemano responds to the simulacra that surround her brass voice, but there’s no denying the persuasiveness of her melodic and timbral ideas.

Bill Meyer

Bris — Tricky Dance Moves (TrueStory Entertainment)

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Bris left some music behind when he died in 2020, but it took almost a year to shape these recordings into a proper CD. The label CEO Mac J (a fine artist himself) could easily capitalize on his friend’s death, stacking Tricky Dance Moves with features from the artists Bris never would have worked with. Yet the album was prepared with the utmost care, not giving an ugly Frankenstein monster feel. Bris’s references to his possible early death are scattered throughout the whole tape: “Heard they wanna pop Bris cause they mad I’m poppin.” Almost every song could be easily turned into a prophetic tale (a cheap move one wants to avoid at all costs). Nonetheless, something is missing here. Or maybe it is just an image of death that disturbs the whole picture, making us realize that this is the last we’d hear from Bris.

Ray Garraty

Dreamwell — Modern Grotesque (self-released)

Modern Grotesque by Dreamwell

I recently read an interview with Providence’s Dreamwell breaking down in almost excruciating detail the influences that led to the quintet’s sophomore full-length Modern Grotesque. I kept scrolling past Daughters and Deftones and Deafheaven and increasingly disconnected influences like The Mountain Goats and Nina Simone. I went back to the top and looked again. I typed Ctrl+F and put in “Thursday.” Nothing. This is preposterous. I may not be in the post-hardcore trenches the way I once was, but even I’d know a good Full Collapse homage if it swung a mic right into my face the way this one did; hell, just listen to “The Lost Ballad of Dominic Anneghi” and tell me singer Keziah Staska doesn’t know every single word of “Paris in Flames.” That may not look like flattery on a first read, but too often, bands striding the emo/pop divide have chased the latter into sub-Taking Back Sunday oblivion; what Thursday did was much harder, and Dreamwell has ably taken up the torch here. That they did it unintentionally is a curious, bewildering footnote.

Patrick Masterson

Paul Dunmall / Matthew Shipp / Joe Morris / Gerald Cleaver — The Bright Awakening (Rogue Art)

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It’s a bit perplexing that reeds player Paul Dunmall hasn’t spent more time playing with American musicians. He’s firmly situated within the English improvisation community, where he’s perhaps best known for his longer tenure with the quartet Mujician, and his ability to double on bagpipes has allowed him to establish links between improvised and folk music. But

his jazz-rooted approach makes him a natural to work in settings such as this one. When Dunmall toted his tenor to the Vision Festival in 2012 (even then, it could be costly to lug multiple horns on a plane), he found three sympatico partners in Fest regulars pianist Matthew Shipp, double bassist Joe Morris and drummer Gerald Cleaver. They all hit the ground running, generating a barrage of pulsing, roiling sound for over 20 minutes before the piano and drums peel off, leaving Morris to sustain momentum alone. Dunmall’s gruff, spiraling lines find common cause with each of his fellows, and the gradual addition and subtraction of players from that point makes it easier to hear the exchange of ideas, which often seem to take place between dyads operating within the larger flow.

Bill Meyer

Editrix — Tell Me I’m Bad (Exploding in Sound)

Tell Me I'm Bad by Editrix

Wendy Eisenberg’s rock band is like her solo output in that it snarls delicate, self-aware, mini-short stories in complex tangles of guitar, hemming in high, sing-song-y verses with riffs and licks of daunting difficulty. The main differences are speed, volume and aggression (i.e. it rocks.) and a certain communal energy. That’s down to two collaborators who can more than keep up, Josh Daniel on surging, rattling, break-it-all-down percussion and Steve Cameron, equally anarchic and fast on bass. The title track is an all-out rager, thrusting jagged arena riffs of guitar and bass forward, then clearing space for off-kilter verses and time-shifting, irregular instrumental interplay. “Chelsea” follows a similar chaotic pattern, setting up a teeth-shaking cadence of rock instruments, with Eisenberg keening over the top of it. “I know, perfectly well, that we’re not safe, safe from the men in power,” she croons, engaged in the knotting difficulties of the world as we know it, but winning.

Jennifer Kelly

Elephant Micah — Vague Tidings (Western Vinyl)

Vague Tidings by Elephant Micah

The new Elephant Micah album, the follow-up to 2018’s excellent Genericana, has an apposite title. Vague Tidings conveys an atmosphere of feeling conscious of something carried on the wind, a story passed on that may have shifted through various iterations, leaving only a sense of its original meaning. All that can be sure is that this is sad, sober music, unafraid to brace against the chill of mortality and speak of all that is felt. The instruments — guitar, piano, percussion, violin and woodwinds — move around Joseph O’Connell’s voice in stiff yet graceful arcs, distanced by an unspoken etiquette. Repetitive melodic figures, stark yet steady, gradually accumulate weight as they roll along like tumbleweeds. It’s a crisp, forlorn country-blues, in no hurry to get nowhere, carrying ancient wisdom that seems to acknowledge the empty resonance of its own import.

Tim Clarke

Fraufraulein — Solum (Notice Recordings)

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Fraufraulein’s music is immersive. Anne Guthrie and Billy Gomberg beam themselves, and us along with them, Quantum Leap-style directly into multiple environments in medias res. Through the clever employment of field recordings, they transport us to a hurricane-addled beach, performing a voice/piano duet as driftwood missiles careen through the air. In another “episode,” the manipulation of small objects conjures up the intimacy of a water garden filled with windchimes. Partners in both life and art, Guthrie and Gomberg are also consummate solo artists. He is a master of spike-textured drones, while she explores the intimate properties of physical entities. Like a child tends to resemble one parent while borrowing subtle traits from the other, Solum identifies more with Guthrie’s electroacoustic tendencies than it does with Gomberg’s electronics. This is in stark contrast to 2015’s Extinguishment, which felt a little more balanced between those two modes. Both approaches work, yet Solum feels more meticulously crafted and nuanced. Careful listening unveils multiple subtle tones and textures, and each piece is an adventure for the ears.

Bryon Hayes

Gerrit Hatcher / Rob Magill / Patrick Shiroishi — Triplet Fawns (Kettle Hole)

Triplet Fawns by Gerrit Hatcher / Rob Magill / Patrick Shiroishi

The album’s title implies a crew you wouldn’t want on your yard; while those adolescent ungulate appetites do a number on your bushes, the hooves are hacking up your grass. But if they knocked on your door, saxophone cases in their respective hands, you could do worse than invite them around the back for some blowing. Hatcher, Magill and Shiroishi present with sufficient lung power to be heard fine without the reflective assistance of walls, even when they aren’t making like Sonore (that was Gustafsson, Vandermark, and Brötzmann, about a dozen years back). This album, which was released in a micro-edition of 100 CD-Rs on Hatcher’s Kettle Hole imprint, builds gradually from restrained melancholy to pointillistic jousting to a climactic blow-out, and the assured development of each piece suggests that each player was listening not only to what each of the others was doing, but where the music was headed.

Bill Meyer

A.Karperyd — GND (Novoton)

GND by A.Karperyd

On his second solo release, GND, Swedish artist Andreas Karperyd broodingly ruminates on snatches of musical ideas that have been percolating in his consciousness over extended periods. Anyone familiar with his 2015 debut, Woodwork, will find these 55 minutes similarly immersive, as Karperyd manipulates live instruments such as piano and strings into shimmering, alien tapestries. Opener “The Well-Defined Rules of Certainty” appears to take Fennesz’s Venice as its blueprint, issuing forth cascading, percolating tones that tickle the ears. “The Desire to Invoke Balance with Our Eyes Closed” and “Failures and Small Observations” have a Satie-esque elegance to their piano lines, albeit refracted via a hall of mirrors. The 12-minute “Reminiscence of Tar” sounds like a slow-motion pan across the hulking mass of a shadowy space station. And closing track “Mummification of an Empire” slowly fries its piano in static, then unfurls wistful melodica and throbbing synth across the wreckage.

Tim Clarke

Kiwi Jr. — Cooler Returns (Subpop)

Cooler Returns by Kiwi jr

Kiwi Jr.’s brash, brainy indie pop punk vibrates with nervy energy, like the first Feelies album or Violent Femmes’ 1983 debut or that one great S-T from the Soft Pack. Those are all opening salvos for their respective bands, but this one is a second outing, suffering not a bit from sophomore slackening. Instead, Cooler Returns tightens up everything that was already stinging on the Toronto band’s debut and adds a giddy careening glee. An oddball thread of Robin Hood-ness runs through the disc, with Sherwood forest getting a nod in the title track and “Maid Marian’s Toast” tipping the love interest, but these songs are anything but archaic. “Undecided Voters,” the single jangles harder than anything I’ve heard since Woolen Men, slyly upending creative pretensions in a verse that goes: “You take a photo of the CN tower/you take another of the Honest Ed sign/Well, I take photos of your photos/and they really move people.” Has it been done before? Maybe. Does it move us. Yes indeed.

Jennifer Kelly

Kool John — Get Rich, Die $moppin ($moplife Entertainment)

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A year ago, Kool John was shot six times. Yet you wouldn’t know about it from the general mood of Get Rich, Die $moppin, his first tape since then. He does name one song “6 Shots” and explicitly mentions the shooting accident a few times on other songs, but his bouncy music says he wasn’t hurt bad after all. The beats perfectly match the rhymes, playfully ignorant and ignorantly playful. Kool John still doesn’t mix with broke people, doesn’t return calls if it’s not about money and “doesn’t get stressed out.” Instead, he gets high. His new tape is nothing groundbreaking, even though he’s pretending that is: “If I had no legs I’d still be outstanding.”

Ray Garraty

Nick Mazzarella / Quin Kirchner — See or Seem: Live at the Hyde Park Jazz Festival (Out Of Your Head)

See or Seem: Live at the Hyde Park Jazz Festival by Nick Mazzarella / Quin Kirchner

Perhaps the most remarkable thing about this recording is that the titular festival happened at all. While most festivals either canceled or went on line, Chicago’s Hyde Park Jazz Festival dealt with COVID by spreading out. Instead of big stages and indoor shows, last September it staged little pop-up events on sidewalks and in parks. So, if the sound of See or Seem feels a bit diffuse, it’s because it was recorded with a device propped in front of two guys playing on a grassy median. There are moments when the buzz of bugs rises up for a second behind Nick Mazzarella’s darting alto sax and Quin Kirchner��s brisk, mercurial beats. But the thrill of actually playing in front of some people (or actually being surrounded by them; when there’s no stage and social distancing is in effect, it makes sense to walk slow circles around the performers) infuses this music, extracting an extra ounce of joyousness from Mazzarella’s free, boppish lines, and adding a restlessness charge to the drumming, as though Kirchner really wanted to squeeze as much music as possible into this 31-minute set. This release is part of Out Of Your Head Records’ Untamed series of download-only albums recorded under less than pristine conditions. A portion of each title’s income is directed to a charity of the artists’ choice; the duo selected St. Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital.

Bill Meyer

Dean McPhee — Witch’s Ladder (Hood Faire)

Witch's Ladder by Dean McPhee

Finger-picked melodies cut through haunted landscapes of echo and hum on this fourth LP from the British guitarist Dean McPhee. Track titles like “The Alchemist” and “Witch’s Ladder” evoke the supernatural, as does the spectral ambient tone, reminiscent of Chuck Johnson’s recent Cinder Grove or Mark Nelson’s last Pan•American album. Yet while an e-bow traces ghostly chills through “The Alder Tree,” there’s also a grounding in lovely, well-rooted folk forms; it’s like seeing a familiar landscape in moonlight, well-known landmarks suddenly turned unearthly and strange. The long closing title track has an introspective air. Pensive, jazz-infused runs flower into bright bursts of notes, not quite blues, not quite folk, not quite jazz, not quite anything but gorgeous.

Jennifer Kelly

Moontype — Bodies of Water (Born Yesterday)

Bodies of Water by Moontype

Margaret McCarthy’s voice swims across your headphones like being on an innertube drifting languidly downstream. Typically, saying someone’s vocals are like water indicates a degree of timidity or laziness, obscured in reverb or simply buried by the mix, but on Moontype’s debut LP, it’s a compliment: McCarthy floats across the different styles of music she makes with guitarist Ben Cruz and drummer Emerson Hunton. You notice it not just because she often sings of water or because it’s right there in the title, but also because the Chicago trio hasn’t settled on any particular style yet — just listen to the three-song stretch at the heart of the record where achingly beautiful alt-country ballad “3 Weeks” leads into “When You Say Yes,” a sub-three-minute power-pop number Weezer ought to be jealous of, followed immediately by crunching alt-rock swoon and first single “Ferry.” All the while, McCarthy lets her melodies drift to the will of the songs. I’m reminded of recent efforts from Great Grandpa, Squirrel Flower and Lucy Dacus, but the brief, jazzy curveball of “Alpha” is a peek into whole other possibilities. Bodies of Water is a fine record, but perhaps its most exciting aspect is how much ground you can see Moontype has already conquered. One can’t help but wonder what sonic worlds awash in water await.

Patrick Masterson

Rob Noyes / Joseph Allred — Avoidance Language (Feeding Tube)

Avoidance Language by Rob Noyes and Joseph Allred

The 12-string guitar can emit such a prodigious amount of sound, and there are two of them on Avoidance Language. If Joseph Allred and Rob Noyes had planned things out in order to avoid canceling each other out, they might never have picked their instruments up, so they just started playing and listening. The result is not so much a summing of two broad spectrums of sound, but an instinctual blending of similar textures that ends up sounding significantly different from what either musician does on their own. Even when Allred switches to harmonium or banjo, as he does on the album’s two shorter tracks, the music rushes in torrential fashion. Their collaboration is so compatible that it often seems more like a recital for one big stringed thing played by one four-handed musician than a doubled instrumental duet.

Bill Meyer

NRCSSSST — S-T (Slimstyle)

NRCSSST by NRCSSST

There’s no “I” in NRCSSSST but there’s plenty of swagger. The Atlanta-based synth pop band, formed around Coathangers drummer and singer Stephanie Luke and Dropsonic’s Dan Dixon, taunts and teases in its opening salvo “All I Ever Wanted.” Luke rasps appealingly atop Spoon-style piano banging, and big shout along choruses erupt from sudden flares of synths. It’s all hedonism, but done with conviction. You haven’t heard a big rock song kick up this much fun in ages. “Love Suicide” bangs just as hard, its bass line muttering like a crazy person, unstable and ready to explode (and yet it doesn’t, it maintains its restraint even when the rest of the cut goes deliriously off the rails). Dixon can really sing, too, holding the long vibrating notes that lift these prickly jams into anthemry. It’s been a while since a band reminded me of INXS and U2 without sucking, but here we are. Sometimes guilty pleasures are just pleasures.

Jennifer Kelly

Zeena Parkins / Mette Rasmussen /Ryan Sawyer — Glass Triangle (Relative Pitch)

Glass Triangle by Zeena Parkins, Mette Rasmussen, Ryan Sawyer

Harpist Zeena Parkins and Ryan Sawyer have a long-standing partnership in the trio substitutes Moss Garden, a chamber improv ensemble with pianist Ryan Ross. But swapping in Danish alto saxophonist Mette Rasmussen brings about a change, not just in instrumentation, but attitude. She plays free jazz like a punk, impatient and aggressive, and Parkins and Sawyer are up for the challenge. This music often plays out like a battle between two titans, one blowing and the other pummeling, while Parkins seeks to liquify the ground upon which they stand. She sticks exclusively to an electric harp whose effects-laden tone is disorientingly alien, blinking beacon-like one moment, low as a backhoe engage in earth removal the next. The combination of new and old relationships promotes a combination of instability and trust that yields splendid results.

Bill Meyer

claire rousay — A Softer Focus (American Dreams)

a softer focus by claire rousay

In film, soft focus is a technique of contrast reduction that lends a scene a dreamlike quality. With A Softer Focus, claire rousay imbues her already intimate compositions with a noctilucent aura. She has created a dreamworld with sound. One glimpse at the glowing flowers that grace the cover art created by visual artist Dani Toral, with whom rousay closely collaborated on this release, and the illusory nature of the record is revealed. The reds, oranges, blues and purples of deep twilight are reflected in both the textures rousay weaves into her soundscapes and the visual themes that Toral conjures. Violin, cello, piano and synth are the musical origins of this warmth, which rousay wraps around environments crafted from the sounds of everyday life. She recorded herself moving about her apartment, visiting a farmer’s market, observing kids playing and just existing. These field recordings of the mundane, when coupled with the radiance of the musical elements, are magical. Snatches of conversation become incantations; auto-tuned vocals are the whisperings of spirits; fireworks explode into brilliant shards of crystal. With A Softer Focus, rousay takes a glimpse into the beauty of the everyday, showing us just how precious our most humdrum moments can be.

Bryon Hayes

Axel Rulay x Verbo Flow — Si Es Trucho Es Trucho / Axel Rulay (La Granja)

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Axel Rulay must be kicking himself right now. With more than three million plays on the original version and more than five million on the remix that adds verses from Farruko and El Alfa into the fray, the Dominican is cruising into our second pandemic summer with an unbeatable poolside anthem — and to think, after years of clawing his way up through the industry dregs, working to get his name out there, all he had to do was make himself the chorus over Venezuelan producer Manybeat’s 2019 tropical house trip “El Tiempo.” Presto: Massive visibility in the Spanish-speaking world and a song that ought to transcend any linguistic barriers unlocked even if the best I can manage is a title that translates as “If It’s Trout It’s Trout.” Expect that long-desired Daddy Yankee collabo to follow any day now.

Patrick Masterson

Rx Nephew — Listen Here Are You Here to Hear Me (NewBreedTrapper)

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Rochester rapper Rx Nephew trailed brother-turned-archrival-turned-back Rx Papi’s coming out party 100 Miles and Walk’in by just a few weeks with the 53-minute all-in proposition Listen Here Are You Here to Hear Me. Unlike Papi’s Max B-ish smoothness, Nephew is all rough n’ tumble through these 17 tracks, provocative pump action with narrative bursts of violence and street hustling delivered with a verve most akin to DaBaby or, in some of his more elastic enunciations, peak Ludacris. A recent Creative Hustle interview provides some insight: The first time he went into the booth, “I didn’t write anything. I just started talking about selling crack and robbing people.” The stories haven’t stopped since. If he can keep putting out music as engaging as Listen Here…, Rx Nephew is destined for more than just the margins; until then, we have one of the year’s densest rap records to hold the line.

Patrick Masterson

Nick Schofield — Glass Gallery (Backward Music)

Glass Gallery by Nick Schofield

Nick Schoefield, out of Montreal, composed these 13 tracks entirely on a vintage Prophet 600, the first synthesizer to designed to employ the then-new MIDI standard established by the instrument’s inventor Dave Smith and Roland’s Ikutaru Kakahashi. The instrument has a lovely, crystalline quality, floating effortless arpeggios through vaulting sonic spaces. Though clearly synthesized, these pieces of music resonate in serene and peaceful ways, evoking light, water, air and contemplation with a simplicity that evokes Japan. “Water Court” drips notes of startling purity into deep pools of tone-washed whoosh and hum. “Snow Blue Square” flutters an oboe-like melody over eddying gusts of keyboard motifs. The pieces fit together with calm precision, leading from one beautiful space to the next like a stroll through a museum.

Jennifer Kelly

Archie Shepp — Blasé And Yasmina Revisited (Ezz-thetics)

The Ezz-thetics campaign to keep the best of mid-20th century free jazz on CD shelves (yes, CD, not streaming or LP) breaches the walls of the BYG catalog with a disc that issues one and a half albums from Archie Shepp’s busy week in August 1969. Blasé is a stand-out for the participation of singer Jeanne Lee, whose indomitable and flexible delivery as equal to the demands of material that’s be turns pungently earthy and steeped in antiquity. But the rest of the band, which includes Philly Joe Jones, Dave Burrell, some harmonica players, and a couple members of the Art Ensemble, is also more than equal to the task of filtering the blues and Ellingtonia through the gestures of the then-contemporary avant-garde. “Yasmina,” which originally occupied one side of another LP, makes sense here as an extension of the raw, rippling “Touareg,” the last tune on Blasé, into exultantly African territory.

Bill Meyer

Juanita Stein — Snapshot (Handwritten)

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Juanita Stein was the cool, serene, Mazzy Star-evoking vocal presence in the Aussie dream-gaze outfit Howling Bells, and she plays more or less the same role on her third solo album. Yet she is also the source of mayhem here, kicking up an angst of guitar-freaked turmoil on “1,2,3,4,5,6” then soothing it away with singing, hanging long threads of feedback from the thump-thump-thumping blues-rock architecture of “L.O.T.F.” and crooning dulcetly, but with a little yip, in the trance-y title track. This latter cut reflects on the death of her father, a kindred soul who wrote a couple of Howling Bells songs for her and passed away recently. It distills a palpable ache into pure, distanced poetry, finding a cool, dispassionate way to consider the mysteries of human loss.

Jennifer Kelly

The Tiptons Sax Quartet & Drums — Wabi Sabi (Sowiesound)

Wabi Sabi by Tiptons Sax Quartet & Drums

Over its 30 years together, the Tiptons Sax Quartet has done less to hone its sound and more to figure out how many styles to embrace. The group (typically a soprano, alto, tenor, and baritone sax joined by percussion and even including some vocals) can dig into trad jazz but sounds more at home in exploration, adapting world music or other traditional American styles. The title of their latest album, Wabi Sabi refers to the Japanese concept of finding beauty in and accepting imperfection. The Tiptons, despite that sentiment, don't approach their play with a sloppy sound; in fact, they're as tight as ever. The understanding of impermanence and imperfection does help contextualize their risk-taking. When they turn to odd yodeling on “Moadl Joadl,” they find joy in an odd vocal moment that highlights expression and discovery over formal rigor. When they tap in New Orleans energy for “Jouissance,” we can connect the dots between parades and funerals, celebrating all the while. The whole album serves as a tour of styles and moods, always with an energetic potency. If it's more of the same from the Tiptons, that just means continuance of difference.

Justin Cober-Lake

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apr1cots · 4 years

Text

sadboy sirius pt 2

They didn't speak for three weeks.

That was the longest any of them had gone without speaking to one another since they had become friends, which made everything feel soberingly serious. No pun intended.

One time Sirius and James had gotten into a hotheaded argument about about who had the “most swoon-worthy hair,” and they hadn't spoken for ten days. After Peter and Remus locked them in a room together until they finally admitted that their hair was “equally swoon-worthy and just attracted different sorts of girls,” they sat side by side for 20 hours straight, just talking. They insisted that they be fully updated on all happenings they had missed, spending an indulgent 2 hours catching up on each day they hadn’t spoken. (Despite the fact that they had been in all the same classes and at all the same meals, just in silence.)

The three weeks that Remus and Sirius didn't speak were accompanied by a miserable Peter who hated conflict and a partially stressed, partially aggravated, and very confused James who just wanted to fix everything, even though no one would tell him what was wrong. The only thing James knew was that Sirius was more hurt than he let on and that he was only fronting as haughty and angry.

Remus was much harder to figure out.

He didn't speak to Sirius, but he wasn’t indignant or obvious like his counterpart was. Instead, he was removed and vacant, but not upset. He acted like nothing was wrong, but he didn't act like everything was alright either.

James was going crazy.

To top it off, as sixth years and as Marauders, it was their official duty to throw the epic Halloween bash they had been hyping up since last November, but that was difficult with the jagged division slicing their group up.

James spent every free moment running back and forth between his best friends getting their input and advice on how to coordinate this and that and assigning everyone their tasks. He was pretty close to having a heart attack to say the least.

The afternoon of October 30th, Sirius appeared in the common room, looking only a little bit like death and still carrying the chill of the tunnels to the village with him. He had a massive case of firewhiskey in his arms and a large bag full of chocolate frogs, licorice wands, and who knew what else on his shoulder. His eyes were darker and more daring than ever and he lacked the usual mischievous smirk that accompanied all Hogsmeade raids.

“Sirius?” James questioned immediately, “what’s all this? I thought we were going to the Village tonight?” he whined when Sirius was close enough to speak to privately.

Sirius just shrugged and continued towards their dormitory to stash the goods.

“Sirius? I was going to go with you. Not to mention, you’re just carrying that shit around where anyone could see it. How did you get it all during daylight hours and what in Merlin’s name would you have done if you'd run into a Professor in the castle?”

Sirius managed another nonchalant shrug despite his heavy load. “I had time this afternoon. And actually, I paid for the goods this time.”

James could do nothing but sputter in shock for a moment. “Padfoot! You’re underage for one and people there KNOW you. They know you’re supposed to be in school!”

“I threw a disillusionment charm over myself and then the alcohol once I was in the castle, Prongs. It’s fine.”

“Sirius!” James hissed in shock. “That’s illegal and you didn't have backup and we would've been perfectly safe tonight.”

Sirius’ mask of apathy neglected to change again. He dumped his bag and the crate on the floor by his bed and turned to face James briefly just to say, “Honestly James, I don’t give a fuck,” before collapsing on his bed and closing the curtains with a brief wave of his wand.

***

Halloween came on as Sunday as blustery as ever. The wind made the widows whine in displeasure and the rain relentlessly pelted the castle and the grounds. During an unusually late lunch, the ceiling of the great hall rumbled forebodingly. James was halfway through a rather large pumpkin pastie when he realized that Sirius wasn’t eating.

He looked even more miserable than usual, which was particularly odd, because Sirius loved Halloween. He considered it the precursor to his birthday, which he had grown to love since attending Hogwarts. Sirius always went a little over the top for Halloween, dressing obnoxiously in an attempt to win the (not so) little costume competition the Marauders had every year, trying to outdo his friends. He also usually drank too much and spent the whole night loving on everyone and everything in his most happy-go-lucky, tipsy form.

Now, Sirius sat on the bench next to his best friend with dark circles under his unfocused eyes and his chin resting on his palm. James had to nudge him three times before he reacted.

“Mate, you gonna eat?”

“‘M not hungry.” He grumbled almost indistinguishably. He hesitated for a moment, and James caught him glancing at Remus sitting across from them, but before he could say anything, Sirius had risen to his feet and started to detangle himself from the bench to leave.

“Sirius?”

“I’ll see you later.”

James didn’t know what to say, and by the time he had his bearings, Sirius had stalked off. James clamped his jaw, turning back to Remus who hadn’t looked up from the ancient, probably forbidden, book he was reading. “Remus, I don’t know what went on, but whatever it is needs to be resolved. I can’t stand this.”

Remus looked up and met James’ eyes with a very measured expression. “I don’t know what his problem is.”

Peter groaned from Remus’ side and made a face at James. “Let’s go discuss possible party pranks. This lunch has officially been ruined.” Remus and James followed him without any further discussion of their missing piece.

Sirius left the castle without hesitation, barely even pausing to wrap his robes more tightly around himself when the barrage of rain hit his face. He trudged down to the Pitch, which was abandoned due to the weather and the holiday. He quickly retrieved his broom, a practice bludger, and his bat, before yanking on his gloves. He quickly spelled the bludger to play him one on one, a spell that he’d discovered a couple of years previous during a period of major rage that James insisted he work out somehow.

He didn’t really register anything that happened after that. He spent what could've been minutes or days flying as quickly as possible around the pitch, practicing transitioning from full speed to a hover with a series of screeching halts. He almost fell off his broom too many times to count, sliding down the slippery wood in a manner that would've made any spectator’s heart stop.

At one point, his bat missed the bludger by a hair and it slammed hard and fast into his shoulder. Sirius went flying off his broom, catching it with his left hand at the very last second. He hung there panting for a moment, before the bludger took the opportunity to whip around and come back towards him. Sirius let out a string of curses, realizing simultaneously that he had left his wand sitting on the bench in the locker room (because he hadn't wanted to break it flying) and that he was moments away from losing his grip and falling to his probable death.

He summoned all of the magic that he could and threw up his hand in the direction of the rapidly approaching bludger, successfully freezing it in midair before it dropped straight to the ground. He had disabled the spell he had cast earlier.

Using the last of his physical and magical strength, Sirius managed to boost himself back on his broom. His left hand and his shoulder were in excruciating pain, but he gritted his teeth, taking one more prideful lap around the pitch before his feet hit the absolutely soggy grass. Mud splattered up his legs as he carried his broom and his traitorous bludger back to the locker room.

He cast a quick tempus, and let out a particularly sour curse as he realized he was late to his own Halloween party. As he headed back towards the castle he briefly thought about how he’d have Remus cast a couple spells on his bleeding hand and aching shoulder, since the werewolf was by far the best at healing spells. Then he remembered that Remus fucking hated him now. Stellar.

Sirius took four deep breaths as he contemplated the fat lady, trying to prepare himself for the scene he knew he was about to face. Finally, he said the password with a sigh, forcing his mask of nonchalance to encompass him once more as he stepped into the common room that was currently too much to take in. Music that he hadn't heard from the hallway due to a particularly strong muffliato, practically shook the walls.There were so many bodies that Sirius barely recognized his own living space. People danced and shouted to each other and sent spells and sparks flying in attempts to enhance their costumes.

Sirius stood immobile for less than a minute before James found him.

“Where in MERLIN have you been?” James heckled, already drunk.

Sirius just shook his head, grabbed the drink straight out of James’ hand and ignored the intense kick to his throat as he drained it in one gulp.

Remus didn’t see Sirius until he was incredibly far gone. He was raunchily dancing around the common room with a mostly empty bottle of firewhiskey held loosely in his right hand. His left arm hung limply at his side, and Remus could tell there was something wrong with it, but there was nothing he could say.

Everyone was talking to Sirius and trying to dance with him and get him to take another shot or do some explosive spell, but Remus could tell that Sirius was out of control. His eyes were blurred, his words slurred, and he was grinning like a maniac. Remus took a step back from the still amped up crowd to stand against the wall to breathe for just a moment. He wasn't totally sober, but he also had a supernatural tolerance for alcohol, so he was able to think much more clearly than his peers, and he knew no-one would notice him watching Sirius. For just a moment, he promised himself (again).

Sirius notoriously hooked up with people at parties, but he usually did it consciously, and that was certainly something he was not at the moment. Remus realized with an edge of alarm that a seventh year Rvaenclaw girl had started to corner Sirius. He was being pushed up against a wall and all too quickly, her lips were on his. No one noticed. Sirius hands remained at his sides, as the girl began to touch him all over, her hands running all over his torso and into his robes. When she pulled away from his lips to attack his neck, Remus saw that Sirius’ eyes were still open, and Remus could see the note of panic in them from across the room.

And no one was doing anything.

Remus continued watching with a sick knot in his stomach. Torn between his pride and his fear of actually speaking to Sirius again, and the panicking protective pull at his heart, he felt frozen in his spot.

Then, the girl started tugging Sirius by the wrist towards the common room exit, while he stumbled behind her. As soon as they were out of sight, Remus moved without even thinking about it. He darted through the crowd after them, barely breathing.

As soon as he left the sweaty, loud common room and entered the drafty, echoey hallway he heard the girl. She giggled seductive taunts, not seeming to care that Sirius offered nothing in return.

Remus cut them off.

“Go back to your house, and leave him with me.” The girl scoffed and visibly sized Remus up, but before she could say anything, Remus spoke again. “He’s drunk out of his mind, and is in no state to give consent. He hasn't even said a word to you. Leave him alone.” “That’s- that’s not true!” The girl insisted haughtily. “He kept saying saying something about the Moon or Moony or some shit like that. He’s perfectly capable of talking.”

Remus glared at her with such intensity that she was gone within seconds, and he was left to contemplate the bomb she had just dropped.

Moony.

Remus looked at his friend then, and almost lost all composure.

Sirius had dropped to his knees and tears were streaming down his face.

“Sirius….”

“She… she can have me, I don’t care. Come- come back, girl!” Sirius cried, registering everything minutes late.

Remus had never seen Sirius actually cry. He looked so utterly broken in that moment that Remus could do nothing but drop to his knees in front of his friend to wrap him in a hug. As Remus caged Sirius, head in his solid arms Sirius’ cheek thudded again Remus’ chest, his arms coming up around Remus’ back immediately. His fingers pressed against Remus’ shoulder blades in a steely grip.

Remus brushed Sirius’ wildly unkempt black hair out of his face, tracing the shell of his ear as he did so. “Shhh, Sirius. Hey, what’s wrong” he tried to soothe the crying boy.

“I- I i just” he couldn’t find his words.

“Sirius, I’ve got you it’s okay”

At this Sirius sat back in his heels, pulling out of the embrace, distress emanating from all of his features. “You don’t though, Rem. You decidedly don’t have me. You opted out of that.”

“Sirius… I-“ Remus’ voice filled with uncertainty. He didn’t know what to say. He stared hard at the ground.

“Remus, it’s okay.” At this, Remus looked up in shock. “I know why you don’t want me. It’s okay. I don’t- I don’t deserve someone like you.You should've just let me go off and have sex with that girl. Just like the other times. She-“

“Sirius, what do you mean the other times?”

Sirius’ face crumpled in shame. “None of that sex meant anything. It never has. I don’t… what you said before- it’s true. I do act like… like a slut and I do all of this drunk sex but… but it’s not because- it’s… I”

“Sirius….”

“No Remus, listen. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you feel like our kiss was stupid and meaningless and like that Ravenclaw girl. I didn’t even want to kiss her.”

“I know you didn’t.” “Remus. Our kiss wasn't like that. I wouldn't have kissed you in the tower if I hadn't meant it. If I hadn’t wanted it.”

When Remus didn’t respond, Sirius dropped his head heavily into his palms, his fingers curling to press anxiously into his forehead. Remus’ heart pounded dramatically in his chest until he felt that it would beat all the way into his throat. “Wh- what do you want, Sirius?”

Disheartened, and thoroughly embarrassed, Sirius didn’t look up, but Remus could hear him mutter, “you,” and that was all he really needed to give into the temptation throbbing in the hollow base of his neck. Remus leaned forward and reached out, finding Sirius’ jaw with a slightly shaking hand. At his touch, Sirius dropped his own hands and looked up, making electrifying eye contact with the boy kneeling in front of him. Without so much as a whisper Remus reached out with his other hand, to fully encompass Sirius’ jaw, before leaning forward to kiss him softly and slowly.

Sirius didn't hesitate. One of his hands immediately tangled in the hair at the nape of Remus’ neck, and as he rose to his knees to press his body against the other boy, his other hand wrapped around Remus’ waist, securing their torsos together.

Sirius tasted like alcohol and Remus tasted like chocolate and pot.

They somehow managed to stand up only breaking their kiss momentarily. Remus’ spectacularly long legs really kicked in then, and having to arch his neck and back ever so slightly to reach Remus made Sirius deliriously happy.

Sirius found himself stumbling backwards towards whatever wall was nearest as Remus gently pushed him, without ever pulling away enough for either of them to say anything. After an imperceptible amount of time, they stopped kissing.

Sirius didn't move his hands from the places they had claimed on Remus’ back underneath his shirt, but after a moment of just looking at each other, and before saying anything, they hugged. It was tighter and warmer than any hug Sirius had ever received, and it contradicted everything his mother had ever taught him, and he loved it.

When they pulled away they both spoke at the same time.

“You’ve been smoking pot without me?”

“You’re even smaller than you look, you know.”

Sirius gasped and sucker punched Remus in the arm, but Remus only grinned and shied away from the blow. “It’s been a pretty shitty few weeks and you didn't exactly seem up to sharing a blunt.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Well what about you? You didn't want to share a blunt either.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “You’re wrong, you know.” He shifted his weight forward, supporting himself with one hand on the wall by Sirius’ head. Sirius was quick to tangle his fingers in Remus’ other hand. He arched his back off the wall to kiss Remus again, and Remus indulged him for a moment, before pulling away to rest their forehead together.

“Sirius, can we talk?”

When he didn't let Sirius kiss him again, Sirius sighed and nodded and hurried off down a familiar corridor without a word.

#wolfstar #wolfstar angst #like very angsty #remus x sirius #sirius angst #sad sirius #harry potter #wolfstar fic #maurauders era #mother hen james #halloween #sirius black #remus lupin #kisses #wolfstar kisses

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justseveralowls · 4 years

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I’ve spent over 16 hours in two different ERs and I’d like to vent

CW: Doctors hospitals, chronic illness, incompetence, female hysteria, humiliation, mental health stigma,

What follows is my original post made on Thursday, there is a update as of today at the end and the news is not all bad. This is made to spread awareness talk about an issue I feel is way too often ignored and most importantly let other people feeling this they aren’t alone.

So. I have ehler danlos syndrome, celiac, endometriosis, fibromyalgia, and an (so far) otherwise specified seizure disorder. So basically I am a medical dumpster fire. Getting a or in my case several diagnosis has been a long terrifying and grueling for both me and my partner. We have enountered many doctors and nurses who were kind attentive willing to listen and knowledgeable about my Miriad of admiditally uncommon diagnosis. But today I am so incredibly hurt, frustrated, angry and scared and I want to put this out there because this is part of the many problems that chronically ill and disabled people face everytime they walk into a doctors office, emergency room or even out in public.

So I look sick, it’s obvious and it’s been obvious for a long time. I sit at around a six to seven on a pain scale most of my life, which sucks. I have chronic nausea and weight loss that makes me weak and thin in a sick way, which also sucks. But by far the hardest thing is hoe many people refuse to take my seriously. So today after three months on a waiting list I saw a gastroenterologist. I was scared, underweight, sick and tired. I wanted answers like always and let my partner drag me into a beige fluorescent room to try and make some sense. Overall the doctor was nice, but put heavy emphasis on my past of CPTSD from repeated abuse, and implied that my weight loss and severe gastrointestinal problems could be “just a side effect of my anxiety”. That was dehumanizing to say the least. Because I know I’m traumatized, I’ve sat in therapists offices and cried, I’ve pulled myself together, fought addiction and anorexia and I know that I’m healing. I know it’s his job to look between the lines but I also want to just have a chance to be understood, and not dismissed as a psych case.

Later today I had an episode of vomiting and loss of consciousness, over all not great stuff. So my partner in their amazing sense of love and compassion took me to th ER. Because that’s where you’re supposed to go when you’re scared, sick, hurt, in danger and don’t know what to do.

My experience there was by far the worst I’ve ever had. My vitals were highly abnormal (high pulse at rest, low BP, and low pulse ox). I was having neurological symptoms related to my seizure disorder and instead was given a barrage of tests that had nothing to do with why I was there, the condition I repeatedly told them I had, or the worrying vitals. So after two hours a head CT and useless blood work the ER doctor looked at me and my partner (who was forced to wait in the car in 94 degree weather) and told me I was fine and dehydrated.

I’m a nursing student, I’m new, I’m a novice at the most, and I have a lot to learn. But never could I imagine having a chronically patient, with abnormal labs and vitals with numerological involvement be given saline and discharged. My partner and I were terrified because we didn’t know what else to do. I needed help. I needed answers. I needed them to hear me. After me panicking my partner told me that we should try again. Because doctors are here to help us, and if your scared and there’s something wrong they took an oath to help.

So I called the nurse who was awesome, he went and got the doctor and I was ready to make my case. My partner at this point as well as me were terrified frustrated and close to tears. And this ER doctor after hearing our concerns, my history (with chronic illness and anorexia) proceeded to throw up her hand and as’ my partner “what they her to do”. This was shocking but sadly it doesn’t end here. The doctor proceeded to insist that I was fine and the situation was both non emergent and out of her hands. I responded in a passive way because at that point I was scared triggered and exausted. And I asked what she thought I should do”. And the words that came of her mouth hurt me and made more angry than any four syllables ever has.

“Psych referral”

Now let me something straight. I am a survivor, I am working in me healing, I am growing and changing for the better. I take my meds go to therapy and work everyday to get a little better. But this woman who obviously hadn’t read my chart which denotes not only my diagnosis, psychological history, and notEs from speacialists on the severity of my physical condition has just implied that I’m crazy. This was horrible but 8 could see how it would seem that I am overreacting but, due years of gaslighting, medication being forced on me to cover abuse and trauma, I hate being called that. It’s not a real term, nor does it help anyone, nor does it doing anything but make me remember the nights I spent wondering if that word was me.

In one visit, one person managed to dehumanize, humiliate dismiss me and maybe risk my life based on the fact that 8 wasn’t worth the time it took to read my chart.

It so incredibly weird to have to say this but I as a queer, gay, chronically ill, Latin person am in fact still a human being WHOS painand concerns deserve as much respect as anyone else. We all deserve to be helped and heard and people like this are one of the many reasons that I and so many others are scared to ge5 help, scared to tell the full story, or scared to speak up. This kills people. This is killing people. And this is why I in all my chronically glory and working so hard to advocate and move forward in medicine as a whole. Because nobody deserves that. Because I didn’t deserve to sit in an ER terrified and be told I was crazy. Because my partner doesn’t deserve to be dismissed and mocked for being scared. Because I nor anyone else have to prove I am sick enough or disabled enough to be worth someone’s time.

I hope anyone who reads this and understands even a little. Who’s been through it, whose family and partners have been through it know that this is not okay, that this not your fault, and that you are by no means crazy. That the people who make feel like burden or an annoyance are the problem. Because you deserve to be heard. I m hoping everybody’s doing okay, I’m hoping your journeys are treating you well. Because as always no matter who are, where you are and what you’re feeling you are not alone, you are worthy and I believe you.

***Update**

I later went to a larger hospital not in my home town, and through a long stay in the ER got a formal epilepsy diagnosis, given a anti convulsants drug, and overall treated like a human being. I now have contact with their epilepsy unit and have the tool and education I need to start this part of my chronic illness journey. I’m exhausted and getting used to knew meds but am highly grateful for the good doctors out there, the nurses who listen and the partner who was angelic enough to be with me through it all.

#mental health #mine #system speaks #personal #chronic illness #spoonie #recovery #coping #rant #vent #medical struggles #mental health support #ehlers danlos syndrome #actually epileptic

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nitewrighter · 4 years

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The Truth Has Two Faces Part 2

Amari Fam feels for #AmariAppreciationWeek!

Read Part 1 Here

----

The trek from the watchpoint apartments to the labs and administrative building had felt unnaturally long that morning, as if every step was offering her the chance to turn back to her apartment, or veer off to the training area in the hangar to blow off steam. She saw Genji meditating in his usual spot on the cliffs, Brigitte hunched over the popped hood of the watchpoint’s sole, miraculously still-running truck, but the watchpoint was never that crowded--not when a handful of Overwatch’s members were always off doing a mission in some far-flung corner of the world. Zenyatta, McCree, D.Va, and Tracer, noticeably, were gone, and the gap left by the orca filled the tarmac with a near-blinding morning light reflecting off the sea as Pharah went up the steps to the main building built into the rock of Gibraltar itself.

Satya was in the lab, talking with Winston and Torbjörn, and displaying a hard-light projection of the watchpoint with several areas highlighted in blue. Pharah wasn’t sure whether she was suggesting them as potential areas in need of refurbishment, or vulnerable points in Watchpoint security, but both Torbjörn and Winston were listening to her intently. Those gold eyes flicked to Pharah as she walked past, then flicked to the stairs Pharah was headed towards. Towards Athena’s primary server and the offices Jack and Ana had more or less requisitioned. Satya gave a nod, but Pharah wasn’t sure if it was to her or to something Winston or Torbjörn had said. She liked to think it was for her, but at the same time, too many words were running through her own head to dwell too much on it. She headed up that other flight of stairs and down a narrow hallway before reaching the room where Athena’s main server was. She could already hear Ana and Jack’s voices on the other side of the door. She took a deep breath before putting her hand on the panel next to the door. It slid open with a whoosh and both Jack and Ana cut themselves off at the sound, looking up at her from their own holo-table.

“Mum,” it felt a little odd to be saying it, the word felt heavy in the air, “Can we talk?”

“Of course--” the words came too quickly out of Ana.

“We’ll be back later,” Pharah said to Jack. He gave her a nod. With half of his scarred face illuminated by the glow of the holo-table, Pharah, like pretty much everyone else on the watchpoint, had to consciously remind herself that he wasn’t the strike commander any more. The truth was their contact had been pretty minimal since he and Ana had joined after the incident at Volskaya. Pharah assumed that was because she punched him in the face at her mother’s funeral, her mother who was walking toward her now. And now, since she had started out not wanting to talk to Ana, he probably had the good sense to keep out of it. Or maybe the search for Reaper was all that mattered to him. Either way, he returned his attention to the holo-table, and Ana kept a tight stoic face as she closed the distance between her and her daughter, but there was something vulnerable flickering in that one remaining eye.

She’s bracing herself, thought Pharah, Probably thinks I’m going to tear into her again.

And Pharah had to consciously tell herself that she wasn’t going to do that as they headed out of the office. Pharah also knew stress was speeding up the pace of her feet, as Ana trailed shortly behind, apparently trying to gather her words.

“Fareeha, I can’t tell you how much of a relief it is that---” Ana started but Pharah stopped walking.

“Just... give me a minute, okay?” she said, pivoting on her foot to look at Ana before resuming walking.

They walked on in silence, taking an exit out to the veranda overlooking the watchpoint, where Ana and Jack often talked when the offices seemed too cloistered. The morning was now brightening up into full daylight, but the yellow tinges of the golden hour still seemed to hang in the light off the sea. Pharah raked her fingers through her hair, the gold beads at her temples clicking.

“Okay, look...” said Pharah, “Here’s what this isn’t, okay?”

“What this... isn’t?” Ana started, her brow crinkling.

“This isn’t where we solve all of our problems and cry and hug each other, and everything is good forever,” said Pharah.

“...I... never thought it was,” said Ana, glancing off.

“There’s a lot to unpack,” said Pharah.

“I know.”

“A lot to unpack,” Pharah emphasized.

Ana just nodded and Pharah felt a heat rising in her chest.

“And I don’t want you to just...” Pharah sucked in a breath, “Lie down and take it and treat it like I’m just getting my frustrations out because that’s easier than actually looking at yourself. I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and even though I’m your daughter, I’m an adult. And I want you to treat this like just as much as you’re hearing it from a peer as your daughter. Yes, I am emotional, but I’ve also taken a long time to figure out what I want to say.”

A muscle twitched in Ana’s jaw at the thought. “Very well,” she said folding her arms.

“So, to start off, I shouldn’t have been avoiding you the way I was back when you first joined the Watchpoint. I was angry, and it was childish. I wanted to inflict the pain you put me through on you for that pain’s sake. It was wrong. And I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” said Ana. ‘I forgive you’ felt too condescending at this point. Obviously, like Pharah said, she wasn’t going to lie back and simply take it, but she also knew a lot of this was a long time coming.

“The truth is, I was also dealing with... a lot of frustration about why now, why finally now you decided to join,” Pharah leveled her brown eyes at Ana, her brow set with determination, “You only joined when you realized operating independently of each other made us liabilities to each other... if the situation hadn’t gotten as dire as it had back there, you wouldn’t have even come back with them, would you?”

That’s their mission. We focus on our own. Jack had said.

Do you think Fareeha’s with them? Ana remembered her own response. Emotional. Distracted. Maybe if she had focused more--no--that was her daughter. Her daughter who was in Overwatch. In Overwatch despite everything she had done. In Overwatch despite Overwatch literally collapsing. Why wouldn’t she wonder if she was there? Why shouldn’t she---? What would she have done if Fareeha was there?

“...I don’t think I would have come back, no,” said Ana.

Pharah’s face scrunched up. “This is what I’m talking about!” she said, bringing her hands up, “You keep acting like suddenly you were completely alone after losing your eye!”

“You never responded to my letter!” said Ana.

“You thought a LETTER was enough after letting me think you were dead for years!” Pharah snapped, “You wrote a letter because you’re willing to chase down terrorists all over the world, but you couldn’t face me or dad! And did you even hear yourself in that letter?! ‘The world thought I was dead, I thought that was for the best.’ ‘I’ve buried those closest to me.’ ‘I cannot stop fighting, not while people are waiting for me.’ Like I’m not close to you? Like I haven’t spent my whole life waiting for you!? It sounded like you had no intention of ever seeing me again, like you thought you were going to die in battle and there was nothing I could do to stop you! That’s a great letter to get after already mourning you!” Pharah was breathing hard but she caught herself. A bitter chuckle shook her breath. “And sure. Let me write you back. Where should I have addressed it? 1800 ‘Squatting-in-the-Necropolis’ boulevard?’ You were living like a post-apocalyptic wanderer! You didn’t want me to write back. You only wrote to relieve your own guilt.”

“Fareeha--” Ana started but her own voice trailed off. She never thought of her letter as something so callous, but she supposed, with how long she had gone since talking to Pharah, that such a breakdown in communication wasn’t hard to imagine. And getting the letter itself out was enough of an emotional labor on her own end--it took so much energy to come to terms with and articulate those feelings, it already felt so raw and vulnerable that it didn’t occur to her that it sounded like a final goodbye. And when she was already dodging watchlists from Volskaya and various other criminal organizations... why would she expect Pharah to be able to track her down, when Helix literally had wanted posters of the Shrike?

Another bitter laugh, more out of discomfort than any humor, shook Pharah’s voice. “You were in Giza. You had no problem tracking down dirtbags like Hakim, but I had an address. I had an apartment. You could have seen me at any time. You could have had a bed.”

“I would have compromised your work with Helix,” Ana managed, remembering her Shrike mask on wanted posters.

“No one would know! No one saw your actual face!” said Pharah, “You saw Angela. But not me. What does that tell me?”

Ana’s mouth was hanging open, her jaw shaking a little with no words coming out of her throat.

“Angela told you about that?” said Ana quietly.

“Before she left,” said Pharah, “She stayed long enough to see me back from Vancouver and make sure things were stabilized after the Talon attack, but she was already packing up.”

“Did you two talk often, when she was doing her relief work there?” said Ana, not necessarily trying to derail the conversation, but willing to take a bit more context as relief from Pharah’s barrage. She knew Angela had no small amount of resentments toward her as well, especially with the biotic rifle.

“She butted heads with me and my coworkers when Helix had to investigate a lead at the refugee camp,” Pharah huffed, “Tried to patch things up later, but we didn’t talk much after that.” Too painful a reminder of everything you blocked me from, thought Pharah, Too resentful of you and the organization herself, but playing diplomat for my sake. Giving me crap about you being proud of me when everything I accomplished was in spite of your efforts. She didn’t know you and she doesn’t know me. Pharah decided to leave out the part where seeing Mercy’s apartment also left too much of an uncomfortable association with Ana. A more academic version of Ana, but all the trauma and still-unpacked boxes all the same. Someone ready to flit off to the next big problem in the world if it meant not having to open up those boxes. Pharah was already tired. She was already so tired of saying all these things that had been percolating in her for years. “...for what it’s worth,” she managed to dredge the words up out of herself, “I’m glad she let me know you were there.”

“So you could further justify your grievances?” said Ana, already weary.

“...so I knew you weren’t dead,” said Pharah. Ana’s lips tightened. She kept forgetting that. Kept forgetting that Fareeha had fought her own battles, that the months of silence between them were filled with unsureness for Ana’s own safety, especially after a letter that told Fareeha that she was still fighting. She thought Fareeha’s resentment had shielded her from the pain and worry of their separation, but it didn’t. It only deepened that pain with anger and guilt. They both fought to relieve guilt over fighting. A serpent eating its own tail.

Ana glanced off. “With... with Hakim I didn’t want to put you in danger.”

“Mum,” Pharah pressed her fingertips to her forehead, “I was in special forces. I could handle it.”

Ana’s lips thinned. “I don’t think of you as a soldier. I think of you as my daughter. I never wanted you to see my fights as yours.”

“I know,” Pharah said quietly, “But... when you’re young, and your mom is off fighting, it’s... very easy to assume, ‘Oh, if I fight too, maybe I’ll see her.’ And being blocked from joining Overwatch... I couldn’t not take that personally.”

“I know we’ve gone through this before but... I didn’t trust myself or other members of the old strike team not to engage in nepotism--we did practically all raise you,” said Ana, “And I couldn’t stand the idea of you getting hurt, whether under my orders, or any of theirs.”

“I figured,” said Pharah.

“But you’re here now,” said Ana, “And... you’re brilliant. I haven’t been here long, but I can see that this is who you’re meant to be.”

“And I’m glad I managed to develop those skills outside Overwatch,” said Pharah, “...I don’t know who I’d be if I had everyone fawning over me, over who my mom is.”

“And you didn’t go down with the ship,” said Ana with a wry smile tugging at one corner of her mouth.

Pharah chuckled and scoffed a little. “But even back in Helix they still talked about you. It was easier... when I thought you were gone...” her voice got misty, “And I hate that. When you were gone, I just got to remember all of the good things, how much of a hero you were, but when you came back,” Pharah sucked a breath in through her teeth, “Everything you ever did that hurt me came bubbling up. I didn’t want to give you the luxury of being something you could pluck off the shelf and dust off and forgive yourself with.”

Ana winced a little at this. “And you didn’t,” she managed, her own voice clouding up.

“But... I don’t know how much more I could hurt you than you’ve already hurt yourself,” her lips tightened, “I love you, Mum. And loving you is so hard sometimes, because you give so much of yourself away that I never know what I’ll have left,” her breath hitched, her voice cracking a little, “And I wonder, sometimes, how many more times I’ll lose you.”

Ana cupped a hand to the side of Pharah’s face and Pharah squeezed her eyes shut at the warmth of her palm, a tear budding out from her dark eyelashes and running briefly down the line of her wadjet tattoo. Ana put her other hand on Pharah’s shoulder and Pharah caught her wrist, wary. Strong. Of course she was. But then Pharah’s hand brushed up Ana’s arm and Pharah slumped into an embrace, fierce and tight, yet so tired from the weight of her own words.

“And I was so afraid of losing you,” Ana said quietly, “That I pushed you away. Further. And further. And further.” She brushed a hand down Pharah’s back. “You were never something to be plucked off a shelf... but... my own memory kept freezing you in time. There is so much I blinded myself to in trying to protect you. In fighting for you. I blinded myself to you. Shored myself up against your pain as if it was my own. And... I can’t tell you how sorry I am for that. But we’re fighting together now.” A sigh escaped her, “And as much as that terrifies me...” Her fingertips pressed hard against Pharah’s shoulder blade, “I’m even more scared of not having you in my life.”

“I said this wasn’t where we cry and hug and everything is good forever,” said Pharah, her voice creaking.

“Don’t worry, ḥabībti,” said Ana, stroking a hand down the back of Pharah’s hair, “We still have so, so many problems.” Pharah huffed out a half-sob half-chuckle against Ana’s headscarf, and Ana pressed her face into her shoulder. “But I am so proud of you. And I missed you so much.” said Ana softly.

“I missed you too,” said Pharah.

Ana brushed a finger along the gold of Pharah’s hair beads. She remembered braiding them into Pharah’s hair back when the Omnic Crisis first started, telling her that it was the light of the sun and the flesh of the gods and that they meant no matter how far away she was, she would always protect her. But now, in her own Fareeha’s arms, Ana realized she felt safer than she had ever felt in years.

#ana amari #fareeha amari #pharah #Overwatch #overwatch fic #amari appreciation week #implied symmarah

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thanksjro · 4 years

Text

More Than Meets the Eye #5- Delphi Has a Two-Star Rating On Yelp

Issue #4 left off with some pretty raw dialogue from Fortress Maximus.

Now, that’s a lot of hot talk from a guy who looks like he’s wearing fairy wings. Hope you got some walk to back it up, Fort Max.

FUCK YEAH YOU DO HOLY SHIT THAT’S AWESOME.

And would you look at that! Got some familiar posing going on here.

Considering Fort Max just woke up from a years-long coma, and before that had spent three years under Overlord’s sadistic thumb, this sort of parallel might be cause for concern, but I’m sure it’s fine.

It’s fine!

After Fort Max comes down from his adrenaline high and stops cutting folks’ heads off with his titty flaps, Ratchet can finally address the downturn in Drift’s health, as he lays on the floor rusting to death. Turns out the two of them have a bit of a past, but we won’t be getting anything of substance out of that little detail, because Pharma’s decided to pull a gun on Ambulon.

He claims that Ambulon is the one who released the Decepticons from their cells, and that he’s most likely also the cause of the virus. Why? Because Ambulon used to be a Decepticon himself! Gasp!

Ambulon cops to having defected 10 years prior, which is that a long time for Transformers or not? It’s vague. Their sense of time dilation as a species is never actually addressed in canon.

Then First Aid pulls a gun on Pharma, saying that Pharma’s full of shit, because while Ambulon was busy being threatened, he rooted around in the Decepticons’ corpses and found something that shouldn’t have been there: their transformation cogs.

Then Ratchet reaches for his gun, demanding that Pharma switch to his alt-mode. When he refuses, that seals the deal on Ratchet’s theory- the virus doesn’t become active until after the infected changes their shape. That’s why Pipes and Drift are currently not-bleeding out on the floor after having been at Delphi for twenty minutes at most, but First Aid and Ambulon are perfectly fine.

I mean, fine outside of what’s probably equivalent to a major kidney infection being left untreated and turning into a leg.

C’mon, Ratchet, that’s the thing he’s sensitive about!

And then Rung comes out of nowhere and pulls out HIS gun-

No, that doesn’t happen.

What does happen is that Pharma shoots the life support machines and bolts, leaving the other doctors with twenty machine-dependent patients who will die without intervention.

Ambulon, on what fucking planet is First Aid not taking initiative? This guy’s done more in the last two days than you’ve probably done in the last year. Look at Ratchet back there, he knows how to properly appreciate a go-getter.

Fort Max runs after Pharma as Ratchet finally peels Drift off the floor and gets him into a bed. Drift, who’s pretty convinced that he’s going to die today one way or another, goes full sad cat and begs Ratchet to mercy-kill him, seeing as this is the planet the DJD base a majority of their operations out of, and the likelihood of Pharma being involved with them is looking real good right about now. The sprinklers have gone off, people are flat-lining, Ratchet disregards his own health and safety for that of a patient, transforming to give him a reboot, Fort Max comes back empty-handed because he’s too got-danged big to fit down the trapdoor Pharma went through, and the whole situation is really just the hugest mess.

Let’s check in on the Lost Light, shall we?

The boots are still real, y’all. Those goddamn fucking hooves come off, I’m telling you.

So, Tailgate’s come to a decision. Again. He wants to be an Autobot this go around, though, which sits a whole lot better with Ultra Magnus.

But why bother joining a faction now? The war’s over. Turns out, Tailgate’s feeling a little lonely, because no matter how successful you are, it just won’t fill the hole in your heart quite like being a part of a found family narrative does.

Magnus, moved by Tailgate’s openness and equally impressed by his positively ridiculous resume, agrees to help him prepare for the rite of Autobrand.

Of course, Magnus being Magnus, isn’t going to do this in any sort of half-measure; he’s going to go through the entire 10,000 pages of the Autobot Code, line by line, word by word, punctuation mark by punctuation mark, breaking it all down through multiple schools of thought to garner the deepest possible understanding of what it means to be an Autobot. Tailgate, though horrified by the prospect of so much studying, agrees, and a glorious two-man act is established.

Meanwhile, over in Rung’s office, the good doctor is ruminating on his history with one of his most prolific patients, Red Alert.

Red Alert’s been under Rung’s care since before the war even started, which seems to contradict issue #1’s claim that Rung was his psychiatrist for six centuries, but perhaps the case file got bounced around as Red Alert’s stationings changed.

Which doesn’t bode terribly well, considering Rung is, again, pretty much the only mental health specialist for the entirety of Cybertron.

Red Alert’s been diagnosed with Paranoid Personality Disorder, and it seems like it’s a pretty intense case, or at least it was before Rung got ahold of him. Red Alert had been doing better, and his military career had flourished as a result.

And then the war friggin’ ended, and it looks like the lack of routine- violence-based or otherwise- might be causing a bit of a backslide.

Red Alert’s been hearing noises, ones only he seems to be able to perceive.

Then again, he seems to have some pretty banging ears, so maybe he’s on to something.

The only problem is that where he’s hearing these noises doesn’t make any sense, because he’s hearing them under the basement, where there should be nothing other than the cold silence of space, according to the schematics of the Lost Light. It’s crazy. Purely crazy.

Good thing Red Alert recorded what he heard. Dude probably has a ton of experience not being believed, and knows the value of having evidence to back up your claims. He plays Rung the audio file, and after a bit of playback speed manipulation, they figure out just what that noise is.

Great, even the basement’s got major depression.

Back with Tailgate, it looks like Ultra Magnus has gotten a head-start on the study session, having knocked the little guy clean out with a precision strike verbal barrage of pure boredom. Tailgate nodded off during Magnus’ covering of section 19 of the Tyrest Accord, subsection 80, paragraph 5. This reminds Tailgate of when he met Skids and that giant yellow robot got all exploded.

Jesus, would you look at that shading. Ultra Magnus takes his literary references very, very seriously.

Back with the plague plot, Ratchet’s finally caught up with Pharma, who proceeds to tell him all about how he pulled off his big bad plan, in true villain fashion. Ratchet just sort of stands there and takes it as his eyeballs start melting out of his head.

Pharma is pretty much the only reason that Delphi hasn’t been wiped off the map by the Decepticon Justice Division, because he and the leader of that gang of murderous assholes have a deal- the DJD leave the outpost alone, in exchange for all the transformation cogs their greedy little hearts desire. The problem with this sort of deal is that in order to keep up his end of the bargain, Pharma had to start offing patients.

Of course, that sort of thing isn’t sustainable in the long-term, so Pharma had to orchestrate a way out, while still keeping himself out of prison for some of the most intense malpractice this side of Cybertron, so he called in a little help from some Decepticon nobodies and waved a little cash in their faces. He made a bomb, gave it to them, and they did what they were paid to do, spreading a illness that laid dormant in the liquidy stuff surrounding the t-cog until properly stirred by transformation. As Pharma tells his story, his face does the anime thing.

That’s how you know he’s SNAPPED!

Ratchet really just isn’t a fan of this new character arc Pharma’s got going on, but there isn’t a whole hell of a lot he can do about it now other than stand there and rust as his line art breaks down.

Though that actually works out in his favor, as the corrosion juices puddled under him during that whole spiel, enough so that they reached Pharma’s feet. Once Ratchet points that little detail out, Pharma panics, trying to jump out of the juice and getting clocked in the face.

Pharma said, whilst holding said vaccine in clear view of the man threatening him with a gun.

Ratchet doesn’t fire, because his hands are acting up- talk about poor timing- but Pharma doesn’t have that problem, onlining his built-in guns and shooting Ratchet, seemingly killing him.

Or not. It’s the return of the smiler, Ratchet’s vaguely creepy solid light avatar, best known for telling teenagers to get inside him and making mechanics uncomfortable.

The sight of this creepy little man throws Pharma off enough to allow Ratchet to tackle him, the vaccine flying out of his hands and rolling towards the edge of the incredibly tall portion of the outpost they’re currently on top of.

As the vaccine glowstick falls over the edge, Pharma, understandably, becomes furious, attacking Ratchet, though it doesn’t really work out for him too well. Guess that’s just what happens when your shut-in ass tries to tangle with a dude who’s been on the front lines for years now.

Ratchet, please make a fucking appointment with Rung, I’m begging you. This isn’t a healthy attitude to have towards yourself.

Because he got his arm stomped on real good earlier, Pharma’s on a timer for how much longer he’ll be able to hang onto the edge of the building, before he has to decide whether or not to risk transforming to save himself from impact with the ground, or just chancing being a neigh-indestructible space robot. Ratchet gives him a raw-ass one-liner, turning his back on the dude who has gun turrets built into his shoulder blades.

Luckily Drift hasn’t completely melted yet and managed to get up the ladder to the roof access just in time.

And thus the power of violence saves the day!

Ratchet’s avatar caught the vaccine as it was falling, because he’s just that good at multitasking, so it wasn’t lost at all, and they were able to save everyone from rusting to death. Even Pipes is okay, and you know how much Roberts likes killing that guy. Things are looking up!

Because Delphi’s been revealed to be pretty much the worst place ever, everyone is evacuated to the Lost Light, where First Aid will finally get the credit he’s due.

Suck it, Ambulon!

Ratchet figured out that First Aid sent the datalog that alerted him to the situation on Delphi, because he too is a giant nerd, and like recognizes like. The two lament the loss of the person Pharma had been, wishing they could have saved him.

Yeah, Ratchet, that sentiment goes a hell of a lot further when you don’t steal the man’s hands.

Like, I know he wasn’t using them anymore, but Jesus.

And thus the “Ratchet can’t do shit because his hands suck” arc draws to a close.

#transformers #jro #mtmte #issue 5 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing

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mommymooze · 3 years

Text

Group Wolf?

Felix is assigned a battalion

warning: foul language, fighting, war stuff, disgruntled swordsman

“No.”

Felix stands, adamant as an impenetrable fortress. He is a lone wolf. He works alone. He is not a babysitter.

The Professor is not one to be refused. They argue for quite some time. Felix refuses to back down. He fights tooth and nail, cursing and gnashing his teeth. At the moment he suddenly finds himself heading to the training grounds to meet his new Battalion leader.

He opens the door to find a corpulent figure dressed in leather and ringed armor loosely fastened over a green sleeveless tunic, heavy belt with a sword hanging to the left, black shorts and worn knee high leather boots standing back to the door, putting the last bits together of a training dummy. The figure stands about five and a half foot tall and looks to be 4’ wide at the shoulders, owing to arms and legs as thick as logs, dark hair everywhere. A long dark brown ponytail swishes left and right at the back of her head like a horse tail chasing flies. Tanned skin marked with scars far and wide having spent too much time outdoors and in battle shows beads of sweat associated with hard work. Byleth calls out and the figure turns ‘round. “Kat! This is Felix.”

Kat drops the hammer and throws her right mitt up, grabbing the Professor’s tiny and delicate right hand in a merc’s handshake while slapping the much smaller woman on her right shoulder, knocking her a bit off balance. “Lassie! It’s good ta see ya!” the matronly figure laughs.

Felix’s face looks like a fish out of water, his mouth opening and closing without a sound. This is a woman? The crone looks older than Manuela, probably close to 40 and has more facial hair than all the male students added together. Her cheeks have a dusting of thin dark hairs, she definitely has a mustache and a very thin beard on her neck. Her muscles put Raphael to shame.

Kat sets her eyes on the young male student. “Felix, eh? We’re goin’ to teach ya how to cooperate. How to work a team.“ She scowls at him, in return he gives the woman a disgusted look.

“Heard yer a lone wolf. Sometimes that works for a man, but yer gonna need ta figure out how ta play well with others. That’s where I come in.” She smirks, dark eyes piercing him like swords. “We’re gonna be joined at the hip for a while lad, so get used ta seeing my smiling face.“ She grins widely, offering her hand to the disgruntled swordsman for shaking. When he makes no effort to move, she grabs his right with her left and forces his hand to meet hers, shaking the hand and the rest of him heartily. Felix jerks his limb down, bringing his hand to a fist at his side while mumbling “disgusting” under his breath.

Kat looks at Byleth who is rolling her eyes. The small mountain of a woman smiles widely and gives a little wink. “Go on now with ya, we’re gonna introduce ourselves right properly here.”

Byleth snickers, leaving the training grounds. Kat follows her to the door, bars it from the inside, and turns back to the young noble. “Let’s see how well ya kin fight.” Marching to the stand of wooden training swords, she tosses one at Felix. His jaw is set, arms crossed, as he stands and frowns. Refusing to look her in the eye, he lets the sword bounce off of his chest and clatter to the ground.

---> x <---

Felix fights until he can’t hold a sword. If he doesn’t fight, he gets the crap beat out of him. When he fights, the swords or fists hit him less often. He’s battered, bruised, and can’t think of one spot on his body that doesn’t hurt. Still, she makes him fight. Still, she makes him move. Again. Pick up the sword, strike or be struck. Again. He can’t remember if 4 or 6 hours have passed. Suddenly the constant barrage stops. His eyes glaze over, his breathing is weak. He begins to collapse as she catches him and hefts him onto her shoulder, carrying him to his room like an old rug. She sets him down at the door, and he balances himself, then tries to slide in so he can slam the door in her face. A huge shoulder easily keeps the door blocked open. He grabs fresh clothes and she takes him to the baths. While he undresses, she runs the water and prepares the bath with soaps and oils. He is too tired to move. She finishes stripping him down and gently lowers him into the tub. Sinking in the water, that is the last thing he recalls of that day.

Felix wakens with a shock. He had slept. When was the last time he just slept? He can’t remember. There was not one nightmare. He hasn’t been that tired in a long time. He then recalls …her. He sits up, too quickly, his head spins, he winces as the pain causes him to fall back on the bed. He sighs heavily. Trying again, he rolls to his side, carefully placing his feet on the floor, sits up, cognizant of Kat’s eyes piercing into him.

“You’re staring. Get dressed, we have a busy day.” She turns around, looks back down at her notepad and jots a few more notes. She doesn’t look behind her as he makes a flurry of offensive gestures directed at the back of her head.

“You’re rude and stubborn. You’re also a big boy, you can dress yourself eh?”

Felix grunts, getting out of bed, to find everything neat, clean. His boots are polished and ready at the bed, soiled clothes set in the laundry, fresh clothes laid out. He grabs them with an exaggerated motion that painfully reminds him he is still sore from yesterday. He gingerly gets dressed. With every bit of strength he has left, which isn’t much, he storms for the door and heads out. Blasting down the hall, down the stairs, he heads toward the classrooms. A large arm wraps around his shoulders and he’s now heading to the dining hall. If his feet try to take him in the wrong direction, a hand in the back of his shirt lifts him from the ground and points him in the proper direction. Felix smolders angrily.

Brows furrowed, jaw set, the fuming male gets in line with his shadow queueing next. Grabbing a plate of eggs, bread & butter, and cheese, he slumps at a table. The behemoth sits next to him, placing an apple and a glass of milk next to his plate and a folded vellum with some powder. He raises an eyebrow, staring at the unwelcome additions.

“Yer a growing boy. Drink yer milk. Not an option. The other is to knock the pain down a notch or two.” A nod at his tray, she takes a bite of her eggs, waving at him to eat.

He glares at her. He should leave. Recalling the events of last night, he knows she will hold him down and pour the milk down his throat like she did the healing potions. He doesn’t need everyone staring at him here. Maybe he is a bit hungry. He eats quickly, starts to get up, hears a grunt, meets her eye and sits back down. When she finishes her meal, they clear the table and head to his first class. She leaves his side once he passes through the doors to the classroom.

“Who is your girlfriend?” Sylvain taunts the indigo haired man. The redhead is rewarded with a swift kick to an ankle that makes him yowl. He did learn a few new spots to inflict quick pain yesterday, may as well put them to use.

Class proceeds uneventfully. He manages to give several evil looks to the professor. At the bell, he knows ‘she’ waits for him at the door. There is only one exit to the room. Damn. He stomps out, she falls in with him as they head to the dining hall again. She leads him toward a table full of mercenaries. She slows to advise him, “These are my boys. You’ll greet ‘em properly. Noble or commoner, courtesy is free and expected.” The table of young men looking to be 16-30 years old boisterously greet the pair. Handshakes and introductions are exchanged, with Kat only having to give Felix one or two nods of encouragement. Plates of food are already there for the two that have just joined. One of the guys approaches Felix and puts a small jar on the table in front of him. “Name’s Roy. Heard ya like spicy foods. Enjoy.”

Felix’s eyes get a bit wide. “Uh, thanks” he mumbles. He opens the jar, the reddish brown powder smells like some kind of peppers, making his nose tingle. He sprinkles some on his stew. The teen observes the others as he eats.

The conversation around the table settles to a low roar. He wants to be anywhere but here. They are all talking to him. He feels exhausted answering their millions of questions about nonsense, favorite foods, worst foods, did you ever eat this or that, ever been to one place or another, what weapons have you used. Felix gives short answers to every question an elbow in his side inspiring him to comply. He gives a side eye glance at the beastly thing sitting next to him. He can feel her nod whenever he’s said enough to satisfy her. Why the hell does he have to know these people? Don’t you just point, they go, and that’s it? Giving orders, that is what commanding is about. He shakes his head. This is a waste of time.

Lunch is complete. The table is cleared by the battalion. They stand and look at Felix and Kat. She stands, informing the group as to their plans. “We got a bit of a chore before we can let ya go, come on.” The bear of a woman gets up and heads out towards the front gate. The company falls in behind the pair. Heading outside, they walk along the walls surrounding the campus. Following a well-worn path along the exterior walls where patrols monitor the grounds at night, they see a large uprooted tree. When it fell, the roots lifted a large mound of earth and created a hole in the stone wall surrounding the monastery making quite a mess. This breach in defenses needs to be addressed quickly.

Kat hauls herself up on one of the stones that have fallen from the wall. There must be 15 that fell loose, they are huge. Whole stones are at least 2 foot tall, three foot long and a foot or more thick, laying akimbo on the ground.

Kat directs her words at Felix. “A battalion is an amazing show of what teamwork can do ta get things done. One man, if he’s lucky, kin lift a stone. A team of ‘em can move mountains. You need communication, clear and to the point. Resolving conflicts. Problem solving, decision making, persuasion and influencing skills, rapport, reliability and recognition. No prob, eh Felix? Since I’m in a good mood, I’m gonna start ya off.”

She addresses the battalion. “We need the stones moved and stacked here.” Kat walks to a spot, shoves a stick in the ground that is about 20 foot from the wall and to the right of the toppled stones.”

“We gotta fill the hole left by the fallen tree. That’ll keep patrols from falling and breaking somethin’ when they’re policing the walls at night. If there’s time, we need to get the fallen tree away from the wall so there’s room to maneuver.”

Felix is hauled up onto the rock as Kat jumps down. “You get to tell us what to do and how to do it.” She folds her arms across her chest and stares straight into his eyes.

The young man stands there dumbfounded. What the hell does all of this have to do with fighting? Why is he even here? He wants to jump down and run. His mouth is getting drier by the second and his fists begin to shake.

A merc with sandy brown hair sticking out of a flat cap tips his head up. “Oy. We’re all here mate. We can help, just ask. We’re a team ya know.” Nods and grunts of agreement surround him.

“Who has done this before?” Felix hears his voice croak. He calls out to the 2 that answered to give their account of how the job was completed. He starts to catch his breath. He asks the group again, any other suggestions? One of the men suggests keeping people that are really short together and really tall together, makes for better lifting. Felix feels his hands relax, he nods. His glance flits to her. She is bowing her head and nodding.

“Those are great ideas. Useful information. Uh. Anything else?” he coughs.

One man raises a shovel, the end of Felix’s mouth curls up a bit. “What tools do we got here?” A count of shovels and axes is provided as well as a smaller wagon and some ropes in the inventory.

Felix starts dividing them into teams. He gets the best axe users separated from the best with shovels and the best in heavy lifting. He begins sending them out. “Axe users, clear up the area the stones are to go to. Make a clear path. Knock those roots off then start on lower branches.”

Felix stands at the stones. Lifters are in 2 teams of 4, 2 front 2 rear. “You 4, carefully move the top stone, let me know if anything shifts.” They are able to get the stone free from the pile and a couple feet away, but it’s difficult to make any distance. Felix calls a couple axe users over. He has the front 2 lift, they can get an axe handle under the stone and with 2 more in the center lifting using the ax handle to support the weight in the center of the stone, and allowing those two to stand farther out so they’re not arms and legs all over each other. On the count of 3 they lift, and the small team readily moves the stone to the destinated clearing that is now ready. Felix grins, then catches a look on Kat’s face, she’s mouthing “thank you.”

“Great job men. Well done. Take a minute to breathe, get the next team ready.” Felix awkwardly says. He heads back to begin again. When they’ve cleared the immediate area, the first team is ready to start on the next block.

Felix orders the shoveling workers to begin to fill the hole closest to where the stones lay, making it easier to access the rest of the fallen wall and make better stepping ground.

Felix sets the axe wielders working on the high point of the root ball of the prone tree. They work together and plan to knock the roots off and dirt, lessening the weight at the base of the tree and freeing more dirt for fill.

The academy student runs between units, helping lift here, steadying there, helping stomp a shovel in the ground, making sure the teams keep clear of each other, are aware of their surroundings. He thanks them with a slap on a shoulder a nod, a word. He stops a stone lift in progress, hearing something shift. The group stands back as a stone that was still wedged between others 10 feet up the wall, falls to the ground where they had been standing. Worried smiles and grateful thanks are shared for a moment, then work resumes.

Kat begins sorting the broken stones while the larger ones are moved by teams. She tossed smaller chunks in holes as fill, carrying the ones that could be reused to the end of the neatly stacked rescued wall blocks.

“Hey Felix!” hollers a merc with a scar cutting through the left side of his face, he’s Vaughn, right? “We’re done with the stones.”

“Great job,” Felix remembers to say on his own, no reminder needed.

The swordsman eyes the tree. It is very thick at the base, but as it had grown, branches grew out on the side away from the wall. He discusses with the axe wielders the best place to cut the trunk base from the rest of the treetop, what branches have to go so the remaining trunk can be rolled over to give the needed room for patrol runs. Those that are not chopping are dragging away the freed branches to make room to work and keep the path clear. The huge stump is ready in no time. All hands together, they roll it far from the wall. The ground behind is nearly flat except for where they run out of earth to fill the hole. They drive some branches in the ground about 3 or 4 feet tall making a fence around the pitfall to prevent any injuries.

Kat holds her hand out and Felix grabs it, accidentally feeling a smile on his cheek that he has to fight back down to a more neutral position. Kat whoops heartily and the battalion joins in with thanks, waves, slaps on the back, and claps on shoulders, as each is recognized for their work.

“Tank, finish the clean up, gotta get our student back ta class” The battalion leader says as she gives him a firm hug and ruffles what little black hair he had on his head. Major tasks are accomplished in a short time. Not unlike a mountain being moved.

The two walk alongside each other toward the gate leading back into the Monastery. “If I was yer teacher, I’d give ya a B+. I thought you were gonna stand up on that rock and turn to stone yourself for a minute there. I kin tell you’re not much on communication. Talking and listening. Lemme try to tell ya in a way you can connect it. Say you’re fighting another sword slinger. He’s coming at ya. You’re watching his style, how he’s holdin’ himself. How he moves is talkin’ to ya. He’s telling ya how he’s coming, where he plans to hit. Yer anticipating what he’s gonna do. Then he feints, dodges, pulls back and whips it to a backhand twist. You react, you change yer plans, tell yer body to adjust so yer eyes shift, hand takes a different grip, feet move to shift your weight to counter and set your attack. You’ve been waving that sword so long you don’t think about that any longer, you just react.

“Your battalion is another weapon. One you haven’t used before. Gotta learn how to wield it. Think of it as a man and his sword. To get them to move, ya talk to em. Figure out how best to work em, how hard to push, keeping it in balance. Use em to protect ya from danger, take out enemies. Mold ‘em into the tools that are gonna get the job done. When you’ve worked with ‘em long enough, they know what ya want, anticipate it.”

They have arrived back to just outside the classroom. She slings an arm around him in a half hug. “Ya done okay boy. Come meet us in the dining hall after class.”

Felix walks in, catching the professor’s eye with a smug look on his face as he gives a fist pump. Byleth’s head tips back and her eyes go a bit wider.

After class, he meets his battalion in the dining hall. His plate is already there. He checks with Tank, “Cleanup go okay?” The merc gives a nod and thumbs up with one hand as he is holding a turkey leg to his mouth with the other. The swordsman can’t help himself and asks several of the men in the battalion if they want to spar. A few guys accept the invite, but tonight they are drinking. They invite him to town to join them, and he will soon, just not today.

Once the student finishes his vegetables, Kat lets him head to the training grounds. She brings one of the mercs with her to find him sparring with Dimitri. Once the students have finished their rounds, Kat pulls Dimitri over, and Roy heads to Felix.

“Hey blondie, lemme show ya a few tricks to take down the porcupine over there.” She says slapping the prince on the shoulder.

“What? Who the hell’s side are you on anyway?” Felix snaps angrily.

“Whadda ya mean what? Yer gonna learn how to counter it, I’m keeping ya on yer toes boy.”

Roy grabs a training sword. He’s a bit taller than Felix, with short brown hair and brown eyes. They square off. Roy goes in for the first attack. He’s nowhere near as smooth as Felix, but he’s got a lot of strength behind his hits. “Do your worst, and I’ll pay ya back.”

The indigo haired student does not hold back. Roy and Felix go at each other for nearly an hour. Felix has the finesse, but Roy has guts and determination. Roy finally yields with a sword at his throat.

Standing up, the prickly victor bends over and grabs his gut. “You kicked the crap out of me. Damn.” He laughs.

Roy has caught his breath. “Use all that ya got, there ain’t no rules when you’re fighting for your life.”

Kat hands out a couple vulneraries. Dimitri excuses himself as he has other duties to attend to. He doesn’t escape without getting a handshake, a thanks for the workout, and a pinch on his cheek. “See ya, cutie pie.” Kat grins.

The student helps his former opponent off the ground. They shake hands and share thanks. The merc heads out, going to town to join the group for drinks. He shakes his head as he gets no takers.

Kat invades Felix’s space, taking control his life for well over two weeks. Every day they have a new project to complete, every day he sits next to a different member of his battalion and every day he spars with someone else. Sometimes they teach him new techniques, sometimes he is teaching them. He knows all of their names, where they are from, what are their talents. His entire free days are spent with them.

Kat guides him, pushes him to work on building the team, getting them all together in the same mindset. Stressing the need to be able to rely on each other. It always goes both ways. Felix is instructed on persuasion and influencing. One cannot simply order someone to do things differently, you have to explain the why and how it benefits them, generally and directly. After meals she pulls him aside to discuss rapport building and listening. Everything is based on communication.

After sparring she marks battlefields in the dirt of the training grounds, pointing out scenarios for the best use of the battalions, and when not to use them. What tactics give advantages. Gambits, useful for them as well as for you, can give you time to observe the battlefield and adjust your strategies. All the time she is touching Felix. Patting him on the back, on the head, messing up his hair punching his shoulder. He notices one day that he doesn’t flinch at it any longer. He expects it, and he would never tell another soul, but he looks forward to it.

Felix really learns how to listen. Not only to what they say to him, but what is said to Kat, how it is done. The group relies on her to keep them together. Some of the guys even call her mom or ma. She’s not their mother, but takes care of them like one. He even asks her why she lets them do it. She explains that this is her family and wouldn’t have it any other way. She loves them all, and they belong to her and she would do anything for them, they would do the same for her. Life’s too short to be holed up in a room or being off by yourself all the time.

The day has come. Felix and his battalion are ready for battle. Demonic beasts have been spotted outside the monastery walls and he goes out with the Professor and the Blue Lions to defeat them. Kat puts an arm around the swordsman, telling him he’s ready to do this. They run out to the woods to battle.

Before he would have run straight out to the beast himself, taking it on alone if he had to, but today is different. He has his battalion that he is responsible for, an extension of himself, a weapon at his disposal to be used properly and not ignored. He sends them forth in a gambit at the beast, sending the monster into mass confusion. As his team gathers back, preparing for another attack, he strikes the beast on his own. He is shocked at the cheers and encouragement coming from Kat and his men. It is inspiring and reassuring. A couple rounds later he sends them in again for another gambit. This gives him the opportunity to survey the remainder of the battle area. He and his men strike the beast a final time and it falls. He’s already leading them further down field to take on a knight with his own battalion surrounding him. Felix calls out to individual members of his group, getting the placement of his fighters best matched against the enemies. Their movements together work smoothly, the swordsman is reaping the benefits of working together with these fighters for weeks, knowing their abilities and weaknesses like his own. They plow through the battlefield as one, bringing down the enemies quickly.

When the battle is over, Felix is congratulating the team, handshakes, slaps on the back, everyone rewarding each other with reaffirming touches and positive energy. Kat has the biggest grin on her face as she hugs him until he almost can’t breathe.

“Yeah, you can be a lone wolf, but there is nothing quite as awesome as running with the pack.”

Felix puts his arm around her in a half hug. “I never thought I’d say this, but you’re right.”

#fe3h #feth #Fire Emblem Three Houses #felix hugo fraldarius #fe16

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ohgodwhy151 · 4 years

Text

Ereannieweek2020!

You’d think being in quraentine would give you plenty of time to write but alas I was wrong. Either way, enjoy day one!

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

Birthday/Celebration

“What do you mean you have no idea? It’s tomorrow!” Ymir scoffed. “How does this happen every year?”

Annie swallowed the anger and embarrassment that rose in her throat and sighed heavily. “I’m asking for your help, if you’re gonna be an ass I’ll go ask someone else.”

Ymir leant back in her chair and threw her arms up. “Okay, okay. Since you asked so nicely. So. What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing,” Annie groaned. “That’s the problem.”

Resting her head on her hands Ymir hummed loudly. “Couldn’t go wrong with dinner, a movie and some drinks.” She shrugged.

“It’s not exactly a good birthday present is it.”

Ymir furrowed her brow. “I thought it was your anniversary.”

“It’s both. We got together on his birthday.”

“So it’s doubly important.”

Annie nodded. “So I want to make it… special.”

“Special or special?”

Blood rushed to Annie’s cheeks. “S-special I guess.”

“You’re not giving me a lot to work with.” Ymir sighed. “If it were Historia I’d walk up to her, pick her up and-”

Cutting her off Annie got to her feet. “I get it.”

“Just saying, some people like it when the other one takes charge.”

“That’s what you get for going to Ymir for advice.” Jean said as he cleaned the counter of his bar.

Annie let her head fall on the counter. “I just thought since she always does those big romantic gestures for Historia she might have some ideas.”

Jean shrugged. “She probably wants to keep those ideas secret. Besides you don’t need to do anything big like that. Eren’s head over heels for you.”

“I just don’t want him to think I don’t care or whatever. I want to do something nice, something really nice.”

“Knowing Eren,” Jean smirked. “He’d be happy spending an entire day sparring with you.” He scoffed. Taking a moment Jean stood to his full height and looked around the bar. “Listen, if it means that much to you then I can close early on a ‘random’ night for ‘maintenance’ or something and give you two some space.”

Picking herself up Annie shook her head. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

With crossed arms Jean offered her a warm smile. “The offer’s always there, I know you’re not a massive fan of big parties so this place is all yours if you need it.”

“Why are you being so nice?” Annie asked with narrowed eyes.

“It’s Eren’s birthday,” Jean shrugged. “Consider it me being nice.”

As she gathered her things Annie mirrored Jean’s smile. “Thanks, I’ll make sure not to tell Eren.”

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

“So let me get this straight. You want me to plan a special not-party for Eren.” Reiner gawked as he sat down at his kitchen table.

Annie rubbed her eyes. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m asking for… advice.”

Ignoring his friend Bertholdt cupped his chin. “You have a venue, so to speak, so what did you have in mind.”

“I’m not sure, Ymir usually does these big gestures but that isn’t me.”

Bertholdt smiled. “How many years have you two been together now. Five years?” Annie nodded. “I think this is a good opportunity to have a talk.”

“A talk? Are you pregnant?” Reiner interrupted.

Doing their best to ignore him, Bertholdt and Annie sighed. “I’m talking about your future together.”

“F-future? We already live together.”

“I’m thinking a little more in the future.”

Reiner groaned. “Are you talking about kids or not?”

“I’m talking about marriage!” Bertholdt snapped. “I think you should propose.”

Annie’s cheeks turned a deep red too fast for her to hide the rising blush. “Propose? What are you talking about?”

Reiner hummed. “No, he’s right. You should. It would be a great birthday surprise.”

“We’re not talking about a birthday surprise, we’re talking about marriage.”

Standing tall Reiner grinned. “You’re not saying no.”

Annie looked between her two friends. “Getting married I… I never really thought about it.”

Bertholdt shrugged his shoulders. “Think about it now then. What do you think?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Do you love him?” Bertholdt asked.

Annie nodded.

“Do you like living with him?”

Annie nodded again.

“Do you want to be with him long term?”

Once again Annie nodded.

“So,” Bertholdt said with a deep chuckle. “Do you want to marry him?”

And Annie nodded.

-----------

Annie stared at the rings in front of her with no idea what she was looking for, she was surrounded by shelves stacked with gold and silver, she was flanked by rows of gemstones to the point where Annie could feel herself getting dizzy. She was silently begging for someone to come and ask her if she needed help.

“Annie? What the hell are you doing here?”

Turning on her heels Annie felt relief immediately flood through her body. “Hitch,” She sighed. “I’m… shopping.”

“For what? You getting married or something?” Hitch snorted.

Annie shrugged. “Maybe.”

Hitch froze in place, as if a bolt of lightning had struck her. All she could muster in response was a stuttered, “W-what?”

“I’m going to propose to Eren.”

“You?”

“Yeah.”

Hitch pushed her hair back. “Like down on one knee and everything?”

“That’s the thing,” Annie shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”

Before answering Hitch pulled out her phone, typed a number and held it to her ear. “Marlow, we’re gonna have to cancel lunch,” She paused. “Something came up, something big.” She paused again. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

“What are you doing?”

“Dropping everything to help you get married, isn’t that obvious.”

After that Hitch attached herself to Annie, together they scoured each and every ring, band and stone. Annie was worried that she would quickly become overwhelmed and exhausted but Hitch’s seemingly endless supplies of energy and optimism kept them both going.

“See, I think you want to go for a green stone, it’d match his eyes. Then you could get a blue one for you.” Hitch explained.

Annie blinked back her surprise. “You’ve put a lot of thought into this haven’t you?”

“Of course I have! If I plan my best friend’s wedding it’s perfect practise for when I get married. And I want you to have a perfect moment.”

“Thanks, I think.”

Hitch shook her head. “You can thank me by making me the maid of honor and throwing that bouquet my way.” She said with a wink.

The two of them spent what felt like hours going around various stores with Hitch taking the lead while barraging each and every employee with a seemingly endless list of questions. During one of Hitch’s interrogations Annie’s eyes wandered to a shimmering, icy blue stone fixed between two weaving silver bands. Reaching over she grabbed Hitch’s shoulder.

“I think I found it.”

Following her friend's gaze Hitch hummed. “I thought you were going to get him one that would match his eyes.”

Annie shook her head. “I’ll get him one that’ll match my eyes and I’ll have one that’ll match his.”

For a moment Hitch was stunned silent. “That's… actually a really good and romantic idea. Who are you?”

Annie couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she looked back to the topaz stone.

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

After buying the rings Annie could suddenly feel the weight of her decision looming over her shoulders with each step. As she walked back to the bar a seed of doubt planted itself in her chest and with each step it grew and spread through her entire body.

“What if this is too much?” She whispered to herself. “I’m just assuming he’ll say yes.”

For a moment she considered returning the rings and calling the whole thing off. As she was about to turn back Annie allowed herself to think of the future, of her future with Eren. When the two of them were together Annie felt like she could do anything, her insecurities and worries vanished in his warmth and confidence. As hope swelled in her heart Annie took a deep breath and reached for her phone.

“Eren, are you busy tomorrow night?” She asked with all the strength she could muster.

“I mean it’s our anniversary so not really.”

Annie rolled her eyes. “And your birthday.”

“Yeah but that’s not as important.”

Eren could hear her smile as she responded. “Either way, be at Jean's bar tomorrow night at seven.”

“Have I done something wrong? Why are you taking me to Jean’s?”

Annie bit her lips as she calmed herself. “Just be there. I’m staying with Hitch tonight. I’ll see you there.”

Once she hung up Annie let out a shaky sigh before making her way to Hitch’s home.

-----------

“So what’s your battle plan?” Hitch asked as she handed Annie a steaming mug of coffee.

After thanking her friend Annie hummed. “I’m not sure, getting down on one knee seems-”

“Cliche, I get it,” Hitch interrupted. “Given your… attitude I’d go for something straightforward and simple.”

Annie narrowed her eyes. “Simple meaning?”

“Take out the ring and ask him to marry you.” Hitch shrugged.

“Very simple then.”

Hitch shrugged. “You gotta think about Eren here as well so yeah. Very simple.”

“Doesn’t sound very romantic.”

“It doesn’t have to be romantic,” Hitch explained. “It just has to be special and that’s different for everyone. If you open up to him then I’m sure he’ll understand what you want.”

Annie sighed. “That sounds difficult.”

“With other people? Sure, you struggle,” Hitch said as she sat next to her friend and rested a hand on her shoulder. “But Eren’s different. Normally I wouldn’t say this to you, but be yourself.”

“Thanks… I think.”

“You’re welcome!”

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

The wait outside the bar felt like it would last forever as Annie poorly attempted to calm her shaking hands. She wasn’t sure if it was the cold, nervousness or excitement but Annie knew she was ready.

“Ann!” Looking down the street Annie watched as Eren ran towards her. “Sorry I’m late.”

Annie offered him a thin smile. “You’re here now,” She said, pulling him down by his collar to kiss his cheek. “Happy birthday.” Taking his hand in hers she led him inside while clutching the rings in her other hand.

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

Once inside Annie reminded herself to thank Jean once she got the chance. The place was completely empty, the normally bright lights were dark, replaced by a series of candles that spanned the length of the bar and around each table.

“I… like what Jean has done with the place but don’t tell him I said that.”

Annie giggled. “Don’t worry, he’ll never know.” She said, taking him to the bar and sitting down.

“So what are we doing here?” Eren asked as he sat next to her.

Still holding his hand Annie took a deep breath “I wanted to go somewhere quiet. Somewhere we could talk.”

“Talk about what?”

“Our future.”

Annie felt Eren go tense. “Good future or bad future?”

“Good, I hope.”

Eren sighed. “Okay, since it’s my birthday could you be a little more clear, you had, or still, have me kinda worried.”

“I’ve been talking to everyone,” Annie explained. “I was wondering what to get you for your birthday and our anniversary. I wanted it to be special. Ymir said I should take charge, Bertholdt and Reiner helped me figure it out, Hitch helped me plan it out and Jean gave me a venue. They all helped me figure it out.”

“Figure what out?”

“What I want. From you, from this relationship,” Annie said as she reached for the ring. “I want to marry you,” Once again Eren tensed up, as if his blood and frozen in his veins. He remained still as Annie revealed the shimmering blue stone and woven metal band. “Are you going to say anything or have you finally run out of things to say?” Annie asked with a nervous laugh.

Eren swallowed the lump in his throat. “You asked first?”

Annie nodded. “Yeah, like I said everyone helped me figure it out.”

“I guess I should thank them.” Eren said, his eyes still fixed on the ring.

“Even Jean?”

Eren’s eyes widened. “Yeah,” He sighed. “Even Jean.”

“You know you still haven’t technically answered.”

With shaking hands Eren held out his hand as Annie put the ring on his finger. “Is that a good enough answer?”

Annie felt her heart swell as she nodded. “Although I have one last question.”

“Anything?”

Annie laughed. “Are you okay with Hitch planning our wedding?”

#Ereannieweek2020 #ereaniweek2020 #Eren Jaeger #Annie Leonhardt #eren x annie

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contrivedcoincidences6 · 4 years

Text

The Invisible Cord- Ch. 7

Previous chapters

***

November 2011

The Green Creek Motel

Right outside of Washington D.C.

Bright lights, loud drilling sounds, suction, voices in English and Japanese the sensations fill me and I begin to panic.

Grounding. Where am I?

I’m in an empty parking lot.

Why?

Because of the mysterious email claiming to have information about my baby.

The hour I’ve been sitting here has felt like years but the panic subsided slightly as I practice my calming techniques.

After an eternity a car followed closely by an SUV enter the parking lot. I feel for my gun. Not long after my abduction I bought it and have kept it near ever since.

A man exits the car and looks right at me and nods.

Pocketing my gun, I exit my car carefully.

He looks in the window of the car and gives another nod.

A door opens and a girl exits For a few moments we just stare at each other. Her face is serious, but her eyes are soft.

Her daddy’s eyes.

My baby.

The one that was stolen from me, thought to be dead. Here she is standing in front of me.

It feels like I’m moving through molasses as I cross to her. She is standing with another girl, the redhead holds my girl's hand with both of hers. My daughter looks me right in the eyes with curiosity. In her face I see myself as a teenager, her bright, wide, almond-shaped eyes and narrow face take me back to a more innocent time.

We just stand there looking at each other for the longest time. Finally, I reach out a shaky hand, “My name is Violet, I believe I’m your mother.”

I barely make contact before my girl throws herself into my arms and buries her face in my neck.

For the first time in sixteen years my life feels full.

_________________________________________________

The Green Creek Motel

The ‘suite’ at the motel makes me wonder what the standard rooms look like. We all crowd in. And it’s a tight fit but no one really seems to notice.

I can’t stop looking at Emily- April. Since we saw her both Scully and I have been unable to stop looking at her. The urge to stay near is impossible to ignore, it’s primal, the need to protect my family.

There is an unreasonable fear welling up inside that tells me if she leaves my sight she will be gone again forever.

And so I loom over April and Scully glancing around as if a villain is about to jump out of the shitty painting on the wall. One hand is planted on Scully’s lower back while the other rests in the air behind April, ready if anyone makes a move.

April’s hair is a darker red than her mother’s and she stands a few inches taller but it’s undeniable that they are mother and daughter.

My thoughts begin to wander down a sad path as I picture her as a little girl with a toothless smile, cheering at a softball game as she runs the bases, cuddling together and watching B Sci-fi films, it all haunts me.

The anger and sadness form a large knot at the pit of my stomach and I fight the urge to punch the nearest wall.

The clones walk to the center of the room to face us. Seeing the clone of Samantha still stings, we make eye contact until she seems to sense my pain and looks away.

“There are currently dangerous people looking for you.” Kurt gestures to the teens, “We you need to understand that you can’t go back to your normal lives. I can promise you that they’re watching your homes right now and are just waiting for the opportunity to strike. They wouldn’t hurt the girls but I can promise they wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.” He makes eye contact with each of the adults.

“Who are these people coming after us?” May’s mother, Violet, speaks up. She’s small and looks as exhausted as Scully and me.

“A different group than the ones that originally took your children, though there are some connections. They are led by a woman named Diana Fowley.”

My mouth falls open and Scully freezes.

“No.” Scully shakes her head, “She’s dead; I saw her body.”

Kurt gives a somewhat robotic shrug, “Her death was faked. For some time she was in hiding but near the end of Spender’s life she came back and took over. It turns out the old man always had a backup plan. Years ago he’d made clones of all of the members of the syndicate and of the men who worked for them, he saw it as a way to gain full control. So Fowley took over these operations and in the end it cost him the little control he had. At this time she has some of the clones out looking for you.”

“Clones of who?” Scully asks with narrowed eyes.

“CGB Spender, Krycek, Jeffery Spender, the entire syndicate. Along with some lesser hit men.”

I meet Scully’s eyes and see the fear. She pulls April closer to her.

“So what are we supposed to do now?” I huff, frustrated to be just hearing this for the first time.

“We have a safe place for you but it’s far.” Kurt answers.

“And isolated.” Samantha finishes.

“Will we be separated?” April asks in a small voice.

Kurt and Samantha look at each other for a moment and there is silence that is broken by May.

“We are not going anywhere without each other! You won’t separate us!” Her tone leaves no room for argument and April nods in full agreement.

“It will be more dangerous with all of you together.”

“Doesn’t matter. We won’t be separated.” May says evenly.

Kurt sighs and looks to his companion, “I suppose we can make it work. But understand there is a higher chance of being caught.”

Scully stiffens and I squeeze her shoulder. I know we are feeling the same reluctance the clones are but we don’t know what their lives have been like. The looks on the girls’ faces give us a clue as to how much they need each other. It’s a look I know I’ve worn when people have tried to separate Scully and I.

They need to stay together

Violet’s expression mirrors the intense one her daughter wears, “We stay together.”

I look at Scully who closes her eyes but nods reluctantly.

“Alright then. We have new cars outback. We need to move now.”

__________________________________________________

November 2011

Somewhere in Nebraska (17 hours in)

My parents and May’s mom take turns driving the SUV that holds all of us as we follow behind Kurt and Samantha. So far the clones are scant on details, which seems to be driving my father insane. I can see the tension in his hands on the wheel. The passenger seat next to him is empty as both mothers are loath to leave our sides.

He’s done most of the driving; I think it helps him feel like he has more power over the situation than he does. When we first started out I was sitting next to my mother who was stiff. I could tell she wanted to hold me but was gauging my reaction. I wanted to be held by her but at the same time felt incredibly uncomfortable by the idea.

I wasn’t held much as a child, at least not by adults. Most of my childhood was spent cuddled up next to May. So I moved closer to her slowly but as soon as I laid my head on her shoulder I became a junkie for her attention. Her fingers, long and delicate, move through my hair as she rests her cheek on my head. It feels unreal.

Her turn to drive comes when we reach Omaha and all take a good stretch. I exit the bathroom with May and her mom and see my parents leaning against the car as it fills with gas. She is leaning fully into him as his big frame practically swallows her whole. It is nice. Even May smiles at the image and looks softly at me, taking my hand.

My father moves into the back seat next to me. I’m wide-awake by this point and can’t hold back the barrage of questions. He smiles and responds to all of them happily with his arm resting comfortably behind me. I pull my legs up on the seat and hold them to my chest, hanging on to his every word. Every few minutes my mom will interject or correct him, usually correct, and I find myself missing growing up with them.

When I notice how heavy his eyelids are getting I shut up to let him sleep. The utter peace on his sleeping face makes me tired and I begin to drift off until a long-forgotten memory comes to me of him holding me as a little girl. The memory is hot to the touch. I think I had a fever. I was scared and in and out of consciousness but he was so gentle. He held me, kissing my head and telling me everything was going to be okay.

I look over at him and note the differences in his face. In my memories he is so young, almost boyish, now his face is lined and he looks tired. On instinct, I rest my head on his shoulder.

He shifts and puts his arm around me and I think of all the times in my life I tried to picture my father. He’s different than I imagined but so much better. As he seems to be falling back asleep I feel a soft kiss on my head and quickly fall asleep as well.

__________________________________________________

November 2011

Location unknown

The anger nearly blinds me as Jeffery Spender tries to explain over the phone how they lost Mulder and Scully.

“How?” I say through clenched teeth, “How could you possibly lose them?”

“I don’t know. Scully left in the morning like she usually does. Around lunchtime, Mulder took a taxi to take lunch with her. I followed them to the hospital. Mulder came out an hour later and went to the library-”

“I don’t need their fucking itinerates!” I ground out.

“I waited outside there for hours and he never came out! I called the hospital and asked for Scully and they said she had left for the day. When I went in to see if I could find him he was gone. They must have known they were being followed. They didn’t leave any kind of trail.” He says, unable to hide the panic in his voice.

Pinching the bridge of my nose I sigh, “There has to be some kind of lead. Get one of our people in the police department to track their cars.”

“What if they’ve changed cars?”

“Just do it!” I yelled into the phone before slamming it back down and look up at the clone of a once-great man. His jowls jiggle as he talks, his voice arrogant as ever even as he stands before me, his superior.

“Ma’am we have found information on who helped the children escape. We believe they’re also responsible for contacting Mulder and Scully.”

He holds out a folder containing pictures of the clones of Kurt Crawford and Samantha Mulder talking to the teens.

“How. Did. This. Happen.” The words leaving my mouth are deadly quiet but the next sentence is an explosion, “I thought all of these things were dead!”

“We did too ma’am. We’re investigating that as well. Would you like us to use some of our people in the FIB to get their pictures out there?”

I nod and flick my hand dismissing him. There was documentation of the clones being destroyed. Their production was watched over carefully and their numbers were always well documented. When they eradicated the clones, or when they tried to, the numbers matched up.

The other clone members of the syndicate were sitting around the room waiting for order in eerie silence. Rather than finding it discomforting the silence just makes me smile.

I slam my hand on the desk in frustration and they jump.

“Will you idiots go make yourselves fucking useful?!” I growl at them, “Go through the old files and videos. Call our people on the inside. Do some actual intel! Just do something besides sit here uselessly!”

They scatter like roaches while I massage my forehead. The unanswered questions spin around my head forcing me into a chair. How could they have figured out a way to have the girls live independent of their injections? They must have someone on the inside. Finding out how those goddamed clones got their hands on the formula might lead me to someone who knows where they are. It is only a matter of time until we catch them. I just have to be patient.

#the invisible cord #the x files #txf #the x files fanfiction #txf fanfiction #txf fanfic #dana scully #fox mulder #msr #msr fanfic

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soyybeanboy · 5 years

Text

If You Had The Chance To Change Your Fate...

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Words: 3,992

Genre: Hurt/comfort

Pairings: Rociet, fatherly logince, fatherly lociet, platonic anxciet, brief brotherly mociet (blink and you miss it)

Warnings: Crying, self-doubt, panic (but no panic attacks), mentions of breakups/divorce, a good hearty dose of Deceit’s potty mouth (swearing), arguing, mentions of Nazis (as in, our boys hate them)

Summary: Devon Lee, a hopeless romantic who would never admit to it, and Roman Adelio, a man who’s long since given up on love, are destined to be together. Will fate do its job correctly, or will the pair defy the ides of fortune?

A/N: This is a story I wrote for @quoth-the-sparrow!!!! It took longer than I intended because it ended up being a monster of a story (originally it was only going to be around 1,000 words of pure fluff, but we can all see how that turned out), so dad, I hope you like it! (And I hope everyone else likes it too!) <3

10 years, 4 months, 13 days, 11 hours, and 58 minutes. That was how long Devon Lee had been waiting for his soulmate. As a child, he’d always assumed the world was colorless, and that everyone saw it the way that he did. But, as it had been explained to him by his older brother Patton when he was nine years old, eventually, when you found that one person who was destined to be your perfect match, your world would change. It was hard to explain how when Dee couldn’t even begin to visualize what this “color” Patton spoke of looked like, but his brother made it sound so appealing. “Dee,” He’d said, “You know that feeling you feel when your favorite TV show comes on at just the right time? Or… oh! Or that feeling when someone gets you the perfect gift?” And Dee had nodded as Patton grinned and said, “That’s what the world looks like when you find your soulmate.”

So, ever since that moment 10 years, 4 months, 13 days 12 hours, and 2 minutes ago now, Devon had been waiting. And waiting. And waiting. At a certain point he quite honestly had become sick of waiting and had renounced the prospect of soulmates as a whole, but deep inside his chest there had always been a longing that he would never admit to - a secret timer keeping track of the 10 years, 4 months, 13 days 12 hours, and 2 minutes that he’d been waiting. Not that he was counting or anything.

Roman Adelio, on the other hand, didn’t believe in soulmates, not one bit. He hadn’t since the moment his mother had walked out the scuffed front door of the house he’d grown up in, leaving him behind with only a father with the words, “Have you seen a pair of blue ballet slippers anywhere?” tattooed on his chest and the knowledge that even though the first words of his mother were permanently etched onto his father’s skin, that hadn’t stopped them from falling apart. He never wanted to be like them. So, he took the whole theory if Occam’s razor to heart and decided that the simplest explanation was that love was simply a fraud that he would never participate in.

…12 years, 6 months, 24 days 12 hours, and 9 minutes.

That was how long it had been since Roman had given up on love.

His skin was devoid of cheesy first word tattoos, and he was determined to keep it that way.

— — — — —

“Dee, come on, you’re 5 minutes late for your meet-and-greet already!” Virgil, Dee’s ever-so-irritable manager called from ten feet in front of the tardy YouTuber. Devon sighed and propelled himself forward with slightly more urgency, the tires of his wheelchair squeaking over the tiled floor.

“We’re not late, we’re simply rebelling against the society-imposed definition of punctuality,” he deadpanned, rolling past Virgil through to the outside of the building. “I, for one, think it’s an inspiring display of anarchy.”

“You know, it’s real funny to see you playing hard to get when you’re already hard enough to like.” Virgil huffed in response, giving the back of Dee’s chair a playful shove to get him going faster. The man laughed and deliberately slowed down, thereby causing Virgil to let out a sort of half distressed croak/half irritated groan. It was terribly amusing, to say the least. After a moment of tense silence broken only by Virgil’s incessant nerve-amplified echolalia, (“An- anarch- anarchy- anarchy- fuck…”), the manager finally snapped.

“That’s it, I’m going ahead. I’ll let the fans know you’re gonna be late, but you’d better hurry your ass up and get over there, okay? You have five minutes before I flip my fucking lid, Dee.”

“That sounds entertaining, maybe I’ll take my time just for that!”

“You have a goddamn death wish, I swear to god!” Virgil yelled as he took off sprinting towards the building they were overdue at. Dee chuckled and kept rolling along, enjoying how warm the sun was that day. His friends often joked that he was cold-blooded for how intolerant he was to the cold and… in truth, he wouldn’t deny it. It fit his aesthetic.

“I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream…” As the wind picked up, Dee noticed the voice that it was carrying with it. He didn’t believe in magical creatures like sirens, and yet his first thought upon hearing that voice was that no human could possibly sing so beautifully. The song was meant for a high voice, like the princess in the movie, but somehow the rich bass tones of the voice he was hearing brought the melody new life. In other words, he would allow this man to step on him, no questions asked. Dee’s vivid gray eyes - well, he had no idea if they were actually gray, because everything else was, too, but regardless - scanned the grassy courtyard he was going past and eventually landed on the shape of a man twirling around in the center of the yard. He was just as attractive as his voice was, further solidifying Devon’s resolve to allow this man to step on him. The wheels on his chair protested as he rolled into the grass, but Dee was so mesmerized by the image of this tall, lanky - was that a dress he was wearing? - unabashedly effeminate man that he hardly noticed the barrage of bumps.

Dee blinked, finding his vision going a bit blurry all of a sudden. Dots began flashing in front of his vision as he drew closer to the man, and he shook his head, absently dismissing it as an effect of jet lag. As he neared the man, getting close enough to make out details like the spattering of freckles all over his body, the light streak in his otherwise dark hair, even the collection of bandaids scattered all over his body, a sure indicator that he was either clumsy (he had so much limb for just one man, after all) or just plain reckless, Dee noticed something that he wasn’t sure how to explain. A change in the man’s face. The grays he’d spent his whole life staring at were morphing into something unrecognizable, and-

“Holy goddamn motherfucking shit…”

— — — — —

Roman clamped his mouth shut and turned to face whoever had just ever-so-rudely thrown off his groove. The courtyard had been blissfully empty for the first time that day and though he loved his fans as much as they loved him, a moment alone to sing had been a welcome intermission. Especially since he’d been around so many people bragging about their soulmates all day.

It was to be expected, of course, since Roman’s YouTube channel was dedicated to music and he sang love songs almost exclusively, but people introducing their soulmates to him still made him uneasy. All of the “We met because we were both fans of you!” And “Our first words were lyrics from your song, look!” Were sweet, of course, but still…unnerving. Every time he saw those tattoos he was that eight-year-old kid again, watching everything he loved slip away.

And now that his moment of solitude had been interrupted, he wasn’t gonna lie - he was more than a little irritated

“Excuse me, I was singing here!” He protested, placing his hands on his hips and sticking out his bottom lip in an indignant pout. Foot tapping fervently on the grass, he waited for the man’s response - a man who, Roman noted, was far more attractive than he had any right to be. His eyes were the most beautiful shade of green, though one had flecks of gold ringing the pupil. Roman hadn’t even known that was possible, he’d only ever seen characters in his favorite books described that way. Aside from that, his hair was an array of sloppily dyed and removed colors, with gray fading into yellow and then into purple and pink and blue and bleached-out blonde… it was like the guy had just grabbed whatever random boxes of dye he could reach and went nuts. It was cute, though. A large wine-stain birthmark made his fairytale-esque golden eye stand out even more and wow was Roman gay. That didn’t change the fact that he was tempted to go full Kuzco on this guy. He felt a pinch on his neck and winced, bringing his hand up to rub at it while he continued, “It’s not very polite to interrupt a man in the middle of a serenade!”

The man’s face remained blank and he blinked a few times, his hands tap-tap-tapping on the rubber wheels of his wheelchair.

“…I’m going to be real here, a moment ago I was annoyed but now I’m a little creeped-”

“You’re my soulmate,” The man whispered, so quietly that Roman wasn’t sure he’d heard him right. He hoped he hadn’t heard him right.

“…What? You-”

“You’re my soulmate!” The man shouted, eyes lighting up. “My brother once told me that seeing color was beautiful, but I never quite understood what he meant until now!” A moment of silence passed between them, and just as Roman was about to open his mouth to say that no, there must be a mistake, he didn’t even have a tattoo- “I’d apologize for the tattoo, but I find it rather funny that you have “holy goddamn motherfucking shit” permanently etched into your skin.”

Roman let out a fearful squeak as he fumbled to pull out his phone and check his face in the camera. His cheeks and forehead were clear, nothing on his arms…he was almost ready to berate the man for lying when he noticed the dark words written in clunky, nearly illegible cursive on his neck. ‘Holy goddamn motherfucking shit.’

“…What?” This made no sense at all. He didn’t even know what to say. This man seemed nice and all, but Roman had promised himself he would never let this happen to him. There must have been some kind of mistake. “I don’t… I don’t have a soulmate!” He blurted stupidly, rubbing at the writing on his neck.

Dee squinted, confused. “…Right, of course you don’t. It isn’t like the first words I said to you just appeared on your neck and I can see color now, something that only happens once you find your soulmate or anything. But you know. Of course I’m not your soulmate.”

“No, I-” Roman stammered, falling back a step. “I-I- I don’t have a soulmate. And even if I do, I don’t want one!”

“Don’t…” Dee blinked, trying to process what this man, his soulmate, had just said to him. After all this time… he’d waited 10 years, 4 months, 13 days 12 hours, and 24 minutes for this? A guy who wanted nothing to do with him? “Are you serious?”

“Yes! Look, you seem nice and all, but I-”

“No no no, I did not wait ten years for this-“

“Oh, so you expected your soulmate to just fall all over you the moment you met him? To sweep you away and live out a happily ever after with you? Is that it? Well, I’m sorry to destroy your fantasy, but I don’t do love, okay?”

A sigh broke past Devon’s lips as he crossed his arms, leaning forward to catch Roman’s eyes. “Geez, who the hell hurt you?” He asked flippantly, somehow missing the way the man’s face paled. “The universe matched us at birth and you’re not even going to speak to me?”

“The universe is bullshit!” Roman yelled, catching Devon off guard. “It’s all a fucked-up system that I don’t want to be a part of! I’m not letting some metaphysical Tinder ruin my life again!”

Among all of that dramatic ranting, one word stood out to Dee. “…Again?”

Roman blinked, mentally running back through everything he’d said. “I…” Dee noticed how hard his voice was shaking. “Just leave me alone. Please.” He whispered desperately, turning on his heel and sprinting away.

Dee watched the man run, the heeled boots he was wearing clacking against the smooth concrete like a heartbeat.

Ba-dum, ba-dum.

That man was his soulmate.

Ba-dum, ba-dum.

He wanted nothing to do with Dee… and there was a reason why. Something that man hadn’t been able to say. He knew it.

Ba-dum, ba-dum.

But most importantly…

Ba-dum, ba-dum, creaaaak- the door of the nearest building opened and shut, the man’s face appearing once through the glass and then disappearing down a long hallway.

Someone had hurt him, and under no circumstances would Devon stand for that. With new resolve, he started painstakingly wheeling himself across the grass to follow his strange, sad new soulmate.

— — — — —

The moment Roman heard the door he’d run through shut behind him, he pushed into the closest bathroom and collapsed under the sinks. This was not possible by any stretch of the imagination. He’d come here to this goddamn con to have a good time and meet his fans and now he was, about to cry in a bathroom because some excited, well-meaning guy had come up to him and told him something that anyone else would be happy about. He let out a choked sob and covered his eyes, employing his fingers as little dams to keep the waterworks in. Going back out there with swollen eyes and a red nose was not an option.

What were his options, then? Avoid this guy for the rest of his life, not only subjecting himself to the constant fear of running into him again but the guilt of knowing that he’d deprived this guy of his (supposedly) one true partner, or accept it and live in constant fear of it all falling apart? He couldn’t do this right now. Hell, he couldn’t do this ever, what was meant to be the happiest moment of his life was making him feel things he hadn’t felt in years, things he’d never wanted to feel again.

“Anyone in here?” A voice called out, muffled through the flimsy wooden door of the bathroom.

“No!” Roman called back, mentally kicking himself for that stupid move.

“Good to know,” The voice replied, growing clearer as whoever it was pushed the door open. Roman heard the couple grunts and the squeak of rubber on tile, looking up for not even half a second to see his soulmate struggling to get the heavy wooden door open while his wheelchair kept rolling backward from the force of him pushing. “Stupid broken brakes…”

“What are you doing here?” Roman snarled, hastily wiping his eyes and retreating back further into the corner.

His soulmate shrugged as nonchalantly as a person could while fighting with a door, saying, “You seemed upset.”

“Yeah, because of you.” What was this guy’s problem? “I told you to leave me alone!”

“Well, I once told my brother that I wouldn’t come home from school until Aladdin came to pick me up on his magic carpet. We can’t all have what we want- a-ha!” He finally won the battle with the door, letting it shut behind him with a triumphant click! “Now, I believe we skipped some pleasantries. I’m Devon Lee. Or Dee, if you’d prefer. I didn’t catch your name.”

The bathroom went silent save for the shaky breathing of someone trying to stop crying and water echoing through the pipes overhead. Exchanging names would mean this man knew him. This man, with his mismatched eyes and crazy hair and obnoxiously bright yellow-and-green wheelchair (and people thought Roman was extra), would have a name to associate with his face. That would not do.

“I didn’t throw it.”

The excitement that flickered to life in Devon’s eyes was unexpected, and Roman nearly flinched when the man burst out, “Oh my god, that was not a Heathers reference!”

He got that? Most people only understood when he quoted the songs, not the script. “You know Heathers?”

“No, sweetheart, it’s not like I’m a die-hard musical theatre fan or anything.” Dee laughed, a sound that made Roman think of bubbles. “Heathers, Waitress, Hamilton, Rent, Sound of Music, you name it, I know-”

“You like the Sound of Music?” Roman gasped. He pushed himself up off the floor, forgetting for a moment why he was so upset. “Most people I bring it up to tell me it’s a girl’s show.”

Dee grinned. His smile was pearly white, though Roman didn’t miss the shiny gold teeth in place of his incisors. A brilliant smile, shiny gold fangs, a love of musical theatre almost as obsessive as Roman’s… what didn’t this guys have?

“Girl’s show?” He scoffed. “Please, gender is meaningless and Julie Andrews’s voice is a spiritual experience anyone would be blessed to hear.”

“Yes! Finally!” His hands twitched as he resisted the urge to happy-flap them. “I must know, though, who’s your favorite character?”

Dee pursed his lips, tugging thoughtfully at his hair for a moment before answering, “Leisl. I admire her capacity for deception.”

“Oh? You’re a fan of deception?” Roman’s eyebrows rose, and the fear that he’d forgotten about in the wave of that’s-my-hyperfixaiton joy bobbed back up to the surface like a shell being tossed around in the sea. “…why not Rolf, then? He was a classic liar, and a talented one too.”

“Rolf?” Dee folded over cackling, clutching his stomach as he fought to speak through incredulous giggles. “He was a Nazi! Not to mention that he betrayed Leisl, the girl who loved him, by trying to get her family murdered. You must think so little of me to even imagine that I could admire him!”

Though Dee kept laughing, Roman had long since fallen silent. This wasn’t okay. He wasn’t supposed to connect with Devon - or… well, technically he was supposed to, but he didn’t want to, even if the guy liked the Sound of Music and understood his Heather’s reference and had come after him when he was upset, even if Dee was attractive and seemed funny and kind… even if he appeared to be everything Roman had ever wished for, there was too much of a risk. Maybe Devon would expect too much or they’d have a long relationship until one day Roman’s heart was broken.

‘And I call myself brave,’ Roman’s mind scolded him. ‘Roman ‘Never Runs From a Challenge’ Adelio, a coward since the year of his birth, 1999.’

“Look, Devon…” he began. Dee stopped laughing immediately, turning to face Roman with a kind of intensity he’d never seen before. “I… you seem nice, but… I don’t… the rest of my life can’t be dictated by this,” his nails trailed over the tattoo. “I’ve seen the aftermath. It… it’s not good.”

Now, it was Devon’s turn to go quiet. Or it would have been, if he weren’t such a loudmouth. “Alright, I can’t say I don’t understand where you’re coming from,” Carefully, he rolled forward. “And I… while I want a soulmate, it wouldn’t be right for me to force you to have me. All I ask is this.”

Roman cowered at those words. Something bad always came after ‘all I ask.’ What would he want? His number? Sex? Something worse?

“Would you like to go on a date with me sometime?”

“…What?”

Devon smiled, repeating clearly, “Would you like to go on a date sometime?”

“I-” Had Devon not heard anything he’d just said? “I said I don’t… s-soulmates aren’t something I-”

“No, no, no, you misunderstand. Ignore the tattoo, ignore the colors thing, that never happened. I like you, no-name kid. You seem kind and genuine, not to mention that you’re a thespian and seem to be haunted by the ghosts of your past-” Roman laughed despite himself. “-all things I find incredibly attractive. Soulmate or not, I’d like to get to know you better. So, that said,” Devon folded his hands in his lap, sitting back and smiling that million-watt, gold-fanged smile. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

And in that moment, that 15 seconds where he was faced with a choice he’d always dreaded having to make, Roman felt his racing heartbeat begin to slow. The panic-induced adrenaline drained from his system and he let out a heaving sigh. He still had two choices, but those choices had changed now. It was no longer a matter of fate. No longer a choice between being guilty or trapped. It was now option A) Go on a date with this cool guy who he kind of liked, or B) Turn down a date with this cool guy who he kind of liked. Well, Roman may have been a stubborn ass sometimes, but he was also incredibly gay.

“…You know what? Okay. One date.” Roman huffed, bouncing a red converse-clad foot on the tile floor.

“Excellent! I only need one more thing from you.”

“Oh?” Roman smirked, “Well, ask away.”

“Would you mind tossing your name now?”

Roman opened his mouth to acquiesce before promptly snapping it shut with a sly little smile and pulling a paper towel from the dispenser over the sink. “Sure thing.” A moment later, a slightly-crumpled tissue landed on Dee’s lap as Roman walked past. “I’ll see you around, Devon.”

Dee hastily smoothed out the paper, finding two lines of text written in broad, loopy block letters.

Roman Adelio

+1 618-0339-8875

“I can’t wait, Roman.”

— — — — —

“And that, my son, is how I met your father!” Roman finished with a flourish, wrapping his arms around Dee’s neck from his place on his husband’s lap. Logan, the ever-curious 7-year-old that he was, clung to Devon’s leg and asked,

“But why did you accept Pa’s date if you didn’t want a soulmate?”

Roman smiled, pulling his son up onto his and Dee’s lap (and chuckling as Devon shoved the pair of them off). “Well, your father was against nazis, so how could I say no?”

“…Daddy, that can’t be where the bar is.”

“It isn’t!” Devon was quick to cut in, playfully smacking Roman on the arm. “What are you teaching our small, impressionable child, Roman?”

“Alright, alright, calm down,” Roman yielded. His teasing expression softening as he gazed at Devon. “In truth, I still think soulmates are complete bullsh-” One glare from Devon washed his mouth out. “-I mean, completely fake. Logan, my little piece of stardust, listen to me.” He gathered the small boy in his arms, feeling his tiny heartbeat against his chest. “It is you and you alone who decides who you’re meant to be with. If that person is your soulmate, then that’s beautiful. If not, it’s just as beautiful to love someone else. Do you understand?”

Logan looked up into his father’s eyes, letting a small smile spread across his face before nodding. “Yeah. I understand.”

“Good,” With a sigh, Roman stood, planting a tender kiss on Devon’s lips as he did so. “You know, my dear,” He whispered, leaning his forehead against Devon’s. “I may not believe in soulmates, but perhaps, to some extent, I believe in fate.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, my darling, that soulmates or not…I know I was meant to be with you.”

“Daddy! Pa! Gross!” Logan whined, wedging himself in between his fathers in a truly archaic act of rebellion.

Devon laughed, pushing himself off of his chair to make a wiggly little cuddle pile on the floor. The three of them fit together like long-lost puzzle pieces, each from different puzzles but all cut from the same mold. They may not have been what they were “supposed” to be, but they were still able to make something truly beautiful.

And that was enough.

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